“Is it an exaggeration that you are endowed like a stallion?”
“Why do you not come here and find out?”
Lady Chivington hesitated. “Here? In the garden?”
“I can think of no more interesting way to enliven a ball, can you?”
“What if someone should find us together?”
“Danger is the greatest aphrodisiac, I’ve always thought. Come here, sweeting,” he murmured in a low, throaty command. “I will take care not to dishevel your coiffure if you will contrive to contain your moans.”
Hearing the lady’s skirts sweeping the gravel path, Sabrina felt a measure of panic. It was bad enough to eavesdrop on a gentleman whispering heated love words to his newest inamorata, but his seduction apparently intended to go much further. She took a careful step backward.
“That is far better,” he murmured in satisfaction as Sabrina retreated deeper into the shadows. “Here, allow me to assist you, pet.”
The pause that followed his offer was filled with the whisper of silk.
“How lovely your nipples are this way…hot, peaked, eager for my kisses.”
Sabrina felt a shameful tingling in her own breasts as she envisioned his gently roving hands moving languidly over her own skin.
“Oh…” the lady breathed, the word ending in a lush, purring resonance. “Niall…”
“Patience, sweet…”
Sabrina took another cautious step backward. She dared not remain any longer. Yet it would be impossible to pass the lovers without being detected. She would have to move deeper into the garden, make a wide circle—
The snap echoed like a pistol shot. Sabrina winced as the delicate ivory sticks of her fan splintered in her hand. An instant later she bit back a gasp as the menacing form of a kilted Highlander loomed before her, moonlight flashing off his drawn rapier.
His unpowdered raven hair was drawn back from a broad forehead and secured at the nape with a ribbon, emphasizing high, hard cheekbones and a lean, square jaw. Beneath slashing ebony brows his blue eyes were narrowed at her threateningly.
Alarm kept Sabrina rooted where she stood, but even had she tried to flee, Niall McLaren would have prevented her. His strong fingers clasped her wrist in a velvet manacle, thwarting her movement.
“What do you here, mistress?” he demanded sharply, his voice holding little hint of the magic that had recently held her spellbound.
In spite of her own tall stature, he towered over her. Moonlight played over his features in stark accents, making his anger all too apparent.
“Who is there?” Lady Chivington demanded shrilly as she rounded the yew hedge, still plucking at the disheveled neckline of her gown. She stopped short when she spied Sabrina. “You! How dare you intrude this way?”
“You know this lass?”
The lady’s aristocratic English nose lifted. “She is the heiress to the Cameron fortune. Can you not detect the smell of the shop about her?”
Sabrina stiffened. This was not the first time she’d been accused of being tainted by trade, since her stepfather was a wealthy merchant, yet it stung more coming from this haughty Englishwoman with her aristocratic assumptions of superiority. Class distinctions mattered far less in Scotland, Sabrina thought defiantly. And the Scots saw nothing shameful in making money.
“I would hardly term myself the intruder, my lady,” Sabrina retorted coolly. “This is my aunt’s house, after all. And my cousin’s betrothal ball.”
“You deny you were spying on me, you nosy little snoop?”
“Of course I deny it!”
“Arabella,” Niall McLaren interjected, “perhaps we misjudge the situation.”
“I pray so, or I am ruined! Her aunt is the greatest gossip alive! If this girl should tattle, I will never live down the scandal.”
“I assure you, Lady Chivington, I am not in the habit of bearing tales.”
“Hah! I doubt any relative of your aunt knows how to keep her tongue between her teeth. Indeed, I wouldn’t put it past that woman to orchestrate a deliberate attempt to discredit me.”