Samantha James (14 page)

Maura looked up at him. “Your grace, I am not quite sure what to say.” Her tone was scarcely audible.

“Do you dislike it?”

She shook her head.

“What, then?”

For the second time that day, tears pushed to the surface. Alas, these were not happy tears.

“You are…overcome?”

“Do not mock me, Scotsman.” She fought a deep, abiding shame. She might as well tell him what she was about. But she was afraid he’d send her back to Ireland, and she would never find the Circle of Light. “I—I feel like a thief.”

“An odd word to use, Irish.”

“Why is it odd?” Her tone was very low. “You’ve made no bones about your feelings. You think I conspired to wed you for your money. For”—she waved a hand—“all of this.”

Curling his knuckles beneath her chin, Alec guided her eyes to his.

“I am not a miser, Irish. I will not act like one, nor is there a need for you to think I will. There is certainly no need for you to act like one. You may purchase whatever you wish. I will see that you have pin money. If you need more, there is money locked in the far right drawer of the desk in my study. The key is inside the vase directly behind my desk. Or you may come to me. Now, may we agree that we will not have this conversation again?”

Intense blue eyes searched hers before Maura gave a slight nod.

“Excellent. Now, to the business at hand.” With a devilish half smile he glanced at the nightgown. “I must confess, I found this gown exceptionally…provocative.”

Maura found it exceptionally…revealing. She gulped. “Oh, my. It’s—It’s—” She would burn in Hell for the way she’d deceived Alec. And if she did not burn in Hell for that, she would burn in Hell for daring to don a nightgown such as this!

“Yes. I can see where it might compel a loss of words.” He gave her a gentle push toward the screen. “Put it on.”

Her jaw fell open. “Wait. You expect me to wear—”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Indeed.”

“Now?”

“The mockingbird has returned, I see. Surely you must have noticed it’s night, Irish.”

Must he sound so damnably rational? She struggled to keep the desperation from her tone. “Where is the robe?”

“I don’t believe there was one. In any case, I wouldn’t have bought it. That would defeat the purpose of buying a nightgown such as this.”

She could present no argument to that statement, and realized she had little choice. Dammit, he was enjoying this all too well. She snatched it up from the bed and stepped behind the screen.

From the other side, Alec heard several muttered, rather inflammatory curses. At a rather virulent one, he sighed. “Do you need help with your laces?”

“I haven’t even gotten to the bloody laces, not with all of these damned buttons to undo!”

“How fortunate I am here, then.” He rounded the screen and stepped up behind her.

Maura didn’t delude herself. When Alec had prompted her upstairs, she certainly hadn’t expected her maid to be waiting.

“The constraints of women’s clothing are bothersome, at best. Sheer torture, at the worst. May I suggest there’s no need for you to fetter yourself so when you are in your bedchamber—or mine, for that matter.” His hands were busy throughout his speech. “There, it’s done.”

Maura held a hand against her chest, though her gown was certainly in no danger of falling. “May I have some privacy?”

“Of course.” Alec disappeared.

A tumult of emotion whirled in Maura’s chest. Reaching deep into the pocket of her
gown, she pulled out her beloved velvet pouch and put it on the chair. She pulled one arm free of her striped silk gown. Alec was right, she allowed, having progressed to her petticoats. She had promised to wear whatever he purchased. She had hurtled herself into this entire predicament of their so-called marriage without any real—perhaps the better word was realistic—ideas of how to proceed beyond getting herself into the Black Scotsman’s home. She’d known at the outset that she had to tread carefully with regard to husbandly expectations. To wifely duties. Alec McBride was an intensely masculine, flesh-and-blood man.

With flesh-and-blood desires.

And she could hardly deny that she, too, harbored those very same desires.

The attraction that began the night of the masquerade still simmered beneath the surface, whenever they were together. Despite his fury at her manipulations, it was still there. Always a constant. She sensed that Alec had contained it, controlled it, fought to ignore it.

