To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  But not for long. Any remaining coherent thought evaporated from his mind the moment he noticed her shirt—or rather, the way the thin linen draped across a pair of enticing breasts uninhibited by stays. The shadow of rosy nipples poked at fabric softened by too many washings, tempting the pads of his fingers, his tongue, his teeth.

  But Caro moved first, smoothing her hands over his chest, untucking his shirt to access the flesh beneath. Deft fingers plucked at the buttons at his collar and cuffs. In an instant, she whipped the garment over his head.

  Her hair a fragrant cloud beneath his nose, she leaned in to nip at his neck before dipping lower. Her tongue flicked across a flat nipple, and his breath hissed between his teeth. God, had she read his mind? She must have, for she repeated the sensual slide of wet across his sensitive skin.

  His fingers tangled in her hair, and the hard backing of the banquette bit into his shoulders as he slumped in his seat. Lord, don’t stop. Don’t ever, ever stop. The phrase echoed through his mind in rhythm with every sweep.

  Her hands joined the dance, chasing the notes of an unheard waltz across his chest. Soon they dipped lower to tease at his belly and thighs until he groaned aloud.

  “Do you like that?” Mischief sparkled in her eyes. Mischief and plans. God in heaven, whatever she had in mind, let him discover it soon.

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  With one finger she circled the top button at his falls. Fists clenched, he watched the movement.

  “I just thought I’d make certain. You’d tell me if I did anything to displease you.” Where had she learned to play the seductress so thoroughly?

  “The only way you could displease me is to stop what you’re doing.” His reply emerged on a low growl.

  “Oh, we can’t have that.” Holding his gaze, she popped the first button free of its mooring.

  “No, we can’t.”

  She opened another button and another, her knuckles brushing the hard ridge of his cock as she moved lower. Each fleeting touch only made him harder, and he groaned aloud in relief when she finally released him and wrapped her fist around his length.

  He’d taught her well that day in the gamekeeper’s cottage. She knew just how to hold him, just how to stroke, clenching him more tightly on every pass of her hand, each movement slow and calculated.

  Too slow.

  Aye, she watched his face, gauged his every reaction. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Little tease. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. The plans he’d noted earlier in her expression were just as clear now, and though she drove him mad with desire, he wanted to see where she’d lead him.

  She didn’t make him wait long. Her hair falling in a sensual curtain to trail fire over his bare skin, she bent her head to his chest once more. With lips and tongue, she blazed a path across his heated flesh. Down—good Lord—down across his belly. Her hand firm on the base of his erection, she moved lower, closer. God.

  The warm rush of her breath across the head of his prick all but jerked him from the banquette. Never in his life would he expect this from a lady. Never, but Lord above how he wanted it. And here she was, his Caro, hovering over him, her lips parted.

  He twitched in anticipation of their wet heat on him.

  For a moment she seemed to hesitate, and a very small part of him wanted to tell her she didn’t have to do this. But no, that couldn’t be right. Not his Caro, who thought nothing of charging four-foot fences.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Not in hesitation, but contemplation, like a general choosing the best line of attack.

  He kept his gaze riveted on her face as she placed the first kiss on the very tip. When her tongue flicked out to capture the bead of liquid welling from him, his eyelids drifted closed. The hot, damp softness of her lips spread about his shaft, moving lower and lower to take as much of him as she could. And all the while her hand pumped at his base.

  Control. It was something Caro wanted, and she was fast taking it from him. He gritted his teeth, and his hands twisted against the upholstery. Stars exploded behind his eyes. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. Any more, and he’d come unraveled like a bit of threadbare rag and thrust into her throat. He grasped for the last remaining thread of his sanity and resisted the urge.

  Fire burned at the base of his spine. In another instant, he’d spill, despite his good intentions. Lowering his hands to her head he cradled her face and pulled her up to his mouth for a lingering kiss. Through her shirt, the peaks of her hardened nipples pressed into his chest.

