Shakespeare Masquerade

Shakespeare Masquerade by Michelle Chambers Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com Copyright ©20...

Author: Chambers Michelle

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Shakespeare Masquerade by Michelle Chambers

Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com

Copyright ©2011 by RP First published in July, 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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CONTENTS Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Epilogue About the Author ****

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****

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Shakespeare Masquerade By Michelle Chambers **** Resplendence Publishing, LLC www.resplendencepublishing.com

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Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Ave #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118 Shakespeare Masquerade Copyright (C) 2011, Michelle Chambers Edited by Delaney Sullivan and Caitlin Green Cover art by Les Byerley www.les3photo8.com Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-351-5 Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Electronic release: July 2011 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental. ****

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Chapter One **** Barrister-Wells Auction Rooms, Glastonbury **** The auctioneer lifted his bespectacled gaze to the back of the red velvet flocked wallpapered hall and acknowledged the latest bid with a perfunctory nod of his head. "One point two million pounds!" he said. The room sighed a collective breath. Hushed whispers and low murmurs filled the shocked silence once more as curiosity took the place of surprise. The gathered guests twisted and turned in antique gilded chairs, craning their necks for a glimpse of the man who had raised the bar by more than half a million pounds. One point two million pounds? "Ladies. Gentlemen," the auctioneer pleaded. He raised an imploring hand. "May I have your attention? One moment. Please—" The sharp crack of his gavel on the sound block rang out with firm conviction through the vaulted Elizabethan hall and garnered an immediate reaction. Voices quietened and faces froze. The auctioneer cast a steady gaze around the room and, certain he'd regained everyone's full attention, focused on the 7


young woman sitting five rows back from the front, near the aisle. He pursed his lips. "Madam, the bid stands against you at one point two million pounds. Do I hear one point three million for Cadfan Abbey?" Magdalena Perez sat with bated breath and curled her toes in her tall boots. She pinched the glossy property magazine tighter between shaking fingers and squared her shoulders against the weight of stares now singling her out. How could this have happened She had been home free. She'd easily topped the highest bid with her offer of five hundred thousand pounds. The auctioneer had accepted it as a credible bid. He'd raised his gavel to close the deal— Then came the curt, masculine voice from somewhere at the back of the hall, scuttling her chances and shattering her hopes of winning the bid for Cadfan Abbey. Unlike everyone else, she'd refused to acknowledge this man or be impressed by his smart-assed tactics. And now all eyes had turned to her. Perhaps, he was watching her, too, waiting for her to lose her nerve. She grimaced. One point two million pounds. Absurd! Every property developer worth his or her salt knew the twelfth-century abbey founded by French Savigniac monks wasn't worth even half that much. It lay practically in ruins. Although, unlike a great many of its contemporaries, it'd fared far better throughout the centuries, having survived storms, wars and even Henry the Eighth's determined efforts 8


to dissolve it. And yet, despite its ruinous structure, there was enormous potential to rebuild. She shifted uneasily in the Louis XVI giltwood chair. She crossed her legs at the knees and tried to mask the nervous tick of her booted heel against the highly polished wooden floor. Perez Developments teetered on the brink of bankruptcy— a situation that wasn't set to improve any time soon in the current economic environment—certainly not with clients readily reneging on their contracts left, right and center. But to sue for breach of contract cost time she didn't have and money she couldn't spare. She squirmed a little more in her seat. Today's auction had been about so much more than saving her mother's company, but she harshly shoved those reasons to the back of her mind. The Town Councilors had called on independent property developers to bid for the abbey on their behalf. However, there had been a proviso. The Grade II listed building would be renovated specifically as sheltered accommodation to house the increasing number of young women living on the town's streets. Its main aim would be to prepare these young outcasts for work, college and life, without thought of profit. That meant the small developers had little or no chance of ever recouping their investment on this vast and selfless project. Many had refused, but Magdalena had persuaded her mother, founder of Perez Developments, to accept the caveat. The Council didn't have the funds to buy the abbey, but the growing problem had to be addressed. So, she'd sold her 9


mother the vision of a profitable future, convincing her of the financial benefits Perez Developments would ultimately reap if their bid proved successful. None of which meant anything anymore. How could she have been so careless? The Council's not-so-secret intent to block, delay or bury beneath a pile of red tape any and all planning permission submitted by richer, private investors with shareholders to appease placed her firmly in a position to successfully bid for the abbey. She'd been so sure of herself, her ability and her success. And she'd done her homework. She'd exhaustively researched the remaining competition. None of the smaller companies had assets substantial enough to greatly exceed the abbey's asking price. And yet, the inconceivable had still happened. She'd not only lost the abbey, but she'd probably lost the Council its only chance to acquire it. The fallout from this didn't bear thinking about. She released a silent breath. What was she going to tell her mother...or their employees for that matter? She'd practically guaranteed the personnel at Perez Developments their jobs. She'd let everyone down, herself included. God, what a mess. "Madam, will you give me one point three million pounds?" She would probably have to sell the entire bulk of her own assets to pay for the abbey, not to mention the exorbitant commission on top of that! But she couldn't leave without hazarding one final bid. And maybe, just maybe it would be enough. 10


She inhaled slowly and deeply and mentally crossed her fingers. She caught the auctioneer's eye and nodded. The stout, bespectacled man exhaled with visible relief and returned the gesture. He straightened and squared his shoulders and looked sternly about the room. "Thank you, madam. One point three million pounds from the young lady seated to my right. Do I hear one point four?" Magdalena kept her gaze firmly fixed on the auctioneer's face. Let the hammer fall. Please. An unexpected hum of excited voices at the back of the hall interrupted the proceedings and drew everyone's attention. Heads turned as one. The auctioneer opened his mouth to protest the renewed disturbance but then abruptly closed it. His eyebrows shot into his hairline, prompting Magdalena to glance over her shoulder to see what or who had hijacked the room. "Miss Smythe, Lord McFarlane," the auctioneer said. "Welcome." Her fingers tightened about the brochure. She hadn't been prepared for the sharp slam of jealousy in her gut. She sucked in a shuddering breath and tensed her spine at the name exploding through her mind. Niall McFarlane? She clamped her lips together, surprised at the idiotic tears stinging the back of her eyes. Whatever Niall and she had shared had ended twelve years ago, yet the mere thought of him being in the same room was enough to send the cold shadow of their past slithering down her spine. 11


She swept her eyes closed and suppressed the onslaught of unbidden memories, of being eighteen, chaste and in love. He drew level to her seat and strode obliviously past. She must have stopped breathing, although she was unaware of it, for now she drew in a long, ragged breath. She slumped back against the chair and clutched the catalog even tighter to her chest, but couldn't bring herself to look at his face. Not yet. Niall McFarlane was a celebrity, a king in the business world. Which was rather apt considering he could reputedly trace his ancestry back to arguably the last king of Wales, Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon. And from all she'd read about McFarlane Industries and Real Estate, Niall wasn't only revered but respected by his peers. She covertly eyed the elegant beauty standing at his side. It was hardly a surprise to see Polly Smythe on his arm. Polly had been Lady McFarlane's choice of a bride for her son twelve years ago, and now it looked as if a public engagement was finally on the cards. Their on-again, offagain relationship had been the cause of much speculation in the years they'd been together, but neither party had officially confirmed nor denied the persistent rumor. For one foolish moment in time, she'd thought Niall wanted her, had loved her and hadn't cared she was the housekeeper's daughter. Or didn't come from old money, have the right clothes or moved in higher social circles. How wrong she was. Niall brought his mouth closer to Polly's ear. She ignored the unaccustomed skip of her heartbeat. He tightened his arm 12


about the redhead's slender waist. He spoke, and Polly's pinkglossed lips curved into a broad smile. Polly pressed her hand against his chest and playfully tossed her head, stirring the hair spilling down her back. She forced her gaze back to the auctioneer. "Madam," he said, "the bid is back to you. I have one point five million pounds from Lord McFarlane. Will you give me one point six?" Breathe, Magda. She could scarce feel her fingers. She couldn't have clasped the brochure any tighter if she tried. Twelve years was a long time, perhaps Niall wouldn't recognize her. She wore contacts now, instead of the thick-rimmed glasses she used to wear, and her loose curls hung past her shoulders. She reached a hand to her throat and swallowed her disappointment. Then shook her head once in defeat. "One point five million pounds, going once," the auctioneer bellowed. "One point five million pounds, going twice. Make no mistake, I'm going to sell Cadfan Abbey—" She rose calmly to her feet and coaxed her legs down the center aisle toward the back of the hall. She didn't need to stay and hear the auctioneer confirm her failure or witness Niall's pleased look and Polly's satisfied smile. Her heels tapped conspicuously against the polished floor, and she fought the urge to run. She reached the exit door, yet stilled her hand at the sharp, definitive crack of the gavel against the sound block. "Sold to Lord McFarlane for one point five million pounds!" 13


Enthusiastic applause and congratulatory noises rippled around the room, yet her name whispered above the din on a murmur only her heart could hear. She spun abruptly on her heel and instinctively met Niall's gaze across the crowded hall. Narrowed slits of green glittered from beneath straight, dark brows. Her heart did tiny somersaults against her ribs and her stomach, which had already recoiled like some small, frightened animal, retreated even farther against her spine. The handsome boy with playful, teasing eyes was long gone, and in his place stood a striking and powerful business magnate who had swooped down and crushed her noble plans. She released a tremulous breath and absorbed the familiar and unfamiliar that was him—boy and man. As a boy, he'd been lean, but the fine cut of his tailored clothes couldn't disguise the potent and athletic man he'd become. His blond hair was much shorter and darker than she remembered, still her fingers hadn't quite forgotten the feel of the silky strands, whether tangled during sex or just sliding idly through her fingertips as she cradled his head on her lap. There had been no greeting. No look of surprise, feigned or otherwise. And why should there be? To all intents and purposes, she and Niall were strangers. No longer friends or lovers. They had hurt each other too much and destroyed the love they'd once shared. Their past was gone. It meant nothing to either of them anymore. She lowered her gaze from the cold gleam in his eyes and stepped into the unseasonably chilly April night. 14


The auction-house car park had been filled to capacity. She'd had no option but to park her car on a residential street some five-minutes' walk from the town center. The streetlamps, although few and far between, burned brightly in the narrow, quiet lanes. She wasn't frightened, but she wasn't in the mood to dawdle either. She wanted to go home and take a long, hot bath and maybe drown her sorrows in a glass of Merlot before she had to face the world of men again. She snorted inelegantly and corrected herself. Niall McFarlane. The world of Niall McFarlanes. She brushed the back of her hand across her cheek and wiped away the tears. He'd never been hers, so what did it matter who shared his bed or his life? Niall and Polly were meant to be. They were whom people called the perfect couple. Polly matched him in sophistication and height and looks and wealth. She and Niall could never be and would never be. She had learned that lesson the hard way twelve years ago when Lady McFarlane had cornered her near the stables behind Cadwaladr Castle, Niall's ancestral home. Despite the cold, her cheeks burned with humiliation at the memory. "Polly is an intelligent and lovely young woman from good, aristocratic stock," Lady McFarlane had said. "You are nothing more than a summer fling, a momentary diversion for my son. He knows our families have had hopes for their union since they were children, and I will not have our plans ruined by the local tramp. One day, Polly will marry Niall, not you." 15


She mentally shook away the cobwebs of memories. The joke had been on her. She got it. Niall was a Hereditary Peer, and she'd been the housekeeper's daughter. He'd had a silver spoon shoved up every orifice since birth. She'd worked hard for every bit of luxury she possessed. Large raindrops fell onto her eyelashes and splashed onto her cheeks. She looked up at the gray, moonlit clouds and cursed softly. This night was just getting better and better. She pulled the collar of her coat up around her ears then wheeled about at the steady sound of echoing footsteps closing in behind her. A part of her told her to get to her car and drive, but somehow she couldn't tear her eyes away from the tall figure slipping in and out of the shadows and striding purposely toward her. With recognition came a plummeting feeling of shock. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach tied itself in knots. In the auction hall there had been distance and people, and a quick getaway that had buffered her from the sheer power of his aura. Now, there was no escape from a sensual familiarity that rooted her to the spot and stoked at the dormant embers of their past. He drew closer, beyond the glare of the neon streetlamps and the security of shop windows, not stopping until he'd forced her to take a step backward. The intoxicating scent of him teased at memories long locked away, and a rush of heat flashed through her lower belly to the soles of her feet. She curled her gloved fingers tighter about the red, glass dragon key fob in her hand and squeezed her eyes shut. 16


Silence hummed between them, stretching her nerves. He must have something to say to her. He must. Why didn't he ask her? Confront her about the past and get it over and done with? Why else would he have followed her? She opened her eyes and met his clear gaze, lambent in the semi-darkness. "Don't I get a "hello" for old times sake, Magdalena?" His expression was unreadable even across the part of his face illuminated by moonlight, and she hoped hers was equally so. Don't fall apart, Magda. Please. Not now. She reached a shaky hand to her hair and pulled back the long strands whipping about her face and snaking frenziedly between them. "Hello, Niall. It's been a long time." He prowled into her personal space, his broad shoulders outlined against the dark skies, and his long, black coat flapping wildly about his sturdy frame. She shivered but not from the biting cold. "Not so long that I don't remember. Do you?" She briefly closed her eyes as if that would be enough to block out the memories, the promises made, the love they had once shared. "You're getting married to Polly, so the past hardly matters anymore, does it? Your mother must be thrilled." She'd tried to keep the cold edge off her voice, but didn't succeed. It hurt knowing what he'd cost her tonight. It'd hurt seeing him with Polly Smythe. 17


His body stiffened, and he exhaled slowly. "My mother died six months ago." Shame weaved itself in the erratic beat of her heart and for a fleeting moment, she wished the insurmountable chasm wasn't between them, and that she could find the words to tell him. "I'm sorry," she said. "Are you?" Her eyes widened, and she sucked in an infuriated breath. "That's unfair. I wasn't good enough for your mother, and you never wanted me. It was always going to be Polly, or someone like her. I was nothing more than a moment of pleasure on your way to prettier and more aristocratic things. You must have been quite bored that summer to stoop so low." His voice rasped with taut control. "Don't cheapen yourself. I would have gone against my family and every principle instilled in me since birth to have you, but what we had wasn't real. You and your mother played me for a fool. That summer twelve years ago meant nothing more to you than a means to an end. Money. Start capital for your mother's business." Her heart fisted in her chest. "Wh...what are you talking about? My mother—" "Blackmailed mine. Dragging my name through the mud wasn't enough, was it?" The sky rumbled in the distance, and lightning split the shadows across his face, revealing the accusation in his hardened gaze. 18


She could hardly think straight, and her denial scratched at the back of her throat. She willed her brain to function, to give her a thought and the capability of speech. She breathed out. "You're lying." "I have no reason to lie," he bit back. "A month after you left Cadwaladr, Sofia Perez received a check for two-hundred thousand pounds from my mother to buy your silence. I have the letter signed by your mother to prove it." A month? Dear God...No This had to be some kind of mistake. She wrapped her arms about her waist. She'd been three months pregnant when she left Cadwaladr, and wholly unprepared for the reins of motherhood being thrust so firmly upon her young shoulders. She'd contemplated having an abortion, but it'd been her mother's sensible logic and show of support that had ultimately given her the strength to go through with the pregnancy. So, she'd prepared herself for the enormous responsibility of bearing and raising a child. And after a while, she'd even looked forward to welcoming her daughter into her arms, although that would never be. "Why are you telling me this now? If you have my mother's letter, why didn't you confront us sooner? Last week? Last month? Twelve years ago?" "I found the letter in a file among my mother's personal items. She never told me you had stooped to extortion." She searched the bright whites of his eyes bearing down on her with an intensity that unnerved her. Would he go to the police? She balled her fists tighter to stop her hands from shaking. 19


There was probably a statute of limitations on blackmail, but she couldn't risk the press getting hold of the story either way. Her mother may not go to prison, but she wouldn't survive the scandal. Her defiance ebbed. "I'll repay the money, every last penny," she said. "If that is what you want." "I don't want your money, Magdalena. I don't need it." She swallowed the asperity of his words and blinked away the film of tears blurring her vision. "Then what do you want, Niall?" He drew back. Her senses could finally breathe. "I already have what I want. Your mother is unable to get a loan from any of the top banks because the business is no longer seen as viable. Perez Developments will be declared officially bankrupt in the next two weeks if you can't find a way to turn the company around." She flinched. "How could you know that?" "It's what I do. I can open doors for you in the property world, and I can close them, too." Realization crept through her veins like ice crystals and penetrated the heart of her brain. Her breath rasped over the dryness at the back of her throat. "No one's doing business with us because of you, are they?" "What did you expect? That I would let you blackmail my family and continue to profit from the money?" She couldn't believe her own mother would be capable of such deception, and yet she had nothing to prove slander and no defense to refute it. This had to be some kind of mistake. 20


The hot tears that had gathered against her lower lashes now fell unhindered and mingled with the light rain running down her face. Niall had bought Cadfan Abbey and deliberately bankrupted them. A sudden gust of wind crisscrossed between them and rocked her back onto her heels. His body shielded her from the full impact of the gale, but she was too upset to care. The abbey wasn't just about saving her mother's company. It wasn't even about her. She didn't want anything for herself. The Council's initiative had struck a personal chord. Her own experience with Angharad made her wish to see these young women looked after, housed and prepared for school, work and life. "There are young women who need help, who need a safe place to call home so they can work, raise their children and study. They don't deserve your contempt, yet you callously destroyed their futures just to hurt me. Well, you didn't just hurt me." She took a step backward and turned from him. "You got your pound of flesh. I hope you choke on that goddamn abbey." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two **** The lift doors pinged open, and she stepped into the fifthfloor lobby bearing the company name, Perez Developments, in large, brushed-aluminum letters on its wall. Her journey from Glastonbury to Bristol had taken a little over an hour, yet she could hardly remember the drive down the M5. Arrogant bastard! She stalked across the foyer and pushed open the dividing glass doors onto the spacious walnut and aluminum waiting area, happy in the knowledge she would never see Niall McFarlane again. The small, blond woman behind the high reception desk lifted her head and smiled brightly. "Hi, Magda. How did the auction go?" Magdalena inhaled sharply and gathered the remnants of her composure. Her past had returned with devastating effect, that's how the auction went. "Not good, Jill. I'll explain later. Is my mother still here?" "Yes—" She ignored the worried look on Jill's face and dropped her coat and shoulder bag down on one of the brown, calf-leather chairs then continued across the hardwood floor to another set of dividing glass doors etched with her mother's name. 22


She slid the doors open and entered the expansive corner office. Sofia Perez stood on the other side of her desk looking out of the large window framing Bristol's rainy, nocturnal skyline. At fifty-seven, she was still a beautiful woman. The muted, designer dogtooth suit complimented her still youthful, olive complexion, and her bobbed sable-colored hair showed no signs of graying. Magdalena walked toward the cherry oak executive desk at the center of the beige interior, her heels barely audible on the carpeted floor. "Mum. We need to talk." The silver, Celtic jewelry at Sofia's throat and wrists chinked softly as she spun about. Her mother smiled. "Congratulations, Magda. I know it's late, but we can still go out and celebrate if you want." She shook her head. "We were outbid." Sofia crossed the space to her desk. "You lost the bid? How is that possible? We had background information on every potential bidder at the auction tonight. There was no one who could possibly bid higher." "Except Niall McFarlane, Mum." "Niall McFarlane? But he's a private investor. The Council will refuse him planning permission." "Will they? This is Niall McFarlane we're talking about. The rules don't apply." She walked the length of the desk and fisted her hands. What Lord McFarlane wants, Lord McFarlane gets. 23


"He waited until I had the winning bid and more than doubled it. The pompous ass—" "Magda!" She stopped pacing and leveled her gaze on her mother's face. "It's not just me he has hurt by doing this," she said. "Did he know he was bidding against you?" "Of course he did! He hasn't forgiven me. He hasn't forgiven us. And he wanted me to know it." Tears glistened in her mother's eyes. Magdalena hurried to her side and clasped the slightly trembling hands within her own. "I'm not worried about myself," Sofia said. "I've been poor before. It's my employees I'm worried about. This was their last chance, their last hope of keeping their jobs. I just don't know what to tell them." Magdalena exhaled softly. Neither did she. "We still have two weeks. I'll speak with the Council in the morning and persuade them to let us look for an alternative property. It's in their best interest and ours. We just have to make sure Niall doesn't find out what we're doing." Sofia's eyes widened. "He wouldn't, would he? Again? Isn't this enough?" "It'll never be enough. Not anymore. He hates us." "Is that what he told you?" "That was the general crux of our conversation." Sofia paused and stared at their joined hands. There was a hint of fear in the gold-flecked eyes that slowly returned Magdalena's gaze. "What is it, Mum?" "You talked to him?" 24