She, too, fought the very same struggle.

It was a dangerous dance of deception. A precarious line she must tread. If she pushed him away too far and too often, he would grow suspicious. To his credit, he’d been remarkably restrained,
given the explosive heat of their attraction that night at the baron’s masquerade. Granted, she had no experience to judge by, but she thought it was explosive.

For her, at least.

Maura slipped the nightgown over her head, then twitched it into place. Pulling the pins from her simple chignon, she shook her hair free, combing through it with her fingers.

There was a beveled mirror behind the screen. She slowly raised her head to look at her reflection. She was shocked at the woman who stared back at her. Her skin shone through the lace. The gown hid precious little of her body. It was so sheer, she might as well have been naked. The lamps were dim; they bathed the outline of her body in a hazy shimmer. With her hair unbound, every inch of her flesh clearly visible, she looked like a woman who had just crawled from her lover’s bed.

Or a woman about to crawl into her lover’s bed.

She couldn’t bring herself to move. Her heart stood still. She was afraid to turn around, to face Alec.

She didn’t have to.

All at once he was behind her, tall and powerful. She would have turned, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

With a single fingertip beneath the tie at her shoulder, he slid it down, baring the skin. A tug, and it separated.

Maura couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. She stared, mesmerized by his reflection, mesmerized by hers. Their eyes locked, hers wide and startled. Alec’s burned like fiery blue torches. It was as if he touched her very soul. His right arm curled around her waist, pulling her back against him. She quivered inside, aware of his latent power and strength. He swept aside the black curtain of her hair, exposing the fragile length of her neck, the delicate slope of her shoulder.

Never in her life would she forget the scorching hunger on his features. She saw it in his eyes just before he lowered his head. He kissed her nape, a blazing trail to the tender spot just below her ear. She had not dreamed that she might be so achingly sensitive there. His lips grazed the side of her neck. She tilted her head, granting even more access to the tantalizing touch of his lips.

Her body reacted instinctively. Impatiently. Her nipples thrust against the sheer cloth. They tingled, icy needles that craved…something. Something more…

She was vaguely aware of the gown pooling at
her feet, and then she knew what that something was. His palms cupped the weight of one breast in his hand. His arm slid over her right shoulder, laying claim to her left breast. His thumb brushed against the crown; she nearly cried out.

Maura couldn’t tear her gaze from the mirror. It was as if he took possession of her, an exquisite entrapment. His fingers traced circles around both her nipples. His thumb raked lightly across both peaks. Taking it between thumb and forefinger, he squeezed lightly, then palmed back and forth, back and forth, tantalizing until she moaned.

Swamped by sheer sensation, her eyes were half closed. His hands were at her breasts, lean and dark against her pale skin. A rush of sheer pleasure shot through her. It was wildly erotic as she watched him play her body…and watching him watch her was even more erotic.

Lean fingers splayed across her belly, spanning the width between her hips, dark against her pale smoothness. His caresses impelled a shockingly compelling persuasion. Maura held her breath. His fingertips painted a tantalizing path to her belly, paused for one mind-shattering moment—

Then slipped brazenly into the triangle of curls above her thighs.

Every ounce of strength seemed to drain from her limbs. His tongue traced the tendon of her neck. Her head fell back.

With a muffled exclamation, Alec turned her in his arms, flooded with arousal. His legs braced slightly apart, he caught her knee and brought it high around his hip. He held her squarely between his legs. One hand molding the curve of her buttocks, he clamped her tight against him, bringing her up and against the jutting hardness of his erection for mind-spinning moments. Maura clutched at his arms, feeling the knotted tension in his arms as he caught her up and bore her to the bed.

There, they lay together, side by side. Alec’s mouth covered hers, staking his claim. Jerking his shirt apart, he rubbed his chest against hers. Her skin was pale, almost translucent; he could see the fragile trace of veins beneath. Dark desire gripped him. He was powerless to control it. He closed his mouth around first one swollen nipple, then the other, sucking hard.

