PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (19 page)

He pulled Ainslee’s with him. She managed a step. Another. She was having trouble walking?  

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“I…know.”

“Buck up, love. We girded the dragon in her lair. And just look. We’re both still breathing. Nobody is bleeding. It wasn’t that bad. Admit it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Love.

The word carried a hint of emotion when said with such a depth of voice! She’d been wrong. It wasn’t her knees or her heart having an issue. Her throat closed off with the knot that formed in it.

“Would you like some champagne?”

She shook her head. It was the best she could manage.

“You really need to cease shaking. Someone is bound to notice. They might even think it’s me causing it.”

It is you!

“You’re not holding it against me, are you?”

“Wh…at?”  The word was split it two, coming through lips so cold, they probably looked blue.

He bent toward her, whispering to her earlobe. The spot sparked. Tingled. And absolutely terrified.

“Requiring my aunt to show proper respect and abeyance. I won’t allow you to be treated as a pariah in your own home. Come along, Ainslee, it is not that frightening.”

“I’m...na’ frightened.”  

“You’re shaking. Still.”

“I’m sorry.”

“In a moment, I’m going to haul you over my shoulder and return to our chambers with you. I may even jog.”

She pulled back and stared up at him before realizing that mistake. She darted her glance away. Toward the wall. The window. The doorway. Anywhere else felt safer. She didn’t dare lock gazes with him.

“You don’t believe me? Oh, come on. They already think I’m lustful and uncivilized. Might as well convince them. Besides…it’s a better alternative than allowing everyone to watch your reaction at the moment.”

“My…reaction?” 

That idea was too horrid to even consider. The way he affected her was obvious to everyone? She didn’t know what to do. He’d championed her, called her all sorts of endearments, and added to it with that announcement of how he wanted to create babies with her. She was still reeling. Shocked. Awed. Stunned. Dazed. She was terrified of the giddy, effervescent feeling.

She didn’t know how to hide any of it.

“Try not to show it. Can we agree on that much?”

She nodded.

“I’ll attempt to stay away. Should be easier once they announce the sup. We’re on opposite ends of the table. The room seats twenty. Per side. You’re practically in the next village. You ready?”

“For what?”

His shoulders slumped slightly. And then went rigid again. “Helping me with this! For the love of—! You might at least look at me. Maybe give a lover-like expression with it?”

He didn’t know what he asked!

“Come along, Ainslee, play fair. Attempt a smile or something. You’re ruining a really great scene, and I’m trying to portray undying love here. The least you could do is act your part.”

Ainslee looked up at him, and couldn’t look away. The entire room about them blurred as it seemed to slowly rotate about them. Everyone disappeared into the kaleidoscope of form and color. There was just the duke and her, suspended somehow, his hand holding hers atop his arm, his hair pulled back, revealing his handsomeness. He had such intense gray eyes, sometimes as warm as a string of candlelit Scot gray pearls; at others, as cold and glossy as molten silver. They drew her, mesmerized. Made it impossible to hide what she felt for him. She might as well be floating.

She may not know much of love, but she knew she was in it. Deeply. Fully. Forever.

“Your graces? The dinner is ready.”

The announcement intruded sharply, breaking the spell. Niall blinked and then shook his head slightly. He looked almost as surprised as she felt. And then he winked.

“Much better. I’m almost fooled. If you weren’t still shaking, that is.”

She was listening but didn’t comprehend much. It had something to do with the feel of his hand still holding hers atop his arm. The closeness of his chest rising and falling with each breath right before her. The way a stray lock of hair slid down his forehead. The way he licked his lips...

“Perhaps now, no one will guess how much you abhor me.”

“Abhor…you?”  

“You have a better word for it? Come on. You’re seated between the vicar and Lachlan. I don’t envy your conversation.”  He steered her around the end of the table and down one side, and then waited while a footman pulled out her chair.

“Niall?”

He froze in place, whether at the use of his given name, or the frantic way she said it, his hand lifting hers from his sleeve.

“Yes?”

“I don’t—” 

Ainslee stopped with her mouth still open to refute it. To tell him the truth. She didn’t abhor him at all. She loved him! Reality flared up from somewhere to save her from an embarrassment beyond comprehension. What was she thinking? Doing? She couldn’t blurt out something so personal and private! Something he’d detest hearing.

She’d rather die.

The large form of the vicar settled his girth into the chair to her right, making the wood squeak. Lachlan had arrived as well, and stood behind the duke, waiting. Ainslee shut her lips, shook her head, and dropped into her chair with an inelegant plop.