  Closer. He still needed to be closer to her. Without thought, he ran his hands down her back, crushing her closer, following the contour of her lower back until his fingers gripped her backside. Her legs parted naturally, one knee on either side of him, but her breeches still barred his path to her sweetness and heat.

  “I believe we’ve forgotten why we’re here.” What had happened to his voice? He sounded as if he’d swallowed a bucketful of gravel.

  She ran a hand up his chest. “You mean this isn’t why we’re here?”

  “You wanted riding lessons, if I recall.” Not that recollection was easy when he lay half across a banquette, with a raging cockstand and eager partner to hand. “As you know, riding requires the proper dress. Or in this case, lack of dress.” He reached for the buttons on her breeches. “And you’re wearing far too much.”

  A knowing smile spread across Caro’s cheeks. She stepped back and hooked her thumbs into her waistband. Swinging her hips from side to side, she pushed away the nankeen to reveal long, white thighs.

  His desperation to sink himself deep between those thighs redoubled, and he reached for her. She settled once more into his lap, her heat sliding along his bare skin. He dipped a finger into her. She moaned low in her throat, and her internal muscles gripped his knuckle. How could she be so eager and ready with so little preparation?

  He took himself in hand and placed the other at her flank. The tip of his cock teased at her entrance.

  “Is this where I mount?” A breathless quality crept into her voice. It went well with the flush that stained her cheeks rose.

  “At your pleasure.”

  In the next moment, he regretted that particular phrasing. He was ready for hard and fast, but her yielding body opened to him slowly. Almost leisurely. Before she was fully seated, he understood the lick of eternal flames that burned without consuming. With a groan, he strained toward her.

  “And now?” she asked.

  The imp. She knew very well what came next, if the skill with which she plied her mouth and lips and tongue on him were any indication. “You ride. Like a postilion at the trot.”

  “Like this?” Thigh muscles straining against his flanks, she rose. Velvet heat gripped him as she sank back down.

  “Yes.” God, yes.

  She began to move, her rhythm careful. Calculated. Though her cheeks darkened with passion and her breath caught, she appeared to be in no rush to finish this encounter. She learned too damned quickly for her own good—but then, he’d been besotted enough to allow her all the control.

  As she descended, he thrust into her. She shuddered and moaned, but still maintained her cadence. Up. Down. Fast enough to enflame, but slow enough to madden.

  Control, yes. Somehow the fog of lust shredded for an instant to give him a clear picture of Caro in the saddle. Perhaps the only aspect of her life over which she had complete control occurred when she was on horseback. Until now. With him.

  He could give that much to her. To an extent, at any rate.

  He moved his hand to her arse. “There are differences riding this way. When I want you to go faster, I apply the crop.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Though she raised a brow, God help him, he caught a flicker of intrigue.

  He tightened his fingers. “Is that a dare? Because it very much sounded like one.”

  On a downstroke she paused to swivel her hips. “Take i
t as you like.”

  The crack of his hand on her bare backside echoed through the room. Her jaw dropped, and a little huff of outrage escaped her.

  “Had no one ever done that to you before?” He could let himself tease, for the clench of her internal muscles along with a flood of wetness gave her away.

  “You have to know they haven’t.”

  He smoothed his hand over the spot. “It’s high time they did, don’t you think.”

  She tossed her head. “Perhaps.”

  He applied his hand again, until she took the hint and increased her pace, sighing and moaning every time she descended to him. He met her with strong thrusts that soon had him holding back his crisis. Above all, she must find her release with him.

  He skimmed his hands long her sides until he cupped her breasts. Leaning up, he took her nipples into his mouth in turn, suckling through the thin linen of her shirt. The long, white column of her neck arched as she threw her head back, and her movements became more frenzied.

  He slipped his fingers down her torso to the place where they joined, seeking the sensitive knot of flesh that would bring her relief. Small tremors shook her, the first flutterings that led to her entire body convulsing around him. On and on it went, while she cried out.

