To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  The passenger descended the steps with the help of her footman. An expertly tailored costume of deep black velvet hugged the woman’s generous curves. An equally black veil hid her features.

  “Who is she?” Caro asked, though something so commonplace as a name would tell her nothing. What she really wanted to know was if this newcomer was an adversary.

  “The Marchioness of Wyvern.”

  His clipped syllables sent a shiver of alarm up the back of her neck. “Wyvern? Your former employer? But her dress would indicate—”

  “Yes. Though when I left the estate, the marquess was healthy enough for a man of his age.”

  Caro sifted through her memories. Somewhere she’d heard tell the marquess was even older than her papa. “My con—”

  “Condolences are not necessary.”

  “I…I suppose I ought to see what she wants.”

  For a recently bereaved widow to undertake the journey from Yorkshire to Suffolk, something dire must have occurred, though Caro could not fathom what, nor why Lady Wyvern would choose to come to Sherrington of all places, unless Adrian was somehow involved. Caro had never had occasion to be introduced to either Wyvern or his wife—and now she was expected to receive the woman.

  Damnation. Of all the times for her sister to be away from home. Lizzie would have a far clearer notion of the proper etiquette in this situation.

  “No.” Adrian’s grip on her tightened. “Not like this.”

  “Not like—”

  He pulled at a wisp of her loose hair. “This.”

  “Oh.” Caro had forgotten. Dressed in an old habit, her hair falling about her shoulders, she looked a proper hoyden—hardly a state to receive a lady of such standing.

  Too late. Lady Wyvern had spotted them and was sailing across the front terrace like a black swan. “Adrian, thank goodness…”

  Adrian? Another wave of cold slipped down Caro’s neck.

  Lady Wyvern cast back her veil to reveal a wide smile set in an incredibly pretty face, all smooth, translucent skin, with roses blooming in her cheeks. An obscene number of years must have separated her and her late husband.

  Her gaze lit on Caro, traveling from the top of her disheveled head to the tips of her muddy half boots, assessing the way one might with an opponent—or a rival—before coming to rest on Adrian’s hand, which still circled Caro’s wrist. The smile melted from Lady Wyvern’s face. “Who is your friend?”

  “My lady, allow me to present Lady Caroline Wilde, daughter of the Duke of Sherrington.” Adrian kept his tone brisk and formal, but it carried an underlying note of warning. “Lady Caroline, the Marchioness of Wyvern.”

  “You must accept my sympathies.” As protocol demanded, Caro inclined her head, but she kept her gaze pinned on the other woman, the way a bird watches a coiled snake. At the very least, Lady Wyvern was another of those society women who would sneer from behind their fans at Caro for riding with the men.

  It’s a good thing she doesn’t know what else you’ve been up to.

  “My lord’s passing was sudden, I grant you, but at his advanced age…One can never tell.” Then Lady Wyvern nodded at Adrian and laughed, the sound like the tinkle of bells, but slightly off-key coming from one dressed in widow’s weeds. “I see you’ve refined your taste.” She cast another long look at Caro. “At least somewhat.”

  Caro felt her smile go rigid. She’d never been any good at repaying that sort of sly snideness in kind. It was one reason she preferred to consort with gentlemen. They, at least, were direct and clear about disliking one of their own. They didn’t cast social darts undercut with disparagement beneath a veneer of manners.

  Adrian pushed in front of her, as if he thought to fend off a physical attack. “What do you want?”

  “Really,” said Lady Wyvern. If she’d been holding a fan, it would have been fluttering. “Must you display such a lack of courtesy?”

  “You do not deserve my courtesy. Now tell me what has brought”—he pronounced it brote—“you here. Why aren’t you back in Yorkshire playing the part of the grieving widow?”

  “Have you forgotten so soon? I ought to be insulted.” Lady Wyvern shifted her weight, her stance changing to something liquid and frankly scandalous. “I want the same thing I’ve always wanted. I’m sure you’d rather not discuss such a delicate matter in front of Lady Caroline, now, would you?”

