PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

She knew Niall was just pretending. But it was getting more and more difficult to resist. Every single time he acted in love with her, it sent a sharp, insistent, fire-like pain lancing through her breast. Ainslee didn’t dare analyze it. She was leery of what it might be. She hadn’t ever wanted to be female, and now she was fancying something worse? Something she was afraid of feeling, but might blurt out if she wasn’t careful? She couldn’t pretend the way he was able to, and if he didn’t cease, she didn’t know what might happen. She wasn’t an actor like him. She didn’t think any other man was.  

And what a man...

Niall Straith was so manly. Well beyond her scope of experience and imagination, and she’d been around males most of her life. The duke was just so different. Every bit of him exhibited fully mature male. Massive. Heated. Solid. Virile...

It was at that exact moment, she realized she’d been wrong her entire life. She was grateful to be a woman.

She only wished she was
his
woman.

Ainslee trembled and her cheeks warmed. She was being absurd now. Over-reaching. He’d done everything she begged him to do. He’d made her his duchess! She hadn’t thought through what she’d asked. She’d never dreamt of achieving such a grand status. Or what gaining such a husband might mean. All she’d focused on was saving her sister. Lileth should be here, standing beside the duke at this very moment, graciously acknowledging the guests. Not Ainslee.

Ainslee had toyed with the duke’s future without one thought to what it meant. She needed to stop anything else from happening. It was bad enough she’d forced him, becoming a wife he didn’t want. There was no excuse for adding unrequited love to this. None. Ainslee’s feet stopped. The duke stopped. He looked down at her. She didn’t check. She felt him waiting as she watched the parquet flooring waver with unblinking eyes.

Oh, dearest God!

She hadn’t just admitted she was falling in love with him. Had she? Oh, no. No. It couldn’t be. This was terrible. The consequences beyond imaging.

“Oh, my. How…ghastly.”

Ainslee looked up as Lady Blair approached, skirts of some blue gauzy material fluttering about her. The material was made see-through by the firelight behind it. Ainslee could easily see lower limbs…and even garters atop plump knees that held the woman’s stockings in place. Ainslee held her breath and blinked rapidly on the shock. The view didn’t change. Good heavens! The woman looked almost naked.

Ainslee looked up higher. The bodice might have been double-layered with material, but it wasn’t sufficient for coverage there, either. Lady Blair possessed an enormous bosom. Large, dark nipples.

Higher, Ainslee
.

She forced her eyes to the woman’s face. Niall’s aunt colored her hair with a preparation that contained soot as its base. As it wore off, the gray hairs at the roots became more and more apparent, giving her the look of a skunk. She must have recently applied it, for no tell-tale white line was in evidence. The woman also covered her complexion with a liberal application of face powder atop a cream base that contained arsenic. Ainslee knew all that from listening to the servants over the years.

That gave Ainslee a start. Hadn’t Niall said something about how the employment of servants equaled loss of privacy? She’d never had a high position in society, but at that moment realized how right he was. Ainslee already knew Niall Straith’s assets were vast. They just kept increasing. He was beyond handsome. Fit. Manly. Charming. Educated. Intelligent. Now, she knew he had insight, as well.

And he was wed to her
.

The thought brought such pleasure, her knees went weak. She swayed against him. The duke glanced down. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but gave him what was probably a sickly-looking smile. He brought his free hand across his chest to place it atop where hers rested. And then he just held it there. Ainslee was cocooned in an instant sensation of warmth. Comfort. Solidness.

She looked quickly back to Lady Blair before any of that reflected anywhere on her features for anyone to see. Niall’s aunt had the height of a Straith, placing her well above Ainslee. From that vantage, it was easy to see a distinct line between real skin color, which was mottled with light brown and pink spots, and where the powdered paint had been applied. The woman fancied herself a beauty, and she might have been. Some years past. But she wasn’t admitting defeat. Gossip was the woman was desperate to hang onto her youth, and punished any lady’s maid who failed to achieve it.

The effort was wasted, especially with her expression at the moment. She looked all the way down to Ainslee’s hem and then back. She had her nose wrinkled as if smelling something vile. That expression put a lot of lines into prominence throughout her face. Ainslee subconsciously stiffened and stepped nearer to the duke. That was nonsensical. She had to face the woman sooner or later. She was just grateful Lady Blair’s sons weren’t accompanying their mother at the moment.

Something in the duke’s forearm tightened beneath her fingers. When he spoke, he sounded as shocked as Ainslee felt. And twice as disgusted. He also separated the words, making them even more dramatic. She rather liked that affectation of his.

“Surely. This can’t be. Aunt...Margaret?”

“Niall. My...dearest nephew.”

“Well. Your presence must mean you’ve recovered your malady and can join us this eve. How…fortunate for all involved.”

“Oh! You are such a flirt, Niall. Always were, though. Weren’t you, lad?”

The woman laughed. Batted her eyelashes. She’d coated them with a mixture of soot and lamp-black. Little specks of black dusted the woman’s cheeks. Ainslee had to look away before she did something disastrous. Like snort the giggle she held back. Niall answered with a slow drawl.

“Please don’t say you mean that.”

“What?”

“Surely I had better taste.”

Lady Margaret pulled her head back. “I beg your pardon.”

Ainslee snorted. Both Niall and his aunt looked to her. Niall moved her slightly forward. She had no choice but to take a step.

“Have you met my wife? Ainslee? My aunt, Lady Margaret Blair.”

Ainslee watched the woman give her another once-over. The woman’s expression markedly changed.

“We’ve met.”

“I certainly hope you amend your opinion somewhat, Aunt Margaret, before I’m forced to take medieval measures over it.” 

Something about Niall had altered, getting larger and more menacing. It matched the steely note in his voice.

