The Lover Read Online Free PDF Page B

changing his way of life to satisfy his bride’s prudish notions of conduct. If Mistress Duncan could not accept him on those terms, then she was free to find another husband.
    When Niall made no reply, Eve eased herself from the table and sauntered over to stand before him. “You will still be welcome in my bed any time, my lord,” she breathed coyly, her hands reaching up to part the bodice of her dressing gown, baring the voluptuous curves of her breasts for his sensual appreciation. “Will you stay the night, Niall?”
    His mouth twisted without humor. “I doubt I will make pleasant company. My disposition is not the sweetest at the moment.”
    “Then I shall contrive to soothe your dark mood.” Her fingers trailed lazily down his chest to unfasten the buttons of his leather breeches, slipping inside the folds to find heated skin. “You consoled me most generously when my husband died. ’Tis only fitting I console you.”
    For a moment he stood contemplating her, wondering if he could summon the desire she expected; inexplicably his vaunted appetite had deserted him.
    “Please…Niall…I want you again.” Her eyes were heated with passion, imploring, as she traced the pulsing length of his swelling manhood.
    With a mental sigh, Niall set his glass on the table and solicitously turned to her. Reining in his frustration, he softly murmured a lie. “And I want you as well, pet.”
    He forced a smile to his lips as he cupped her lush breasts in a practiced arousal. When he bent to take one distended nipple into his mouth, Eve moaned sharply and closed her fingers around his stiffening erection.
    Niall’s body responded automatically to the sensual intimacy, but his mind remained distant and apart from his pleasure, his caresses habitual, his thoughts still on his dilemma.
    In all honor he could not refuse to acknowledge the obligation to Angus Duncan. He had no choice but to agree to the marriage.
    But Mistress Duncan would discover that all her vast wealth could not buy her a tame lackey for a husband. He would not give up his pleasures for her sake.
    And she would find little enjoyment in being his bride.
     
     
    “’Tis not so far to the tavern, mistress,” Geordie Duncan claimed cheerfully. “Then ye can rest awee and drink a dram.”
    Sabrina gave the brawny Highlander a grateful smile. For one unaccustomed to riding, seven hours on horseback buffeted by a chill, blustery wind had sorely tested her endurance. And they’d only just now reached the Scottish Highlands. It would require two hours more through difficult terrain to gain Banesk, the seat of Clan Duncan, where her grandfather Angus lay gravely ill.
    She and her two Duncan escorts had followed the wretched roads north and east from Edinburgh across lowland country, but as they emerged from a pine forest, the sight of the uplands in the distance made Sabrina sharply draw rein.
    The spectacular vista stole her breath away. She had been but a child of four when she’d left the place of her birth, and had forgotten the rugged beauty—the rolling glens and misty lochs and wild moors, interspersed with magnificent craggy hills that changed hues with the seasons. Just now the green-gray slopes were splashed buttery yellow with spring gorse and Scotch broom; in summer they would be dusted violet with wild bell-heather, and in autumn, russet with dried bracken.
    “’Tis so beautiful,” she murmured almost reverently.
    “Aye,” Geordie agreed. “’Tis a braw land, for cert.”
    Sabrina shook her head, wondering how her mother could have failed to appreciate such splendor. Yet gentle Grace Murray had hailed from civilized Edinburgh before wedding the only son of Laird Duncan. She’d never felt easy during her half dozen years in the Highlands, with their harsh way of life and brutal blood feuds. And she’d been intimidated by Angus Duncan. Angus had made no objection when, after her husband’s death, Grace had returned to Edinburgh with her