  “No,” Adrian growled. “No, of course not. I’ll show you to the study.”

  —

  In the study, Adrian made straight for the duke’s brandy. Thank God the decanter still held enough deep amber liquid for a glass or three. Adrian was going to need it. He poured himself three fingers and downed it in one shot before refilling the tumbler.

  “Aren’t you going to offer me some refreshment?” Lady Wyvern asked.

  He closed his eyes and prayed for strength, then pivoted to face her. “I’m going to ask you for an explanation. Why now? Why chase me two hundred miles when your husband is no longer with us?”

  She crossed to him and laid a hand on his forearm. “Because we still have time.”

  Once again, he drained his glass. Great bloody Christ. She still thought to bear Wyvern’s heir—or near as made no matter. The late marquess had been singularly unlucky in that regard. His first wife—the woman Adrian had grown up knowing, the woman who had agreed with Wyvern’s agent that Adrian ought to learn to read and cypher, who had given a curious boy the run of the library—had died childless. The current marchioness also hadn’t conceived, despite her youth.

  The first time she’d come to him with the proposition he’d been shocked and a little revolted, all the more so when she’d claimed to have Wyvern’s blessing. She’d pursued him relentlessly, in the end driving him to ask for a letter of introduction and seek a new situation.

  He shook free of her touch. “We,” he repeated. “For God’s sake, you couldn’t have found yourself another fool to cuckold Wyvern with? One who was willing?”

  In place of a reply, she stepped closer and ran one hand up his chest. “I could make you willing if you’d let me.”

  Placing both hands on her shoulders, he set her back. “No. It’s allus been no. And so I ask again, why mun you include me in your little schemes?”

  Five years, he realized. Five years, she’d been after him, though she’d begun subtly enough, he’d grant. Not long after her return from her wedding trip with Wyvern, she’d sought excuses to find him in some remote part of the estate or in one of the unused rooms. She’d cast him smiles that had seemed merely friendly, until they accumulated. She’d requested help with trifles, required his arm to aid her across a slippery patch of ground. And then the touching had started, fleeting at first, but each one had lingered a bit longer until he could no longer ignore them.

  By the time she’d trapped him in the garden with a kiss that declared her intentions in no uncertain terms, he’d flattered himself she was merely attracted to a man much younger than her husband. Still, he’d resisted. He’d had to for the sake of his position.

  But this went far beyond mere attraction. He must admit that now that she’d gone to the trouble of chasing him as far as Suffolk.

  She breathed in, clearly in a bid for patience, and as she did so her expression changed from sultry to something that combined amusement and pique. “You’ve been with her, haven’t you?” Lady Wyvern laughed, but the sound echoed hollowly off the high, beamed ceiling. “You little devil, you’ve plucked Lady Caroline’s flower, haven’t you?”

  At her vulgarity, a torrent of rage boiled up inside him. How dare she? How dare someone as unscrupulous as Lady Wyvern couch what he and Caro had shared in such terms? For what had transpired earlier between them had surpassed mere physicality. He’d felt closer to her than to any other human being in his life. For Lady Wyvern to attempt to sully that was more than he could bear.

  Somehow he managed to keep hold on his temper. “My doings are none of your affair.”

  Lady Wyver
n sauntered about him in a considering circle, like a vulture who had scented a fresh kill. “My goodness, you’d think someone would have told a girl of her station not to ruin herself with the help.”

  “It seems no one told you, either.”

  “I doubt her father would be overjoyed if he should hear of the matter.” She took another turn about him, but he would not give her the satisfaction of watching her. “Wyvern, on the other hand, rather pushed me in your direction.”

  “So you’ve claimed in the past.” Not that he’d ever believed her. “But why the devil would he do that?”

  “He needed an heir and wasn’t man enough to get one himself. These things happen with age.” Her voice came from somewhere just behind Adrian’s ear. “I thought you were aware. Come. I’ll even let you go back to carrying on with Lady Caroline. She doesn’t have to know a thing about this.”