She nodded. "It was brief and unpleasant and not to be repeated any time soon." "Did he tell you anything else?" Sofia asked. She shrugged. "Like what?" Sofia struggled to draw breath. "His—" Magdalena stepped anxiously forward. "You have to sit down, Mum." She maneuvered her mother into the plush, leather office chair behind the desk. "Letters—" The word clawed past her mother's lips. "Don't speak." Magdalena knelt beside her mother and loosened the top of the pink jacket with desperate but steadfast fingers then quickly jumped to her feet. "Why aren't you wearing it? You're supposed to wear it at all times." She raced across the room to the red sofa pushed against the far wall and grabbed her mother's bag. She rummaged through the bottom and retrieved the silver pill holder dangling on its chain. Her fingers fumbled with the lid. She dashed back to her mother's side. "Mum! Can you hear me? I have your pills." "I just need my pills." "I know. Here." Sofia took the small, white pill with shaking fingers and placed it under her tongue. She relaxed into the chair and closed her eyes. Magdalena studied her mother's face, their rapid breathing perfectly in sync. 25


"I'll be fine in a minute," Sofia said at length. The calm had returned. "I shouldn't have returned his letters." "Wh-whose letters?" "I am so very sorry, " Sofia said, her eyes still closed. "I never should have interfered." Magdalena frowned, and her panic grew. She didn't want to push the issue but... Sofia opened her eyes, her gaze focused and clear. "So much had happened in that time, Magda. Niall's parents had wanted him to choose a wife from his own social circle. He wouldn't have gone against them for you." She wrapped cold fingers about Magdalena's hands. "I shouldn't have kept his letters from you, but I only wanted to protect you. You were four months pregnant and vulnerable. I couldn't let you read them. You would have gone back to him, and I wanted more for my daughter than to become some rich man's mistress." Magdalena pulled back with dawning realization and tugged her hands free of her mother's grasp. She rose to her feet, hurt and confusion roiling her stomach. "Niall wrote to me?" Sofia nodded. "Yes." "And you returned his letters?" "Yes." She wanted to be angry with Niall, not her mother. She wanted to feel nothing for the man who'd said he loved her then agreed to marry someone else. But she also wanted to jump around like a kid and scream and shout. Niall had known where to find her. He'd cared enough to write. And if 26


he'd cared enough to write then maybe he had loved her as she had him. I wanted you. I would have gone against my family and every principle instilled in me since birth to have you, but you and your mother played me for a fool. She pressed her fingers to her temple and fought back her rising headache. She stood at the maw of a huge abyss, and if she looked down now... She didn't want to believe her mother capable of blackmailing Lady McFarlane or that she'd used Angharad to do it. Yet, Niall had made that accusation. He had no reason to lie, although she still hoped he'd made some terrible mistake. "And your blackmail letter, Mum?" Sofia's eyes widened, and she gasped. "Blackmail? My blackmail—did Niall tell you that?" "Mum, please calm down. Think about your heart—" "I am calm. Do you think me capable of something so despicable?" "You kept his letters from me," she retorted. She took a few calming breaths and slowly paced the room. She stopped in front of the large Goya painting hanging on the wall above the sofa. Sofia's voice was small but controlled when she spoke again. "I did give a letter to Lady McFarlane, but not for the reason Niall thinks. I never wanted you to find out about this." She turned to face her mother. "You told Lady McFarlane I was pregnant with Niall's child?" 27


"Yes," Sofia said. "But not to blackmail her. I simply thought she would like to know about her grandchild. Lady McFarlane didn't approve of you, and I didn't want the child to ever have to pay a price for being born. But Lady McFarlane thought differently about that. She offered me money to keep quiet and made me write a letter promising never to divulge the name of the baby's father or to ever tell Niall." "So, Lady McFarlane bought your silence for two hundred thousand pounds. And you kept the money?" "I'm guilty of that, yes. It was for your future and the baby's—" "But when Angharad died, why didn't you just give the money back?" "We needed it, Magda. And after the business started to take off, well, too much time had passed by to revisit old wounds." Sofia sat up straight. "You should have told me about Niall's letters. Now I understand his contempt for us—for me. He merely returned ten-fold tonight what he perceived to have been my own." "Will you call Niall and explain?" The time they had wasted, the anger, the hate... Magdalena shook her head. "What would be the point?" she said. "What's done is done." Her head throbbed violently. She needed some air. She needed to think. "Magda..."

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She rushed toward the office door, her gut twisting at the sound of her mother's soft plea. They would eventually get past this, just not right now. "I'll ask Jill to drive you home." She opened her eyes into the blackness of early morning, aware that she'd been hovering in that place between dreaming and sleep. Her body lay drenched in sweat, and the sheet tangled about her limbs indicative of yet another sleepless night. She threw an arm across her eyes and concentrated on calming her heartbeat and ridding her mind of the dark images that had seemed so very real—her defenseless body draped in a bloodied toga, lying on the lower steps of the Roman Senate. Casca, Cinna, Brutus stabbing at her. Although it'd been her mother's cold blade in the midst that had delivered the unkindest cut of all. She shivered at the context. Et tu, Mater? She sighed loudly and, disentangling her legs from within the sheets, rose from the bed. She padded across the wooden floor to the en suite at the other side of the room and within moments, she'd stripped off her pajamas and stepped into the shower. The tepid water teased her awake, massaging her scalp and invigorating her cells. She'd hidden away for two days, but she couldn't spend another twenty-four hours cooped up in her house. She needed to clear her mind and restore her perspective before the emotional tidal wave in her heart overwhelmed her completely. 29


She turned off the jet of water and reached for the large, fluffy towel hanging above the shower door. She gently dabbed off the excess moisture from her skin and returned to the bedroom. She crossed the room to the answering machine on her desk and pressed play. And for the first time in two days, listened to her messages. Half of them were from her mother expressing her regret and sorrow. The other half were from her best friend, Xander, who demanded to know where the hell she was. She dressed and decided to avoid her mother for a little while longer, although the same couldn't be said about Niall McFarlane. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought the conflicting emotions splitting her brain—leaving him had been one of the hardest decisions of her life. It'd almost cost her, her sanity. It was always him, and it would always be him. She lifted a trembling hand to her throat and shook her head, denying the feelings he had so easily rekindled in her heart. She needed to talk to Xander. Xander's voice went up a notch on the other end of the line. "Magda, are you serious? Do you know what time it is?" "Four o'clock." "In the bloody morning! I've been calling you non-stop for two whole days, and you choose to wake me up at this godforsaken hour to train?" "Please, Xander. My head feels like it's going to explode. I need a release, otherwise I'm going to lose it." "God, if it was anyone else, I would say sod off." "I know. That's why I love you. See you in half an hour?" 30


"An hour." "I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?" "Would you care?" "At this moment, no. I need you. I really need to see you." There was a slight pause on the other end of the line then a sigh of compliance. "Half an hour. Use the back entrance." Magdalena hung up the phone and headed out the door to her car. It'd been a while since she'd visited the dojang. Xander was not only Kwan Jung Nim, but he was her closest friend. She'd literally walked in off the street and into his martial arts school five years earlier after completing a seven-year stint with her psychiatrist, Dr. Chung. She'd needed something to help sustain her mind and keep her body disciplined. Xander had made her laugh again and Tae-Kwon Do had made her stronger. She wasn't a natural talent by any stretch of the imagination. It'd taken her five years of determination and setbacks to earn the red belt cinching her waist, as well as Xander's friendship and trust. And he, hers. She put the key in the lock and entered the modest, onestory martial arts school in the center of town. Xander was already inside, wearing his dobok and warming-up. He saw her through the small window that separated the canteen from the training area and waved her through. At the doorway, she bowed respectfully toward the Korean flag hanging on the far wall then entered the main arena. She wanted to talk, but just not yet. 31


She ran laps around the room, increasing her pace and relishing the thud of her heartbeat and the furious rhythm of the dobok flapping loudly about her body. Xander soon fell in step beside her. He held his tongue but matched her speed. She pushed harder as she tried to purge all thought of the last forty-eight hours. Twenty minutes later, her body warmed and ready, she stood on the soft, black mats in the middle of the dojang and faced her mentor. "Magda, what's going on? You shut yourself away for two days—" "Fight me, Xander." "No, not until you calm down." She threw a well-aimed punch to his solar plexis and swiveled with a jump kick to the side of his head. She threw another well-aimed punch to his stomach and quickly followed that with a series of chagi to his torso, knees and groin. Xander easily parried her blows and avoided the kicks for the time it took Magdalena to rid herself of the latent anger burning a hole in her chest. Then he unceremoniously floored her. She lay on the mat, panting and scowling and trying to speak all at the same time while he sat astride her hips. "Did it work?" he asked. "What?" she snapped. "The exorcism you were trying to perform. I've never seen you this wound up before. Who is he?" Magdalena glared at him. She contracted her stomach muscles and pushed herself onto her elbows. Xander shifted his weight a little lower down her thighs, allowing her the 32


room she needed to sit upright. She snaked her arms about his neck and pressed her lips against his. "Make love to me," she whispered. He gently but firmly clasped her wrists within his hands and brought her arms down to her side. "If you were a man, you know I'd have no problem with that." Yes, she knew that, which is probably why she'd asked him in the first place. It'd been a relatively safe bet that he wouldn't take her up on her offer. "I'm sorry, Xander. I...don't know what's wrong with me. I want to cry, and I can't. I want to scream, and I can't do that, either. My life is unraveling with the speed of a freight train, and I can't seem to make it stop." He jumped to his feet then pulled Magdalena to hers. "Right! You're coming home with me, and you're going to tell me why you've been avoiding me and everyone else around you for the last two days. And I mean everything." Thirty minutes later she'd parked her car outside Xander's exclusive waterfront apartment building and followed him inside to his fourth-floor apartment. She'd taken a quick shower and slipped on his oversized bathrobe before settling in one corner of the huge couch in the spacious living room overlooking the river Avon. She tucked her feet beneath her. "I love it here," she said. "Yeah, I know. It's quiet, peaceful and safe. Your sanctuary." Xander had showered, too. He walked toward her, wearing only a pair of jogging pants and carrying a tray with two cups 33


of coffee and two plates of French toast, which he set on the low, designer table between the two sofas. She reached for the purple "Little Miss Transvestite" coffee mug. "You make it sound as if I'm hiding." "Aren't you? When is the last time you had a date, or had your heart broken or even got laid just for the hell of it?" "I'm not promiscuous, that's all." Xander took a huge bite out of his toast. "It has nothing to do with promiscuity," he said. "It's living. It's life, and you haven't got one. I should know. I've known you for five years. Look at you. That face, that body, that hair. It's wasted on you. You don't do anything with them. Get thee to a nunnery!" he thundered. The silence lasted for all of five seconds before they both burst out laughing at this terrible and probably misrepresented rendition of Hamlet. By the time the hilarity died down, she'd spilled coffee on his robe, and they were both wiping their eyes. It felt good to laugh. "Thank you," she said. "I needed that. I'm sorry about your robe. I'll buy you a new one." His grin softened to a smile, and he shrugged. "If I knew the bastard who broke your heart, I would wring his bloody neck." Her smile faded, too. He knew her too well. She stared at him. She didn't want to hide the truth any longer. "His name is Niall McFarlane, but I don't want you to kill him." Xander raised a brow, his mouth agape. "Niall McFarlane as in "CEO of McFarlane Industries and Real Estate." Lord 34


McFarlane who's engaged to rich-bitch socialite Poppy-what'sher-name." "Polly Smythe," she said. "So, what happened?" Magdalena lowered the purple coffee mug from her lips and sighed. "Niall and I were in love. I thought. Once upon a time." Xander let his toast slide onto his plate. "And now?" "He was part of a past I couldn't have. I wanted to forget him...and everything associated with him." "And you can't." "It's not that. He was at the auction, Xander. He knew why I wanted, needed Cadfan Abbey, yet he bought it anyway out of spite. To hurt me like I'd hurt him." "What could you have done to him?" Magdalena pushed herself up from the sofa and padded across the tiled floor, her coffee cup in her hand. She stood at the window framing the river below it and leaned her forehead against the cool pane. She cradled the warm coffee cup to her chest and for a moment, enjoyed the faint shards of dawn peeking through the dark mist hanging over the lamp-lit waterfront. "I misjudged him through the eyes of a child, and acted like one as well." "Now, what does that mean?" "It's complicated." Xander's footsteps neared and drew to a slow stop behind her. His hand stroked her hair. "I like complicated, Magda." 35


She shifted her gaze to his face reflected in the glass pane. His eyes glinted with concern. She inhaled softly. "My mother had worked as housekeeper for the McFarlane's before she created Perez Developments. That made me the housekeeper's daughter, and persona non grata as far as Niall's mother was concerned. With his heritage and background, he was deemed too good for me, but that didn't seem to matter to Niall. We didn't have anything in common, yet growing up we were each other's best friend. It was as simple as that and as wonderful." "Until it went wrong, I take it," Xander said. She breathed heavily and shook away the dormant images of happier times resurrecting in her mind, each vying for her complete attention. "Until it went wrong," she sighed. "The summer of my eighteenth birthday." "What happened?" She returned her gaze to the patch of dark, shimmering water below. "That summer, Niall and I took our friendship to the next level. He was my first lover, my first love. That summer, his mother announced his engagement to Polly Smythe. He hadn't chosen me." Xander slipped his arms about her waist and drew her backward against his chest. She welcomed his warmth and snuggled into his embrace. She sniffed and continued. "My mother never knew Niall and I had been sleeping together until after I had left Cadwaladr Castle and discovered I was pregnant. She immediately assumed Niall and I had 36


started our sexual relationship while I was underage because of our five-year age difference. My mother screamed statutory rape, and I did and said nothing to counter it." "That was harsh. And unfair. It sounds like you were jealous." "I know, Xander. I should've given him a chance to explain." Instead, I let my mother blackmail his family. She closed her eyes. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. "I was jealous of Polly and every other woman eligible for Niall's hand. Pathetic, right?" Xander didn't answer that. "You didn't fight for him. You chose to hurt him instead. Did Niall know about the baby?" "No. I thought my mother would tell him, but she didn't." Magdalena expelled a deep breath. "Although it didn't matter if he'd known or not. Three months later, the choice of whether to keep the baby or not was taken out of my hands. Angharad was born prematurely and lived for only two weeks." Xander's arms tightened about her. "God, Magda. Why didn't you ever tell me this?" "What's gone and what's past help, should be past grief." "That Shakespeare has to have an answer for everything." A wry laugh escaped her lips. "Do you still love Niall?" "My feelings don't matter. Not anymore. The papers say he's engaged to Polly now—" "And since when have you started believing anything written by the press?" 37


"This time, I know they're right. Besides, it's too late for us." Xander nuzzled his chin against her shoulder. "I don't think it's too late. You and Niall are adults now," he said. "You need to talk to each other, like adults, and resolve this, or you will never be able to move on." "I walked away from Niall twelve years ago." "No. You ran away, Cinderella. The ugly sister forced herself into your glass slippers because you weren't there." "Polly is anything but ugly." "Don't change the subject. The point is, you have to find closure. Call him and talk to him. Face your demons, Magda, or you will never put this behind you. You can never move on." Magdalena shut her eyes and shook her head. "I don't know if he wants to see me again, Xander. I don't know if I can." He tightened his arms about her. "Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie." Despite the Town Council's insinuations and veiled threats, he'd bought Cadfan Abbey. It's stunning location outside the town and bounteous gardens made it a developer's dream. He had no doubt he would get the planning permission he needed—that was what his legal department was for—but he hadn't been in the mood to celebrate this latest acquisition. Not this time. If Polly had been aware of his reasons, she hadn't said anything, although that night, the drive back to Cadwaladr had been a long and silent one. 38


He raised the cup of coffee to his lips and took a satisfying mouthful. It'd been two days since the auction and he still couldn't get Magdalena out of his mind. Her hair was longer now, curling past her shoulders and down her back. She no longer wore glasses, but he would've recognized her blush-tainted cheeks and large, autumn-colored eyes anywhere. Except this time, her eyes hadn't been filled with the fire he'd once known. They'd been saddened and dulled and disappointed. He looked at the matted black dossier in his hand. She was the guilty one, not him. So, why did he feel like such a prized bastard? His mother's death, six months ago, had been painful and unexpected, and yet, ironically enough, it had answered the questions that had plagued him for twelve long years. He flipped the file open with one hand and raised the coffee cup to his lips once more. Magdalena had used him. It'd always been about money, not them. Every word, every sound, every kiss. Her, made to make him fall even more in love with her than he already was, although he hadn't needed persuading. He would have given her the money if she had asked him for it. He'd been expected from birth to choose his bride from among the many eligible daughters within his father's circle of friends. It really didn't matter which one as long as she was wealthy and had social acceptance. Magdalena was the housekeeper's daughter, a nobody in his mother's eyes.

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She had neither wealth nor connection nor beauty nor presence, his mother had once said. They couldn't be friends let alone anything else. He pushed himself upright from the dark-mahogany pillar that partitioned his office and went to stand at the window overlooking the eastern landscape at Cadwaladr. The morning mist had lifted, and the garden was slowly coming alive. He had waited for her to grow up, to finally show her what was in his heart. He'd thought she felt the same way that their friendship had developed into something more meaningful, until the best night of his life—summer rain and all—had been tainted by lies and false accusation. He threw the dossier onto the conference table behind him and ploughed a hand through his hair. How the fuck had things gotten so out of hand? He stalked toward his desk at the sound of his cell vibrating loudly on the polished surface. He picked it up and held it to his ear. "Yes." His assistant was on the line. "There's a Ms. Perez to see you, Mr. McFarlane." He could barely contain his surprise. "Is she here? Now?" "Yes, sir. She says it's urgent." "Give me five minutes." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three **** The storm raging outside her office window was nothing compared to the tempest still raging in Magdalena's heart a few days later. She'd immersed herself in her work for most of that time, contacting the Town Council, overseeing project reports, reexamining schedules, planning staff meetings, anything and everything to help stave off her company's demise and to stop herself from thinking about Niall McFarlane. It hadn't worked. Her finger slowly followed a tear-shaped raindrop trickling down the windowpane. She loved the rain and hated it too for the memories it brought with it. Wet hair, wet T-shirts. Consuming mouths and exploring hands. Hot tongues and gasping breaths. And toe-curling orgasms. She closed her eyes and willfully revisited her memories for the first time in a very long time. She and Niall had practically grown up together at his ancestral home in Wales, although she never saw him quite so much after he went away to boarding school. Lady McFarlane had frowned on their blossoming friendship. The future Lord of Cadwaladr wasn't supposed to socialize with the housekeeper's daughter, which meant Niall seldom came home during the holidays. But on the rare occasion he did, they were inseparable. 41


They would read or swim, go for long walks or just sit and talk for hours beneath the weeping willow by the lake hidden on the east side of the estate. He'd taught her to ride horses, play rugby, golf and drink beer. She smiled. She'd taught him to play chess and a few paltry chords on the guitar. They'd been friends long before they'd become lovers. Her smile vanished. She missed her friend. She lowered her gaze to the red key fob in her hand. Their gifts to each other had always been childish, silly, meaningless things. That is, until her fifteenth birthday when everything had changed. For her fifteenth birthday, Niall had presented her with his family crest "Y Ddraig Goch", the red dragon. She caressed the smooth red glass in her hand and traced her finger across the name etched on the dragon's tail. It'd been especially handcrafted in the Murano Islands near Venice and still the most exquisite piece of objet d'art she'd ever seen. Six hundred years of Seguso family knowledge and tradition had gone into its making. She wiped away the tear rolling down her face. She'd been eighteen when he'd led her across the east lawns at Cadwaladr Castle down to the weeping willow to seek shelter from an abrupt summer storm. There had been no going back when he'd leaned forward and gently kissed the raindrops from her lips. It'd been a Midsummer Night's Dream worthy of the Fairy King Oberon himself—a quick, bright thing as swift as a 42


shadow, short as a dream on a midsummer night and brief as a flash of lightning that had neither been real nor imagined. "Magda?" She released a stifled breath and opened her eyes. She wiped a hand across her cheek, pretending to push back her hair when she was really checking for any telltale moisture. She turned from the window toward the door of her office. Jill leaned heavily against the doorjamb. "What is it, Jill?" The receptionist rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation. "It's that insufferable man again." Magdalena gave a slow but firm shake of her head. Why couldn't Niall take the hint and leave her alone? Jill pushed herself upright and stepped into the office. "He's been calling you for a week. You have to talk to him." She shrugged and lowered her gaze. "I've got nothing to say to him. I'm up to my eyeballs in work. I haven't got time to listen to him gloat. Perez Developments is virtually bankrupt. He'll only be satisfied when I'm living on the streets." "Perhaps, he's had a change of heart. Handsome, powerful magnates do sometimes, you know." She lifted the corner of her mouth in a half-smile and raised her eyes. "Do they? And when have you ever known one to do that and not want something in return?" "Well, you'll never know what Lord McFarlane wants if you don't speak with him." She smiled inwardly. The petite blond stood in the middle of her office with her arms folded like a schoolmarm. 43


