The Lover

“If you wonder,” Eve murmured to Sabrina, “why the Buchanans received an invitation, ’twas unavoidable. Do you see the lady there in the plum gown? She is a cousin of my late husband’s and is wed to Owen’s eldest son. But I have every hope the Highlanders will restrain their animosity. They will not wish to let the Englishmen present suspect any dissension among the local clans. Now pray, Sabrina, let me introduce you….”

Sabrina took a deep breath and adopted the hint of an alluring smile, just as Niall had taught her.

She was startled by how easy it was. Not only did the gentlemen respond eagerly to her tentative attempts at flirtation, but to her surprise and amusement, she soon found herself the center of male attention.

Her husband was not at all surprised by her success.

Long familiar with being conspicuous and sought after himself, Niall at first was pleased to see his bride claim the admiration she was due. Ordinarily not an overt beauty, Sabrina seemed one tonight, with the burnished highlights of her hair richly shimmering in the glow of candlelight, her dark eyes bright with eager pleasure, her ivory complexion delicately hued with excitement. He left her side only for a moment to fetch her a cup of punch before the musical program began, and when he returned, it was to find her holding court before a bevy of admirers.

Indeed, Sabrina was in danger of being overwhelmed, most particularly from a lusty Scottish aristocrat casting lecherous eyes on her, and a dashing English colonel determined to win her smile.

Niall could understand the appeal. Discriminating gentlemen appreciated a woman of intelligence and wit, and Sabrina, with her rapier tongue and quick understanding, presented the most fascinating of challenges. She had the added cachet of having captured a notorious rake’s hand in marriage, but it was the woman herself who commanded attention. She had changed in some indefinable way, had gained an immeasurable quality that lured male eyes and hinted at beguiling secrets; an enticing suggestion that hidden beneath that serene, unprepossessing facade lay a woman of fire and passion.

It made a man wild to discover if it were true.

Even he was not invulnerable, Niall realized in surprise. Incredibly he was attracted to his own wife. When Sabrina lifted her gaze and caught sight of him through the crowd, her face lit in a way that made his loins throb.

His response was so swift, so unexpected, that he could not check it. Frowning, Niall forced himself to look away.

He was still pondering his reaction when his former mistress joined him.

“Your bride seems to be greatly enjoying her conquests,” Eve remarked. “I commend you, darling. You have worked wonders with the lass.”

Unwillingly, Niall’s glance returned to Sabrina. He should feel triumphant. He had accomplished precisely what he’d intended. He had set out to transform his mouse of a bride into a tiger and had succeeded far beyond his expectations. Sabrina was proving to be a magnificent woman.

And yet…he wasn’t certain he liked her this way. She was flirting and laughing for the admiration of other men, much like the shallow, simpering beauties he’d spent his leisure pursuing in the game of love. The sight of Sabrina engaging in the same amusements left him feeling an inexplicable dissatisfaction.

Faith, perhaps he’d unleashed more of a tiger than was wise, Niall acknowledged. As he watched her parry a wicked remark with a barbed

retort of her own, he had to repress the urge to intervene.

Sweet saints, one could almost call the sentiment jealousy.

With a stab of annoyance, Niall shook his head. The notion that he would become enamored of his own wife was absurd.

He forced a sanguine smile and answered Eve with a languid question about the program.

It was some consolation, Niall reflected restlessly as he sat through the first musical interval, that he need not worry about Sabrina’s interest being attached by some profligate cavalier. She was too enamored of her husband.

It came as an unpleasant shock when at the second intermission he discovered his bride was not the loyal innocent he judged her.

Flushed with success and the warmth of the crowded drawing room, Sabrina had slipped out onto the terrace for a breath of air, hoping that her husband would pursue her there. She wanted to laugh with Niall at her success and quiz him about how to discourage overzealous admirers—a position she’d never thought to find herself in.

Yet when she heard footsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder, she was taken aback to find the gentleman was none other than Keith Buchanan, the fourth and youngest son to the bloody Buchanan laird, the only one yet unwed. He resembled his father, with the same powerful build and swarthy complexion, though he lacked the beard.

“Pray do not go, milady,” Keith urged quietly.

Sabrina hesitated, her fingers clenched on the marble balustrade. This man was a mortal enemy of her clan and of her husband. It was dangerous to be in such close proximity, yet she refused to flee in fear.

Her blood still boiled to remember the Buchanans’ perfidy last month. Their laird had pledged his word to become allies, agreeing to a feu duty in exchange for a truce, and then struck without warning, raiding Duncan cattle while professing peace.

Keith Buchanan moved to stand beside her, eyeing her intently. “So this is the lass who threatened to cut out my da’s heart and fought hand to hand against my kinsmen.” His tone suggested bitterness and something more: admiration. “Ye must be glad of yer success. Ye offered to become allies, only to lure us into yer trap. Ye snagged us as sure as a salmon trout.”

“I?” Sabrina asked, startled by his vehemence. “I was not the one to deal in treachery.”

“Were ye not? We didna start the reiving. Ye thieving Duncans did. We bargained in good faith, yet the moment we lowered our guard, ye dealt us a blow.”

“We did no such thing, sirrah!”