  “Again, any fool could serve such a purpose. It doesn’t have to be me.”

  “Good gracious. You don’t know, do you?”

  He spun on his heel. “Know what?”

  “That Wyvern is your father.”

  He nearly laughed in her face. “Do you expect me to believe that when he’s never sired an heir?”

  “Did you ever ask your mother for your father’s identity?”

  “She…” Damn it, where was the brandy? “She allus refused to tell me.”

  “And you never asked yourself why Wyvern took such a particular interest in you? Made certain you learned a trade that would allow you to rise in the world?”

  “That was never Wyvern. It was Danvers and the first marchioness.” He held fast to that thread like a lifeline, even though he feared it would soon fray. “They took an interest in me.”

  “As his proxies, yes. By law, he couldn’t leave you his estate, so he did the next best thing. He gave you the means to live your entire life on it.” Except the woman before him had ensured he left.

  The floor seemed to rock beneath his feet. He nearly made the colossal mistake of reaching to her for support. Just in time, he clenched his fingers into a fist.

  God. God, as much as he didn’t want to believe Lady Wyvern, it all made a terrible sort of sense. To cover the moment, he returned to the decanter.

  “So what you’re saying…” Once again, rage ignited a blaze deep in his gut, but this time he allowed it to burn through him. Right now, utter fury was far easier to deal with than her revelations. “All those attempts to seduce me, they were because I possessed the proper bloodlines? You wanted to use me as a stud?”

  She didn’t even possess the grace to blush. “It never hurt your case that you’re easy to look at, in a rugged sort of way. Well formed. But that was a mere side benefit.”

  He gripped the glass until his knuckles whitened. “And you expect all this to persuade me to go along with your plans? Why would I when I left to get away from you?”

  “If I do not bear Wyvern’s son, his heir presumptive will send me away from the estate.” She advanced toward him, the set of her shoulders exuding the confidence of a victor. “I shall have no choice but to go back to London, and who knows what gossip I might spread there? Word might even get out that Lady Caroline has a taste for the help.”

  —

  Caro pressed her ear against the study door and cursed the Sherrington legacy. If previous generations had been a little less wealthy, she might actually be able to hear more than the drone of voices. She might have a concrete idea what Adrian and the marchioness were discussing.

  “Oh, what have I missed?”

  Caro all but jumped out of her skin. She turned, to find her sister regarding the scene, wearing an odd expression of mixed curiosity and accusation.

  “It’s quite unfair, you know,” Pippa went on. “The house has been so quiet with you gone all day, and now I catch you listening in at doors.”

  Pippa clearly required an explanation Caro wished she could give. “I’m trying to find out what Lady Wyvern wants. It would help if the doors about the place were a little less thick.”

  “Who is Lady Wyvern?”

  “The wife of Mr. Crosby’s former employer, apparently.” The very young, pretty, bereaved widow, but Caro didn’t want to point out as much to her inquisitive sister. Mentioning those details would only force Caro to examine feelings that were tending toward the painful at the moment. In fact, her heart might have been dragged behind a horse over newly cut fields the way it was scraped raw.

  Yes, and they’ve been in there a long time.

  She forced that thought aside. Adrian hadn’t been happy to see Lady Wyvern. No, not at all. Caro had to believe the marchioness hadn’t found the means to change his mind.

  “And what could she possibly want with Mr. Crosby?”

  Caro crossed her arms. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to listen at the door.”

  “Wyvern.” Pippa pressed a forefinger to her chin. “He’s a marquess, isn’t he?”

  “And old.”

  “Perhaps Papa knows of him, then.”

  The clearing of a throat signaled another arrival. “Speaking of your father,” Caruthers intoned, “he has summoned you, Lady Caroline. He desires your presence immediately in the front sitting room.”

  Damnation. At least Papa wasn’t lying in his bedchamber. Casting a final glance at the study door, as if it might suddenly dissolve and reveal the secrets of what was transpiring in there, Caro followed the butler along the passage to the front of the manor.

