4 comments/ 893 views/ 0 favorites Shakespeare Masquerade Ch. 07-Epilogue By: mcbook 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. 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. 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. 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 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 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. 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. 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 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 fiancé 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, well-aimed word. "I don't know, but it's not a risk I'm willing to take. Anyway, Niall isn't my fiancé." "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 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 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. 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 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 Peña? 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." "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. 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. Shakespeare Masquerade Ch. 07-Epilogue 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. 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. 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. "Keys, lip gloss. All set." She closed the door behind her and took Xander's arm. 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. 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 fiancé?" 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 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. 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." "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. 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." 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." 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." 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." 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. * * * * 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 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. Shakespeare Masquerade Ch. 07-Epilogue 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." "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." 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. 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." 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. 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." 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 check-ups 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. 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?" 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." "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. 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 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. 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. 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 décolleté 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. 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, 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.