“How so?” Lady Margaret enquired, without the slightest difference to her tone or physical stance.

“I refer to my newly wedded state. Ghastly is
not
the description I would put to it.”

“Oh. That. Of course na’. I was referring to...well. I was speaking of the temperature of this room. I had to request a servant to light the fire. This room is ever cold, even in high summer. Most of the rooms are, but especially this one.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Such a thing should have been checked.”

“We’ve not had time to check temperatures outside our chambers, Aunt Margaret. We’re but newly wedded. Last night, in point of fact. And I’ve made certain my wife isn’t cold. Haven’t I, sweet?”

The duke turned to her and bent his head. Ainslee’s heart thudded sharply. There wasn’t anything she could do to prevent it. She glanced up at him, but he was looking over her at something beyond.

“Well. It still should have been seen to afore requesting we assemble here.”

“Good point. Be certain to make a note of that, my love.”

Another endearment rolled off his tongue, stalling her breathing without any effort on his part. It didn’t match his expression. He had his teeth tightly set, or something else that sent a nerve into prominence along one side.

“You are not listening to a word I say, Niall.”

He faced his aunt again, hauling Ainslee closer to his side with the move. “Truly? How...odd. I do hope you’ll excuse us. We have other guests.”

“I am referring to proper etiquette. A real hostess always makes certain of her guest’s comfort, afore the event…not during.”

“Perhaps you should wear more.”

“Perhaps you should have wed the correct bride,” his aunt retorted.

There was a large gasping sound. Ainslee hoped it hadn’t come from her. Everyone had gone completely silent with the same inhaled breath, while somewhere out in the halls something fell, sending an echo into the room. Niall was as still as a statue, but he appeared larger somehow. His answer was in his deeper tone. There was a threatening thread beneath the words.

“If I’m not mistaken, the estate probably has something called a Dower House. I’m sure it’s musty. It may even require a bit of work, but I believe we can get it habitable within the week. I’d suggest you prepare yourself.”

“The...Dower House?”

Lady Margaret’s voice trembled.

“You heard me. It’s meant for the widowed duchess when a new one takes her place. It’s not usually given over to poor relations, but this isn’t a usual event, is it? I’d suggest you pack. And I’d take thicker gowns. The one you’re wearing would let any draft through.”

Lady Blair could be immune to the duke’s tone. She laughed, as if she wasn’t facing banishment.

“Oh, Niall. You are such a tease. This is the latest fashion from London. Surely you recognize it. You were just there. My maids ordered me all the fashion journals. They assure me this is what all the highest ladies of society wear.”

“
Haute Couture
requires the proper figure, dearest aunt. Perhaps your employees failed to mention that part,” Niall replied.

“Well!”

Ainslee was in shock. Her legs were trembling. Her fingers clenched on the duke’s arm to prevent her knees from giving out.

“But there won’t be many to note your fashion chops, or lack thereof, in the Dower House. Now. We really do need to move on, Aunt. We’ve other guests.”

Lady Blair stopped him with a quick move. Her body blocked their progress.

“Surely you are na’ serious? You expect me to live in that monstrosity? The Dower House?”

“Actually, I believe I’m merely offering the Dower House, should you fail to alter your current opinion of my wedded state. ’Tis a fair alternative. Would you like me to elaborate?”

“What of Garrick?”

“What of him?”

“Have you forgotten? He’s your heir. Are you sending him away, too?”

“Garrick’s a grown man. He can live where-all he likes. And I think...isn’t there something called a Grand Tour? Maybe I should send him on that. Although...wait. It’s 1803, isn’t it? That means Napoleon has restarted his war. That puts a damper on things in Europe. But there’s always London.”

“What of me?”

Lachlan joined them from the duke’s other side, acting as if the drama of the moment wasn’t happening. Maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps only Ainslee felt as if she’d taken a blow to the belly.

“Ah. You, too? Why not? London doesn’t have anything I want. Sounds like I’ll be rather busy here. As your mother just pointed out, I’ve a lack of heirs. You and your brother have been laboring under the false aspiration of inheriting for long enough. I’ve a wife now. Following that event, there are usually babies. Lots and lots of them.”

Ainslee had been wrong. It wasn’t a blow to the belly. It was higher and grabbed her heart. And then squeezed it. Babies? He was talking about creating babies?

With her?

Oh, dear God. It was play-acting, but she felt faint. Her hand gripped to his arm like talons.

“Well, Aunt Margaret?”  An upward glance showed Niall’s attention still fully on his aunt.

“Well what?”

“You ready to proffer an apology?”

The woman pulled her face out of the scrunched look and attempted a smile in Ainslee’s direction.

“I spoke hastily…your graces. You have my sincerest congratulations on your...union.”

The words were false. Filled with an underlying acidic tone. Ainslee recognized it. She’d heard Lady Blair use it before.

“I believe it’s proper to curtsey when speaking to a duchess, Aunt Margaret. Unless one’s position in society is of a higher status...and that would only be a member of the royal family. Which you are not. Am I right?”

Oh no.

He wouldn’t.

He didn’t.

Lady Blair would never forgive such an insult.

Ainslee’s mouth opened and then shut and then opened again. Nothing came out. The duke must’ve known what she was about, for he sent her a look that instantly quelled any utterance. Then he turned to watch Lady Blair lift her diaphanous skirts and sink into a curtsey. Ainslee’s gaze kept darting from his aunt to Niall. The skin beneath her face paint was a purplish tone. Niall didn’t have an expression that Ainslee could decipher. He looked hard. It matched the rest of him. There wasn’t a gentle look to any portion of him.

“Well done, Aunt Margaret. Now. You truly must excuse us. We’re neglecting our other guests. Come, darling.”