To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “That? It belonged to your mother.”

  Good Lord, it had to be priceless. “You’d think I’d have seen her wear them.”

  “I thought it was in the safe. Mr. Barrows appropriated it at some point. We’ve just discovered it on the estate. That map you left behind…”

  “And you haven’t seen fit to put it away?”

  “When you get to be my age, perhaps you’ll understand. There are a lot of memories tied up with that piece. As it so happens, it’s one of the first gifts I ever gave your mother.”

  Caro bumped her finger along the pearls, gaining hope with each perfect sphere she touched. He’d been thinking about love. Recalling his younger days. Perhaps she still had a chance. “First gifts? Surely not something so costly before your wedding.”

  “As a matter of fact…” Was that a blush blooming on his cheeks?

  She seized the opportunity. “Do you remember how you felt about Mama? Because I do. I remember that you loved her so much, no one else could replace her.” Papa could have chosen to remarry when their mother died, after all. He might have selected another wife and fathered a direct heir. “That is how I feel about Adrian. If you cannot accept him, you cannot accept me.”

  —

  On the fringe of the woods, Adrian reined to a halt and looked out across the fields. In the distance, the thatched roofs of tenants’ cottages poked toward the sky, their chimneys belching plumes of smoke. The irrigation channel cut down the middle of two swaths of freshly turned soil.

  Caro’s former training grounds sacrificed to his plan—though neither land nor plans were his any longer.

  Strange how in so short a length of time he’d become attached to what amounted to a patch of ground, especially when he considered all the years he’d passed at Wyvern.

  Wyvern was never yours. For that matter, neither was Sherrington, but he felt as if the rich brown soil drying beneath the sun and wind was ground into his palms. Part of his skin. Part of him.

  He turned his mount. There was no point in mulling over might-have-beens. Caro had long since disappeared into the manor, and it was high time he joined her. He would have faced the duke by her side, but she insisted she needed no protection from her own father. Surely the interview must be finished by now.

  Interview. What a cold term for an encounter with one’s father, but he couldn’t imagine their meeting being any more than frosty given his grace’s anger the night he’d learned of his daughter’s ruin.

  Their hasty marriage would hardly make the situation any better.

  Before long, though, he spotted Caro striding through the trees. He knew the moment she saw him, for from one instant to the next, her entire face lit as if she held a candle flame beneath her chin. A wide smile spread across her face.

  His cheeks ached with an answering grin, and he reached for his next breath.

  God, she was always going to do this to him, wasn’t she? Steal his breath and set his heart to hammering and make the very air around them shimmer with awareness. With anticipation.

  As she gathered her skirts and broke into a run, he slid from the saddle so he could catch her in a hug. “What did his grace have to say?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it.”

  He couldn’t quite reconcile her tone with her words. He’d expected disappointment, her phrasing suggested as much, but her smile didn’t slip so much as an inch. “What wouldn’t I believe?”

  “He’s sent me to fetch you.” Her fingers worked their way between his. “Actually, he wanted to send a footman, but I insisted on coming myself.” She squeezed his hand, and that, too, felt like encouragement. “I thought you’d be more amenable this way.”

  “By all means, if you feel I require convincing”—he dropped his forehead to hers—“have at it.” In the weeks since their marriage, he’d discovered his wife was very, very talented at certain highly pleasurable means of persuasion.

  “I don’t think Papa will be too happy with us if we stop for that.” Still, she pressed her lips to the end of his nose. “And you’ll want to remain in his good graces.”

  He snaked an arm about her waist and pulled her to his chest, reveling in the way her lithe body fit into his. Perfect. “Other than disappearing off the face of the earth, I’m not sure how I can accomplish that.”

  “I think I’ve convinced him to restore you to your position here.”

  He nearly laughed. “What? How did you manage that?”

  “Never mind now. Let’s get you in front of him to accept before he changes his mind.”

  Despite her plea for haste, he took her lips in a long, searching kiss. She melted against him, her arms about his neck, her fingers in his hair, and returned every last stroke of his tongue. Her hips soon cradled a fast-growing erection.

  Panting, he tore himself away. Later. They’d have to finish this later. “You are a miracle worker.”

  “Credit goes to my sisters. They laid the groundwork. I think even more credit goes to my mama.” With a final squeeze of her hand, she started back along the path. “There’s only one hitch.”

  “What is that?” Whatever it was, they’d overcome it. The worst was behind them now. It had to be.

  “Due to the scandal we’ve caused, Papa doesn’t feel we should live at the manor. He doesn’t wish to have to explain us to guests, you see.”

  He stopped cold. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not in the least. In fact, I will never have to endure London again. I will spend my entire life here in the country, where I belong. At your side. As for our residence, I know exactly where we can set up housekeeping.”

  Suddenly, he knew, as well. The gamekeeper’s cottage was begging for them to occupy it. “It sounds as if you’ve got it all planned out.”