  With a shout, he gripped her hips and thrust deeply until he, too, careened over the edge.

  A long time—or perhaps mere moments—later, Caro raised her head. Strands of blond hair straggled in front of kiss-stung lips and rosy cheeks. She’d never looked more beautiful.

  I do not give a fig what anyone else thinks. If ever I pursued you, it was for love and only love. He could barely believe it, though she’d just done a thorough job of demonstrating. Not the past hour’s exchange, as pleasant as that was, but her utter willingness to give up everything for him.

  He’d happily spend the rest of his life making it up to her—as long as they could overcome one small obstacle. And he had no experience at placating an angry duke.

  Chapter 30

  When a duke summoned, one answered, especially when said duke was one’s father.

  Caro savored each step she took from the curving drive to the front door. She listened to the crunch of gravel beneath her half boots as it gave way to the polished stone of the terrace. And with each step, a lump grew in her throat.

  What if this was the last time she set eyes on her childhood home?

  She was going to miss the splash and sparkle of water as it jetted from the fish fountain in the middle of the front drive. She’d miss the perfume of the gardens, the shadows of the maze. She’d miss emerging from the cool shade of the woods to gallop across the fields.

  Her fields, but no longer. Without doubt, Papa had already undertaken the search for a new estate agent. Perhaps Dysart was already interviewing candidates in the study.

  And she, when this visit was over, would return to Yorkshire with Adrian. To Wyvern, where he’d take his position under Danvers until age forced Danvers out of a job. Windfall or no, he required a job at a manor, for they both recognized that Caro’s upbringing had in no way prepared her for keeping her own house.

  Thankfully, Lady Wyvern had moved on the moment she learned Adrian had taken care of more than one bit of business that day in York. Not only had he arranged for his inheritance, he’d left a witnessed statement as to her machinations. If she claimed to be increasing, Wyvern’s heir presumptive would have a case to cast doubt on the child’s parentage.

  The front door burst open.

  “Caro!”

  In another instant, her sisters all but knocked her on her backside in their rush to embrace her.

  Caro let her head linger on Lizzie’s shoulder. “Here I am, though I don’t know for how much longer if you insist on choking me.”

  A small hurricane about the size of an eleven-year-old boy blew between them in his hurry to gawk at the horses. He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a carrot. With supple lips, Boudicca snatched the root from his fingers and began munching.

  Caro nodded in the boy’s direction. “I’m afraid I’ve left you and Dysart in an awkward mess where Gus is concerned.”

  In her haste to carry out her other plans, she’d neglected to mention that Gus had learned the identity of his true father.

  Lizzie slipped an arm about Caro’s waist, while Pippa maintained her hug from the other side. “Don’t fret over it. The boy brought the matter up on his own. Dysart managed to explain the situation in terms Gus could understand. I don’t imagine he’ll try running off again. At least not where Marcus Pendleton is concerned. But enough of that.” Lizzie stepped back to look her sister over. “You don’t seem any worse for wear.”

  Caro grinned. “No more than you did when you came back from London with Dysart.”

  “You’re positively glowing.” A sigh escaped from Pippa, the sound a whisper of jealousy. “Both of you.”

  “Where is Mr. Crosby?” Lizzie moved in the direction of the house.

  “I daresay he’s slipped around the back to see what has happened in his absence,” Caro replied, following her across the threshold. “He’s probably afraid disaster has struck.”

  Before the carved staircase, Lizzie paused. “Snowley and Dysart have attempted to implement his plans, but since neither one of them has any experience, there may well be a disaster to contain.”

  Pippa put a hand on Caro’s shoulder and squeezed. “They’ve been working on Papa. We all have. Snowley even told him he almost understood this estate business, with Mr. Crosby to explain it to him.”

  “Dysart asked his father’s agent about Mr. Crosby when we went to visit last month,” Lizzie added. “It seems the Norcott agent is acquainted with Danvers and could put in a good word.”