"Have pity on my nerves," Jill said. "I'm the one who has to lie to him every single time. Besides, this time he sounds serious." Magdalena agreed. She needed to talk to Niall, if only to tell him to take a long walk off a very short plank. "Okay. Patch him through to my cell, will you?" Jill clapped her hands together and turned to leave. She paused at the door, her eyes glinting with something akin to mischief. "I'll send him right in." What? "He's here!" The door to her office closed, and Jill made good her escape before Magdalena could round her desk and dash across the room. She wasn't ready to see Niall. Not like this. Without some warning. "Jill?" She yanked open the door to her office and collided into someone very tall and very solid, encased in an expensively tailored dark suit. The infusion of faint aftershave and evocative masculine scent rolled over her senses, reeling her in. Her heart crashed into her ribs. "Niall!" She stumbled backward and lost her balance and, feeling the world tilt on its axis, closed her eyes expectantly and waited for her bum to crash embarrassingly to the floor. Strong arms broke her fall, and she fixed a startled gaze on Niall's face as he pulled her safely to him. She braced her hands on his chest and felt the strong, steady rhythm of his pulse beneath fabric and skin. This wasn't the first time he'd 44


held her against him like this, but he'd been young then. Now, he was a man, all hard muscle and firm strength. It was the same and different. A warm chill tingled down her spine and channeled its way to the tips of her breasts. Her back arched, and her legs trembled. She drew back to look at his face and was immediately struck with memories of him kissing her...caressing her...making slow, scorching love to her beneath an old willow tree by a lake in the summer rain. Her gaze drifted to the long, paled scar at the corner of his mouth, missed in the darkness of their previous run-in. The scar concertinaed with the slight tilt of his mouth, and she swept rounded eyes up to the clear, green, masculine beauty of his. He towered above her, close enough for her to see the singular McFarlane flaw in his left eye where the pupil trickled like a black dragon's tail into his iris. She licked her lips. For twelve years she'd fought to forget those extraordinary eyes. Would Angharad have had his eyes? Magdalena gave a jerky shake of her head and fought the unbidden images the memories brought with them. She dropped her hands from where they lingered on his biceps and stepped back. His gaze slid to the red dragon key fob clasped tightly between her fingers then meshed questioningly again with hers. She brushed the palm of her other hand awkwardly over her hip. She didn't owe him any explanation. "Come to gloat, Niall?" He arched a brow. "You're welcome," he stated pointedly. 45


He'd just saved her from an unsightly tumble, and she'd rewarded him by being churlish and uncharitable. And he'd called her out on it. Great. She avoided his gaze and murmured a quick "thanks" before turning on her booted heel and retreating into her office. She quickly sought the relative safety of her desk and tried to still the erratic beat of her heart. Niall crossed the blue and gray interior space toward her in fluid, sure movements. She held herself stiffly erect and controlled the urge to fidget with her hands. "What do you want, Niall? You've already gotten even for everything I've ever done to you or put you through. I haven't got anything else for you to take." "I didn't come to take anything, Magdalena. I came to give you this." She swept her gaze to the padded, manila envelope in his hand and frowned. "What is it?" He closed the remaining distance to the exclusively designed black, glass desk in the center of the room and placed the thick, unopened envelope down in front of her. "The deed to Cadfan Abbey." She cast a disparaging glance at the envelope bearing the McFarlane logo before flicking her gaze up to his. "Is this some kind of joke?" "No, it's not a joke." "Well, if it's not a joke, it's absurd. A week ago, you were set to destroy me. What has changed?" 46


The ensuing silence and the fleeting emotion in the depths of his eyes ripped through her heart. There was only one other possible reason that would bring him here like this. She stepped forward. He knew. She gripped the glass edge of her desk. "How did you find out?" "Your mother came to see me last week," he said. "She told there were some things I needed to know before passing judgment." Magdalena closed her eyes and squeezed the desk a little harder. Her heartbeat ricocheted against her ribs, and she sought to stem her tears and the guilt cascading through her. She hung her head. "Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you tell me about our daughter?" There was nothing to tell. Not anymore. Angharad had been born premature and no one could tell her why it'd happened. Her beautiful daughter had been small but perfect. The doctors couldn't determine a cause of death. It'd been one of those inexplicable things. Rare and sad, they had said. No one blamed her, but she couldn't help but blame herself. She'd spent weeks in bed, reliving her daughter's death and wondering constantly what she had done or not done to cause it. It'd been a cruel and unfair punishment for a moment of selfishness and indecision, and a painful twist of fate that had left a gaping hole in her heart. Her chest tightened about the scarred tissue. 47


For a whole year after Angharad's death, she'd kept herself together, resuming her studies, pretending to the world and even fooling her mother into believing that she was all right. Until one day the taut control, which she had so carefully erected around her emotions, snapped. It had resulted in a seven-year stint under Dr. Chung's psychological care. Her eyes fluttered open and, after what seemed like an age, her fingers relaxed. She lifted her head and steeled herself to face the man who'd been the only love of her life. "What is there to tell? My daughter died—" He pushed a hand roughly through his hair. "Our daughter—our daughter died," he clipped. "I had a right to know about her." She conceded that with a slight nod of her head. She didn't want to fight about this. "Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" She straightened and fisted her hands tightly at her side. "Would you have listened? Things had gotten out of hand between us, and when Angharad died, there was no point in both of us suffering her loss." "So, you suffered alone." She drifted from behind the desk. Perhaps if Angharad had lived, they would have had something to talk about—some kind of common ground to build on. As it was, they had nothing. Their past had died along with their daughter. "I didn't want anyone's pity then, and I don't want it now." He gave a ghost of a smile. 48


She reached a hand to the small, red locket at her throat containing a lock of her daughter's hair. Her most valuable possession. How could he expect her to take the abbey when nothing had been resolved between them? The things she'd said. The things he'd said. They had meant every hateful word. The fact that he was willing to give her property worth millions didn't change that. The fact he was only here because of Angharad didn't change that, either. "And if my mother hadn't told you about Angharad?" "Then, I wouldn't be here, but I am, and I can't conveniently forget you had my child." She stepped shakily from him, her mind desperately searching for the words to speak. Time hadn't healed the wound between them. It'd taken the knowledge of their daughter's death to stem the bleeding. That's all. She didn't need to hear him to know he'd followed her across the room to the Kandinsky hanging on the wall. His fingers curled about her wrist, turning her back to face him. "She was still my daughter, Magdalena, and I would give everything I have to have her here with us again. I know what you went through, and I wish I had been there for you, but I wasn't. Yes, I'm here partly because of Angharad, but I'm also here because things have remained unresolved between us for too long." She swallowed thickly. What happened between them could hardly matter anymore. "I know last week I was ready to take everything from you. To have my pound of flesh and walk away. I didn't want 49


to feel anything for you ever again, but then you turned and looked at me at the auction and the past came back. All of it. Memories and emotions I'd long locked away. And I knew I couldn't do it." He lifted a hand and caressed his fingers down her cheek. He brushed a thumb across her trembling bottom lip. She barely resisted the urge to take it into her mouth and suck down hard on it. Her lips parted with the thought. "What we shared hasn't faded, and I know that realization scared you because it sure in hell scared me," he said. Yes, she had been scared. She'd not expected to feel this strongly about him again, but self-preservation had taught her the importance of not entertaining false hopes or giving in to the longing and emptiness that filled her heart. She pulled back from his touch and forced herself to remember he had a fiancee. Her heart had missed him, and her body still longed for his, but he wasn't hers. She wanted to walk away with her heart in one piece, not shattered with regrets and what couldhave-beens. She expelled a tight breath and stiffened her spine. She'd had her chance with Angharad. She'd had her chance with Niall. Her fairytale ended a long time ago. Xander was right. Her happy ending meant moving on. "Our past together dictates that we can never go back to where we were, Niall. Have you forgotten how it ended between us?" He shook his head. "With a lot of bitterness and pain. No, I haven't forgotten." 50


"And knowing that, you're still prepared to give me Cadfan Abbey? Just like that." She took another cautious step backward. "I can't accept something I can never repay no matter the sentiment behind it," she said. Niall reacted to her change in mood and narrowed his gaze. "Will you allow your pride to cost your employees their jobs, or the women you want to help sheltered accommodation?" "This has nothing to do with my pride." She sidestepped him and returned to her desk. She didn't need him coming back into her life like some goddamn knight in shining armor, saving her company. But what was the alternative? She was running out of time and ideas, and he knew it. She grabbed the manila envelope lying on the desk in front of her and spun back to face him. "This must please you very much, knowing you hold all the cards." He frowned. "That's not why I'm doing this." "Then why?" she demanded. "Because of some inane sense of fatherly love for a child you never knew or held or watched die? Angharad is dead. There's nothing for you to assuage your conscience for." She thrust the envelope farther between them. "Take your deed for the abbey with you and go away and get married. And leave me alone. I don't want or need anything from you." Genuine shock registered on his face and a muscle began a slow tick in his jaw. His green eyes darkened and his gaze tangled with hers. 51


The distance stretched endlessly between them, shimmering and distorting like a desert mirage, but since he hadn't moved, and she was rooted to the spot, it was a physical impossibility. She shook away the anomaly in her head. Niall suddenly turned away from her and wrenched the door open. He paused in the doorway. "There is only one woman I ever wanted to marry," he said. "But she left me before I had the chance to ask her." The door closed with a soft click behind him, and Magdalena sank into her desk chair and buried her face in her hands. Their time had passed. It would be ridiculous to expect him to still feel the same about her. That was just the stuff of romantic dreams and fairytales. "I've done the right thing," she murmured. "I've done the right thing." She returned home and decided to go to bed early after spending the rest of the day with Xander. They'd shopped, saw a movie, drank far too much wine and detoxed in a sauna without mentioning Niall once, until the world outside broke in upon them in the form of a telephone call from an old friend, Lucas Greychurch. She tossed and turned as she tried to evade the doubts and uncertainties that wouldn't leave her heart alone. And when sleep finally took hold, she found neither respite nor solace in her dreams. The aroma of moist grass and fresh earth teased her brain, and lightening split across the collied sky and pale stars of her dream. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids refused to 52


obey her command, trapping her in the disjointed memories unfolding in her head. Niall stared into her startled eyes and shouted. "I did want you. I gave you my heart, Magdalena, and my love. I gave you the Cadwaladr Ring, remember? You sent it back. You didn't want me. This has nothing to do with Polly. Why do you think I bought the abbey in the first place?" She fought to waken, to dim the sound of Niall's voice echoing through her head and ripping through her heart. Her own voice sounded in her ears. "You wanted to hurt me, Niall, like I hurt you." His silence was brief, but telling. "I wanted you to come to me, to—" "Humiliate me for the sins of my mother. I didn't know about the blackmail. I swear." The mood suddenly changed, and she relaxed against the soft sheets. Cool raindrops soaked their clothing, plastering the fabric to their skins and matting their hair. Niall raised a gentle hand to her face, smoothing back the strands of hair sticking across it. "Your opinion of me is easily swayed, Magdalena." "I don't know you anymore, Niall. "You knew the boy. The man is not so very different. "That's just it. I thought I knew the boy, too. "And I thought I knew you. "Let's pretend I hurt you, shall we? Now you've hurt me. We're even—" 53


Thunder cracked and the rain fell harder, driving them both deeper beneath the shelter of the weeping willow and pushing her closer into his arms. His mouth lowered to kiss the raindrops from her lips... She tossed some more in her bed, trying to stop her senses from reacting to the scorching touch of his mouth on her skin, and the feel of his arms about her. She released a tremulous breath. "I'm not a fool, Niall. I know you want me." "And you want me, Magdalena, despite everything that has been said and has happened between us." "Yes, I do. "Then stop fighting me." She bolted upright, her breaths punctuating the invasive silence. She turned her head and looked at the clock on the bedside table. Eight o'clock. Somehow she'd slept. Not well, but she'd slept, nonetheless. She dragged her gaze to the fourth finger of her left hand. Even after so many long years, her finger hadn't forgotten the feel of the heavy gold band that encircled it for one brief summer. She fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. She and Niall had been in love. Once. The tender flesh between her thighs tightened with recollection of how it'd been between them under the willow tree in the summer rain. She'd never been completely drenched before while wearing clothing. The fabric of her white T-shirt had clung to her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. She'd been 54


enamored by his T-shirt, too. The way it'd sculpted against the muscled contours of his chest. She'd felt vulnerable and more naked that night than if she'd been wearing nothing. Then, she'd looked into his eyes, flashing with a strange kind of heat as they darkened with desire, and she knew she'd been ready to consummate their friendship. Their mouths and hands had devoured and explored each other, their need and urgency growing with each new touch and each new discovery. She'd threaded her fingers through his hair. He'd torn her T-shirt from her body, licking at the raindrops lingering on her breasts before following their path lower down to her stomach. With moans and groans, kisses and bites, they'd undressed each other and rolled naked on the cool, wet grass until the intensity of their passion had threatened to consume them both. His hips had cradled hers. Rain had dripped from the ends of his wet hair, joining their hair as one. The tip of his penis had nudged her open where no man had ever claimed her, stretching her chaste body about his hard length. With slow patience, he'd entered her, allowing her time to feel him and grow accustomed to his strength. She'd expelled a trembling breath, his own breathing harsh against her mouth in strong evidence of his self-control. He'd pushed deeper, whispering her name and calming her fears when his shaft brushed her hymen. She'd bit down on his shoulder. He'd kissed her neck, her throat, her collarbone, her cheeks, 55


her lips as his hips sank into her. The pain, when it had come, had been sharp and fierce but fleeting. He'd taken her slowly and gently. Their eyes had locked on each other, his weight pinning her to the ground. He'd held back, but she urged him faster. He'd satisfied the burgeoning ache inside her and gave vent to his own with deep, loving strokes. Afterward, she'd lain replete in the heat of his embrace. He'd whispered his love against her lips. She'd returned the sentiment, the rain cool against her skin. Then he'd slipped his family's seventh-century heirloom on her finger and pledged his heart with the tiniest of inscriptions: R&J: Act II, Scene II. He'd made her swear she would never, so long as she loved him, part with his ring. Magdalena slowly opened her eyes into the brightness of the early spring morning flooding her bedroom window. So much for love, so much for promises, so much for vows breathed in the first heat of passion. [Back to Table of Contents]

56


Chapter Four **** A sharp, shrill sound wormed its way through her befuddled brain. It resonated again and again, grabbing her consciousness by the scruff of the neck and shaking her awake. The doorbell? She groaned and slid lower beneath the sheet and pulled her pillow over her head. She tried to block the persistent ringing in her ears. It didn't work. "Can't a body get some sleep around here!" She muttered a few choice oaths and kicked the sheet from her body. She got up from the bed and stormed to the bedroom door, picking up an oversized cardigan on the way out. She shrugged it on and stomped down the broad, timber stairs to the encaustic, floor-tiled hallway. Whoever stood on the other side of that door was in for a piece of her mind. She yanked the colorful, leaded glass door open...then snapped her mouth shut. "Where did you run off to yesterday? I tried calling you several times." "Mum?" She stepped to one side, allowing her mother to move past her into the spacious hall. "I went to see Xander. I left a message on your cell." 57


"What's the point of you having a phone if you won't answer your calls, Magda?" her mother retorted. "What was so important that you had to see Xander and kick Niall out of your office?" Magdalena closed the front door with an exasperated breath and traipsed behind her mother toward the living room. "Niall left of his own accord. I didn't kick him out of anywhere." "What must he think?" "Mum, please calm down. Think about your heart." Sofia whipped around and removed her coat. "If you were so worried about my heart, you could have eased the stress of the last few weeks and told me we were back in business, and that I can get our builders back to work." "What are you talking about?" "Jill found the deed for Cadfan Abbey on your desk that Niall had redrawn in my name. And yes, before you say anything, I'm having our lawyers check and confirm everything anyway, just to be on the safe side. Why on earth didn't you tell me about this? Did he specify a price?" Sofia hung her coat on the coat rack. "He will probably want market price. A great deal more than we would have paid last week, and we haven't got that kind of money, but I'm sure the banks will be open to—" Magdalena pulled her cardigan tighter about her shoulders. "The abbey was a gift. I told Niall we didn't want it."

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Sofia whirled about. "You did what? Magdalena, whatever in the world is wrong with you? This is what we want, isn't it?" "But not like this. A week ago, Niall didn't give a damn about us. Our plans, the young women on the streets meant nothing to him, but he let emotion for a child he'd never known or touched or held influence his decision about the abbey. You shouldn't have told him about Angharad. You had no right to tell him about her." "I had every right—" "It was blackmail, Mum. Emotional blackmail." "You think I forced his hand?" "I don't know. Did you?" She hadn't quite forgiven her mother for returning Niall's letters, although it was unreasonable since she had no one to blame but herself for the predicament they were in. She stalked to the black and white floral sofa near the bay window and sank heavily down on it. Her mother followed her across the living room. "I told him the truth. It was his choice what he did with the information, and he chose to come after you. Besides, if I'd told you I went to see him, you would have headed for the hills." "It would have been nice to have had a little bit of warning before he arrived in my office spouting all this...stuff." Sofia sat down beside her on the sofa. "It's time for this to stop. You can't be in control all the time. Twelve years is a long time to hold a grudge, and both of you need to see sense, to realize what you've both lost—a beautiful daughter. 59


You need to understand his pain as he had to understand yours, not inflict it on each other at every given opportunity." She shrugged and avoided her mother's gaze. "If I accepted the abbey, I would feel like a hypocrite. I should be the one making amends, asking forgiveness. I was the vindictive one. I was the jealous shrew who nearly destroyed him." Sofia cupped Magdalena's face between her hands. "Why didn't you tell him that? How is Niall suppose to know what you're feeling if you run away and hide?" "I didn't run away." "No? Then what do you call this? Meet him halfway, Magda. Don't hide behind the past. You and Niall both made mistakes. Don't hide behind Angharad's death. I know it's sad and painful for you, but you have to let her go and give Niall—give yourself—a second chance to love the one man who has always had your heart." "Who says I'm still in love with him?" Sofia brushed back the errant strands from Magdalena's face. "Because the lady doth protest too much, methinks." Magdalena gave a wistful smile. "He may have my heart, Mum, but Polly has his." "Are you so sure about that?" Sofia reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out a small, red envelope. "Jill found this in the deed. I'm assuming you were supposed to find it." Magdalena bit down on her bottom lip and stared at the blood-red envelope held between her mother's manicured fingers. 60


"What is it?" "I don't think it's a death threat. Unless it's from Polly," her mother quipped. "Open it." Magdalena glared at her mother. She took the envelope and pulled out a dark-red, embossed invitation. She traced her thumb lightly across the slightly raised lettering—The Merchant of Venice. Her favorite Shakespearean play. She raised widened eyes to her mother. "It's an invitation to The McFarlane Annual Shakespeare Ball. Tonight." "Do you have any idea how exclusive this Ball is?" Yes, she knew. It was Old Money exclusive. She expelled a slow breath. "We've cleaned up after a good many of those exclusive parties, remember, Mum?" "Yes, I remember, Magda. It didn't matter to you how late it was, you always wanted to help me tidy up, but I knew you only helped because it was a chance for you to spend time in the ballroom. You loved it there. You used to float about that room as if you were dancing in the arms of your prince charming." "Did I? It's lucky for me that little girl grew up, then." "Too quickly," her mother added. Sofia brushed a hand across Magdalena's brow and creased her own. "I should've given you and Niall a chance. Perhaps if I'd allowed things to run their course—not interfered—"

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"You only interfered because I led you to believe the wrong things about Niall. He never touched me like that before my eighteenth birthday." "Don't you think I know that now? You've punished yourself for that mistake for long enough. Niall has forgiven you. It's time you forgave yourself." "How do you know he has forgiven me?" "Trust me. No man gives a woman property worth millions under whatever circumstances unless he's certifiable or already in love with her. And Niall isn't certifiable." Magdalena voiced her doubt. "After everything that has happened between us? After all this time?" "Why is that so hard to believe?" "Because I behaved like a total, immature bitch." "Then go to the Ball and show him the woman you've become. You won't be happy until the past is resolved between you and Niall, either way. Make it right between you both or find a way to let each other go." Magdalena rose to her feet. She sighed. "Have you been speaking with Xander?" she mused. "No, but speaking of which, I suggest you call him. I have to get back to the office and start turning our business around." "I can help—" "No," her mother dictated. "You have a Ball to get ready for." Magdalena moved away and fingered the card in her hands. The Merchant of Venice. Which character was she 62


meant to be? Jessica, Shylock's daughter? Maybe not. Jessica had dressed as a boy and eloped with her lover, Lorenzo. She could go as Portia who was bound by the lottery set forth in her father's will and whose suitors had to choose wisely from one of three caskets—lead, silver or gold—in order to win her hand. Or would she disguise herself as Nerissa, Portia's maidservant? "You're going to need a dress and shoes. Perhaps Xander can help you with that, as well. You've got the entire day to..." She half-listened to her mother's chatter. She flipped the card over and read the handwritten text there. Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves— Arrago In The Merchant of Venice, the arrogant Prince of Arragon had been one of Portia's suitors who had chosen the silver casket and found the picture of an idiot instead of Portia's portrait. He'd chosen unwisely and ultimately gotten what he'd deserved. Nothing. He'd forfeited Portia's hand in marriage and the right to marry any other he desired. She grimaced. Would she get what she deserved? The doorbell rang for the second time that morning. "What now?" Her mother rose from the settee. "I'll go." Magdalena listened attentively to the exchange between her mother's dulcet tones and a man's deep baritone filtering through the living room door, although she could barely distinguish what was being said. 63