His hand strayed lower. As tall as she was, she was incredibly fine-boned and slender. His fingertips stretched wide, easily bridging the hollow of her belly. A lone finger circled the kernel of flesh hidden in her nest of curls, then stole between sleek, feminine petals. He felt the jolt that
went through her. His own need vibrated deep in his chest. Christ, she was hot. Damp with heat. Trembling with desire. And he was burning both inside and out.

Alec felt her lips part beneath his. He gritted his teeth, easing a finger inside her passage a scant inch. Even there she was small, her flesh closing tight around his finger. God, she would fit around his shaft like a second skin. He could almost swear—

Maura sucked in a breath. “Your grace—”

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Alec,” he muttered. “My God, you call me ‘your grace’ when I’ve my hand in your—”

“Alec!” she cried.

He captured her lips. His thumb circled that pinpoint of pleasure. She writhed against him, around him. “Yes, Irish, that’s the way. Soon it will be me inside you.”

Maura’s eyes snapped open. Alarm seized her. Her breath came raggedly, her thoughts in jagged bursts. If she allowed this, Alec would discover the truth of what happened—nay, what did not happen—the night of the baron’s masquerade.

The truth would out.

She could not risk it. She dare not risk it.

Because then she might never find the Circle.

And all would be lost.

“Alec,” she whispered, and then it was a cry: “Alec!”

Something in her voice penetrated through the fiery haze of pleasure surrounding him. His eyes flicked open. He stared directly into hers.

His lips grew ominously thin.

Maura’s face was scalding. Her pulse pounded wildly. Her heart in chaos, she looked at him, only to wish she had not.

“Dammit, Irish, what is it?” He was awash with sensation, dying to be inside her. Didn’t she realize how close he was to that point of no return? He was a heartbeat away from driving hard and deep, as deep as he could go.

Then he saw the tremor of her lips, and a strange expression flitted across his features. He went a little pale. “What is it? Christ, the night of the masquerade, did I—” the words were ground out. “—did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said faintly.

“What, then?”

Maura shook her head. He released her. Sitting up, she crossed her arms over her nakedness. She despised her trickery, her forbidden yearnings.

Alec got to his feet, the planes of his face rigid
and tense, his mouth a taut line. Maura glimpsed the raw hunger that still burned in his eyes. She hated herself even more.

His eyes were suddenly icy, as icy as his tone. “Have it your way for now, Duchess. The next time will be mine.”

Maura jumped when he slammed the door between their rooms. Her lips still throbbed from being oh so thoroughly kissed. She staved off tears of shame. He would hate her, she was certain, when she revealed her deceit.

The encounter left her quaking inside. Shaken to the core. Fraught with worry. Somehow she was going to have to find a way to stay out of his bed. Somehow she must find a way to placate him, to appease him. How long, she wondered desperately, could she hold him off?

And yet—God forgive her, but she longed to experience what it would be like to make love with Alec McBride. Her heart twisted, for he would never know how much she yearned for it. Once. Just once.

But making love with Alec was the one thing she must avoid at all costs. If she didn’t avoid it, all her efforts would have been in vain.

The Circle of Light was here. So very near. That strange sense of certainty had never left her. Once she found it, both she and Alec could
resume their lives as they had been before they ever met.

All she had to do was find the Circle—find it soon! Then she could go back to Ireland. Home to Castle McDonough.

And far, far away from Alec McBride.

Fast in the grip of a powerful desire, his erection heavy and thick and pounding, Alec rolled to his back and shot to his feet.

Have it your way, Duchess. The next time will be mine.

Out in the hall, he plowed his fingers through his hair and leaned against the wall. He swore, a vile and vicious curse. Christ, his mind was in a fog when she was near. A battle warred deep in his soul. He couldn’t think. Hunger still burned. Desire scalded his veins.