  “Good Lord,” said Caro, “that was even before he knew we’d need to convince Papa.”

  Lizzie smiled. “Once an investigator…Since Dysart wasn’t here to oversee matters, he found another way to look into Mr. Crosby’s background.”

  “Speaking of Papa, what of him?” Caro held on to her breath, waiting for a clue as to what sort of reception she could expect.

  “He hasn’t risen from his bed since you left.”

  Damn. “I suppose I should prepare myself for a deathbed scene.”

  Pippa patted her arm. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “What does he expect his dramatics to accomplish?” Caro burst out. “It’s too late to undo my marriage.”

  The rumble of a throat clearing drew her attention to the steps. Caruthers stood at their base like a Beefeater on guard. “His grace is waiting.”

  She’d never before had reason to trudge up these stairs, but as she followed Caruthers, her feet grew heavier each time she lifted one to the next riser. At the top, the corridor lengthened before her, but she walked it, passing through the double doors, the empty sitting room to her father’s inner-sanctum.

  He’d been feeling better since the events of this past summer—or at least acting like it. Now he lay in the center of his bed, skin pale, eyes closed, his gray hair wispy and flyaway. Though the sun shone outside his window, the glass pane remained obdurately shut against the day’s freshness.

  Caro placed herself at the foot of his bed, hands dutifully folded. “Good day, Papa.”

  Slowly paper-thin eyelids lifted. “Ah, there you are.” He coughed for good measure. “My wayward daughter. How kind of you to pay me a visit before the inevitable comes to pass.”

  She bit her lip against a retort, all the while aware that in the past she would not have hesitated in calling out his little act. Papa’s been dying for the past decade, at least. I doubt he’s planning on kicking the bucket any time soon. Mere months before, she’d said as much in his presence, bold as brass, but if she stood up to him now, she might well destroy her chance of ever seeing her family again.

  “You’ll forgive me.” He pushed himself into a sitting position against his pile of pillows. “It is hard at my age. You’ve put me in an unte
nable position, you see.”

  Still she said nothing. Such remonstrance was only to be expected. Her gaze wandered to the glass vials lined up on a table next to his bed. His cures and elixirs, though Lizzie had assured her the colored liquids were comprised of sugar and alcohol—closer to cordials than medicine.

  “Quite apparently, I hired a very good agent. Both Snowley and Dysart have been working hard to convince me of that fact. I’ve been forced to dismiss him and find a replacement, yet there’s seemingly none to be had. What do you suggest I do?”

  She whipped her attention back to Papa. Was he really going to make it so easy? “You ought to do what is best for the estate, even if that means offering the position to Mr. Crosby.”

  After all the intimacies she’d shared with Adrian since their elopement, it struck her as distinctly odd to refer to him so formally.

  “That feels like going back on my word.”

  Or admitting a mistake, though truly Papa hadn’t made one. In dismissing Adrian, he’d behaved exactly as society expected him to. “You accepted Dysart.”

  “I knew Dysart’s father.” In other words, Papa had known from the beginning that, despite his rough exterior, Dysart was one of them.

  “I daresay you knew Adrian’s father.” There, she’d throw his Christian name in Papa’s face.

  “Wyvern? He has the look of the marquess about him. You’ll find that on more than one estate.”

  “Not this one,” Caro pointed out.

  “Either way, I do not know his mother.”

  “Is that Adrian’s fault?”

  “Will the rest of society view the matter in that light?” Papa returned. “You must think beyond yourself.”

  “In this instance I can’t.”

  “But the scandal—”

  “There will be scandal, no matter what. I eloped with him. Ran off to Scotland. Nothing you do can change that.”

  In a bid for strength, she let her gaze wander once more. On the table at the end of the row of bottles sat a new object, an exquisite strand of matched pearls, their opalescent surfaces softly filtering the colored elixirs. Before she could stop herself, she touched a forefinger to the velvet surface. “Where did this come from? I’ve never seen it.”