The door pushed open, and she scrambled backward. He mother entered the room closely followed by a well-dressed man wearing a dark-gray suit and matching chauffeur's cap. He removed his cap and addressed her. "Good morning, madam. Lord McFarlane has instructed me to deliver your gown." She frowned and glanced at her mother who stood with a small, smug smile on her face. She eyed the man again. "My gown?" "Yes, madam. For this evening." She looked at the large, black garment bag draped across the man's left arm then back at the seasoned face. "Are you sure it's me you want?" "Oh, yes, quite sure. Lord McFarlane was quite specific about this address. The gown was to be delivered to you and no one else." She double-checked. "My name is Magdalena Perez." "I certainly do hope so, madam. My job depends on me getting this right." Magdalena folded her arms across her waist and shot her mother another bemused look. Sofia indicated the dining room table. "Put the dress down over there, will you?" she directed. The chauffeur complied. "Lord McFarlane asked me to wait for your answer, madam." She stared at the man's seasoned face then remembered to speak. "Tell Lord McFarlane...tell him I'm...um..." "Perhaps you should look at the gown first, Magda, before you give Niall your answer," her mother said. 64


She stared at the clothing bag laid neatly across her dining table. "Yes, maybe I should." "I'll wait by the car then, madam." The chauffeur left the room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. A moment later, the front door closed with a firmer sound. "Well?" her mother prompted. Magdalena took small, hesitant steps across the living room. She slowly reached a hand to the zipper glinting in the morning sunlight and tentatively pulled it lower. A rich sliver of red brocade peeked from behind the black covering, trapping her gaze. She hadn't realized she stood practically frozen, until her mother took the zipper between her fingers and completed the task. Sofia lifted the renaissance dress free of the garment bag and Magdalena's gaze bounced from the invitation in her hand back to the gown's richly embroidered bodice. She could barely control the whoosh of air escaping her lungs. "Oh my God, Magda! It's beautiful, absolutely stunning. You can't say no. You simply can't not go tonight." She had returned to bed and awoke in another panic because she'd overslept. It was four o'clock. Niall's driver would be picking her up at six. She looked out the bay window where she'd been waiting for the last forty minutes. Xander's silver coupe pulled into her driveway. She breathed out. Finally. 65


She didn't even wait for the doorbell to ring. She sprinted to the front door, threw it open and hauled Xander into the tiled hallway by his T-shirt. "Okay. Okay," he said. "What's the emergency? I'm sure I broke several traffic laws on the way here." "I'm going to a Masquerade Ball tonight and I...I don't know what to do." She ran her fingers through the dark strands of her messy hair. "My hair," she bemoaned. "And my make-up. I don't have a clue. I don't even know if I want to go. I wanted to end this, whatever this is. And he sends me a dress! I don't even know how it got to be so complicated—" Xander caught her shoulders between his large hands and squeezed gently. "Magda! Stop! Breathe." She inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I'm a mess," she said. Xander laughed. "I gathered that much." He took her hand in his and pulled her behind him into the living room. He pushed her gently but firmly onto the pretty black and white flower-patterned sofa. "Don't move," he directed. "I'll be right back." He left the room only to return moments later with two wine flutes and an uncorked bottle of Riesling, which he placed on the low, dark walnut table. He sat down beside her and poured the sparkling white wine into the tall glasses. "You're going to a Masquerade Ball. I got that part," he said. "Now, tell me who sent you a dress and who we're talking about."

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She accepted the long-stemmed glass and took a grateful sip of the cool wine. She pointed to the blood-red invitation lying on the coffee table. Xander picked it up and read it. He sipped casually from his glass and cocked an eyebrow at her. "And you're freaking out because...Prince Charming sent you a personal invitation to the Ball?" "I'm not freaking out. I just don't want to go." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Then don't," he answered dryly. "Niall signed the abbey over to my mother. How can I not go? If only to say thank you." "Just like that?" "My mother told him about Angharad." "Ah, I see. And now he has the gall to invite you to the most exclusive party of the year. The bastard." She shifted uneasily. "I guess if you put it like that..." "What's really bothering you, Magda?" She tilted her head back and enjoyed the calming sensation of the alcohol filtering into her blood. There is only one woman I wanted to marry. But she left me before I had the chance to ask her." "Me," she finally said. "There are a thousand and one reasons why I should go tonight, and they're all to do with my mum, the abbey and being grateful. And there's one reason why I really shouldn't go." "You're scared." She nodded. "Of your feelings or his?" 67


"Mine." Xander gave a wistful smile. "What Niall and I shared hasn't faded. It's still there as vital and strong and tempting as ever." "Do you want him?" She took a large gulp of wine and shook her head. "I shouldn't even be thinking like this. He's engaged to Polly." "That hasn't been officially confirmed. Do you want him?" She cradled her glass to her chest. "I don't want to come between them." "Do. You. Want. Him?" She groaned and closed her eyes. "Yes, but—" "But nothing. Why hasn't Niall married Polly in all this time?" She opened her eyes and studied her friend's face. "What do you mean?" "I mean, Niall and Polly have been engaged for a number of years, right? Why haven't they tied the knot in the last twelve years, if it was what their parents wanted?" "I—I don't know." "Well, it's about time you found out, don't you think?" Xander fished his cell from the back pocket of his jeans. "Come on. Let's get you ready. I take it you haven't got shoes or accessories." She shook her head. "And we'll definitely need Dorian to do your hair." He hit a few buttons with his thumb then raised the phone to his ear. "Just leave everything to your good old fairy godmother." 68


At five minutes to six, she stood in front of the tall, cheval mirror in the corner of her bedroom and stared at her reflection. She brushed a hand over the stiff embroidered stomacher and tried to breathe. The rigid, ornamental garment reached below the waist and worked against the natural body lines. It was highly uncomfortable. She brushed her hand lower over the sumptuous material of her gown and couldn't contain her smile. Niall was a connoisseur. The seventeenth-century French gown fit her like a glove. She touched a hand to the soft length of her flowing curls and pressed the other against her low, square-cut bodice. Dorian had done an amazing job with her hair, although she didn't dare give in to the excitement coursing through her legs and popping in her chest. She'd been laced up so tightly, she could scarcely breathe. "Isn't it too much, Xander? Nerissa is a mere servant in the play. I look—" "Like you could've stepped from the canvas of a Titian painting," Xander said, coming to stand behind her. She released a slow breath and shifted her gaze to his reflected in the mirror. "Titian had a preference for painting women with red hair," she corrected. "I'm—" "Beautiful," Xander interjected. She smiled and released another careful breath. "Couldn't you loosen the bodice, just a wee bit? I feel like a trussed up turkey." "No. And stop fidgeting with your hair." 69


He walked over to the bed and grabbed the drawstring velvet pouch lying there. He'd been gone an hour after speaking on the phone, giving her the opportunity to bathe and pamper her skin. He'd returned with shoes and the reticule, which he'd categorically refused to open or allow her to satisfy her curiosity and look inside it. He reached a hand into the dark-green bag. "La piece de resistance," he said. She gasped at the rich carcanet of garnets and pearls that emerged between his fingers. "It's exquisite." "I know, and Wesley will kill me if you lose it, Magda. So, here's the thing—don't. It belongs to some patroness-of-thearts or other, who donates clothes and jewelry to the theatre from time to time. The carcanet is one of their prize possessions." He fastened the elegant jeweled choker about her neck and reached into the bag a second time. This time, he pulled out a dragon pendant decorated with rubies, hanging on a very long, heavy gold chain. "Y Draig Goch," he said. "An omen. I couldn't resist." He slipped the chain over her head, feeding her hair free of it until the metal touched the skin of her neck. The dragon dangled at her drawn-in waist. She caught it in one hand and glanced at her reflection once more. She lifted the hem of her dress with her free hand and looked down at the authentic leather, square-nosed latchet shoes gracing her feet, courtesy, of course, of the incomparable Wesley, then lifted her gaze to Xander. 70


He smiled at her suggestively. "Journeys end in lovers meeting, I hope." She turned and cupped his face. "Feste the fool, and yet the wisest character in Twelfth Night. Thank you for this. Thank you for everything." "You're welcome, Magda." Xander looked at his watch. He picked up the deep-red satin masquerade mask lying on the bed and draped a matching cape about her shoulders that covered her bodice and sleeves. The doorbell rang. "Your carriage, my lady." He took her gloved hand in his and led her down the wide, timber stairs. He opened the door onto the suitably warm night and prized his fingers from her bone-crushing grasp. "I wish you were coming with me." "Relax. You'll be fine. Just remember: What's past is prologue." He clasped her trembling fingers lightly in his own. "What has already happened merely sets the scene for the really important stuff," he explained. "Mistakes have been made on both sides, but tonight isn't about mistakes or Cadfan Abbey. It's about following your heart. It's about you and Niall. I've done my part. The rest is up to you. Now go have wild, passionate sex with the man of your dreams." She laughed and shook her head. "You're incorrigible." "I know. And don't you dare come home at midnight." She gave Xander a quick, final hug and hurried toward the waiting Bentley. The chauffeur opened the back, passenger 71


door, and she climbed in with an appreciative nod. She drew in a deep steadying breath. "I can do this," she said. "Excuse me, madam?" the chauffeur inquired as he slipped behind the wheel. She lifted her gaze to the rear-view mirror and met the man's querying eyes. "I was just wondering if you could you play some music, please?" she said. "Something operatic." "Very good, Madam." The glass partition closed silently between them and she leaned her head back against the plush leather upholstery. She clasped her fingers about the jeweled dragon dangling at her waist and hoped it proved to be a good omen. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five **** The lighter tones of Salieri's Falstaff had replaced the dramatic strains of Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet by the time the Bentley rolled onto the Cadwaladr estate three hours later. She stared out the car's tinted window into the encroaching night. Smooth tarmac and urban development had been swapped for graveled private roads, wide pastures and a dark, forested landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see. Here was where she'd spent long summer days reading or idling her time away while waiting for her mother to complete the extensive castle chores. She released a longing sigh. How she'd missed this playground of her youth. How she'd missed Cadwaladr. The Bentley crossed the old stone bridge on the outskirts of the estate and meandered the long, tree-lined avenue where ancient turrets, black against the mauve sky, rose through the treetops. The trees and forest soon fell away to reveal manicured lawns and cascading fountains. Her heart skipped a tiny beat. Nothing had changed. She waited with bated breath for the car to round the final bend then exhaled again in silent wonder. Cadwaladr Castle loomed into view, rising from the ground in stately grandeur and glittering under the soft glow of golden lights. 73


The car came to a standstill at the castle's north entrance. The chauffeur got out and walked around to the passenger door. He opened it, and she climbed out, bestowing him with an appreciative smile. Then apprehension lurched in her throat, and she breathed deeply in, stemming the tide of her rising panic and filling her nostrils with the delicate scent of daffodils and lily of the valley hanging in the air. She swept her gaze upward above the stone steps to the towering wooden doors guarded by sixteenth-century pike men. She took the first step then faltered as the carved, wooden doors opened, releasing a stream of dazzling light into the dusky night. After a moment, the doors closed again and three, shadowed figures stood on the top step gazing down at her. The distinct smell of alcohol wafted down in her direction. They started down the steps, and she moved to one side. The two men and one woman could barely stand let alone manage the co-ordination needed to descend a broad flight of steps. But they attempted the challenge with as much poise as they could muster amid their stumbling bouts of giggles and fits of laughter. The woman wore a gown similar to Magdalena, although with a less revealing decollete. A white chemise gathered high at the neck filled in her low neckline. And whilst her hair flowed past her shoulders, the woman's hair had been carefully pinned and covered with a small beret-type cap. Both men wore colorful, sleeved doublets, panned slops with codpiece and matching sword cloaks. They passed her, 74


and one of the men smiled. He bowed gallantly, although she half expected him to fall flat on his face. "Care to join us, fair lady?" he said. He had let go of his companion's arm and allowed his friends to continue on their merry way. Magdalena shook her head and made to take a step forward. The drunken man blocked her path. "I don't remember seeing you here before," he slurred. His dark eyes sobered behind his mask as they examined her face. She touched her fingers to her mask and assured herself it was still securely in place. "I've the strangest feeling we've met before," he said, doing his best to sound coherent. She shifted slightly. Oliver Jameson. Yes, they had met, and he'd despised her on sight. As had all of Niall's friends. They had been out of her league back then, and she'd been out of her depth. "No, we've never met," she lied. The whites of his eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before." He reeled on his heels then steadied himself. "Just give me a moment. It will come to me. I never forget a face." "I don't move in your social circle, so I really doubt it." His eyebrows shot up. "My social circle?" Even in his inebriated state, he sounded genuinely amused. "You must be one of Katie's friends. She always had a tendency to socialize outside her station." 75


His lips curled into a smirk. "Down market, if you know what I mean." He touched a hand to her hair. "No offence." She didn't know who Katie was, but she liked her already. She tossed her head, shaking her hair free of his fingers. "None taken." "What's your name?" She brushed off Oliver's clumsy attempt to embrace her and quickly moved past him, keeping three of the steps between them. He staggered forward. "Since this is a masked ball, I suspect the purpose is to maintain some level of anonymity." Oliver slurred. "You're quite right, although I meant, of course, your character." He held himself unsteadily and puffed his chest. "I'm Bassanio, Portia's lover. And you are Portia?" "Nerissa." Oliver inclined his head slightly. "Pity." But he tested the name on his tongue. "Nerissa. No, that wasn't it," he determined. He wagged a finger in front of her face. "That's not it, but I'll remember. I never forget eyes, and certainly none as beautiful as yours." She gave an impatient sigh. "Nerissa is my character." "Of course." He lowered his voice conspiratorially and put a finger to his lips. "I've had a bit to drink. Sorry. But I still think we've met before. Allow me to escort you inside." "That won't be necessary." 76


"I do know the owner of this castle. Lord McFarlane. I love him like a brother. Best of friends." "How lucky for you. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm expected." He stumbled backward and graced her with a covetous sweep of his gaze. "In that case, I wish you and your lover a most pleasant evening. Lucky man, whoever he is." He turned with an unsteady gait and descended the final steps. She pressed a hand to her heart. Great. Now she had to avoid Oliver Jameson this evening as well. She climbed the remaining stone steps. The doorman, holding a long pike and wearing blue and yellow striped breeches, doublet and matching boot covers, pushed open the heavy doors and bade her welcome. A tall man clad in a long, black-brocaded robe, wearing a red hat and circular red badge on his tunic, greeted her on the other side of the double doors. She knew enough about sixteenth-century Venice to realize his was the acceptable dress code for the Jewish men of that period, although the mask with caricatured false nose helped enhance a less-than-flattering stereotypical image of Shylock. She smoothed a hand down her full skirt and stepped farther into the brightly lit hall. Enormous canvases portraying vivid hunting scenes and equestrian themes hung prominently on the thick, old walls. Everything was how she'd remembered it. As a child, she'd been forbidden to walk these ancient halls. But once in a while when Lady McFarlane was away in 77


London and the old lord had locked himself in his office for the remainder of the day, she would put pay to her curiosity and amble the long corridors and vast halls. Sometimes, she would be content to sit in a window place and gaze through the tall windows lining them. At other times, she would study the portraits of Niall's ancestors and foolishly imagine being mistress of all she surveyed. She loosened her red cape, which was immediately removed from her shoulders and spirited away by a pair of unobtrusive hands. She held her arms straight at her side, although she wanted to cross them over her breasts. Xander had strapped her much too tightly. She felt naked, even with so much heavy material flouncing about her body. She followed Shylock across the eight-hundred-year-old Great Hall and swept behind him up the richly carved, darkoak staircase. She walked past the marble busts and French tapestries her mother had so often cleaned and sped down lengthy corridors and through high-ceilinged connecting rooms where dour-faced portraits hung on gilded walls. Then, she was on the outside looking in on the immense Grand Ballroom that, for one festive night, had been magnificently decorated to resemble the stone facades of Venetian palazzos. She edged closer to the towering doorway. Flutes and songs and drums enriched the warm air. And a sea of varnished faces, colorful doublets, velvet caps and silk gowns danced and capered about the room. She stared in awe at the wooden replica of the famous Rialto Bridge that spanned the center of the massive room 78


and connected one side with the other. If she closed her eyes, she was there, in the watery city of medieval Venice where high-necked boats, looped and necklaced with little lights, nodded along the flowing streets. The detail was extraordinary. It was perfect. She was truly amazed. She turned, smiling her thanks to Shylock, but the tall, black-clad man was gone. She took a calming breath and ventured farther into the crowded room to the busy Rialto where long ago it had been the custom for rich men to gather, lend money and talk affairs. And who knew, the masqueraded men engaged in animated conversation were probably doing the same. She kept her head up and made eye contact, all the while praying no one would waylay her and engage her in conversation, although the chance of that happening didn't seem at all likely. There wasn't a single guest without a partner or devoid of conversation, so she contented herself to cross the vaulted room and study the expensive decors, taking the glass of wine offered by a passing waiter, styled in sixteenth-century servants' garb. She found a quiet spot on the Rialto Bridge and gazed down onto the giddy throng. "Niall won't be able to keep his hands off you tonight." She spun abruptly and stared at the woman who had spoken. Titian was the first word that sprung to mind. And although the face was masked, Polly was the second. Polly looked stunning in a velvet, teal gown with low bodice and over-sized slash sleeves. Her red hair spilled 79


loosely from beneath a matching turban-style headdress bound with ribbons and adorned with pearls. Darkened, blue eyes studied her from behind a silver mask, and red lips thinned and tightened. "We need to talk," Polly said. The redheaded woman didn't wait for her to agree or not but turned elegantly on her heel and flounced away across the bridge. Polly weaved skillfully through the milling crowd toward a dark-wood door and pushed it open. Magdalena entered the long, high-ceilinged room behind Polly, where long banquet tables draped with a crisp, white tablecloth and set with hand-painted eighteenth-century Sevres porcelain dinnerware took center stage. Iridescent flames from candles perched in gilded wall sconces and brass candelabras bathed the richly wallpapered walls in shimmering light, and lavish, brocaded silk hung the length of the casement windows. High above, dropping from the center of the Rococo-style ceiling like an enormous spider web, was a huge, crystal chandelier. The door closed and the noise of the party muffled at once. Polly slowly circled her, her footsteps soundless on the rich, embroidered carpet, then she drifted toward the Carrara marble fireplace at the far end of the room where she admired her reflection in the ornamental mirror hanging on the wall above it. "If Niall asked you to marry him, would you accept?" Magdalena's jaw dropped inelegantly. She lifted her eyes and caught Polly's startlingly blue gaze in the mirror. Magda searched her mind for a diplomatic answer. 80


"Since he's engaged to you that question is rather redundant." Polly squared her shoulders then turned about. Magdalena took a step backward. She really hadn't come to rekindle foolish, childish passions or dredge up old quarrels, although she forced herself to hold Polly's icy stare. "I've moved on, Polly. And so has Niall, with you. I'm not here to come between you." "You've always been between us, Magdalena." Magdalena sighed. "He's marrying you. Not me." Polly released a tight breath and took slow, measured steps toward her. "Niall has called off our arrangement. That should please you." She frowned at Polly's strange choice of word. "What arrangement—?" Her query was met with an impatient flick of Polly's hand. "Love was never important to either one of us until Niall saw you at that blasted auction last week. You changed the whole dynamic. I knew it before he did. And deny it as much as you want, but deep-down you know it, too." "I was at the auction trying to save my company. I never thought I would see Niall again or..." Polly arched an eyebrow. "Want him?" She looked at her hands clasped against her stomach. Then lifted her head at the harsh sound of Polly's bitter laugh. "You don't need to say a word. Your silence says it all," Polly said. Silent tears slid silently down Polly's cheeks from behind her mask. Magdalena stepped forward, her eyes widening 81


with guilt and regret. Where once she would've welcomed the chance to see Polly's suffering, it gave her little satisfaction now. "I'm sorr—" "Don't," Polly said. "Don't pretend you're sorry when in your heart you're rejoicing! You've won! You got him back." "You can't think I wanted this? Or expected it." "Oh, give me a break! We both know Niall has never stopped loving you. Even after you hurt him. Even after he turned to me." She wiped away her own tears. "I never encouraged this. I never encouraged him. I swear." "It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do. You and Niall were lovers long before he ever touched you. I can't compete with that kind of love. No one can. I was a fool to even try, and you're a fool for trying to deny it." Heat singed Magdalena's cheeks, but her breath hitched at the determined look on Polly's face. "My father invested a great deal of money into Niall's businesses after old Lord McFarlane lost most of the McFarlane fortune. Niall was virtually bankrupt when he took over his father's holdings." Polly arched her brow. "My father trusts my judgment. I could undo all of Niall's investments with a single word." "Why are you telling me this?" "Because if you want me to bow gracefully out of the picture. If you want to marry Niall and have his finances intact, you have to do something for me." 82


