Sabrina’s heart turned over. “Oliver!” she exclaimed breathlessly before she could prevent herself.
Turning, he froze an instant before his expression brightened. “Sabrina, my dear…what do you here?” His eyes narrowed admiringly as he peered at her through his quizzing glass. “Is this truly you? You appear…different, somehow.”
She understood his surprise. Her full-skirted gown of yellow sprigged muslin attractively flattered her tall figure, while her pale complexion held a heightened color that had naught to do with cosmetics. She did not need her mirror to tell her that her looks had improved since Oliver had last seen her—and not merely due to her stylish gown. Under Niall’s tutelage she had bloomed like a flower beneath a nurturing sun.
Oliver, on the other hand, appeared much as she recalled, except perhaps for his more ornate attire. Yet with his powdered wig, voluminous satin frock coat, and fashionable red heels, her former suitor seemed overly effeminate compared to the powerful, sinewed, totally male Highlander she had wed. She could not imagine Oliver wielding the rapier at his waist the way Niall did a broadsword, or leading a midnight cattle raid, or riding furiously to her rescue to avenge her supposed abduction by an enemy clan.
“What do you here?” Oliver repeated curiously.
“She is enjoying the company of her husband,” a sardonic voice drawled at her shoulder.
Sabrina gave a start. She had forgotten Niall was so near.
“Will you make me known to your friend, my love?” he queried in a silken tone.
“This is Mr. Oliver Irvine,” she managed to reply. “Husband to my cousin Frances.”
She could see the speculation in Niall’s blue eyes and immediately regretted ever telling him about her failed courtship. “Mr. Irvine, may I present Niall McLaren, Lord Strathearn. My…husband.”
“Ah, yes. I admit I was surprised to hear you had wed so suddenly.” Oliver bowed stiffly. “Your servant, milord.”
“What is the surprise?” Niall asked in a dangerous tone Sabrina mistrusted. “I was smitten the moment I laid eyes on so lovely a lass, and I could not wait to make her mine.”
She winced at that falsehood. “Is my cousin not with you, Mr. Irvine?” she asked to change the subject.
The faintest flush suffused Oliver’s painted cheeks. “I fear Frances is indisposed at the moment. She is…er…enceinte.”
“Oh…how…delightful,” Sabrina murmured, even as a pang of envy pierced her at the news her cousin was to bear a child. It was a bittersweet reflection to consider what might have been. Had Oliver not fallen in love with her cousin, she might be the lady in an interesting condition. “You must be pleased.”
“Er…quite,” Oliver replied, looking strangely ill at ease. “Ah…forgive me. I have just recalled an errand I neglected.” He returned the brooch to the jeweler. “By your leave, my lady…my lord.” Oliver bowed over Sabrina’s hand and touched his hat to Niall, then made a swift exit from the shop.
Sabrina glanced up to find Niall observing her closely.
“A jealous lover, pet?”
She considered returning a coy riposte, but couldn’t bring herself to make light of such a subject. “I have no lovers, jealous or otherwise.”
“You are mistaken. You have me. I am discovering what a possessive bore I can be.” Niall’s gaze slanted to the door. “He is a fool to have jilted you.”
Discomfited, she could not fashion a reply.
“I confess, I find it difficult to see the fellow’s appeal—or comprehend how you could have fancied yourself in love with him.”
Sabrina bit her lip in vexation, yet, disloyally, she agreed. She couldn’t help but wonder what she’d ever seen in Oliver. Niall had cured her of her girlish infatuation for her former suitor; that love had been a pale imitation of her present feelings for her husband. “Oliver makes no claim to expertise in carnal affairs. His amorous talents certainly do not match yours.”
“I am gratified, but I was speaking of deeper emotions of the heart.”
“Surely you do not profess to be an expert on such matters?” Sabrina asked archly.
She expected a blithe retort, but Niall’s mien was entirely sober as he searched her face. “You must regret losing your love.”
“Oliver is not my love. We were once betrothed, that is all.”
“Good,” he murmured with satisfaction. “I intend to make you forget he ever even existed.”
You already have, she reflected silently.
“If he was purchasing that bauble for his wife,” Niall mused, glancing at the jeweler, “I would be much surprised.”