He put a kiss atop her fingers before releasing her hand. She watched his kilt sway as he walked to his own seat, so far away she wouldn’t hear anything he said. She could barely see the top of his head over the table centerpiece. This dinner was going to feel interminable.

But it was her doing.

She’d orchestrated it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Well. You certainly set the servant’s hall a-twitter this evening, Neal.”

Neal looked down at Mason. The man was working at the fastenings of his ruffled jabot. They’d already removed his weapons, boots, socks, jacket, kilt, cuff studs and then the cuffs. The coiled bits of material sat atop a bureau at approximately Mason’s eye level. Menswear needed an update, but this Highland wear was really over-the-top. He’d thought Scots just tossed on a kilt, grabbed a sword, maybe dabbled on some blue paint, and
voila!
They were ready for anything. Shirts were optional. So were socks and boots.

Shows what he’d known.

“Really?” he finally answered. “Why’s that?”

The valet had finished with the jabot and probably would have started on Neal’s buttons, if he hadn’t gotten there first. Neal’s fingers flew down the shirt-front opening without looking as the valet watched him.

“Why...the way you handled the situation.”

“What situation are we referring to?”

“Lady Margaret will probably stay in her wing for a fortnight after the set-down you gave her.”

“That old bag?”

The valet snorted, and then coughed. He was probably trying not to laugh.

“Please don’t tell me I used to flirt with that woman. Just. Don’t. Good God. I mean. Surely I didn’t.”

“Well...you have changed markedly since your accident, Neal. I am na’ the lone one to have noted it.”

“For the better, I hope.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, come on, Mason. As far as I’m concerned the old me was a complete moron.”

“Moron?”

“You know. Dunce. Dork. Fool. Idiot. Twit.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t go that far, Neal. You had your moments.”

“Like flirting with an old woman who should know better than to wear next to nothing when she possesses a stomach-churning figure? Come on, here. That takes balls. And with her attire, I could almost spot them.”

Mason’s coughing fit lasted longer this time. Neal shrugged the shirt off, hung it from a post on his shaving stand, and reached for another floor-length robe that rested atop his bed. These robes were all constructed of the same basic plaid color scheme, but this one had a black satin belt, and the same material for a lining. It slid onto his skin with a cool sensation that immediately started warming. It felt deliciously decadent.

“Lady Margaret has been the chatelaine of Castle Straith for many years. You’ve been here four days. I believe you flattered her as a method of keeping the peace.”

“Oh. I see. I was doing the ‘discretion is the better part of valor’ thing.”

“Oh. Neal. You know your Shakespeare.”

“Doesn’t everyone? So. I was keeping the peace, huh? I suppose I trusted Garrick for the same reason?”

“Now that, I can na’ say.”

“You know...now that I think on it, Garrick wasn’t at the supper tonight. I wonder what that portends.”

“Perhaps he’s come down with the same ailment as his mum.”

“Oh.”  Neal snickered. “We can but hope. Right. Well, then. I don’t think you need to wait around tonight. You might as well seek your own bed.”

“You are certain?”

Neal walked to the door leading to the salon that led to Ainslee’s room. Rotated the handle. Pulled the door open. Turned back around to address his servant. Spoke.

“Well. Yeah. The duchess and I have other plans. We are newlyweds, you know.”

Mason chuckled. “Verra good, Neal. I shall wait for your call in the morn.”

“Good night, Mason.”

Neal stood in the doorway and waited as the valet puttered around, retrieving the discarded clothing. And then he started whistling. Neal sighed. Walked into the connecting room. Pulled the door shut behind him. He eyed the hard sofa he’d fallen from last night. Looked across the room to Ainslee’s door. And had an immediate reaction from his dick.

Great.

He shoved down on it as he walked past the hard sofa. Let up a little. That didn’t work. His problem was pretty hard to miss. Neal pulled both sides of his robe closer. Re-tied his belt. Looked down. Frowned. He could really use a sporran about now. Ainslee might not welcome the sight of him in her bedchamber as it was, but the last thing he wanted was her to catch sight of him and do something maidenly.

Like scream.

Neal stopped. Tilted his head. He couldn’t hear Mason, but he needed to wait at least a half hour. The man could still be about. And Neal wasn’t about to be rumored as an eight-second guy. He looked over the hard sofa again. Set his shoulders next. Approached the door. And started a pep-talk. Because this couldn’t continue. He might have to take things into his own hands.