She angled her head slightly and narrowed her gaze. "What do you want?" Polly sauntered closer. "I'm thirty-five years old, Magda. I may not have technically loved Niall, but marrying him was still a better choice than spending the rest of my life alone." "You will find someone else—" "Who will love me for my money? Or for what I can do for them? At least with Niall, I knew it was neither of those things." Magdalena gasped. "What can I do?" "You've taken Niall from me. It's only fair you should find me someone suitable to replace him." "You want me to find you a husband? That's insane. We're not exchanging handbags." Polly smirked. "My fate is yours. If I'm destined to be alone, then so are you. If I don't marry, then neither will you. But, if you're so sure Niall won't propose, then there's no need to do anything, is there?" Polly marched toward the door. "How can you be so sure he will? Propose, I mean," Magdalena countered. "I have no other but a woman's reason." "So, that's the bottom line, is it? If you can't have him, then neither can I. Is that it, Polly? It's ridiculous and petty." "In my world, wealth marries wealth. You know that. You lived it even if you weren't a part of it. Niall should be mine by reason of that alone." "And what about love? I'm not a matchmaker." 83


"What about it?" Polly snapped. "Not everyone is meant to have a fairytale ending." Polly shrugged. "I'm giving you thirteen chances. One chance for each year you were gone and one to prove I'm not the complete bitch you think I am. That seems fair, doesn't it?" "Thirteen chances for what?" "To find me a date for October's Charity Fundraiser." "That's only six months." "That may be, but it's the only way I'll give Niall up quietly. I'll agree to one date with each man of your choosing. On the basis of what I like or don't like, I'll decide if there will be a second date. Agreed?" "And if you choose none?" "Then prepare yourself for a life of spinsterhood." "I could tell Niall." "And see him destitute? I don't think so, Magdalena. You love him too much, and that is your weakness." Polly opened the door and, pasting a smile on her face, rejoined the noise and revelry. Magdalena had little stomach to party and escaped through a hidden door at the far corner of the Long Dining Room. She slipped through quiet, concealed corridors and emerged in the east gardens. There was a slight drizzle, but she didn't mind the rain. It was insane. Polly was insane. Marriage? To Niall? The idea alone was preposterous, ridiculous and absurd. She and Niall had spoken twice since the night of the auction and even then, they had only shouted at and accused each other. It had taken her mother's intervention to soften his stance against her. And her mother had used Angharad as a 84


bargaining tool to achieve it. Perhaps not intentionally, but her daughter had turned out to be the key to her father's heart. That was it. The extent of their contact. Hardly the basis for Polly's "I have no other but a woman's reason." And yet, he'd broken off his arrangement with Polly for her. She frowned and continued across the lower courtyard. She took the elegant, stone steps leading down to the tearshaped pond rumored to have been commissioned in the nineteenth century by one of Niall's ancestors after he'd suffered a broken heart. And each subsequent step took her deeper into the wood and farther away from the shouts and carousing, the glittering lights and the odd costumed partygoer ambling about the grounds. She stopped halfway across the ancient, wooden bridge leading down to the hidden lake and gazed at the old willow tree whose shimmering leaves reflected on the dark, moonlit water. It looked smaller than she'd remembered, but the memories were no less vivid. Thunder cracked and the rain fell harder. Her gown hung heavy at her waist, and she could hardly breathe through the constriction of her corset, but she raced down to the water's edge and the willow's scanty shelter. She leaned against the bark and closed her eyes. She frowned again. What arrangement? A twig snapped somewhere in front of her. Her heart leapt to her throat, and her eyes startled open. She blinked away the rain blurring her vision and tried to make out the shadows stirring in weird and wonderful shapes before her. A tall, 85


familiar figure stepped forward from among the hanging leaves and into the opening. She dug her fingers into the bark. "Niall?" Relief surged through her. "What are you doing here?" "I saw you and Polly enter the Long Dining Room. When you didn't return to the Ball, I knew I would find you here. This was always your favorite spot at Cadwaladr." His eyes blazed bright in the dappled moonlight filtering through the green canopy overhead. Thoughts of betrayal, hurt and anger combusted in the heat of his gaze. "I didn't think you'd come," he said. She needed to face him to move on, yet she suddenly wished she could delay it for another year then another one. "You knew I would," she countered softly. He moved slowly forward, every tall, powerful inch of him dressed in black-leather breeches and velvet doublet. She tried to still the chills of excitement whispering down her spine and inflaming her skin. "No," he said. "I could merely hope." His eyes glinted from behind his black mask and flicked over her decollete, deliberately stoking the fire that she'd spent twelve long years trying to put out. She shivered, although no longer from the drops of rain that trickled over her shoulders and seeped down into the bodice of her gown. "You make a beautiful Portia," he said. "I was trying for Nerissa," she said. "Equally beautiful." 86


The sensual smile retreated and the mood sobered. His eyes captured hers again before she could look away. "Thank you," she said. "For the abbey. It means a great deal to my mother—" He stepped closer. "And you?" She glanced away from the intensity in his eyes. "When Perez Developments starts to make a profit again, I will repay every last penny, with interest." "You know that's not why I did it." She returned his gaze. "Because of Angharad. I know." His eyes briefly closed, and he exhaled deeply. "Knowing that you and I lost our child tears me up inside, Magdalena. You were right, I didn't know her or hold her or watch her die, but something shifted here when I learned she'd existed, if only for two precious weeks." She lowered her gaze to where his hand lay against the left side of his chest and released a slow breath. She'd said some terrible things. Lightning struck from afar and thunder rumbled in her heart. She bit down on her bottom lip and hung her head. "It was my fault—" "No." She didn't protest when he pulled her possessively into the warmth of his embrace. She leaned into him. She'd missed this—missed him. His touch, the sanctuary of his arms. If Angharad had lived, she would've told him about her. She wouldn't have kept him from his daughter. 87


She buried her face against his chest. "It all went wrong between us. I'm sorry Niall...for everything...for running away...for believing your mother...for...what I did..." He ghosted his fingers along her jaw and the part of her face not hidden by her mask. Then placed a finger beneath her chin and gently coaxed her gaze to meet his eyes, tense and dark in the starless night. "We've been given a second chance. All we have to do is take it, if that's what you want. But if you don't feel anything for me anymore, tell me now." She blinked away the raindrops weighing down her eyelashes. Her heart drummed in her chest and her knees shook, but her mask gave her the courage to reply in the only way she could. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Six **** At first it was just lips on lips, hesitant and yet confident. She took the time to savor him, to relearn the shape and texture of his mouth. She moaned and arched into him, lifting her arms and locking them about his neck as she tasted and partook of what she hadn't tasted in way too long. He increased the pressure of his mouth against hers, dropped his hands to her waist and molded her firmly to his groin. This was how it used to be between them. Hot, crazy and wonderful all at once. Her fingers curled in the silky wet strands at the base of his neck. His hands splayed across her back. Her breasts grew taut. Her nipples rose hard and tight, throbbing with the need to be touched by him. Only him. Her fingers blindly felt for the buttons on his velvet doublet and pushed one open. He stopped fumbling with the laces on her bodice and with an impatient sound, shrugged the jacket-like garment from his shoulders at her insistence before his fingers returned to their task. Her bodice loosened and the constricting garment sprang apart. The feel of her gown sliding down her skin sent a jolt through her. She broke the kiss and gasped a lung full of air. His mouth covered her lips once more, and she surrendered to the intoxicating taste of rain and him filling her mouth. 89


He gave the dress a helpful push and peeled it down her arms. It gathered heavy and wet at her waist. His fingers deftly unhooked her strapless bra. It fell without hindrance to her feet, exposing every nerve ending to the tantalizing delight of fat raindrops splashing on her bare skin and pelting her nipples. A needy groan gathered in her throat that she couldn't hold back. Niall dragged his mouth from hers and licked the rivulets cascading down her shoulder to her breast. She threw her head back and moaned aloud. He suckled hard and strong. She closed her eyes, trusting the strength of his arm wrapped tightly about her waist to keep her upright. She fisted her fingers tighter in the mass of his hair, keeping his mouth at her breast and eliciting a soft, appreciative moan. His free hand squeezed and toyed with the other. Blood pounded in her core, and she pulsed in a vibrant, delicious ache. This was too much. It'd been too long. She blushed at the need she couldn't help but betray. White-hot tension engulfed her, stretching her nerves to the breaking point. She arched and moaned and trembled against him, her breath slipping rapidly in and out of her lungs. Pressure built, and her body expanded, shuddering as a hot stream of sticky sex threatened to escape down her thighs. His mouth released her. She whimpered with the frustration of pleasure and denial cutting through her senses like a double-edged sword. She'd been so close. He kissed the valley between her breasts and scorched a wet path upward back to her lips. 90


She reached for his tunic, pulling it free of his breeches. Her shaking hands slid under the damp fabric. Her palms pressed against taut, warm, muscled flesh that tightened beneath her tentative touch. He stiffened and pulled back, breaking their kiss. She followed him in the hope of recapturing his mouth. His chest rose with an unsteady breath. He removed his mask. She stopped tracking him and held his gaze. He knew what he'd denied her. She knew what he wanted from her. It'd been a while since she'd been with a man, but she couldn't be more sure of this. More sure of him. She didn't want anyone else. She never did. Her hands slid lower and traced the hard length of his erection straining against the soft leather. She pulled at the velvet ties on his breeches, unfettering him. His long fingers brushed the outer swell of her breasts and trailed to her bare waist. He pushed her gown lower over her hips, ridding her of its cumbersome weight before wrenching his tunic over his head and tossing it to the wet ground. Her mouth brushed his skin, skimming the hard muscles across his rain-slicked chest then moving higher to the pulse throbbing at his throat. She absorbed the light shiver running through his body. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his breeches and edged them past his hips. Her fingers languidly traced the trail of hair leading from his belly button to the base of his penis. She firmly caressed the smooth head of his erection with her thumb, moist with rain and pre-cum, and gently nipped his flat nipples with her teeth. 91


It was pure ecstasy having his hands on her. His fingertips ghosted her ribcage and stomach, continuing lower and slipping under the elastic of her panties. Her stomach quivered. His erection jerked in her hands. She tightened her grip and stroked the pulsing length. His fingers twisted in her hair and brought her face closer to his. She wanted him. She couldn't wait. She ached to be filled. "I've loved only you," she said. He kicked off his shoes. She peeled off the final vestige of his clothing. He removed her mask and kissed her, sliding his tongue between her eager lips. The soft rip of her panties barely registered among the delicious sensations spiraling through her and pooling between her thighs. He lifted her to him and pinned her against the rough bark. She wrapped her legs about his waist, anchoring herself lest she fall. She breathed him in, the freshness of rain and the heady scent of the man he'd become. One arm kept her securely in place. His free hand cupped and explored her tender lips. Her body shivered in anticipation, and the flesh of her thighs twitched with longing. His fingers rubbed her wet folds, probing and pinching the taut flesh before splaying her moist lips and sliding into the welcoming heat of her body. She tilted her head back. It was the same—he was the same, and yet different. His fingers moved deep inside her. Dominant and controlled. Smooth and experienced. 92


Her entire body shook with excitement. Her inner muscles clamped tighter around his digits, sucking his fingers deeper as he stretched and molded her slick passage. A continuous moan escaped her lips. He nuzzled her throat, her breasts, biting and licking the jutting tips until her nipples throbbed in delicious torment. Wave upon wave of ecstasy crashed against the walls of her lower belly. She gripped his shoulders and finally cried out as her orgasm rushed from deep inside her and erupted like a river of molten fire between her thighs. Niall caught her limp body to him, and she closed her eyes, shuddering through her climax and waiting for the tiny bursts of stars behind her eyes to subside. She buried her face against his neck, her heart beating wildly in her chest. It'd been too quick. In moments, the ground was warm and damp at her back. Rain dripped from his body onto hers, coating her already wet folds. His mouth lowered to hers. Her hands clutched his hips. His hand inched between their bodies, his fingers finding the swollen flesh where her nerves converged in a delirious knot of pulsing torment and raw pleasure. Her strangled cry got lost within his mouth. She pushed against his chest, wanting his sweet torture to end, but Niall held her closer and tightened his arm about her. His penis nudged her entrance, inching her open. His warm breath fluttered over her ear. "I've only ever loved you." She expelled a trembling breath. 93


He pressed into her, rousing her so easily a second time. His weight crushed her into the moist earth. Her muscles clenched again, driving him deeper, milking his firm shaft as he moved slowly within her. She crossed her ankles at his lower back and tilted her hips from the ground upwards, meeting every hard, delicious thrust. She arched against him, kissed his neck and chest and bit down in his shoulder. He teased her into a frenzied state of hunger then relentlessly withdrew until only his bulbous tip held her open. She clawed at his back and pleaded with him to end her torment. He snapped his hips forward, arching fiercely into her body and erasing the trace of every man who had made love to her since him. Her orgasm overwhelmed her a second time. It fell in waves, a lengthy, drawn-out explosion in slow motion shattering her into a thousand lights. She moaned a long, guttural cry of blissful release then collapsed against the ground, giving in to the intense aftershocks racking her body. Her inner muscles gripped his shaft and refused to relinquish her prize until he pumped hot and deep and primal inside her. The rain eased and so did their movements. His whispered words gently brought her down from the dizzying heights he'd driven her to. She murmured his name. Their breathing slowed. He rolled from her, taking her into his arms so she lay on top of him. His hands cupped her face, and the raindrops teased from the ends of her wet hair into his in reminiscence of their very first time. 94


She traced his lips with the tip of her finger. He kissed it, and her heart raced, drowning out the pit-a-pat of rain falling on the leaves about them. She searched his eyes. "Were you engaged to Polly?" "No." "Then—" "We made a pact six months ago, after my mother's funeral. We were drunk but not so far gone that we forgot what we'd promised each other." "And that was?" "That if neither one of us had found true love at the end of the year then we would marry each other." "What about love?" He kissed her before giving an answer. "You're the only woman I've ever loved," he said. "I didn't have you, so it really didn't matter who I married." He kissed her again. "I never thought I would see you again." "And I never thought you would forgive me." "My heart has only ever been yours. Polly, even with all her charms, was swept from my mind and heart the minute you walked back into my life. How could I honor the pact knowing that? She deserves better. As do I, if you, Magdalena Perez de la Pena y Mendoza, will have me." The arrow slits once inherent to the long, medieval room were gone, replaced by high, mullion windows that allowed in a great deal of sunlight. She blinked back the bright, early morning light seeping through the elevated windows and tried to shake off the weight of Niall's arm flung possessively 95


across her breasts, pinning her to the bed. Her legs were trapped under one of his thighs, and he'd spooned her tightly against his body. She sighed her irritation. She stared at the three, iron-crown chandeliers dangling from a magnificently blue painted ceiling covered with Renaissance works of art then squinted as she tried to make out the fables and other allegories depicted above. She'd never been in this part of the castle before. It'd been old Lord McFarlane's domain where the personnel had never been allowed. Not even her mother. For a moment, she relaxed in the vice-like embrace of the man holding her and allowed her senses to wallow in the stillness and pristine beauty of the sixteenth-century architecture. As long as Niall held her captive like this, she wasn't going anywhere. He suddenly shifted in his sleep and loosened his hold. She eased from beneath the weight of his limbs and rolled from his side. She pushed herself slowly upright, careful not to disturb the mattress too much, and swung her legs from the bed— "Where do you think you're going?" The deep, gentle voice startled her, and she gave a surprised gasp. She looked over her shoulder at Niall's face. He'd rolled onto his back, an arm thrown over his head, but his eyes were still closed. "I thought you were asleep," she said. "Well, I'm not. I could hear you thinking." His eyes opened fully, and she caught her breath at the unmistakable desire swirling in their green depths. 96


She crossed her arms across her breasts and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "It's time I went home," she said. Niall looked across at the clock on his bureau and squinted. "It's six o'clock in the morning." He stretched his lean frame then turned onto his side, propping himself on his elbow. "I thought we could spend the day together. Go riding like we used to and talk about us—" She brushed him off. "I have a lot to do, Niall." He reached forward, grabbing her wrist when she tried to leave his bed. "Magdalena, don't do this. Not after what happened between us last night." They had made love once more by the lake before sneaking back to his room in the private wing of the castle using a side entrance and the privy stairs. Niall's knowledge of the estate had been invaluable in helping them avoid the costumed guests roaming the gardens, since they'd been scarcely dressed at the time. She'd donned his wet tunic, and he'd put on his breeches. The rest of their discarded clothing still lay scattered by the lake. They'd showered and made love before tumbling into his king-sized bed and making slow, sweet love a fourth time. The mattress dipped slightly beneath Niall's weight as he moved closer behind her. He wrapped his arms about her, pulling her to the warmth of his bare chest. "Why won't you say yes?" Her heart burst with excitement at the thought of being Niall's wife, but she couldn't disregard Polly's threat, and she couldn't tell him, either. It would be her word against Polly's, 97


and she didn't want their relationship to begin with such ugliness. "I will Niall, one day—" His voice caressed her ear, trailing goose bumps across her skin. "I don't want one day. I want now, tomorrow, next week. We've already wasted twelve years. I don't want to waste any more time." She turned to face him. "I never thought I would have this chance with you again. Twelve years ago I destroyed us. I don't want to do that again." He touched her face and frowned. "You think by marrying me, you will destroy us?" She gently extricated herself from his embrace and rose from the bed. "You don't understand." "Then explain it to me." She walked across the room and plucked one of his dress shirts from the wooden, valet stand and slipped it on. She stood by the window and looked out onto the lakes and lawns. Her fingers toyed with the red locket about her neck as she listened to his movements. He got out of bed and shrugged on a pair of pants. "Is there someone else?" She whirled to face him. "Of course not! If there was—" She pointed between them. "If there was, this wouldn't have happened." "Then, what is it? Talk to me, Magdalena. Please. Last night there were no doubts between us." 98


"I know, and I don't have any doubts or regrets, Niall. I haven't done anything I'm ashamed of. It's just, this is going way too fast. A week ago—" "I was an idiot." She smirked, remembering his costume. "The Prince of Arragon?" He padded across the room toward her. "Appropriate, wouldn't you say? He chose the wrong casket and forfeited Portia. I let you go once when I should've come after you." She looked at him with a faint smile. "You did come after me. You wrote me letters. I just didn't know." "And would that have made a difference? Knowing?" "I'd like to think it would have." He planted feather-light kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks and the curve of her jaw. "I want to marry you. I want you in my bed. In my life. Is that too unreasonable a request after twelve years of waiting?" "I'm already in your bed." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Yes, but I want to know you're legally required to be there." She laughed. "Stay with me today. All day. Let me convince you to marry me." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Yes, I'll stay." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seven **** Magdalena gazed out the bay window of her Edwardian home onto the pale, wintry light of dawn breaking through the early morning mist. She expelled a slow, steady breath and snuggled deeper into the corner of the black and white flower-patterned sofa. A night of tender, passionate sex with Niall had ended in anger, all because Niall had proposed. Again. She blinked back her tears and glanced at the bare ring finger on her left hand. Six months later, she still couldn't accept the proposal from the man she loved. It'd been the second time that he'd offered her the Cadwaladr Ring, and the second time she'd rejected the seventh-century gold and ruby band. "It has always been yours," he'd said. "I still want what I've always wanted. You." Her refusal hadn't gone down well the first time. But last night, he'd exploded, and it was all Polly's fault. Polly knew exactly what she was doing. She had no serious intention of dating anyone. Magdalena fingered the small, red locket about her neck. The time she'd thought she had was fast running out. Not in the least because Niall was losing his patience with her, but because she'd missed her period three times. 100


She groaned aloud. She was on the verge of losing Niall again because her plan hadn't worked. Although it would have helped matters if Polly didn't behave like such a waspish shrew. With Xander's help, she'd short-listed names of eligible bachelors from within their circle of friends. It hadn't been difficult to persuade any of them to go out with the renowned socialite and heiress, but Polly had found fault in each and every man and had refused to entertain the slightest possibility of a second date. She'd been relentless in her taunts and callous in her refusal. For starters, she'd likened Henry to Hamlet and had labeled his family dysfunctional even by aristocratic standards. Henry was a viscount and worked as a financier in The City. Granted, his mother had married his uncle after his father's death, but the similarity to Hamlet ended there. Henry's father hadn't been murdered. He'd died after an unsuccessful operation to remove a brain tumor. Besides, Henry and his uncle got along fairly well. It was insane to believe he could kill the man who'd become his stepfather, let alone plan his death. But Polly's catalog of grievances hadn't ended there. Peter—date number two—had apparently acted like an ass. Date number three had been too shifty, and date number four too fat. Christopher had been too old—he was forty-two—Ian too depressing, and Brian a sexist ass-hat.