Go back in. Take her,
urged a voice within.
She is your wife. She is yours. Take her. Why deny yourself the spoils?

He couldn’t, he reflected grimly. He wouldn’t.
Not like this. Not until she wanted him with a passion that matched his.

Oh, he had no doubt it was there. He’d felt it in the eager parting of her lips, every tremor in her body, the desperate way she clung to him. When he kissed her, he felt so many things! It was as if she fought the same battle as he. Little wonder it rankled that his Irish rose continued to deny her longing.

Why, in the end, was she so reluctant? Why?

His steps took him downstairs to his study. He needed distance between them to cool his blood. A mere wall between them, a single room, simply wasn’t enough. The temptation of knowing she was in the next room would be too strong. In the study, he snatched the whiskey decanter and a glass and collapsed into the chair behind his desk, his emotions still raw.

A shadow slipped over him.

His lovely Maura was a beautiful woman. From the beginning, he’d wanted her. She had invited him, lured him. And he had swallowed the bait, only to become a husband and acquire a wife in a way he’d never expected. He’d been so resentful, so angry; he’d told himself he didn’t want her. But he did. God above, he did. He gave a bitter laugh of self-reproach. And since she was now his wife, it was entirely natural to take her
to bed again, yet something held him back.
She
held him back.

Things had changed since they wed.

When they left Ireland, he was determined to stay aloof. He’d been a fool there, allowing his passion to control him.

And now he found himself at war—at war within himself.

If this marriage had not been forced upon him, he wondered, would his feelings for Maura be any different? Would he desire her any less? No, came his reluctant admission.

But to all appearances, the one woman he truly desired did not desire him. And she was his wife, by God!

He was both furious and perplexed. Was it because she had what she wanted? The title of duchess and a rich husband?

If only he knew! When he kissed her, he felt so many things. How right it felt!

Yet how strong was his pride.

And how strong was hers!

She was like a burr beneath his skin, forever in his mind. It was as if she fought the same battle as he. Need. Temptation. He longed to feel her surrender, not just to him, but to her feelings.

He’d felt her passion. Her craving. As strong, as desperate, as his. He’d felt the need that vi
brated in her heart, as surely as it vibrated in his. He wasn’t wrong. Or was he? Doubt seated itself deep in his vitals.

He gave a self-mocking smile. Were his emotions so clouded by his longing that he could not trust them?

He had done this to himself, he realized. He’d told himself he could remain indifferent to her beauty. He had denied himself the spoils, because he hated that he’d been duped. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit his desire burned as strongly as ever. Here at Gleneden, those first few times he kissed her, it was to prove that despite what happened in Ireland, he wasn’t powerless. He’d wanted to assert himself. To show her that he would not be a puppet. If only his hand hadn’t been forced.

Yet what did that matter? She was his wife. He was her husband.

Neither of them could change that.

Nor did it change his desire for her.

And Maura wanted him. Her lips did not lie. Her lips had never lied.

She had trembled in his arms tonight. Trembled with pleasure, he was certain. He felt the precise moment she surrendered—the precise moment of retreat! A half-formed suspicion cut through him—that she was not as worldly as he’d thought.
Indeed, he could swear he caught a glimpse of fear—of vulnerability—and that was most frustrating of all. Had he been a brute the night they’d slept together in Ireland?

She denied it.

Truth or lie, he conceded to himself, it had inevitably led to the same conclusion.

Marriage.

Draining the glass, Alec rested his forehead against the back of the hand that held it, staring into the dark. What a fool he’d been, he told himself scathingly. He could no more stay his desire than stop breathing. He had only to look at her and fire scalded his blood.

He leaned back. His mouth twisted. It still grated that she’d married him for his wealth.
Had she?
pricked a needling little voice. Was she a fortune-hunter? She had asked for nothing. Indeed, she disdained what his money would give her!

