The Lover (28 page)

“But there is no need to hire a seamstress. I can make up my own gowns.”

“I prefer to maintain
some
semblance of style and fashion,” he said dryly.

When Sabrina protested the expense, Niall looked at her oddly. “Do you ken how few women would refuse a new wardrobe?”

“Perhaps not many. But I hope I am not like the simpering, fashionable ladies of your acquaintance.”

He gave her an amused glance. “That you are not, but you are a laird’s wife now, with a certain presence to uphold. You require styles and colors that flatter and enhance your features to best advantage. And even if the dull frocks you wear didn’t offend my sense of dignity, a comely lass should be gowned in silks and lace.”

“If I were comely—”

He pressed his fingers to her lips, silencing her. “Hush, sweeting. Be a douce wife and indulge me in this.”

Sabrina bit her tongue and subsided, knowing it was useless to protest. Niall had no more than a stranger’s acquaintance with the word
no
. He knew how to bend a woman to his every whim, and would have his way by any means necessary.

It was when the seamstress came to take her measurements, however, that she discovered her husband intended to watch the proceedings. Niall settled himself in a chair before the fire, saying he wished to advise. Short of causing a scene, Sabrina could do little to prevent him from remaining in his own bedchamber.

She tried to ignore him as she stripped down to her shift, yet she was palpably aware of his presence. He wore a leather waistcoat and trews, his hair drawn back in a queue, and though he looked quite at home amidst the rich bolts of fabric, his potent masculine energy was disquieting. As was the spark of interest she saw in his eyes when a swatch of lace was pulled tightly against her breasts.

“The décolletage should be lower,” Niall recommended. “To show her bosom to advantage.”

“Any lower would be indecent!” Sabrina protested.

“Nay,” the seamstress said, agreeing with the laird, “’tis all the rage, milady. For daytime, ye may wear a modesty piece tucked into the bodice.”

“Aye,” her husband concurred. “A fichu will provide a softness for your features that will be exceedingly alluring.”

When Sabrina muttered again about the cost, Niall brushed aside her opposition. “These simple gowns cannot hope to match the extravagance of the costumes currently being worn in Europe. There the price of a single ball gown would feed a crofter’s family for a year, whereas these can be made up for a pittance.”

And so it went, with Niall tossing out a suggestion here and there, and ordering accoutrements to go with each gown.

When the seamstress had finished, Niall dismissed her, saying pleasantly, “I shall help my lady dress.”

Sabrina tensed at the husky note in his voice. How did he make the prospect of dressing her sound like the most sensual thing in the world?

“So,” Niall said when they were alone, “do you deny my expertise?”

“No,” she had to admit; his choice of color and style was impeccable. “Your fame is well deserved.”

“What is this, love? A compliment from your pretty lips?”

Love.
Sabrina bit her lip as she drew on her dressing gown, annoyed with the casual intimacy of the endearment. “Where did you learn about women’s fashions?”

“I had a year in France and Italy.”

She could easily picture him moving about the lavish courts and glittering salons of Europe, dancing attendance on princesses and duchesses. “I suppose that is where you honed your skills in the art of dalliance. The French are known for amorous talents.”

“Indeed.” His smile was languid. “The French lasses nearly wore me out with their demands.”

“How unfortunate they did not succeed.”

Niall ignored her wry gibe. “It is time you had some gowns that don’t obscure your best features. You will look quite lovely in these new ones. I predict you will be the envy of every woman in the Highlands.”

If they
were
envious, Sabrina reflected, it would solely be because she had wed the legendary Niall McLaren. “You don’t have to keep giving me false coin. I have no pretensions to beauty.”

“Not in the common way, perhaps.” His thoughtful look took the sting from his frank assessment. “Yet the adage is entirely true about beauty and the beholder. Often much of a woman’s allure results purely from perception.”

She regarded him skeptically.

“Comeliness is much overrated,” Niall asserted, crossing his arms over his chest. “A charming vivacity, a clever wit, an intimate glance, a beguiling smile, can compensate for a multitude of physical shortfalls. Many a lass has made excellent use of more meager charms than you possess, cherie.”

She made a face, but was unable to keep a hint of wistfulness from her tone when she replied, “I know very well gentlemen prefer beauty to plainness.”

“Some do, perhaps. But believe me, classic beauty is not the prime attribute that attracts a man.”

“In my experience, it is.”

“But then, you have not had a vast deal of experience, have you?”

“I’ve had enough.” She dropped her gaze. “I was betrothed once. He…found someone he preferred over me. Someone much more beautiful.”

“He sounds like a fool.”

“No, never that. He fell in love. He…wed my cousin.”

Niall’s heavy dark brows drew together. “Ah, the cousin whose betrothal ball I attended last year. Tell me, is this the same man who cannot pleasure a lass in bed?”

Sabrina remembered confiding her cousin’s view that only men enjoyed the act of lovemaking—and Niall’s swift response that her cousin was to be pitied. “I have no idea what his mating habits might be,” she retorted in embarrassment.

“But your cousin has found no enjoyment in her marriage bed.” He smiled softly. “At the risk of sounding immodest, it seems that you made the better bargain in your marriage.”

Had
she made the better bargain? Sabrina wondered, searching his handsome face. Oliver would at least be faithful to her cousin, she was certain. She had no illusions about Niall. He had made very clear the terms of their union. He wanted to be free to continue his dissolute pursuits outside the marriage bed.

Niall returned her regard speculatively, an unbidden tenderness tugging at him. It was lamentable, how little confidence Sabrina had in her own beauty. But he intended to prove her wrong. If he did nothing else in this marriage, he would make his sweet mouse blossom as a woman, with a woman’s passions.

