The Lover

Escaping the library, she paused in the corridor to smooth her disheveled skirts and to allow her flushed cheeks to cool. Shortly she found herself in the ballroom, searching the crowd for her husband.

After a moment she spied Niall’s tall figure across the floor, near the French doors, which had been left open against the heat of the myriad candles and press of perfumed bodies. Beside him stood Lady Chivington, smiling like a cream-filled cat.

Sabrina felt her heart wrench.

When Niall bent to whisper something in the lady’s ear, eliciting a gay laugh, Sabrina’s hands curled into fists. She watched in dismay as Lady Chivington turned and slipped through the doors to the garden terrace.

Niall did not immediately follow, but seemed to be searching the crowd. It would not be the first time he had made an assignation to meet his paramour in a garden, however. If so, he would doubtless wish to avoid being seen by the lady’s husband, or by his own wife.

Fury, sharp and piercing, assaulted Sabrina. Never had she felt such a vicious urge to do violence, to Niall most of all, but to the English witch as well. She would have raked the lady’s beautiful face with her nails if she could have managed two minutes alone with her.

She was not alone, however, Sabrina realized regretfully; she was in a crowded ballroom, with several hundred onlookers who would be highly titillated were she to cause such a scene. Whatever action she took would best be effected in private.

Clenching her jaw, Sabrina made her way through the crowd toward the terrace doors. The last time she’d discovered her philandering husband in a compromising position, she had fled in wounded mortification.

But she had no intention of abandoning the battlefield now. This time she would fight for Niall, to prevent him from pursuing his favorite sport in some other woman’s arms.

Chapter

Nineteen

He was conversing with a footman when Sabrina reached him. When the servant nodded and moved away, Niall turned to her, his eyes lighting with quick warmth.

The smile Sabrina sent him was brilliantly lethal as she stepped close enough to slip her fingers beneath his elegant frock coat. He had not worn a rapier to the ball, but had belted a dirk at his waist as usual.

When she drew the blade from its sheath and stepped back, his eyebrows shot up quizzically.

“Pray excuse me,” she murmured, the sweetness of her tone belied by her sparking eyes. “I have need of this for a moment.”

Spinning on her heel, she marched through the open doors and out onto the terrace.

She was trembling with rage when she came to a halt. Allowing her gaze to adjust to the dim light, Sabrina spied the English noblewoman near the balustrade overlooking the garden.

“Lady Chivington.”

Arabella turned, her expression one of eager anticipation. “Ni—”

Her welcoming smile fractured when she recognized Sabrina. Then her eyes grew huge as she saw the gleaming blade in Sabrina’s grasp. “W-What…do you here?”

“I came to offer you a warning, my lady. Niall McLaren is my husband. I strongly suggest that you keep away from him.”

The lady eyed the dirk with alarm. “Are you mad?”

“Perhaps,” Sabrina replied tightly. “I doubt you would wish to put it to the test.”

Behind her she heard Niall’s incredulous chuckle.

Sabrina spun around, her features fierce as she brandished the dirk. “I’ll not share you with her. Do you ken me?”

He raised a hand to his brow, but his shoulders were shaking. “Thank God…” he murmured. “I feared you would never relent…” He shook his head, unable to contain his relief, a relief so profound he knew it as joy.

“I am entirely serious, sir!” she exclaimed, furious at his apparent amusement. “I’ll not abide your affairs any longer, with this lady or anyone else.”

Niall took a deep breath. “I am all gratitude, my bonny Highland warrior, but an affair with this lady was the last thing I intended.”

“You arranged an assignation with her—”

“No, sweeting,” he replied, all seriousness, all laughter. “For once you greatly mistake the matter.”