A ruse? No, he decided. Pride? Oh, aye, indeed. Yet it pleased him—pleased him immeasurably—to see her delight over her stockings. He wondered what she would say when the rest of his purchases arrived. When they had left Madame Rousseau’s shop, no doubt Madame rubbed her hands together in glee.

But he must own up to the truth. It was he who had sought her out that night. But then, she had
participated—oh, most willingly! He gave a brittle laugh; he was certain it had nothing to do with his appearance.

And everything to do with the fact that he was the Duke of Gleneden.

But it certainly didn’t seem as if it was his person or his possessions that she coveted!

What then? He examined her motives. What was she after? What had brought her to Gleneden?

He couldn’t dispel the notion that the lovely Maura McBride—he was rather startled at how easily her new name slipped through his mind—was up to something. She wanted something. But what the devil could it be, if not his name and his fortune?

Alec smiled tightly. Maura had been shocked at his blatant caress tonight. Her flesh had clamped tight around his finger, so tight he’d had to halt his penetration. So tight that for an instant a fleeting notion ran through his mind.

But that was impossible. If he didn’t know better—if he hadn’t seen for himself the bloodstained proof upon the sheets—along with Maura, her uncle, and the baron, he could almost believe…

Suspicion gnawed at him. He groped for memory. Snatches of remembrance appeared and disappeared, just beyond his reach. He’d always
felt that something was amiss about that night. He set aside the glass and pushed both fingers into his temples. Why couldn’t he remember making love to her? Why? It was as if his mind had been wiped clean, as if there was a gaping hole. He fought to bridge the gap. He fought to recall every detail. Why the devil couldn’t he remember bedding her?

His mind worked furiously. How could the memory elude him so? Why couldn’t he remember? He’d shared a whiskey with the baron before the masquerade. In light of being found in bed with her the next morning, he had believed the only thing possible—that he must have been feeling the effects of too much liquor by the time he took Maura up to his room more than he realized. But to be so foxed that he couldn’t remember bedding the woman who was now his wife? It nagged at him.

His mind was like a cobweb. Hazy, yet impenetrable.

He tried again.

And this time…ah, this time! Sketched in his mind were hot, enflamed kisses. Maura pulling briefly away to pour wine. He’d drained his glass. So had she.

He closed his eyes. Memory sharpened.

Bottoms up, he’d said. And then—

He’d tugged Maura down onto the bed. The
taste of her mouth, the curl of his tongue around her nipples…every touch returned in vivid recall. He remembered his hand over hers, closing her fingers around his shaft, one by one, her touch almost timid. Vaguely, he remembered thinking it so at odds with her sultry invitation.

Then everything blurred. It was as if his mind had gone blank until he woke the next morning.

A fleeting sensation passed through him. The thought unveiled a vague sensation; he fought to keep hold of it. Another sensation caught hold…that of Maura tugging. At his boots. At his breeches…

All along he had sensed that something was not right. There was a reason behind it, he was certain.

And that reason had something—everything!—to do with his bride. He held his liquor well. That’s what made it so difficult to believe he’d been to bed with a virgin. And he had been fine.

Until that last glass of wine.

His body went utterly still.

Until that last glass of wine.

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

It was suddenly all so very vivid. He could see it in his mind; hear the way their glasses clinked. Bottoms up, he had declared.

He swore, a long, blistering oath.

It made sense now. Her shyness whenever he touched her. The way she responded, the way she resisted before ultimately yielding her lips to his.

And now he knew why.

She had drugged his wine, the little witch!

The following morning, Maura helped herself to a dish of Scottish oats from the sideboard. Pouring a little milk over the top, she started toward the table. It was curious; this was the first time Alec wasn’t at the table before her. Why, she almost missed his bedeviling presence!

Mrs. Yates came through the door. “Ah, I thought I heard you, your grace! How are you this fine mornin’?”