Literally.

Neal. Buddy. It’s a door. A bit of wood. Some varnish. A handle. Lock. Some studs. Brackets. Still and all…just a door. Plain and simple.

He’d reached it. And he was wrong. It wasn’t just any door. Nor was anything about it plain and simple.

It was
her
door.

He almost backed away. He didn’t have a Scot valet mutely nudging him tonight. There wasn’t a consummation to play-act. There wasn’t even a sign that Ainslee wanted him to visit, unless the thin line of light beneath the portal was a clue. She had her candles lit. But that could mean anything. He hadn’t had a chance to speak with her during, or after, that lengthy sup. No. He’d been stuck at his end, ignoring his aunt while she gave him the same treatment, all the while trying to catch a glimpse of his wife. After that, they’d all had to listen to Lady Margaret’s supposed skill at the pianoforte.

Neal didn’t have much to work with here. Some brief glances his wife sent him from her end of the table.

And two words: 

‘I don’t…’
   

He’d heard it clearly and perfectly. How could he do anything but, when she’d prefaced that little snippet with his name? He loved hearing his name coming from her lips! What was he thinking?

He already loved just about everything about Ainslee.

Holy shit.

Neal reeled as the truth hit.

He loved her?

That had to be what this unbelievable level of emotion signified. He was in love! The man called a cold heartless bastard had a heart, after all. And the little imp, Ainslee owned it.

‘I don’t...’

The words hammered through his skull again. She didn’t what? He’d asked her not to show her abhorrence, and she’d replied with those two words.

She didn’t.

She didn’t…what?

What, Neal?

She didn’t wish to discuss it? She didn’t think now was the time and place. She didn’t have an answer. Or maybe – just maybe – it was what he needed, wanted, and would give his entire fortune to have. Maybe she’d meant that she didn’t abhor him.

Neal pulled in huge breath, then let it out with a force that ruffled the stray hairs at his forehead.

If only that’s what she’d meant! If she didn’t abhor him...then the trembling she’d suffered might mean something else, entirely. Something that sounded like absolute heaven.

He could sure use a big gulp of whiskey about now.

For the false courage.

Maybe he should have drunk something with dinner. He hadn’t touched the champagne offered before and during supper, the different wines that accompanied every course. Nor had he taken more than a sip from his port after dinner. He’d had a goblet that held water. Because somebody had to make certain the supper wouldn’t reflect badly on her.

He needn’t have worried. Just as they’d altered her chair for the tea, the castle staff made certain of things. Everyone below-stairs seemed to be in on it. They wanted the duchess to be absolute perfection. And she was. Neal had no idea what he’d eaten, but it had been delicious. Each dish received applause. None of it had given him a stomach ailment. Or even the hint of one.

He’d ordered the removal of the floral centerpieces, however. He wanted to view his wife, even if she was yards away and deep in conversation with her dinner companions. He knew why now. He was in love with her. The staff appeared to share the sentiment. Neal didn’t know the proper workings of a supper like this. But he was certain the old bag sitting on his right did. That made it extremely gratifying to watch a note slipped to Ainslee along with a little silver dinner bell. He’d watched her read it and then hand it back to the man. And smile at him.

That was one of the times he’d gotten her glance as she caught him watching.

Immediately following the dessert, she’d rung the little silver bell beside her plate, rose, and requested the ladies to follow her, leaving the gentlemen to drink port. Neal stood to watch them leave, while other gents made half-hearted efforts to stand with him. He didn’t want more conversation with men. He didn’t need liquor.

He knew exactly what he needed, wanted, and craved.

It was behind the door he faced right now.

    Neal slid a hand over his face and jaw, checking for stubble. He placed the other hand in front of his groin and shoved down at his cock. He’d just have to keep her attention on his face. It shouldn’t be that hard. He was not the novice here. He had enough experience to find out what she’d meant with her two words without giving anything away.

If not, he’d just have to wing it.

The handle turned easily in his hand. He pushed the door open and walked in, portraying a nonchalance he was far from feeling. He’d almost reached the center of the room before noticing the obvious. His preparations had been for naught. Her chamber was empty.    

And Garrick hadn’t attended supper.

Neal’s entire body went cold. Instantly. And completely.

He raced back to his chamber, tossed off the robe, tore open drawers until he found a pair of trousers, shoved his legs into them. Donned socks. Grabbed a pair of boots. And took off for the great hall.

And it still took way too long.