Chapter Thirteen #2
His expression was shielded from her. He stared so long and so hard she instinctively started to withdraw. As soon as he felt it, his fingers banded her wrists.
All at once she quivered, both inside and out.
He glanced up, his gaze snaring hers. “Why are you trembling?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Maura looked down where his fingers encircled around her wrists. His hold was strong, yet somehow gentle.
Suddenly he pulled the ring from her left hand, the plain gold band he’d slipped on her finger in Ireland. Almost before she knew it, he’d exchanged it for another.
Maura turned her hand over and stared. The ring was simple but beautiful, a large sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds that winked in the light.
Her lips parted. “Wh-What is this?”
His expression was solemn. Intent. “For over two hundred years, every Duchess of Gleneden has worn this ring.”
“But…your mother—”
“Is now the Dowager Duchess. Once my mother came out of mourning, she replaced this ring with another given to her by my father, one she treasures greatly for the sentiment it represents. But as my bride, this ring belongs on your finger.” He paused, then said softly, “It looks lovely on you, Duchess.”
Lifting her hand, he bent his head and kissed the inside of her wrist. There was a catch in her heart. Somehow it was as intimate as if he’d kissed her mouth.
Suddenly she wanted to cry. Her throat grew hot. The tenderness of his touch, the way he looked at her—it melted her insides. Was she falling in love with him? She couldn’t…shouldn’t!
The truth was like a betrayal. She despised herself. Her deceit. His ring made her mission here all the more unpalatable. She had no right to wear it. Alec would hate her when he discovered the truth—and it was killing her. She hated that she must hide her deceit.
He rose to his feet, their fingers still linked. Taking a deep breath, Maura rose, too.
A glimmer of a smile touched his lips. The serious moment was gone. “What do you say to a glass of wine in the gold parlor, Irish? Or perhaps the great hall. It’s quite cozy to sit in front of the fire with a glass of brandy.”
“That might prove difficult. Despite the rain, it was quite warm today and thus there is no need for a fire,” she found herself teasing back.
“Then perhaps you’re ready for your other present.”
Her smile wavered. “But this—”
“Is your wedding ring,” he finished, “not a gift. As Duchess of Gleneden, it is your right to wear it.”
A maelstrom of emotion churned in Maura’s chest. In her mind, a silent conflict warred.
Her deception tore at her more and more each day.
But, dammit, she had no reason to feel guilty.
The Black Scotsman had stolen from her clan.
She was here to reclaim the Circle, and she was close—so close!
When she thought of all the items of value in this house…
But a fraction of their worth would feed every family on McDonough land for many a year.
Damn the Black Scotsman. Damn, damn, damn him!
“Are you ready for your other present?”
She had no idea that Alec took note of every emotion that played across her features.
She shook her head. “Your grace, I have what I want—my silk stockings. Many pairs of silk stockings, if you recall.” She forced a laugh. “I have no need for anything else.”
“You cannot renege. A bargain is a bargain. Yes, you have your choice, but you’ve yet to see mine, which you’ll find in your room.” A rakish brow climbed high. “Aren’t you curious?”
Aye, she decided. Curious, yes. And most certainly dubious.
“Go,” he said softly.
She knew she had no choice. What had she been thinking, to make such a foolish promise? Gathering up her skirts, she gingerly climbed the stairs to her room. With every step came the urge to turn and run. But if she ran, it would be right back into his arms. And if she awaited him upstairs…
There would be no evading him.
In her room, Maura went straight to the bed.
Laid out upon the counterpane was a sheer lace nightgown.
She decided she’d never seen anything quite so lovely in her life.
She ran a hand over it almost reverently, the gossamer lace so fragile and delicate she was almost afraid to touch it for fear it would disappear.
“Do you like it?”
The door clicked shut. It was Alec, his voice low and husky. He’d come inside without her being aware of it.
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.