Maura glanced up at her. She had just pushed her spoon into her bowl. “Excellent, Mrs. Yates.” She gestured with her spoon to Alec’s chair. “Have you seen his grace about this morning?”

“He’s gone to Glasgow again, your grace. He asked me to tell you he’ll be back by tomorrow, so you needn’t worry.”

Maura’s heart picked up its beat. She wanted to rub her hands in glee, leap up and crow. Finally, here was the chance she’d been waiting for. The ability to search for the Circle of Light to her heart’s content, without having to glance over her shoulder every few seconds should someone
walk by. She could poke and probe as she wished, wherever she wished.

“I’m thinking of changing a few things here and there in some of the rooms,” she said lightly. “Don’t be surprised if you see me wandering about.”

The housekeeper curtsied. “Very well, your grace. Should you need any help, just ring for one of the maids,” she said cheerily.

Maura flashed a beaming smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Yates. I shall.”

By the end of the next day Maura was exhausted. She’d checked beneath every bed and chair, run her fingers into each cushion, feeling for what she knew not, peeked into each cupboard, peered behind every picture and tapestry in the house, searching for anything that might reveal a secret hiding place.

On the third floor in the original wing, there was a large room where the air was thick and damp. The light was dim, the window hangings drawn close and tight. She searched as thoroughly there as she had in every other room.

The room had clearly been in disuse for a very long time. She choked at the dust she stirred up. Lifting her head, she glanced about, aware of a curious sense of…well, she wasn’t quite sure
what it was. She wasn’t frightened, just aware that something was very different here. She wrinkled her nose at its musty smell. It was rather inhospitable. If this room were to be put to use, she decided briskly, it would need new paint and new furnishings.

She caught herself. If that were to happen, it would be Alec’s wife who would undertake the task. A pang shot through her. She made the admission almost painfully. An empty ache stole over her.

Alec’s wife, whomever she might be. She would be the true duchess. Not her. Not Maura O’Donnell. Oh, but it didn’t bear thinking about. Yet all at once it was all that filled her mind…another woman lying naked and languishing against him, his hand an idle caress upon her shoulder. Alec arousing this unknown woman with his lips, with his tongue and hands, as he had the night he’d bought her stockings.

The day he told her of the selkies, she had teasingly asked if he would be jealous if she found herself smitten with a selkie-man. There was something almost grave when he answered in the affirmative.

Without question, she was jealous when she thought about Alec with another woman. Fiercely jealous.

So much so that it was almost a physical pain, deep in the pit of her belly, a rending ache she could not bear. Slowly, she straightened, unaware that she had bent over, as if she were in pain.

And indeed, she was. Her heart squeezed. Her throat was thick with emotion. All the more reason not to fall in love with him. No, she must not let herself care for him. She could not let herself care for him.

Alec was far too dangerous to her heart.

All the more reason to find the Circle as quickly as possible and go home.

Ireland was where she belonged. Not here in Scotland. Not with Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden.

It was then…

Oh, mercy, she had forgotten…No, she had never realized until now—

She recalled how Alec spoke of his father’s lingering battle with death. And she bit back a cry of desolation as she remembered her own father’s last day, his last, straggling breath. A sick dread clutched at her.

The curse that plagued Clan McDonough also plagued the McBrides.

It was not pain she had experienced before. This was pain. The certainty of knowing that Alec
would die. Far sooner than he should have. No one would know why or when or how…

Because of the curse.

Unless she found the Circle of Light.

Only half aware of what she was doing, Maura stumbled outside. Before she knew it, she was standing at the wishing well. Like Alec’s mother, she found comfort and peace here. It didn’t matter that the surroundings weren’t particularly picturesque. She found the little well charming, and walked here every day.

She was stunned to find it half filled with water. Sunlight dappled the surface. How, she could not fathom. There had been no rain today or yesterday. Throughout the clearing, the dirt was dry as bone.