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Magdalena sighed and returned her gaze to the window. The litany of insults and invectives just went on and on and on. She'd exhausted all the possibilities on her list with the exception of one. Number thirteen. Her last chance, although she didn't hold out much hope for Lucas' success. The names she had listed had been placed in descending order of status and wealth of which Polly had already rejected the richer, more socially congruent upper half. Not that Lucas was destitute, far from it. He just didn't command the same, obscene amounts of money as his contemporaries anymore. Lucas had become vehemently philanthropic after his sister's tragic death a few years earlier. He'd given away most of his fortune and had used the rest to finance expeditions to the North and South Poles, and fund climbing treks to Everest, K2, Kangchenjung and other challenging Himalayan peaks. He'd roamed the Asian continent from China to Pakistan and backpacked across Africa and South America. He'd sent his last text message a month ago, and as luck would have it, he was on his way back to England. She tilted her head back and trailed her gaze past the antique wall clock toward the ceiling. Exasperated groans and frustrated moans emanated from the bedroom above. A faint smile touched her lips. Niall lay in her much-too-small bed for his six-foot-five frame, which, unlike his custom-made bed at Cadwaladr Castle, creaked and strained beneath his restless weight. 102


The moans and groans and creaks and strains droned to a halt only to be replaced by the heavy tread of his measured steps across the uneven floorboards and curved timber stairs. He appeared in the doorway, and Magdalena pushed herself back onto her heels. Neither had given way in their angry exchange last night and neither had apologized, yet she wasn't spoiling for another confrontation. Her gaze skimmed his broad shoulders and slid down the smooth, muscular torso to the thin line of dark hairs that started below his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his black, paisley pajama bottoms. He looked devastating in clothes, but he was absolutely lethal without. He stepped farther into the room, covering the physical distance between them within a few, lengthy strides. She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips then dipped her eyes to the dark-stained, oak floor. He knelt down in front of her, pervading her space with his presence and weakening her defenses. She clutched the sofa cushion tighter to her chest. His hands brushed back her loose curls and gently but firmly cupped either side of her face, so that she had no option but to return his gaze. He looked at her more in sorrow than in anger, and her heart caved. "Am I losing you, Magdalena?" he said. She sucked in a tremulous breath. The truth was, she didn't know the answer to that. Polly was coming between them and was effectively tearing them apart. Hot tears 103


gathered at her lower lashes. She opened her mouth to speak but found her denial didn't come. The pad of his thumb brushed across her cheek, and Magdalena leaned into his touch. He lowered his forehead to hers. She cupped his jaw and within the next moment, pressed her lips to his mouth and shifted onto her knees. She wrapped her arms about his neck and pushed her tongue between his parted lips. A low, deep sound resonated from the back of his throat. His hands dropped from her face to her waist, and he pulled her closer, curling his fingers tight into her skin. His tongue delved into her open mouth as he took control and deepened their kiss. Her body tingled where she pulsed. She arched her back, pushing her desire-filled breasts against his hard chest. She hadn't felt his hand fist in her hair until his fingers gave a gentle tug. He pulled away and lifted his mouth from her lips. Her breath rushed from her lungs on a frustrated sigh. She frowned into his eyes. "Why did you stop?" "Because you don't want this," he said softly. She lowered her mouth back to his. "Yes, I do!" He leaned away. "Then I don't. Not like this." She relaxed her grip about his neck and shrunk back. "Like what?" He stood and walked away from her. She jumped to her feet. "Like what?" she demanded. He expelled a harsh breath and whirled back to face her. "You're trying to distract and seduce me. I'm not a fool. Don't 104


treat me like one. I want more than this. I thought we both wanted the same thing." "I do," she exclaimed. "Just not right now. Why is that so difficult for you to understand?" His face hardened. "Because you're lying to me. We promised each other there would be no more secrets between us. No more lies." She briefly closed her eyes and tried to stop her body from trembling. "I'm not lying to you, Niall. You must believe that—" "If you're not lying to me then you're hiding something from me, which is the exact same thing." Several long moments passed, time in which neither of them moved or spoke. Niall pushed a hand through his tousled hair and finally broke the silence. "I was going to postpone my trip to the Arab Emirates but under the circumstances, I think it's better if I go. We could probably do with some time away from each other. You're right. Maybe things are going way too fast." She wanted to deny everything he'd said and tell him he wasn't losing her, but her brain barely functioned. He reached the doorway before she finally found her voice. "I love you." He stopped mid-step but didn't turn around. "This is about trust. It's clear you still don't trust me even after all we've been through." He stormed from the living room, closing the door with a firm pull behind him. 105


She sank back down onto the couch, drew her knees up to her chest and turned her face into the soft fabric. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but it didn't prevent the tears seeping past her lashes and escaping down her cheeks. Niall paused outside the closed door and listened to Magdalena's muffled sobs. He placed the palms of his hand against the wood and resisted the urge to swear loudly. He couldn't accept the situation as it was any longer. He was prepared to take their relationship a step further. She had to decide if it was what she wanted, too. He didn't want to hurt her, but they had already lost twelve years because of the lies that had been told to keep them apart. He would have thought she had learned from those mistakes, as he had. She couldn't expect him to accept her refusal to marry him without some kind of explanation, unless the truth of the matter was, she wasn't ready to commit to him. And perhaps she wasn't ready to commit because, deep in her heart, she still hadn't forgiven him. Her soft cry ripped him apart, but he forced himself to head up the stairs before he relented and opened the door. She had no right to make this so hard. The loud ring of a telephone slipped into her dream. She opened her eyes onto the antique French, red and gold wall clock ticking silently above her. Had it only been an hour since Niall left the house? She yawned and stretched her arms above her head. Their goodbye had been stilted and tense, and his eyes— those stunning green eyes that she'd fallen in love with—had been cool and distant. 106


She suddenly stilled then sprang from the sofa. She stumbled over her feet as she dashed across the room. Her phone really was ringing. She snatched the sleek, black cell from the dining table and yanked it to her ear. "Niall—?" A familiar voice chuckled on the other end of the line. "No, it's not Niall." She swallowed her disappointment and hid the desperation in her voice. "Hi, Xander." "Have you heard from Lucas yet?" "Yes. He took an earlier flight. He'll be in England in time for dinner tonight." "That's great." "I've reserved a table at The Elephant for eight o'clock. Will you pick me up at seven-thirty?" "Sure. Magda. Are you all right?" She exhaled a steady breath. "Xander, what if Lucas doesn't agree to do this? I mean, he's so different than all the others on our list. He's much more..." She searched for the words. "Worldly? Sensible? Down to earth?" Xander supplied. "Listen. Don't worry. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." "No. Let's cross it now." There was a slight pause on the other end of the line before her best friend spoke again. "Then, we'll cast our nets a little wider to include acquaintances and friends of friends. And if that doesn't work 107


we will...no, you will have to tell Niall. He's bound to know of someone suitable for Polly." Magdalena slumped down onto a dining chair and fingered her red locket. Telling Niall really wasn't an option. "I can't tell him. I gave my word." "At what cost?" She frowned. "What do you mean?" "Polly is a woman scorned. Do you honestly think she would have let Niall go so easily if she hadn't thought she could come between you?" Magdalena's denial slipped all too readily from her lips. "She isn't coming between us." "So it has occurred to you? You must enjoy having the Sword of Damacles dangling over your head." "It's not like that, Xander." "Isn't it? Niall asked you to marry him, Magda, and you turned him down. What does that tell you? Polly may have given him up, but it doesn't mean she will let you have him. Don't you see? You have to tell Niall about this. Your fiance owns about a quarter of Wales. How much damage can Polly really do?" Magdalena breathed deeply in. She knew better than anyone the damage that could be done by a single, wellaimed word. "I don't know, but it's not a risk I'm willing to take. Anyway, Niall isn't my fiance." "Yet. All you have to do is say yes." She sighed. "I nearly ruined his reputation once, remember? I won't be the cause of his downfall, so I'm not 108


going to tell Niall about this, and neither are you. Got it? Besides, you said you would help me figure this out. We just have to put our heads together. There has got to be someone out there who doesn't need Polly's money but is strong enough to take her crap." "Yeah, Niall." "Someone else." "I know. Just kidding. We'll just have to wait and see what Lucas decides. Where's Niall by the way?" "Gone to the Middle East for a few days." "That bad is it?" "There's nothing wrong between Niall and me. We're fine." "If you say so." She started to retort but Xander had already ended the conversation. "Look, I've got to go, Magda. See you later. And wear your blue, knee-length dress with the empire waistline." Her gaze lingered a moment longer on the cell phone in her hand before she lowered it onto the smooth, polished surface. God, this had better work. Forty-five minutes later, she was showered and dressed and on her way to Glastonbury. She still had a few hours before Xander showed up at her door, and she didn't want to sit around biting her nails and waiting for Niall to call. She needed fresh air, and she needed to keep busy. She parked her small car on one side of the quiet, country lane and climbed out. The wind had picked up a little bit, but luckily it'd remained dry. She gauged the bright, chilly sky before moving toward the wooden railing that fenced off the 109


acres of farmlands and sprawling woodlands from the roadside. She breathed in the cold air and cast her eye over the fallow fields and frost-laden meadows glittering white in the winter sun. Niall had brought her to this very place and surprised her with a picnic lunch the first time he'd accompanied her to Cadfan Abbey, although they had hardly eaten a thing. They'd made love—unbridled and intimate all at once. Her heart had raced with fear at the thought of being caught in flagrante delicto, but she'd relished every abandoned, delicious minute in Niall's arms among the tall grass, his mouth devouring her breasts, his fingers digging into her skin as he clasped the curve of her butt and guided his erection with unerring accuracy inside her taut, tender body. She clasped the dry wood beneath her trembling fingers. Her cheeks burned, and her lower belly clenched at the memory. Her face and head were hooded by her cagoule and there was no one to see, still she pulled the weatherproof garment lower over her features and mentally shook the erotic images from her mind. Niall had walked away that morning, but how could she blame him? She'd sent their relationship into a tailspin. Again. She pushed open the rambler's gate and set off across the open fields toward the winter-white hills and gothic church spire rising up in the distance. It was a good, twenty-minute walk to Cadfan Abbey, but she didn't mind. She welcomed the quiet solitude, and the chance to clear her mind. 110


She breathed in the crisp air and continued along the path leading down into the valley certain in one thing. When Niall returned, she would do her damnedest to find a way to keep the distance that had opened up between them from becoming insurmountable. Fate had given them a second chance. There was no way she was going to let Polly Smythe take that away. By the time she came in sight of the monolithic, stone abbey, her mood had lightened considerably, and her resolve had strengthened. Cadfan Abbey had been a complete nightmare—beautiful but a nightmare nonetheless. It was Grade II listed, which meant it was a complicated project that had the added distinction of being deemed a particularly important building of more than special interest, quote, unquote. She had the blessing and the support of the local Council, but there had still been plenty of rules and regulations that she'd had to follow, not to mention the innumerable conditions and countless stipulations. Each and every step in the building work had been subjected to scrutiny and planning permission. And the building materials thoroughly inspected and approved. The original stone for the walls had to be imported from France, and slate for the roof brought in from Wales. All in all, it'd taken three whole months just to get the final go-ahead and another month before work could start. She approached the work site and looked on at the two months' worth of preparation. Scaffolding had been erected 111


on the site, and work had started on creating the external walls and re-structuring the roof. "Excuse me! Miss! This is private property." She spun around at the sound of a man's disapproving tone and met the project manager's irate gaze across the work site. He stormed toward her with short, determined strides. Niall had suggested Len to oversee the enormous task that would be Cadfan Abbey. He'd garnered a wealth of experience working for Niall's company overseas and had worked on various Grade II listed properties in and around England. He was also a stickler for detail, and a man who took obvious pride in his work. He had more than proved himself. His ideas and suggestions were sound, and he'd personally contracted and briefed the joiners and masons, carpenters and every one of the other hundred or so men and women brought in to work on renovating the abbey, including her own builders. She pushed back her hood and met him halfway. "Miss Perez de la Pena? Sorry. I didn't recognize you." Magdalena proffered a hand. "That's okay, Len. And it's Magda." The project manager took her hand in his large, roughened one and gave it a firm shake. "Magda." She smiled tentatively and withdrew her hand from his. "Is there a problem?" he asked She shrugged. "No. I'm just at a loose end for a couple of hours and wondered if there was anything I could do." 112


"The letter from the architect has been sent to the Head of Cultural Heritage for approval of the size of the caste-metal, conservation roof windows." He pursed his lips then shook his head. "I don't foresee any problem there. And everything else is bang on schedule. The roof and walls will be finished before the snow falls, and we can begin phase two." "The interior." "Yes." She slipped her hands in the back pocket of her jeans and rocked gently back onto her boot heels. "Actually, I was thinking along the lines of something more hands-on." He stared at her for a long, hard moment. "What can you do?" She sucked on her bottom lip for a split second then grinned. She wasn't qualified in any area of the building trade, but she could— "Act as a gofer, make tea—" Len laughed. "Okay," he said. "Come on. Let me see if I can find you a hard hat. But no lifting." She touched her hand to her stomach and mirrored the sentiment. "No lifting." She returned home later than she'd hoped, but there was still time to shower and change before Xander arrived. She kicked off her boots in the hallway and pressed the "message playback" button on her answering machine.

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There'd been no messages from Niall, and although she hadn't been entirely surprised, the tiny cracks in her heart, smoothed over by hope, fractured just a little bit more. She ignored the growl in her stomach and made her way with leaden steps up the curved, timber stairs to her bedroom. She'd skipped breakfast and lunch, but since she would be eating in less than two hours anyway, she decided against raiding the fridge. She stripped down to her underwear and crossed the bedroom to the en suite where she peeled off her bra and panties and dropped them into the laundry basket outside the shower room before climbing in. The temperature was perfect when the water hit her naked skin. She braced her hands against the limestone tiles and let the hard, jet stream douse her hair and cascade down her back. The water felt, oh so good against her scalp and sore muscles. She reached for the sponge, poured some soap onto it and set about scrubbing the dust and grime from her wet skin. She started at her feet, dragging the sponge higher around her legs, thighs and bum. The ablutions continued over her arms and neck, her stomach and the underside of her breasts. Her movements slowed as she gently trailed the sponge across the tip of her breast. She rubbed the darkened areola, and a zing of pleasure shot to her vagina. She squeezed one firm mound and imagined Niall. He knew just how to torture the tender tips and soothe the sensitive skin with a warm sweep of his tongue. 114


She allowed herself to fantasize as the water mimicked the feel of his hands touching her skin, gliding over her shoulders and stroking her as he'd done so many times before. The flesh between her thighs swelled and pulsed with longing. She let the sponge slip from her fingers and opened her legs wider. She trailed a hand lower to the apex of her thighs and pressed it against her most sensitive spot. She moved her palm back and forth, curling her fingers inward until the tips penetrated her dripping heat. Her free hand palmed her breasts in turn, kneading them while she pictured Niall sucking them deep into his hungry mouth. Her nipples tightened and throbbed, hard and erect. She leaned forward against the cold tiles and pushed her fingers deeper inside her body. She dragged her hand from her breasts down her stomach. Her fingers slid lower and played with her tautened bud. Niall's name fell from her lips as her arousal and passion spiraled higher and higher. She panted heavily. She found the rhythm of her fingers pumping in and out her body and reached for the showerhead with her other hand. She brought it between her thighs and directed the powerful stream of water against her already over-sensitive flesh. Erotic thoughts of Niall lifting her against the tiled wall, her legs wrapped about his waist, his fingers digging into her thighs as he held her open and pushed into her wet core, tipped her over the edge, and she climaxed with a loud, guttural cry. 115


She removed her fingers from her slick folds and collapsed against the shower wall. She sank down to the floor and closed her legs and waited for the orgasmic spasms to stop, and her body to calm down. It was a full ten minutes before she could function again. She washed her hair and rinsed her body then stepped from the shower room, grabbing a large, fluffy towel on the way out. She glanced at the clock. She had twenty-five minutes to do her nails and get ready. She conditioned her towel-dried hair and worked the tangles free with a large-toothed comb before pinning it in a simple chignon. She pampered her hands and skin with moisturizer and selected a plain bra and panty set from her lingerie draw. She took the blue, empire waistline dress from its hanger and put it on, adorned her ears with the pair of sapphire earrings Niall had bought for her birthday and slipped on her pumps. At the final sweep of the mascara brush over her eyelashes, the doorbell rang. She hurried down the stairs, plucked her dress coat from the coat stand in the hall and opened the door onto Xander's handsome face. "You look lovely," he said. She accepted his compliment with a broad smile and flicked her gaze over his dark suit. "Thank you. You look very debonair yourself." Xander grinned and inclined his head. "Ready?" She stepped out into the cool night and lifted the small, black evening bag clasped between her fingers. 116


"Keys, lip gloss. All set." She closed the door behind her and took Xander's arm. [Back to Table of Contents]

117


Chapter Eight **** Xander gazed about the room. "Is he here?" Magdalena nodded. Lucas looked tired. She'd spied him at the bar looking at his watch. They weren't late. But knowing Lucas, he was probably early. She had never known him to be late for anything. At least from the build and height, she thought it was him. She wasn't too so sure about the beard though. It kept putting her off. She meandered across the noisy restaurant, which seemed to be much busier than normal and hoped her gut feeling was guiding her to the right person. He looked up as she approached. Her eyes widened in surprise. They stared at each other for a heartbeat until a smile spread across his face. He leapt up, and she stepped forward straight into his waiting arms. "Lucas." "It's good to see you, Magda." "It's good to see you, too." She pulled back and took a good look at him. She touched a hand to his cheek and narrowed her eyes. Her fingers trailed through the dark hair covering half his face. "Well, it would be good to see you if I could," she teased. 118


He chuckled and ran a hand over his beard. "I admit it's gotten a bit out of control but since I've been wearing it for five years, I made a promise to myself I would only shave it off for a very special occasion." "Or person?" Their eyes held a moment before Magdalena leaned closer and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Welcome home," she whispered. "The fiance?" he said. She gave his shoulder a playful tap and spun back to Xander. "No. This is Xander. My closest friend." He kept one hand around her waist and extended the other. Xander clasped it in a firm shake. "Good to finally meet you," Xander said. "Although it's only fair to warn you, I've traveled vicariously through you for the last couple of years." Lucas chuckled and looked down at Magdalena's face. "Well, it's good to come home to old friends and meet new ones." A waiter interrupted the momentary reunion with a discreet cough to announce their table was ready. Dinner was a relaxed and animated affair. They started with crisp raw vegetables—olives, baby carrots and celery—accompanied by a choice of cheese—brie and cheddar—and a delicate white wine while Lucas told entertaining stories about the people and places he'd visited. By the time the main course had come to an end—roast lamb, Parisienne potatoes, asparagus with lemon, dinner rolls 119


and more wine—he'd relived hair-raising and near-death experiences from the Andes to the White Desert. "Thou owest God a death," he'd said. "'Tis not due yet," she'd said. She sat idly tracing the rim of her wineglass with the tip of her finger, content to listen as her friends got to know one another better and to covertly spy on Lucas. Seven years ago, he'd left Bristol angry at himself, his parents and the world, but he'd returned a seemingly calmer and balanced person. Had he finally rid himself of his demons and forgiven himself? His sister's death had been an accident. Everyone had said so. Stephanie had lost control of the speedboat, and it'd crashed. She had been at the wheel. Lucas had been pulled out of the water more dead than alive. Stephanie, Magdalena's roommate and friend, had died at the scene. A tragic accident. Lucas had blamed himself, and so did his parents when it had been revealed Stephanie had twice the legal limit of alcohol in her system. A conclusive fact that had stringently been kept from becoming public knowledge. It hadn't been fair. Lord and Lady Greychurch didn't know how willful Stephanie could be, or how many times Magdalena had called Lucas to their London apartment after Stephanie had returned drunk after a night on the town. Stephanie had started to crack under the pressure of her parents' high expectations, and they didn't even know. They didn't want to know. 120