  “Oh, that’s only the beginning.” Her grin turned downright wicked. “You see, a certain estate agent taught me a thing or two about the importance of plans that extend into the future. With a little persuasion, I might even demonstrate.”

  To Carrie Canada, who requested an equestrian heroine named for her. I hope I’ve done you justice.

  Acknowledgments

  Dear readers,

  The first acknowledgment belongs to you. Thank you so much for reading Adrian and Caro’s story. I hope you enjoyed it.

  To find out what I have coming up next, please subscribe to my newsletter. A sign-up link, along with other social media links, is available on my website: http://ashlynmacnamara.net.

  Want to help an author out? Reviews, both the positive and the negative, are one way a reader can get involved. Please consider taking a few minutes to post your thoughts on this book.

  And now I hope you’ll bear with me while I send out a few thank-yous.

  As always, to my wonderful agent, Sara Megibow for being there and believing. To my amazing editor Junessa Viloria for the same.

  To Erica Monroe, the best VA an author could ask for.

  To Caryl, Lizzie, Clemence, Carina, Matan, and Paula, thank you for putting up with my kvetching and for nagging me to keep going. To Caryl and Lizzie, especially for yelling at me to keep writing.

  To Secret Curtsey Society and the Lalala Sisterhood for their moral support.

  To my husband and daughters for putting up with the amount of time I spend living in my own little dreamworld.

  Until next time!

  Cheers!

  Ashlyn Macnamara

  xoxoxo

  BY ASHLYN MACNAMARA

  The Duke-Defying Daughters Trilogy

  To Lure a Proper Lady

  To Tame a Wild Lady

  The Bastard Brotherhood

  Destined for a King

  The Eton Boys Trilogy

  What a Lady Craves

  What a Lady Demands

  What a Lady Requires

  A Most Series

  A Most Scandalous Proposal

  A Most Devilish Rogue

  PHOTO: NICOLE MORISCO

  ASHLYN MACNAMARA is the USA T
oday bestselling author of Destined for a King, To Tame a Wild Lady, To Lure a Proper Lady, What a Lady Requires, What a Lady Demands, What a Lady Craves, A Most Devilish Rogue, and A Most Scandalous Proposal. She lives in the wilds of suburbia outside of Montreal with her husband and two teenage daughters. When not writing, she looks for other excuses to neglect the housework, among them knitting, reading, and wasting time on the Internet in the guise of doing research.

  ashlynmacnamara.net

  Facebook.com/​AuthorAshlynMacnamara

  @ashlyn_mac

  Read on for a sneak peek of the next book in the Duke-Defying Daughters series

  To Tempt a Reluctant Lady

  by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Coming soon from Loveswept

  LONDON, FEBRUARY 1823

  Lady Philippa Wilde, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Sherrington, could not recall attending an event where she’d been subject to so much scrutiny. Not even her coming out had garnered her this much attention. Even worse, she’d spent an entire hour since the Hartleys’ butler had announced her family’s arrival trying to avoid the speculative glances cast her way.

  It was difficult to sneak out with most of the ladies observing her from behind lace-edged fans.

  Pretending an avid interest in the ever changing couples swirling about the ballroom, she sidled closer to the doorway. In front of her, a pair of elegantly coiffured heads inclined toward each other. One of the young ladies peeked over her shoulder, smirked, and leaned to whisper in her companion’s ear.

  Pippa could easily imagine what she was saying. “Positively scandalous of Lady Philippa to even think of turning up tonight. I cannot fathom how she received an invitation.”

  And no doubt the companion’s reply would run along these lines: “She is a duke’s daughter. That must account for it.”

  “What must it have taken for Sherrington himself to appear in Town? He hasn’t left his estate in a decade or more.”

  “I’ll warrant he couldn’t stand the humiliation his second daughter subjected him to. Ran off with the estate agent. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Sherrington might well hide them away in the country, but he could no longer stomach remaining there himself.”

  Pippa tamped down a stab of irritation for her sister’s sake. Caro was in love and happy, dash it all. That was all that should matter.

  “And poor Lady Philippa.” The voice in Pippa’s mind sounded anything but sorry. “No one will have her. If she wants to wed, she’ll have to marry down considerably. The way her older sister did.”

  Pippa had caught snatches of enough gossipy exchanges to piece together the entire conversation without straining her ears. Since her arrival in Town, she’d overheard all this and worse. At some point—soon, she hoped—the talk would stop bothering her. It had to.

  Unlike the gossiping girls, she hadn’t come to London to seek a husband. No matter that Papa tried to press her toward any number of eligible young men, she’d come to advance her art.

  And to that end, she had a painting to view. If only she could slip out unobserved.

  She slid a silk-clad foot to the left, edging sideways past a sour-faced matron and a bewigged older gentleman. On the dance floor, her cousin circled about a dark-haired partner whose ostrich feather overtopped him by several inches. In the far corner, a low-cut scarlet saque dress, its voluminous skirts held out by paniers, betrayed the location of her great-aunt and ostensible chaperone.

