From the first Sabrina realized his goal was not simply to gown her for the ball, but to create a masterpiece. When she was settled at her dressing table, he directed the maids in the application of cosmetics, insisting on a light hand—a hint of blush at the cheekbones, a touch of kohl to darken the eyes, a deeper red for the lips, and absolutely no face paint. Her hair was permitted no powder, but piled high upon her head, with a shining sweep of curls falling elegantly over one shoulder.
It required three servants to help her don the fabulous crystal-studded ball gown which the modiste had created, and to arrange the wide, stiff panniers of the skirts. Sabrina worried that the hue of the fashionable gown was too bold and the décolletage too daring; the emerald satin contrasted vividly with the pastels worn by most ladies, while the swell of her breasts revealed by the swooping décolletage would draw every eye.
Yet the gasps of awe and admiration from the women reassured her.
“Ah, mum, ye look like a fairy princess.”
“Nay, a queen.”
Niall, however, said not a word while refusing to allow her to look in the mirror. After dismissing the maids, he added the finishing touches himself…an emerald necklace and ear bobs for which he’d sent home to the Highlands…a delicate black beauty patch which he seemed to relish placing on her right breast…and an ebony lace fan for her to carry.
He gave her a final inspection, his fingers sensuously dragging unwilling curls to feather dance on her cheeks. Then he whispered, “Perfect,” and turned her slowly to face the cheval glass.
Sabrina started in shock, wondering if the sensual creature in the mirror was truly her own image. Somehow Niall’s sorcery had transformed her into a breathtaking enchantress.
The skirt of soft rich satin—flattened in front and held out to the sides by hoops—was covered with crystal beads that shimmered in the pale candlelight like diamonds. The long, pointed bodice accentuated her narrow waist while making her breasts swell alluringly above the square neckline.
The effect was stunning, but it was Niall’s expression reflected in the mirror that made her feel beautiful beyond words.
“Niall…the gown is breathtaking.”
His smile was indulgent. “No. The lass wearing it is breathtaking…Magnificent.”
Bending, he nuzzled her naked shoulder. “I’ve told you before, a woman’s beauty is not determined by her outward appearance, but her inner fire…And you have enough fire, cherie, to keep me constantly aflame.” His husky voice was thick and slow, like honey flowing through her veins, sweeping down the walls that had protected Sabrina’s heart.
When he slipped his arms around her from behind, she drew a determined breath with every ounce of willpower she possessed. “Niall…the ball…”
He groaned softly and buried his face in her shoulder, not wanting to release her. She was the cause of his greatest joy, his greatest torment. He spent his nights craving her, tortured by his aching loins, the constriction in his chest, not sleeping. He spent his days endeavoring to prove she’d stolen his heart.
Sabrina was the only one who failed to see it, Niall reflected despairingly. All of Edinburgh was watching his pursuit of his wife in fascination and awe. From his friends he’d endured much ribald laughter regarding how hard the mighty fall, while the rest of society was desirous of meeting the remarkable woman who had managed the impossible. It was a nine-day wonder, his vanquishment on the battlefield of love.
Yet he’d faced Sabrina each day with a growing disquiet. With all the scores of women in his past, he’d never met with such overwhelming resistance.
When she tried to draw away, Niall closed his eyes in an agony of need. He wanted Sabrina. Desperately. He wanted her writhing and hungry. Wanted her crying out with love for him. Yet…he wanted her to come to him. He heaved a jagged sigh. “Ah, yes, the ball.”
He did not release her entirely, however. Instead, he turned her slowly to face him and bent his head.
He kissed her so softly, so deeply, she felt a silky fire flow between them.
“Sabrina…” he whispered against her lips, “my sweet bright flame of a woman. How you make me burn…”
He stepped back then, letting his hands fall away. Sabrina stared, shivering with desire and need.
Niall left her standing there, trembling and aroused, while he retired to another chamber to finish dressing.
She had still not fully recovered when he rejoined her moments later. He wore a full-skirted satin coat of ivory, with lace ruffles of purest white at throat and wrists. The pale hues presented a stark contrast to his dark good looks and a striking foil to the deeper colors of her own attire.
But it was the rich, ardent glow in Niall’s sapphire eyes that stole her breath away. When he looked at her like that, she could have absolutely no doubt that he cherished her as he claimed.
The Cameron carriage transported them to the ball, but Sabrina felt as if she were floating. The summer sky shimmered a deep star-dusted black as she descended before the Duke of Kintail’s magnificent mansion.
When they entered the glittering ballroom and were announced to the illustrious guests, an excited murmur rushed through the crowd. Niall was well known among the throng of courtiers, macaronis, dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies, but it was the vibrant beauty beside him who drew all eyes.
“Your reputation precedes you, my love,” Niall murmured with satisfaction.
“Mine?” She noted the swiveling, powdered heads of the onlookers and felt a rush of feminine power. She was grateful Niall had gowned her like his queen. The vast room was filled with a dazzling array of gentility resplendent in silks and brocades and jewels, but she could hold her head high among them. She was a chieftain’s bride, with the blood of Highland warriors in her veins.
“Aye, you, Sabrina. You are the talk of Edinburgh. And if I am not mistaken, here is one of your admirers now.”