Except that wasn’t proving nearly as easy as it sounded.
In the beginning they had agreed to have sex.
That was how it had started in the car.
Remembering their urgent, frantic coupling that day, he felt his body harden. It had been sex in its most basic form: to satisfy a craving. But then, in the bothy, it had shifted into something more sybaritic. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. And it had been incredible.
His heartbeat accelerated.
If she had been anyone else he would have thought she was the one—that elusive woman who would share his life with him. She had tasted sweeter than honey, and when she’d melted into him he had found himself responding to her just as he had seven years ago.
It had felt so right.
They both knew they could never have a ‘normal’ relationship, but after that neither of them had been willing to walk away, so they had agreed to this affair.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. It should be like directing himself in a movie he’d written. No surprises. No disappointments or unrealistic expectations. Just him and Nia. Simple.
Except now it didn’t feel simple.
Instead it felt as if he’d pulled on a loose thread and now everything was unravelling in ways he didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
Like this ball.
His eyes narrowed.
Where did going with Nia to a ball at a neighbour’s castle fit into this arrangement?
He felt his chest tighten as it did whenever he thought about Lord Airlie.
Since that lunch at Lachlan and Holly’s place Nia hadn’t said any more until just now, in bed, and he hadn’t asked. But when he had mentioned the Beaters’ Ball to Molly, she had gone into raptures about the Marquess.
Grabbing his toothbrush, he began brushing his teeth savagely.
Not only was the Marquess of Airlie wealthy and handsome, he also ran a philanthropic foundation and was the patron of several charities that specialised in supporting local people. He was a perfect gentleman too, according to Diane, who had been completely bowled over by his handwritten invitation to lunch at Castle Kilvean.
All that was missing from his perfect life was a wife.
Farlan spat into the sink.
He got the feeling that Airlie already had someone in mind to fill that vacancy.
Stalking into the dressing room, he stopped in front of the beautifully pressed Highland evening dress that Molly had delivered to his room earlier. He stared at it in silence, his stomach tightening.
Frankly, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less than spend an evening hanging out with a bunch of snobby Scottish aristocrats. Especially as he could have got out of it.
Nia had said as much.
So why hadn’t he just told her he didn’t want to go?
Reaching out, he touched the gleaming silver buttons on the black Prince Charlie jacket.
For the same reason he had agreed to go in the first place. He knew it would make her happy. And more than anything he wanted to make her happy, make her smile and laugh.
In other words, whatever it was that was supposedly going on between him and Nia, what was happening inside his head had nothing to do with sex at all.
Nia took a step back and turned slowly on the spot, staring at the unfamiliar version of herself in the cheval mirror. It was obviously her, but she never really wore anything but black in the evening, as her mother had a horror of anything showy.
Only this wasn’t showy, she thought, turning slowly again, her gaze drifting over the old gold taffeta. It was beautiful.