The hilarity at the table died down, and she looked up into the deep-blue eyes studying her face. "Are you all right?" Lucas asked. He glanced down at her plate. "You've not eaten very much." She nodded. "I'm fine. Are you?" The sobriety returned to his gaze. "I needed this. I needed to laugh and be among friends again." She reached a hand to his and clasped his fingers within hers. "Any time." "Will you be visiting your parents?" Xander chipped in. Lucas drew in a deep breath and shook his head. "No, I don't think so." "It has been seven years, Lucas," Magdalena said. "What will you do? Keep traveling and never settle down. They're getting older, and you're their only surviving child. You're the heir to Greychurch Manor. Surely—" "I can't. You don't know what it's like to hurt so much that you want every breath you take to be your last. " Magdalena licked her suddenly dry lips and smiled faintly. "You would be surprised." Lucas squeezed her hand gently. "You'll have to tell me that story some day." "Maybe," she said. The waiter returned with dessert and coffee, interrupting their lingering stare. He expertly unloaded his tray and again left the diners alone. Lucas shrugged. "I don't know how much you know, Xander, but I don't think my parents would even see me. To them, I'm already dead." 121


"That's what I thought when I first told my parents I was homosexual," Xander said. "And what Magdalena thought when she broke Niall's heart. We were wrong." Lucas cocked an eyebrow at her. "Niall?" "McFarlane. Lord Niall McFarlane," Xander elaborated. Magdalena bit down on her lip. She hated how pretentious that sounded, although Lucas was a lord himself. "He doesn't use the title. Actually, he hates it as much as I do—" "Is that why you kept turning me down all those years ago?" Lucas said. "There you were, my sister's lovely roommate, and you didn't even give me the time of day." "Don't be so dramatic. Besides, I wasn't into lords back then," she said. "So, what changed with Niall McFarlane?" "Niall and I have history. We got back together six months ago, after twelve years of being apart, and believe you me it wasn't pretty. We both drew blood, but the confrontation had been a long time coming." Lucas lifted the hand touching his. "I don't see a ring on your finger." "That's because I haven't accepted it yet." "Oh, so he has proposed?" She flicked a glance at Xander. "One too many times, I think." Lucas leaned forward. "I don't understand. If you're in love with him—are you in love with him?" "Very much, but accepting Niall's ring comes at a price." "And the reason for that has just walked in through the door," Xander said. 122


Lucas turned his head toward the restaurant door to the four women standing there. "Which one is she?" he asked with obvious interest. "Wearing Coco Chanel and matching shoes." Lucas swung his gaze back to Xander and arched a brow. Magdalena would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so nerve-racking. Xander's eyes twinkled with mild amusement. "The redhead," he simplified. "Polly Smythe. Her father is Walter Smythe. Industrialist and entrepreneur. She and Niall were rumored to be engaged, that is until Magdalena came on the scene." Lucas flicked his gaze to Magdalena. "If you want to know if I came between them the answer is no," she said. She watched the slender woman dressed in white and black make her way across the restaurant toward them and mumbled. "Not intentionally, anyway. Besides, what they had, had nothing to do with love. It was a pact and everything to do with status and money and pleasing families. It was a house already built on sand." Polly reached their table. Silence stretched between the two women, awkward and deafening at the same time. Lucas rose to his feet. "Won't you sit down—" Polly fixed him with a stern glare. "If you're number thirteen," she snapped. "Don't bother turning up." Lucas laughed. "Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, not for such contempt." 123


Polly looked momentarily taken aback and a deep blush tinged her cheeks, but she soon recovered her composure. She turned her attention to Magdalena. "You can forget about any kind of future with Niall." She turned on her heel and called over her shoulder. "Enjoy your meal." "Was ever woman in this humor wooed? Was ever woman in this humor won?" Xander quipped. "What was your Shakespeare quote?" Lucas watched as Polly ambled away toward her friends seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant. He sat down. "Richard the Third. What was that all about?" he said. Magdalena shook her head. "Nothing." "Don't tell me, nothing. That was obviously something. And why am I number thirteen? Thirteen what?" She clasped her hands together on her lap. "Dates," she said. "In a nutshell, Polly blames me for taking Niall away from her, and she has threatened to financially ruin him if I accepted any proposal of marriage before she'd found a date for the Charity Fundraiser next week." "You've got to be kidding," Lucas said. "No, I'm not." "I see. And I'm your last chance?" "No." She shifted uneasily on her seat. "Yes, but I wasn't even sure if I was going to tell you. You're much too good for that shrew. You're too much of a friend." Lucas chuckled. "She's actually not that bad. I like her." 124


She met his gaze and mimicked his words to her. "You've got to be kidding." He shook his head. "She's an irksome brawling scold, but irascibility isn't solely a western trait, Magda. I've met all types of people on my travels and seen all sorts of things. I don't scare easy." "You're forgetting. She has already rejected you on looks alone," Xander interjected. "I'll just have to change her mind about me then, won't I?" Magdalena frowned slightly. "And just how do you propose to do that?" Lucas dragged his fingers through his beard. "She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she's a woman and therefore to be won." "What if she still recognizes you as number thirteen?" "She won't. She has let her guard down now because she believes she has the upper hand. Besides, I don't think she spared me enough of a look to imagine my face without a beard. So, where do I meet her?" "At the next big social engagement on the society calendar. A Charity Fundraiser next week." "And what is this fundraising in aid of?" "Orphans Smile. It's a charity aimed to help orphaned children around the world. But this time, as well as money, they're looking for volunteers to donate their time and hard work where it's needed most." Magdalena put a hand on Lucas' arm. "You don't need to do this." 125


He squeezed her hand gently and smiled. "It looks like I've got a Charity Fundraiser to attend next week. Coming?" She shook her head. "We can't risk Polly seeing us there together. And seeing that Niall won't be here for the event, you can use his invitation. I'll call and confirm the changes." She shut the front door to her home and leaned heavily against it, closing her eyes and stroking a hand across her stomach. They had decided against coffee. Xander had brought her home before heading off to collect Lucas' belongings from the bed and breakfast he'd checked into. Xander had a spare room, and he'd insisted on Lucas taking it. "You look beautiful." Her pulse leapt to her throat, and her startled eyes opened wide. Niall. Her heart jumpstarted in her chest, and her knees shook with relief. He moved toward her. "I'm sorry I startled you." She held his gaze. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the Arab Emirates?" "I couldn't leave things the way they were between us this morning. I was a jerk." She shook her head then glanced away. "No, you weren't. I—" He reached a hand to her and pulled her into his embrace. "I don't want to lose you, Magdalena, and if having you means bowing to your terms then I will." 126


She wrapped her arms about his waist and placed her head on his chest. His hands lightly caressed the length of her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed Lucas' plan would work. "Where have you been?" "Out to dinner with Xander and Lucas." "Lucas?" She relaxed her eyes and opened them. "Lord Lucas Greychurch. I've known him for a few years, although he has been traveling for a great many of them." "Really? I would like to meet him sometime." She pulled back to look at him. "Well, if you could arrange for him to attend the Charity Fundraiser next week, you could. I was going to give him your ticket and not go, but seeing that you're back—" Niall chuckled and brushed an errant lock of hair away from her face. "I'll make the call in the morning." She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the nose. "Thank you." His arms tightened about her waist, drawing her closer and flattening her breasts against his chest. She slid her arms around his neck. His hands slid up her back and cradled her skull. He pressed his mouth to hers, and her lips yielded. His tongue gently probed her mouth, and she moaned against his lips. He pulled back, ending the kiss too soon. "Am I forgiven?" "There's nothing to forgive." He covered her lips with his mouth, and she answered his sigh of relief with her own. 127


She flushed the toilet again to disguise the noise of her wretched sounds. This was the fourth time that she'd dashed from the bed to the bathroom. Luckily, Niall had slept through her bouts of sickness, and still was. Thank God. She pushed herself to her feet, satisfied that the last bout of nausea had left her stomach and retched through her system. She rinsed her face with cold water and set about brushing her teeth for the umpteenth time. She rinsed her mouth and threw some more cold water on her face before reaching for a towel. The bathroom door opened, and her hands stilled. Niall entered, and she met his gaze in the mirror. He paused behind her then wrapped his tall, warm-from-bed body around her. His lips nuzzled the side of her neck. "Hey, what's going on?" he said. She looked away from his searching eyes. "Probably something I ate. I didn't mean to wake you." "You didn't. Are you all right?" She nodded. "Just a bit tired." He took the towel from between her fingers and replaced it on the radiator then took her hand in his. He led her from the bathroom back to their bedroom and pulled her gently down onto the bed beside him. She placed her head on his bare chest and sighed when his hand slipped beneath his oversized pajama top that she wore and moved idly across her lower back. She followed the hypnotic touch of his fingers making strange patterns on her skin and listened to the comforting 128


sounds of his heart and his breathing until her eyes closed in sleep. Coffee. Magdalena stretched her arms above her head and shifted in the cool sheets. She opened her eyes into the semidarkness and examined the empty spot beside her. She brushed a hand across the sheet where Niall had slept. It was still warm. The muffled sound of water running from the shower penetrated her still drowsy thoughts. She smiled and snuggled into the sheets once more. Coffee. She hummed appreciatively and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to filter out the bright winter light that now filled the room. She'd slept better than she thought she would, without a trace of the nausea she'd felt hours before. She rolled from her back onto her side and met Niall's gaze in the tall, cheval mirror in the corner of her bedroom as he adjusted and straightened his tie. She smiled. "You look quite handsome." He turned and smiled back and crossed the room to sit down on the edge of the bed next to her. His fingers pushed back her hair from her face. "Good morning. How are you feeling?" She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Eight o'clock. "Better. I didn't realize how tired I was." He brushed his fingertips down her cheek. "Perhaps you should see the doctor today. Make sure everything's fine." 129


"It is. I'm fine, really. Like I said, it was probably something I ate." She pushed herself upright and reached for the coffee. "Is this for me?" He nodded. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. I have to get to the office. I have a conference call with Abu Dhabi this morning." She cradled the coffee mug between her hands and lowered her gaze. She loved him for returning home and making it right between them, but she felt guilty, too. She lifted her eyes back to his. "What if you lose this deal?" "I have very capable people working for me in Abu Dhabi, Magdalena. I won't lose this deal." He rose to his feet and crossed the room again, grabbing his suit jacket hanging on the wardrobe door. He stood in front of the cheval mirror and shrugged it on. "In six months, McFarlane Industries and Real Estate will be solvent again, and I can repay my investors." He raised a brow at her. "I can't afford to lose this deal." "Then Polly—" "What about Polly?" She replaced the coffee cup on the bedside table and drew her knees up. "I mean, Polly's father will get his money back, too." "Yes, of course. Every last penny plus interest. I didn't know you were aware of my investors." She sucked in a breath and shrugged. "Polly told me her father had invested heavily in McFarlane Industries." 130


Niall spun around and frowned. "And why would she tell you that?" "Well, your families were always very close. It was probably just to intimidate me." "And were you intimidated?" "Not then, but I now realize you could've used the abbey to clear your own debts, I appreciate the gesture even more." He returned to her side. "I wasn't the one facing foreclosure, and my employees still had their jobs." "And thanks to you, so do mine." His thumb traced her jaw, and his fingers twisted in her hair. "I wish I didn't have to leave right now." She leaned into his touch. "So do I." He kissed her swiftly on her lips and stood. "I will see you later." She nodded, and he smiled. Magdalena leaned back against the pillows after Niall left the room. She placed a hand on her stomach, unable to hold back the broad smile on her lips. Within six months, Niall's businesses would be solvent and no longer dependent on investments from men like Polly's father. She could marry Niall any time after that, and there wouldn't be a damn thing that Polly could do about it. After a few minutes, she drifted off to sleep once more. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nine **** She reached for the large, white towel hanging on the wall radiator behind her then stepped gingerly onto the wooden step at the side of the cast-iron slipper bath. She wrapped the towel tightly about her body and as the room started to spin about her, quickly reached to hold on to the side of the bath. She closed her eyes for the split second it took for the peculiar feeling to pass over her. Then pushed herself upright and escaped the heat of the bathroom for the much cooler bedroom. Somewhat revived, she went to her wardrobe and searched through her clothing options. Her stomach wasn't very large, but she could barely tolerate anything tight around her waist. She finally settled on a loose fitting navy-blue sweater dress. She opened her lingerie draw and was suddenly struck by a wave of nausea washing over her. She leaned heavily against the chest-high commode and waited for her lightheadedness to pass. It didn't. She fought her dizzy spell and staggered across the room to her bed. She lay down, grabbing her cell phone from the bedside table as she did so. She punched in Xander's number just before the room closed in and her vision faded to black. "Magdalena."

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Her name filtered in and out of her brain. A fleeting echo, a whisper, a cry. Someone's pain, yet filled with concern for her. Mum? She struggled to open her eyes and touched her stomach. Her voice croaked. "My baby." Relief flooded the dark, gold-flecked eyes staring down at her. "It's okay. You're in the hospital, Magda. The doctor says he's fine, and you will be, too. Your blood pressure is a little high, but with enough rest—" "He? It's a boy?" Her mother smiled and nodded. She cupped Magdalena's face between her hands. "They had to do an ultrasound to determine how far along you were. Why on earth didn't you tell me you were pregnant? Why didn't you tell Niall?" "That's what I would like to know, too." Her heart beat a little faster. She followed her mother's gaze to the doorway and the man standing there. He no longer wore his suit jacket, and he had removed his tie. His face was tensed but even through the fog still clouding her mind, she saw the hurt in his eyes. "Xander called me, and I called Niall," her mother said, kissing her on the forehead. "He's worried about you." Sofia grabbed the large tote bag from the chair beside the bed. "I think I'll go and find Xander. He'll be pleased to know you're all right." She gave Niall's arm a gentle squeeze on her way past him and blew Magdalena a quick kiss before slipping out the door. 133


Niall moved farther into the room and ploughed his fingers through his hair. His eyes skewered her to the hospital bed. "Are you going to keep shutting me out? When I ask you how you're feeling, or if you're all right, it's not just to hear the sound of my own voice. You could've told me about the baby last night. Do you know what could've happened if you hadn't called Xander in time? You didn't just put our baby's life in danger but your own as well." Her mind cleared and tears slipped down from the corner of her eyes. "I know. And I'm sorry, okay? "No, it's not okay. Dammit, Magdalena. This wasn't nothing, so don't dismiss it as such. You're pregnant. You're dehydrated, and you have a high blood pressure." She blinked back the tears in her eyes and stared down at the IV sticking in the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I scared you. I scared me, too, you know." The door to the private room suddenly opened. An older man wearing a white doctor's coat and the proverbial stethoscope about his neck entered. He smiled and extended a hand as he crossed the room toward her bed. "Miss Perez? I'm Dr. Frampton. I was the attending in Emergency when you were brought in unconscious." She flicked Niall a hesitant glance and shook the proffered hand. "Doctor." Dr. Frampton acknowledged Niall with a slight nod. "Lord McFarlane." "Doctor." 134


He looked down at the medical dossier in his hands and spoke to Magdalena. "How are you feeling?" "Much better." "Good. I spoke with your mother who assures me there isn't any history of hypertension in your family." "No, there isn't." "Have you been under any kind of stress lately, or has anything happened that could've triggered this episode?" She exchanged a look with Niall. "Not really. I'm overseeing a renovation project but that's it. Most of the time, I'm in my office meeting with potential clientele." The doctor quickly scribbled in his notes then addressed her again. "There's nothing to suggest your child is in distress because of this, but you will need to schedule regular checkups until the baby is born. I'll give you a letter for your GP." "I won't need medication, will I?" "No. Just plenty of rest and a good, balanced diet. But to be on the safe side, I would like to keep you in overnight for observation. All right?" "Yes." Doctor Frampton included Niall in his inquiring gaze. "Are there any questions?" When none were forthcoming from either Niall or herself, he walked toward the door and opened it. "The nurse will be in shortly to take your pulse and blood pressure. Oh, and congratulations, by the way." The door closed on their mutual silence.

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She studied Niall's face half-turned in the ambient light and paid particular attention to the muscle working overtime in his cheek. He turned and caught her gaze. They spoke in unison. "Magdalena—" "Niall—" And the door opened for the second time. She exhaled a frustrated breath as Xander poked his head into the room. "Hi, Magda. Can I come in?" Niall answered. "Come on in, Xander. I was just leaving." The cold fear of rejection engulfed her. "Where are you going?" His face softened, and he finally gave her an elusive smile. "I'll be back shortly." Both men acknowledged the other with a curt nod, and when the room door closed again, Xander held out the overnight bag clasped between his fingers. He beamed. "Toiletries and a change of clothes." He put the bag down on a nearby table and perched beside her on the bed. "You gave me a fright when I found you lying on your bed like that." "I know, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He grabbed her hands in his. "So, you're pregnant? Your mother told me." She grinned. "Yes." "And is Niall happy?" "I don't know. We haven't talked about it yet." "God, Magda. What am I going to do with you? What are you waiting for?" 136


Xander stood. "You have to tell Niall that this was all Polly's fault." Magdalena lowered her gaze. "It was no one's fault but mine. I should've taken better care of myself. Besides, Polly doesn't know I'm pregnant." "It's the stress of jumping through her hoops that caused this." She shook her head. "No. I'm not going to blame Polly for this. She's not a bad person." "Are we talking about the same shrew here?" She raised her eyes back to his. "On some level, I can understand her position, Xander. She saw Niall as her last chance for happiness and then I turn up and ruined that chance." "But I thought Polly didn't love Niall." "She doesn't, but he was the closest thing to love that she had found." Xander shook his head. "Sometimes I don't understand you, Magda. I really don't. You're going to let her get away with this." "I'm not letting her get away with anything. My baby, my body, my responsibility." Xander returned to her side and drew her to him, hugging her tight. "Haven't you ever heard the saying, all's fair in love and war?" "What if Lucas is the one for Polly? I want her to have this chance. At least, when I marry Niall, I can do so with a clear conscience." "But that's just it. She won't let you marry Niall." 137


"After the baby's born, she won't be able to stop me. Niall's businesses will be solvent within six months and no longer dependent on investments from men like Polly's father." "So, we let Lucas throw himself at Polly and make a fool of himself?" "He insisted, remember? But I will tell Niall everything." "And then what?" "We pray all's well that ends well." "Come on, you need to get some more rest." "I've been doing nothing but sleeping." "Doctor's orders." "This is ridiculous. I feel fine." "We'll come back later. Shall I close the blinds?" "No leave them open. What time is it?" "Just gone twelve." She settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes. "Okay. Five minutes." An hour later, her eyes fluttered open onto a myriad of dancing lavender, mauve and violet orbs glittering like crystals in bright, winter sunlight. She rubbed her eyes then gasped in awe. Balloons? She slowly sat up and looked around. A host of large, violet-colored balloons floated about the room and above her head. Then she saw them. Two colored balloons amid the mauve, one pink and one blue, and understood. 138


She smiled at the warm feeling wrapping around her heart and at the absurdity and the gesture, and finally at the man who held her hand. "I didn't know if it was a boy or a girl," he said. "It's a boy," she whispered. "They took an ultrasound—" His lips found hers in an instant, and his hands framed her face as he silently and eloquently declared his love for her. She wanted more of his touch, his hands on her, his skin on her skin. She ran her hand through his blond hair, needing to have him closer. She wanted to feel him and hold him while he trembled like he was trembling now; for there to be no more distance between them. He broke of the kiss, gentling his lips and drawing back. "We should stop," he said. She released him but not without a soft whimper of protest. It took three days for Niall to convince her to move in with him, and another two days with Xander and Lucas in tow to help her pack her belongings. Niall had insisted she return with him to Cadwaladr Castle after her discharge from the hospital. He'd brooked no argument and had even arranged to have his office transferred to the country estate, so he could work from home for the duration of her pregnancy. And in that time, he had still not made love to her. She shared his life, his bed and his home but not his body. His consideration and tenderness toward her were admirable, but they were also driving her to distraction. She didn't want to 139


be handled with kid gloves. His withdrawal was making her irritable and crazy, and something had to be done. She focused on the wooden door at the far end of the Long Gallery. She wasn't made of glass, for heaven's sake, and the baby wasn't due for another five months. She ignored the weight of painted eyes tracking her steps along the elegant corridor and smoothed a hand down the front of her stretch-satin skirt. She pulled her figure-hugging blouse straight and raised a hand self-consciously to her hair drawn in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. She reached for the wrought-iron handle and pushed open the door to Niall's office. She strode into the sumptuous oasis of cool, minimalist elegance toward the large, solid oak desk and circled the dark, antique wood. Her fingers brushed the finely carved bas relief and met the cool, green gaze of the man who watched her approach with calm deliberation. She held his gaze and, positioning her feet between his, bent down and planted her mouth firmly against his lips. He opened his mouth and brushed his tongue against her lips. She pulled back, drawing him with her as he stood and gently pushed her against his desk and settled her hips between his thighs. His finger ghosted down her face and followed the exposed line of skin to her throat and down to the tempting swell of her enlarged breasts. He stopped at the pearl button on her blouse holding the material together and denying him further access. "Magdalena—" She unbuttoned her blouse. 140


