Just then a stalwart, ruddy-cheeked gentleman garbed in a scarlet military coat stepped out onto the terrace.
“My dear, what—” Colonel Lord Chivington faltered when he saw the McLaren and his lady. “Beg pardon, milord, I understood my wife was here.”
“She is,” Niall interjected smoothly. “She has been anxiously awaiting you.”
“Richard!” Arabella said breathlessly. “How glad I am that you are come.” She edged around Sabrina carefully, keeping her gaze trained on the dirk. “I am feeling faint, and I beg that you will take me home.”
When she reached the colonel, she clung weakly to his arm. He looked a bit puzzled but replied easily, “As you wish, my dear. Your servant, milord, milady.”
With a bow to Niall and Sabrina, he escorted his wife within the ballroom, leaving them alone.
Sabrina’s fingers clutched the hilt of the dirk as she faced her husband.
“You never fail to amaze me, mouse,” he said softly. “I am honored that you chose to do battle for me.”
She felt her cheeks flushing as she comprehended her error. “You never made an assignation with her?”
“No. In truth, I only thought to elude her pursuit. The lady suffers from boredom and neglect, so I arranged for her to enjoy a liaison with her husband.”
“I thought…”
“I know what you thought, my love. And in the past I’ve given you little reason to presume otherwise. But that is all in my past, sweeting. I’ve told you so countless times, though you choose not to believe me.”
Sabrina stared at him. Niall took the dirk from her slack fingers and returned it to his belt. Then grasping her hand, he drew her to the far side of the terrace, away from the glow of candlelight and music that spilled through the open French doors.
His expression suddenly grave and intent in the shadows, Niall looked at her searchingly. “Sabrina…I cannot endure this misery any longer. It’s draining me of my soul.” Holding her gaze captive, he said quietly, “You are my heart, Sabrina, and will always be so. I’ll want you till I die.”
Her breath lodged in her throat. Never before had Niall looked at her with such raw emotion in his eyes, so desperate and haunted.
“I want you, Sabrina. I want you as my lover, the mother of my children, the mistress of my clan. I want to grow old with you. I want to spend the rest of our lives convincing you how remarkable you are.”
“How can you be sure?” she whispered.
His gaze softened. “’Tis simple. I’m in love. And I think you love me, too. Do you, Sabrina?” His voice had gone beyond strained and sa
t on the cutting edge of pain as he waited in an agony of uncertainty.
She could not continue the pretense any longer. “Yes…I love you. How could I not?” she said simply.
The release of his breath was shaky and powerful; the emotion that went through him left him weak. Niall grasped her arms in a grip that was painful, his gaze riveted on her face, his eyes gleaming with uncertainty and hope and a thousand fervent prayers.
“Say it again,” he demanded hoarsely. “The truth, Sabrina.”
“I love you.”
Drawing her to him, Niall wrapped his arms around her, holding on with a kind of tight, quiet desperation, his heart beating painfully. It seemed as though he had wanted her all his life. Sabrina roused and angered and entranced and tempted him as no other woman in his life ever had. And he wanted desperately for her to believe it.
He drew back, needing to see her face. “Can you ever forgive me for the pain I caused you?”
She nodded, an ache of love for him swelling within her. “Yes…but…”
“But what?”
“I cannot continue as we have, Niall. I need honesty between us. I need an end to the games.” She gazed at him uncertainly. “I am not a mouse or a tiger or a femme fatale. I am simply a woman. I cannot continue to play this false role you’ve devised for me. I can’t abide this constant struggle to keep your attention.”
“Aye, no more games. We’ve wasted far too much time battling each other, and ourselves.”
Sabrina searched his face. “I only need to know that I can trust you, that you will be true to me.”