  Dressed for dinner in a black velvet frock coat, gold waistcoat, and pristine cravat, Papa sat erect in a wing chair as though he were the king himself. At Caro’s entrance, he narrowed his eyes, scanning her costume with as much disapproval as Lady Wyvern had. “Have you been out riding the entire day?”

  Lord, her habit. Her straggling hair. Heaven forbid he decide to ask her what had happened to her coiffure. “No, Papa, just part of the morning.”

  “Ah, so you’ve been entertaining your guests, then?”

  “Not exactly.” She could have kicked herself for not lying, but then he’d discover that her riding party had come to naught—just as soon as he walked into an empty dining room. “My guests have decided to leave.”

  “Good heavens, what?” If Papa were the sort to carry a cane, he would have banged it on the floor for emphasis. “How intolerably rude.”

  “Well…It is my understanding that one was asked to leave and the others judged it better to accompany him.” Lord only knew why she was defending them, especially the ladies, who had looked down their noses at her, but she couldn’t tar every one of them with the same brush as Pendleton. Some of the gentlemen were decent sorts, after all.

  “Who asked them to leave?”

  “Snowley, Papa.” On the other hand, she experienced not the slightest twinge of regret for exposing her cousin to the duke’s contempt.

  “There is a shock.” He pressed his lips together. “The boy does not possess an ounce of sense. And here you were meant to choose a husband. Now what will we do?”

  Forget the entire proposition. No, she couldn’t say that, but she also needed to deviate his train of thought. “I was wondering if you could tell me something about the Marquess of Wyvern and his wife.”

  At the abrupt change in topic, Papa shook himself slightly. “Wyvern? I was at Eton with him briefly. He was a few years ahead of me.”

  “And his wife?” She’d have to let her papa know of Wyvern’s demise, of course, but not just yet.

  “Which one?”

  “He had more than one?”

  “His first wife passed away nearly ten years ago.” Papa tapped the ends of his fingers together in reflection. “He remarried, after a proper mourning period, of course. A much younger woman. I still don’t believe he’s sired an heir, though. Why all the sudden interest in Wyvern?”

  “Because Lady Wyvern has come to call on Mr. Crosby. She’s in the study with him.” God willing, they’d finished whatever they were undertaking in there.


  “Good Lord.” Papa sat forward in his chair. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d be the worst sort of host if I didn’t greet her. We must keep her for supper.”

  Chapter 26

  By the end of supper, Caro wished she’d ordered a tray in her bedchamber. But no, she’d bowed to courtesy and her father’s expectations and donned a proper gown, complete with coiffure and accompanying jewelry.

  Why were riding habits and half boots so much more comfortable?

  As soon as she, her sister, and Snowley entered the drawing room, Pippa crossed to the table, poured herself a glass of sherry, and raised it. “I daresay we now know more about Lady Wyvern than we wanted.”

  Thankfully, both Lady Wyvern and Papa had declined to adjourn with them, in favor of retiring early. “I’m not at all certain I ought to join you.” Lady Wyvern had brushed her hands down the black velvet of her bodice, whether to emphasize her widow’s weeds or her generous bosom was an open question. “It would feel too much like celebrating, and that would be displaced to one in mourning.”

  An ironic statement if there ever was one, when the woman had spent the entire meal hanging on Papa’s every word, fluttering her eyelashes and giggling like a schoolgirl.

  “Indeed.” Caro settled herself on a settee, spreading her pale green silk skirts about her. “Though Papa seemed to be enjoying himself.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d like any whisky,” Snowley said from the side table, where he was serving himself his own libation.

  Caro picked up a throw pillow and heaved it in his direction. How dare he remind her of yesterday’s escapades? She still hadn’t decided on a proper form of revenge, even if Pendleton’s reaction had been enough to reassure her that, party or no, he’d never have recommended her to Sir Bellingham. “That was not necessary. At any rate, I doubt I could stomach strong drink after the display we just witnessed.”

  “What do you think that was about?” Pippa asked. “Papa is far too old to have ladies fawning all over him.”