Chapter Eight

H eath heard the door shut and knew he was in trouble. He'd been drinking this evening while waiting for the countess and Miss Allen to return home from the ball. After a neat flask of brandy to keep away the cold, he stood here alone with the woman who had refused to leave his thoughts.

Nevertheless, he made a herculean effort and resolved to behave as a gentleman. With a slow step backwards, he released Miss Allen.

"Will you tell me about these nightmares?"

She looked away, her cheeks heating.

"Are these the ones in which I was harmed?"

She nodded, a bare dip of her chin.

"And what harmed me?"

"A banshee," she said, her voice barely audible.

"A banshee," he echoed, trying to place the word in his memory. Was that a Scottish spirit of death?

She looked up. "Make fun all you want, but that's what I dreamed."

"I am not making fun," he said. "It must have been terrifying for you, if you woke screaming."

"She called me traitor and betrayer. She named you Sassenach and she… she…"

"Killed me."

"Shredded you before my eyes." The woman visibly shuddered. "It was awful."

His fingers itched to touch her, but she wouldn't accept it now. Her shoulders were too stiff. "A banshee is a vengeance spirit?"

"Vengeance, foreteller of death, or just an evil spirit, the tales aren't clear. In my dream, she was punishing."

He frowned. "Punishing me?"

Miss Allen frowned. "No, not punishing you. The worst she called you was Sassenach, which is exactly what you are. I was the traitor."

"And what have you betrayed?"

Her expression took on a tragic note as she whispered. "I don't know. What have I done to merit such a thing? To watch you ripped apart before my eyes!"

She was tearing up, and he would not stop himself from going to her now. He touched her arms, gently soothing her as best he could. "Miss Allen. Sadie, try and think more about this dream."

She shook her head. "It was just a nightmare. It isn't important."

"We both know that's not true. You are Lady Vengeance herself, the boldest and bravest woman I have ever met. If a nightmare haunts you, then there is something to it."

She didn't speak. She was clearly embarrassed by her weakness, and his heart went out to her.

"I had nightmares nearly every night after Barbara died. I woke up in a sweat. My valet began leaving a change of clothes for me by the bedside."

She turned back to him. "What did you dream about?"

"My daughters grown, dying just as Barbara did." He felt his gut clench at the memories. "It was excruciating, watching her go. Childbed fever took her. She was too weak to feed the baby, too out of her mind with fever to rest, and…" His words cut off. "It was horrible."

"Do you still have nightmares?"

"My last one was several months ago. The girls are strong, but they may someday become pregnant. I am terrified of losing them."

She squeezed his arms. "That is only natural. You love your children. You loved your wife."

"Yes," he said, "I did, I suppose. We were well matched, but I don't think it was love."

"No?"

How strange to think of this now. He'd never bothered to consider it before. He and Barbara had married because it had made sense. He had cared for her, and she had given him two beautiful babies. He couldn't think of a single time when she disagreed with him about anything…

But now that he thought about it, Barbara had acted more like a well-trained servant than a wife. And when he compared her to the woman in front of him…well, Sadie was a firecracker. Flame and sound, wrapped together in a package that was pricklier than a cactus. To him, she was more alive, more colorful, and more damned alluring than any woman he'd ever met.

"My lord?"

"I was comfortable with her," he finally said. "That is something, but…" He looked at her. "If Minette had been a boy and if Barbara had lived, I doubt I would have ever touched her again." His eyes widened at that thought. He'd never been attracted to his wife. Never felt his groin thicken with anything but duty. As opposed to now, when a frustrating Scotswoman stirred his loins to bursting.

Good God, what was happening to him?

"I am sorry," she said.

"So am I," he admitted, though he wondered what he was apologizing for. Was he sorry that he'd never been attracted to his wife? Or sorry that she died before knowing true passion? "Either way," he finally said, "it is done with now. I have mourned my late wife. She is at peace, and so I am." His gaze turned to the woman in his arms now. The one whose hair looked like a cascade of dark fire. "We are here to discuss your dreams, not mine."

"There is nothing more to discuss," she said as she twisted away. He didn't let her go far. He caught her fingertips and held on. And a sudden inspiration made him ask his next question.

"What was I doing when the banshee appeared?"

"What?" Her word was a high squeak, and so he knew he had guessed correctly.

"Miss Allen…Sadie. What were we doing when the banshee wailed? Were we kissing?"

She nodded, her gaze averted. His groin tightened unbearably.

"Were we doing more than kissing?"

Another slow nod and suddenly blood was roaring in his ears.

"I thought you didn't want to kiss me," he said.

"I don't!" she shot back.

"Truly? What happens in dreams is an echo, perhaps, of baser thoughts. You are a young, vibrant woman. Desire is natural."

"With a Sassenach?" she challenged.

He lifted his hands in a shrug. "And with a Scotswoman."

She looked at him a long moment, and he could see the awareness building in her. Finally, she tilted her head as if to inspect something curious.

"You wish to kiss me?"

"You are beautiful, smart, and you make me smile." No, that wasn't exactly right. "You make me feel things. And I find I want that."

"Even though I am unsuitable as a mother to your children?"

He winced at that. "I have reconsidered those earlier words," he said. "Indeed, I begin to think I was entirely wrong. My children would do well to have you as an example. You are bold and moral. Yes, I find you dangerously wild at times, but perhaps because you have not calculated correctly, not because you are too impulsive to see reason." He matched her expression. "You did accept my escort home after Lord Liddican's attack."

"I am not a fool. There are dangers a woman cannot face alone. Even one who knows how to fight."

He grinned. "See? You are reasonable. And that is vastly reassuring to me."

"You feared for my safety?"

"Yes. And you, apparently, fear for mine, if you wake screaming because a banshee kills me." He closed the distance between them. "What do you think that means?"

She snorted. "That I am daft." Then she pressed her fingers to his chest. "But they say all lovers are such."

He grinned. "Perhaps we should try an experiment. Let us repeat whatever we did in your dream and see if the spirit attacks in true life."

Her eyes widened. "Everything we did?"

Wasn't that interesting? Just how far had they gone in her dreams?

"Shall we start with a kiss? That's not so scary, is it?"

"T'was not the kiss that was so frightening. It was the banshee ripping out your heart afterwards." Her brogue was becoming thicker now.

"If a banshee appears, I shall—"

"Be torn limb from limb!"

He shrugged. "Then, I ask you to raise my girls for me. Teach them to be smart and bold like you. To not allow injustice, but fight it as best they can."

He saw the words hit her, her body softening as she absorbed them. "You don't think me unnatural?"

"I think you wonderful."

Then he was done talking. He closed the distance between them, and slowly—in case she disagreed—lowered his lips to hers.

She did not disagree.