Rising slowly from his chair, he went to her. With his hands on her shoulders, Niall turned her slightly, positioning her in front of him so that she could see her image in the cheval glass.

“Every woman has her own special beauty…her own scent…her own passion. Yours merely requires a sharper eye to uncover.”

Was that his secret? Sabrina wondered dazedly. Was his incredible success with the gentler sex because he knew how to make a woman feel beautiful, desired?

“Look at yourself, sweeting,” he murmured softly, “and see what I see.”

She stared at her reflection, her breath faltering at her wanton image. The front of her robe had fallen open, and beneath the thin fabric of her shift, her nipples stood out like twin peaks, while her face was flushed with delicate color.

“What…do you see?” she asked in a whisper.

“A lovely lass whose charms are myriad. Look at this hair…so dark and rich, glimmering with hints of fire…”

His fingers pulled the pins from her hair, letting it tumble past her shoulders in a wild, lush riot. “A man dreams of having such silken tresses wrapped around him. And this skin…” His hand lovingly cupped her slender throat. “A courtesan would kill for such soft, satin skin.”

He eased the robe from her body, leaving her standing only in her linen shift. “And this form…Delicate white shoulders…sweet, firm breasts crowned with such exquisitely budded nipples…pale thighs that offer a man a glimpse of heaven…” His palm swept gently over her, arousing a sweetly aching awareness in all the places of her body where he’d touched. “Trust me, pet. I take great pleasure in the female body—and you have a body worth a king’s ransom.”

Sabrina felt her breath shallow as she studied the muted reflection of the mirror, almost believing.

“You really are utterly enchanting.”

“I…don’t…”

His hands on her shoulders, he drew her gently back till their bodies were lightly touching.

“Yes, you are,” he repeated emphatically. “You have an allure all your own, sweet Sabrina. One most potent when you’re aroused. I relish that flash of fire in your eyes when your passion or fury is inflamed.”

His arm slid around her body then, his hands gliding up to cover her breasts, molding her to him. Sabrina suddenly went weak all over.

“If you…find me…a-appealing”—she stumbled over the word—“then why didn’t…why haven’t you…” She flushed, unable to complete the question.

“Why haven’t I made love to you since our wedding night? Because, pet, your body needed time to grow accustomed to my hard usage.”

The ache of her breasts within his gentle grip distracted her. “I thought you…had no interest in me.”

“No, sweet mouse. I have a very keen interest in you. I assure you, abstinence has not been easy.” His intimate smile made it the grandest compliment ever received. “But I am about to remedy the situation.”

“Now? You…cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious about seduction.”

She started to draw away, but the powerful muscularity of his arms prevented her.

Arrestingly, arousingly, his fingertips made a slow, circular motion around the peaks of her breasts, making her feel the soft friction of the linen fabric.

Her breath checked sharply, while lower in her body, surprised flesh pulsed to life.

“See how well we fit together?” His lips nuzzled the curve of her throat. “Your height makes you an ideal match for me. I have no need to strain when I bend to kiss you….”

His teeth grazed her ear, making her shiver. His breath was a raw whisper. “Shall I tell you what it feels like to kiss you? How sweet you taste…Your lips are like wine, your breath like nectar, your skin so soft and silken…I want to drink you in.”

That bewitching voice vibrated against her skin, while sensations, warm and hot, surged inside her. He was caressing her again, stroking her nipples with his long fingers, making her flush with intense heat.

“Yet there is so much more I want to show you, sweet. To lead you to discover your own lush sensuality…”

She already was discovering it, Sabrina thought dazedly. Shameful pleasure flared wherever he touched her. With a soft, breathy sound of capitulation, she shut her eyes against the knowledge of his scandalous caresses.

His mouth moved slowly over her skin, down the side of her slender neck, lower, along the gentle slope of her shoulder. Each caress seemed to define the word sensual. And with every inch he left her more breathless, more confused, until she couldn’t seem to frame a complete sentence. “Niall…”

“I think it time we hold another lesson in wifely conduct.” His hands fell away from her. “Bare your lovely breasts for me, sweeting.”

“W-What?” Her dazed eyes fluttered open. “Why?”

“Because I wish to see you. I want to teach you about pleasure, sweet Sabrina. I want to learn each curve and swell and hollow of your body…and have you learn mine. I want to show you how to please me…Now, do as I say.”

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing at his brazen command.

In the glass, she could see him smile. “We really must practice with great diligence to conquer your shyness.”

With trembling fingers she reached up to free the tiny buttons of her chemise. When she drew down the neckline, liberating the pale globes of her breasts, the rosy peaks were already budded tautly.

“Excellent,” he said lazily. “Now touch your nipples.”

“I…don’t…”

“Remember your vows, love. Did you not promise to honor and obey your husband?”

Feeling utterly shameless, Sabrina acceded to his demand, her fingers rising to close around her straining nipples. At once she shut her eyes at the tingling shafts of pleasure that arrowed through the sensitive buds.

“Perfect. Now hold that pose. Remain just as you are.”

Her eyes flew open as Niall moved away. He did not go far, though. Merely to the clothespress, where he drew off his waistcoat and shirt, exposing his heavily muscled chest.

She was smotheringly aware of his magnificent body, of the throbbing of her hot nipples beneath her fingers. Niall was offering a wild, reckless excitement, an exquisite promise of passion and fulfillment.

A promise she desperately wanted him to keep.

She stood rooted to the floor as casually he settled himself in the chair before the hearth. Then he looked at her, his gaze fired by a smoldering sensuality.

She was becoming more accustomed to his open expression of desire, but it startled her when he proceeded to unfasten the buttons of his close-fitting trews. In an instant his hard flesh sprang free, huge and rigid, from a nest of curling black hair.