He sucked in a deep breath and looked at the red locket about her neck. She cupped his face in her hands and compelled his gaze back to hers. "Don't you think it scares me, too? But I have to believe our baby will be all right. You have to believe it, too. The doctor gave us the okay. Stop treating me as if I'm made of glass and make love to me. Please." He looked at her, fixing her with a predatory gaze so primal she almost came undone, and yet he still held back. She rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his. She clasped his shoulders for balance and felt his arm circle her waist. Her arms curled around his neck. She captured his tongue gently between her teeth and sucked it, pulling at it until he hungrily covered her mouth with his. He slid his other hand down the side of her body and lightly caressed the curved underside of her bra with his thumb. His fingers played with her erect nipple through the lacy fabric. She arched her back and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the pleasure of his touch. She'd missed him. She moaned against his lips as a bolt of heat shot from the inflamed peak to the throbbing center between her thighs. His lips trailed her jaw line, and he captured her ear in his mouth. She unbuttoned his shirt. He easily shrugged out of it, revealing his broad shoulders and toned and tanned torso. The space between their mouths shrank again. He groaned against her lips. 141


He pulled her blouse free of her skirt and pushed it off her shoulders, forcing her to relinquish her tight hold about his neck. The blouse slithered down her arms and onto the desk. Her bra quickly followed suit. He nuzzled her neck, scorching a path across her shoulders and decollete before dipping his head and taking a dusky nipple into his warm mouth. His skillful fingers teased the other. Her heart pulsed in her wetness. Her hands traveled his chest, his abdomen, his waist. He shuddered. She unbuckled his belt and unfastened his suit pants. She slipped a hand down the waistband of his boxer shorts and lightly caressed the smooth, moist head of his penis with her thumb. He raised his head and curved his lips into a slow, sensual smile. Air rushed from her lungs. Her chest heaved, and her lips quivered. He hungrily covered her lips with his, claiming her mouth in a deep kiss and sucking her tongue inside his own. His hands curved over her bottom, finding the zipper on her skirt and fumbling with it before it slid quietly open. He slipped his fingers in the band of her skirt and edged the garment down her hips. It gathered at her feet. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his suit pants and pulled it lower. His moan filled her mouth. His hands cupped her aching breasts, and she groaned aloud at the pure ecstasy of having his hands on her. Her lips trembled beneath the mastery of his, and her sex clenched in need. 142


He moved his hands smoothly down her body as far as her bare thighs before sweeping them upward to tug impatiently at her panties. They dropped to the floor in one fluid motion. She kicked off her heels and deftly stepped from them as he broke the kiss. He gazed into her eyes and placed a gentle hand against her rounded belly. The depth of emotion in his eyes caught her off guard and tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the cushion-filled corner of his office. He laid her against the large pillows then kicked off his shoes and pants before lying down beside her and spooning her against him. His erection nudged her entrance and with slow patience, he pushed deeper, allowing her all the time she needed to change her mind. She expelled a tremulous breath. His own breathing was harsh against her shoulder in strong evidence of his self-control. Her breasts tightened at the exquisite spasm gripping her muscles and shooting through her. She pushed back against him, encouraging him to move. He slid in and out of her...in then out...in then out...tormenting her with leisurely, powerful thrusts. She shifted her top leg, drawing her knee higher and changing the angle of his penetration until he found her G-spot. She panted and moaned with abandon. He succumbed to her need and increased the strength and speed of his movement. She begged him not to stop as she felt herself falling into glorious ecstasy. Her muscles tightened about his penis, 143


drawing him deeper still and at his final push, she screamed his name before collapsing back into his arms. He scooped her close, holding her as they both recovered from the intense aftershocks racking their bodies. "Did I hurt you?" She raised heavy-lidded eyes to those hovering above hers. "No." He leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing still unsteady. He tunneled his fingers into her hair, positioning his weight on his elbows so that he barely touched her. Questions and desire mingled in the swirling green depths of his eyes. "Why didn't you ever come to me when you were pregnant with Angharad?" She searched his eyes. There was no judgment or censure, but patience as he waited for her answer. "I was young and foolish...and afraid." "Of what? Me?" "Of asking too much of you. You were poised to take over your father's emporium. You had other obligations. Your mother...I couldn't make you choose." "Choose? Between you and my family? There was never a choice, Magdalena. I would choose you every time." She touched a hand to her stomach and looked deeply into his eyes. "Yes. I know that, now." "I wasn't there to hold you, to comfort you or tell you how much I loved you. But I am now, and I will always be whether you choose to marry me or not." "I know that, too." 144


He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw and the tip of her nose. She surrendered once more to the brief touch of his lips on hers before he pulled away to lie on his back. She turned with him, watching him as he closed his eyes and raised an arm above his head. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep. She climbed from the cushions and retrieved his dress shirt from where it lay on the floor near his desk. She shrugged it on and rummaged through the pocket of her skirt. She pulled out her cell and walked to the window. Snow covered the gardens and the dusky air shimmered under a gossamer hue of blue-white haze. She hit a few buttons with her thumb and waited for the ring tone. One hundred and fifty miles away Lucas was attending the Charity Fundraiser for Orphans Smile. She wanted to wish him luck. Lucas returned her voicemail the next morning. She awoke nestled in Niall's arms and lying on the huge cushions in his office to the loud ring of her cell. The cold, morning air touched her skin, and she burrowed closer into his warmth. Her head rose and fell with the deep breath he took. "Aren't you going to answer that? " That meant having to roll over. That meant having to move. She kept her eyes closed and pressed a kiss to his chest. "No. Too comfortable," she murmured. He stirred, lifting his head and gently turning his body so as not to disturb her too much. He reached for the phone 145


lying on the floor behind her and, easing back against the cushions, took the call. "McFarlane," he said. "Yes, she's here, but she's still sleeping. I'll get her to call you back later." His manner changed to one of surprise. "When? Where? Give her a call when you get in. Good luck." The phone shut down with its familiar melody. "What was that all about?" "That was Lucas. He's off to Chile with Polly." Magdalena opened her eyes. "Why?" "To help rebuild an orphanage. There was some kind of raffle at the Charity Fundraiser last night. It seems, for better or for worst, Polly and Lucas have been paired together for the next twelve months." She turned her head and rested her chin on his chest. "Who knows, they might hit it off." "Well, he doesn't seem like the kind of man who will take any of her crap." "He's a lot like you." A moment's silence passed between them. "Niall?" "Hmmmmm?" She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed down on his face, keeping her left hand above his heart. He'd closed his eyes again, and his breathing had returned to its slow steady rhythm. "Will you marry me?" 146


One eye opened, emerald green in the semidarkness. Then the second eye opened. He turned to his side and mirrored her pose, bringing his face level with hers and holding her gaze. He cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned forward to kiss her. Her head reeled. She eased her mouth from his. "Is that a yes?" she said. "Yes," he said. "I don't have a ring to give you." He brushed his lips against hers and when he pulled back, his eyes were dark and grave. He rested a hand on her baby bump. "I don't need a ring. You're giving me something far more precious." She smiled through her tears at the tiniest fluttering of movement in her belly. He sank back against the cushions, pulling her down with him. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Epilogue **** Ioan Llewellyn McFarlane had been born two months premature and had spent his first weeks of life in an incubator. She had set to memory every small movement her baby had made and even now, she still had vivid recollections of the various machines bleeping out of sync with each other and monitoring his progress. He'd been tiny, although not as tiny as Angharad had been. She'd panicked every time he'd held his breath a nanosecond longer than the one before, or if she didn't notice his chest rise and fall. There had been moments when she'd thought she would lose him. It'd been a trying time for both her and Niall. She smiled down at her five-month-old son nestled peacefully in the crook of her mother's arm. He'd been a fighter. "Are you ready, Magda?" her mother said. She looked at her mother, elegant in a pale-blue creation then glanced at Xander standing beside her dressed in a dark, morning suit complete with gray waistcoat and blue tie. She missed Lucas, but he and Polly were busy rebuilding an orphanage in Romania, and he understood why she couldn't postpone the wedding. 148


She smoothed a hand down the simple, off-the-shoulder ivory-colored dress she wore. "How do I look?" They both beamed. "Beautiful." "I'll go and let the chauffeur know you're ready." The bedroom door closed behind her mother and her son, and she turned to Xander with a shaky smile. "Thank you for walking me down the aisle." "You're welcome. Now come along. Let's go and get you married." Niall had spent the night at a friend's house, leaving her alone at Cadwaladr Castle with her mother. Xander's arrival early that morning had calmed her nerves somewhat and now five months after facing the scariest few weeks of her life, she was about to marry the man she'd grown up with, had loved and lost and was now the father of her child. She stepped out into the warm, July sun and smiled at the chauffeur who held the car door open for her. She climbed into the back of the dark Bentley. Xander got in beside her, and the chauffeur took his place behind the wheel. The car moved easily forward for the start of the short journey to the small, rustic church in the neighboring village where Niall and fifty close friends and relatives awaited her arrival. Xander looked at her. "Nervous?" She drew in a breath and touched a hand to her hair, swept up in a casual style and held together with a sapphireencrusted hairclip. She didn't wear a veil. "A little." 149


The car meandered through a narrow, winding lane running parallel to the Cadwaladr estate. The castle lay obscured behind the purple and yellow flowered meadow and tree-lined horizon. On the other side of the lane, a farmer hailed a greeting. "You didn't tell Niall about Polly, did you?" "No." "Why?" "To give Lucas a chance. He really fell for her, you know. Besides, I didn't want to turn Niall against her." Xander laughed. "You've got everything you want. You're bound to be bountiful." The car pulled to a stop. "Exactly on time," Xander said. He helped her from the car and proffered an arm and escorted her up the narrow church path toward the heavy, oak doors. The music started. She started up the nave, her fingers digging into Xander's arm, her eyes locked on Niall's imposing figure encased in a black, long tuxedo coat and black, striped pants. His best man, Oliver, was similarly dressed. Niall suddenly turned and smiled and her breath caught a little. He was astonishingly handsome when he smiled. She passed her mother holding the still sleeping child and smiled and nodded at the faces of friends and family smiling and nodding back. Jill beamed at her from the front of the church. She grinned back. Jill had been pivotal in the build up to this 150


moment. If she hadn't let Niall persuade her to help him get into her office that morning, she would have not only missed out on a fulfilling and passionate sex life but also the chance to love him again. And the chance to heal. She walked the final steps to the altar. Xander hugged her and stepped to one side. She passed her flowers to Jill. The priest cleared his throat and welcomed the guests. He then turned to the bride and groom. "Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts." Niall linked his fingers with hers and gently squeezed them. The butterflies in her stomach disappeared. She returned the gesture and looked up at her soon-to-behusband. The course of their love hadn't run smoothly. It had taken them twelve years to get to this place—to overcome the doubts, the anger and the misunderstandings, and yet it had all worked out for the best. They had a beautiful son to show for it. The ceremony started. "Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments," the priest said. "Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken..." She held his gaze, knowing the significance behind his choice of the Shakespeare Sonnet. Her heart swelled. Could she love him any more? The speeches came to an end and vows were made. No one objected to their union, and Niall slipped the Cadwaladr 151


Ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. He murmured in her ear. "It has always been yours." She stared down at the seventh-century gold and ruby band and could've sworn it glowed. But she shrugged off the imagining, putting it down to its reflection in the summer sunlight bursting through the stained-glass windows high above them. "Ladies and gentlemen," the priest said. "I present you with Lord and Lady McFarlane. You may kiss your bride." Niall stepped forward. She removed her hands from his and wrapped them about his neck. "Wife." "Husband." "Happy?" "Very." He smiled against her lips and dipped her slightly to the rousing sound of deafening applause. [Back to Table of Contents]

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About the Author **** Michelle Chambers lives in Holland with her husband and two children, although she grew up in England. She worked as a therapy radiographer for a number of years before becoming a stay at home mum, which gave her the opportunity to indulge her passion for reading and writing. She's an avid amateur history buff and in the majority of her stories, history tends to play a vital role for one or both of her protagonists. At the moment she's working on completing three WIP. Two are a continuation of the Sinners and Saints Series started with Blood of His Fathers, and the third is a standalone book, The Choice She Made. Michelle has a black belt in TaeKwon-Do and loves to play volleyball when she has the chance. She also has plans to train as a nurse at the end of the year. Michelle loves to talk to her readers and can be found at www.miwi-carpediem.blogspot.com. **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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Also Available from Resplendence Publishing **** Blood of His Fathers by Michelle Chambers Sinners and Saints Series, Book One Alexander McCormack has secretly orchestrated Jessica's life for the past fifteen years. Decisions she's deemed to have made are an illusion. Even her marriage proves to be nothing more than elaborate manipulation. Jess is no longer content with a life that brings her little joy and no passion. With divorce comes unexpected danger for her and her young son, and her only recourse for safety lies in the unlikely savior of Alexander's son, Jason McCormack. A hidden backdrop of age-long deceit, hatred and murder slowly manifests as Jessica finds herself drawn physically and emotionally closer to the man her every instinct—and cold hard fact—tells her she should avoid at all costs. **** Coming Home by Jessica Jarman Angel Lake Series, Book One Coming home for Gabe Monroe isn't a joyous occasion. He returns to say goodbye to his father, and he stays to honor his father's final request—take care of the family. He's completely unprepared for the attraction he feels for his sister's best friend and blames his grief when he gives into it. 154


Gabe tries to put things right. Kate is practically family, and he promised his father he'd take care of her. However, Gabe is pretty sure taking Kate hard and fast against any ready surface wasn't what his dad had in mind. Kate Pearson thought she was over her childhood crush on Gabe, but his return has all those feelings rushing back. Add in the toe-curling, mind-blowing sex...and Kate is well on her way beyond just a crush. Despite his constant meddling and insistence that they need to keep things platonic, he makes her tremble with desire and yearn for forever with him. Even as Gabe begins to accept their blossoming relationship, Kate's past casts a shadow over their future as they realize he isn't the only one who's come home. **** Lies and Consequences by Tatiana March Journalist Christina Miller is determined to scoop the first ever interview with Lucas Frost, a reclusive scientist who has invented a gadget worth millions. On the way to his isolated lakeside home, her car breaks down, forcing her to shelter the night in an ancient boat. In the morning, she finds herself hijacked by a surly fisherman who refuses to take her ashore. Christina strikes a daring bargain: if he takes her back, she'll sleep with him. No names, no personal details, just two strangers sharing pleasure in the night. She has missed the chance of an exclusive interview with Lucas Frost, but at least she can make the press conference at his research lab. When she arrives, she finds her surly 155


fisherman sitting behind a podium, facing a bank of microphones—Lucas Frost. And he has no intention of letting her forget. **** Secrets of the Heart by Jannifer Hoffman Nicole Anderson owns a successful costume design business, has a wealth of small town friends and sleeps in a lonely bed haunted by demons from the past. She's convinced herself her life is exactly the way she wants it and has shot down every marriageable man within a fifty-mile radius. When Hunter Douglas is assigned the task of delivering a deceased friend's children to their aunt, he must first convince the belligerent Nicole Anderson that she actually had a sister. Though forced to take his two charges to Minnesota, Hunter fully intends to persuade Ms. Anderson to allow the children to return to New York with him —without sharing his own little secret. The last thing he wants to do is fall in love with a woman who lives in a small Midwest town with neighbors who seem to know every move he makes. As the heat index between Nicole and Hunter rises, a bizarre puzzle begins to unfold involving false birth certificates, a stolen suitcase, odd pictures, an elusive stalker, and a grandfather's legacy that could turn deadly. **** Home for a Soldier by Tatiana March Grace Clements is unemployed, lonely and broke. When she agrees to marry Rory Sullivan before he ships out to Iraq, 156


she expects nothing but a Las Vegas wedding, a key to his New York apartment, and a divorce two years later. Instead, she gets a three-day honeymoon and a heart full of dreams of what could be... if he loved her. Ten years ago, Rory Sullivan lost someone he loved. He gave up a life of wealth and privilege and joined the army. Hiding behind a wall of isolation, he avoids all emotional ties— until injury sends him home to recuperate. Home to Grace, whose quiet dignity and gentle concern break through his defenses. As Rory fights his feelings, his gruff resistance drives Grace away. But even when he believes she has betrayed him, he can no longer forget her. Can he make peace with his past in order to win back his wife? **** The Bargain by Desiree Holt Lara McKee's life came to a crashing halt the night her husband was killed in a carjacking and she lost their unborn child. Now she channels all her energy into her job as assistant to Cole Cassidy, sexy CEO of Alamo Construction. Cole's own life is a mess. A shotgun marriage based on a lie and the fiery death of his wife on the highway have left him with a child to raise that's a constant reminder of his first wife's lies and deceit. Both of them have written marriage out of their future. But Cole desperately needs someone to mother the child and take charge of his personal life. When he proposes a marriage of convenience to Lara, who still yearns for 157


motherhood, she shocks herself by accepting. And so these two people, carrying a van load of emotional baggage, begin to build a life together under almost impossible circumstances. Conflict builds over the child, whom Lara falls in love with at once and Cole ignores. Beneath the daily conflict, love unexpectedly begins to grow. But at the moment they dare to explore their feelings, anger over the child erupts and the night turns into a disaster that nearly destroys the marriage. Slowly, bit by bit, they begin to re build their relationship, carefully nurturing these new feelings. But it takes another near-tragedy before they can finally get past the hurdles to complete happiness and truly become a family. **** Checkmate by Kris Norris For years he's hidden in the shadows...watching...hunting. His attempts have never been successful, until now. And his game is just beginning. Kendall Walker and her brother, Trace, share a passion for adventure racing. But when Trace is kidnapped by a psychotic figure from their past, Kendall finds herself immersed in an adventure race beyond anything she's ever known. And if she doesn't reach each checkpoint in time, Trace will die. She'll do anything to get her brother back, even surrendering to a man intent on becoming her lover. Luckily for her, Dawson has other plans. Special Agent Dawson Cade doesn't know how his life went from complacent to complicated in what feels like a 158


heartbeat. He has absolutely no leads on the bastard terrorizing Kendall, and he can't stop himself from wanting to take her into his bed. He knows he needs to keep distant, but when circumstances force him to succumb to the desires of a man intent on possessing Kendall, Dawson must face the truth. He's going to be Kendall's next lover, even if she doesn't know it yet. And as the race begins, he can only hope he's able to save Trace, and keep Kendall from sacrificing herself, in a game where even victory has a price. **** Harvest Moon by Janet Eaves After her sadistic husband is dead, Winifred Butler believes herself finally free of his horror. But he continues to torment her from the grave as his secrets and lies, treason and terror, bring Agent Tom Green to her door. She is as determined to keep her past a secret as Tom is committed to bringing her secrets to light. Only one of them can win. So both must fight the attraction to the other, knowing they have everything to lose... **** A Perfect Escape by Maddie James A changed identity. A secluded beach. A sniper. Megan Thomas is running for her life. From Chicago, from the mob, from her husband. She runs to the only place she feels safe—a secluded cottage on an east coast barrier island. 159


Smyth Parker is running from life. From work, from society, from a jealous ex-wife—his only consolation the solitude of Newport Island. He doesn't need to anyone to screw up that plan. And he sure as hell doesn't need to complicate it with Megan Thomas. But when Megan fears she's been found, she runs to the only safe place she knows, and straight into the arms of the one person who might be able to help, Smyth. Her escape might yet still be perfect. Or is it? **** Rough Edges by Jannifer Hoffman When Julia Morgan M.D. miscarries twin girls, she divorces her husband, believing he is to blame. He forces her out of her position at the hospital and threatens her credibility as a doctor if she attempts to practice medicine. Without mentioning her medical degree, Julia accepts a position as nanny on a Colorado ranch 900 miles away. Dirk Travis is in trouble. His wife has gone missing, and his housekeeper is threatening to quit. He is in desperate need of a reliable person to look after his four-year-old twins. Even though Julia appears to be the answer to his prayers, he can't help but think she's a bit too perfect. Both insist their relationship will be business only. While those plans start to go awry, other things begin to happen. People are getting killed and Dirk is the prime suspect, but that doesn't stop the heat index from rising between Dirk and Julia, even as she appears to be the next target. **** 160


Lie to Me by JL Wilson Grace Jamison has always been unlucky in love but this is ridiculous. What was supposed to be a blind date has turned into an FBI sting operation, complete with handsome Special Agent Ben Braden, a train ride and chase through the Badlands, and a final confrontation at a safe house—which turned out to be not so safe. If she can survive that, she can probably survive having her heart broken by Ben...unless she can convince him to take a chance on love. **** [Back to Table of Contents]

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