The Lover
“Arabella,” Niall said calmly. “You are overwrought.”
She turned on him with a fierce stare. “Are you in league with her, too, sir? Did you lure me out here to dishonor me?”
The Highlander’s striking features grew cool in the moonlight. “My Lady Chivington, perhaps you need a moment alone to compose yourself before returning to the ball.”
Her fierce look faded. “Niall, I…I never meant to accuse you of complicity. I spoke rashly, in the heat of the moment.”
“I know, my dear. Which is all the more reason to allow our tempers to cool.”
“Will you call on me on the morrow?”
His hesitation spoke volumes. “I think perhaps it wiser to delay any further meeting between us for a time.”
With a smoldering glance at them both, Lady Chivington spun on her slippered heel and swept away in a flurry of hooped skirts. In the resulting silence, Sabrina found herself alone in the darkened garden with the notorious Niall McLaren.
When she hazarded a glance up at him, she nearly flinched at his stony gaze.
“Kindly unhand me, sir,” she said unsteadily.
To her relief, he released her wrist, but his tone held more than a hint of annoyance. “With pleasure.”
“You need not fear,” she began nervously, rubbing her bruised wrist, “that I will divulge a word of this, to my aunt or anyone else. This incident would reflect almost as poorly on me as you. I shan’t tell anyone what you were up to.”
His anger remained unplacated. “Do you make it a habit of eavesdropping on your aunt’s guests?”
Sabrina felt her cheeks flush. She was guilty of eavesdropping, yet it had been wholly unintentional. Defensively she lifted her chin. “I am sorry to have spoiled your seduction.”
“So am I,” Niall responded without the least sign of emb
arrassment or shame. “Your timing was wretched.”
“Perhaps, but I believe I arrived here first.”
“You might have made your presence known.”
“You might have chosen a more appropriate place for a liaison!”
“In my experience, a moonlit garden is generally considered appropriate for a liaison.” She could hear amusement warring with irritation in his lilting voice, though the emotion was not reflected in his piercing gaze.
“Yes, well…” Her chin rose another inch. “If you wish I shall send out another lady to take Lady Chivington’s place. There are certain to be scores of females eager to supplant her in your good graces.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed as he appeared to bite back a smile. “Hundreds, possibly, but none so willing as she.”
Sabrina stiffened at his teasing reply. “I pray you will accept my apology, sir,” she murmured. “Now, if you will excuse me…”
She started to brush past him, but Niall McLaren held up a hand. “One moment, Mistress…Cameron, is it?”
She hesitated reluctantly. “Duncan. Sabrina Duncan. Cameron is my stepfather’s name.”
“Well, Mistress Duncan,” he said as he sheathed his rapier. “I suggest we allow the lady to return to the ball first. It will better serve to shield her reputation.”
“I’m surprised you are concerned with protecting any lady’s reputation,” Sabrina remarked archly.
He eyed her sharply, his penetrating gaze fixing on her in the darkness. In the moonlight his blue eyes were the color of midnight.
Sabrina found herself catching a deep breath. He was handsome as the devil, tempting as sin, yet his starkly masculine beauty was not the sole reason a woman’s heart beat erratically with curiosity and fascination when this man was near. He had a quality about him that was intently compelling, dangerous.
“I collect you know me?” he asked finally.