  A burst of giggles overpowered the orchestra for a moment. Blast those young ladies, were they still going on about Pippa? She had no way of telling. Still, she felt as if every eye in the ballroom had flickered in her direction.

  Bending down, she frowned in the direction of her hem. If anyone noticed her exit, let them surmise she was headed for the ladies’ retiring room and a repair. She’d made it as far as the corridor when she pulled up short, just shy of running into a pale blonde dressed in the faintest of pinks.

  “Oh, oh my goodness.” Pippa pressed her fingertips to her throat. “Anna.”

  Anna dipped her head, setting her carefully curled hair to trembling. “My lady.”

  What on earth? Anna, along with her mother, had attended a house party at Sherrington Manor the previous summer. Then they’d been on a first-name basis. “You needn’t be so formal.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened. “I beg your pardon.” With a quick glance about, as if she expected her mother to jump out of the nearest alcove, Anna inched closer. “Mama has forbidden me from associating with you.”

  “Oh.” A sudden chill washed over Pippa’s skin, followed by a flash of heat. Though Anna’s revelation shouldn’t shock her—Lady Whitby embodied the worst of society’s doyennes. She was at once an inveterate gossip and a social stickler of the highest order. Those giggling girls back in the ballroom had a way to go before they aspired to such a lofty position. “I’m…I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s just…” Anna twisted her hands about her folded fan. “I don’t wish to put an end to our friendship. But Mama…she can’t get past everything that’s happened with your sisters. She claims there must be something lacking in their education to make them behave as they have, which naturally makes you suspect.”

  “I see.” It was all Pippa could squeeze out.

  “No, you don’t.” The spots on Anna’s cheeks darkened further, and her hands tightened about the ribs of her fan. “Oh, I’m making such a hash of this. Of course, you don’t need me to repeat everything Mama said. The important part is, I don’t agree.”

  “What part of it do you disagree with?” Good heavens, Pippa’s voice had gone as frosty as the weather outside. Anna would be calling for her pelisse in a moment. “That my sisters lack decorum or that I’m a risk, as well?”

  “No, please, you misunderstand.” Anna pressed a gloved hand to Pippa’s forearm. “Your pardon. You know I’m not very good at standing up, especially not to my mother. I cannot argue with her, but that does not mean I agree with any of it.”

  “Maybe you ought to stand up for yourself. If you’d like an example, I can provide one here and now.” Pippa inhaled. Slow. Calm. “If you wish to count me among your friends, be my friend. No hiding in corridors. Talk to me in the ballroom. If you wish to pay a call, pay one during regular hours. If others gossip, so be it.”

  “But Mama—”

  “What can she do beyond object?” Pippa stepped to the side to allow a liveried footman to pass. “It’s only so many words. She can hardly shut you in your bedchamber with nothing but bread and water. Not at your age.”

  “She’ll find me a husband.” Anna shuddered. “Someone objectionable—to me, not to her.”

  “If this is about Snowley—”

  “No, it’s not about Snowley, I swear.” During last summer’s house party, Anna had developed a tendre for Pippa’s cousin. “Mama no longer thinks he’s an acceptable match, even if he is heir to a dukedom.”

  Anna’s cheeks were now stained a deep rose, which told Pippa all she needed to know. In site of her mama’s opinion, to Anna, Snowley was more than acceptable. Perhaps even the only acceptable man for her.

  Pippa suppressed an urge to shake her head at the notion. Anna’s tender feelings for her cousin—for Snowley—were baffling enough. To think that Anna might actually believe herself in love…

  And yet as her father’s heir, Snowley must marry and produce progeny of his own.

  “If you want something badly enough, you have to fight for it.”

  Anna’s lower lip disappeared into her mouth for a moment. “Can you imagine me fighting? Though…Forgive me, this is going to sound awful, but if your behavior is above reproach, perhaps I can convince Mama to relent.”

  “When has my behavior not been above reproach?” Pippa knew the answer to that question before she gave it voice. She’d encouraged Caro to pursue their land agent, after all. She’d stood up and claimed her reputation meant nothing next to Caro’s happiness. But Anna hadn’t been
on hand to witness that declaration.

  However, she had attended a fateful house party at Sherrington Manor. “You have to admit that version of Buffy Gruffy where you had ladies sitting on the gentlemen’s laps was rather outré. Mama still has fits of the vapors over that.”

  “That was Caro’s idea.” A weak excuse if there ever was one, because Pippa had more than encouraged that idea. She’d nurtured it like a gardener with a prize orchid. “But I shall take your point and conduct myself accordingly.”

  Anna smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

  Pippa took her leave and scurried down the corridor toward the main sitting room. Figures glared at her from gilt-framed portraits, several of which were the handiwork of their hostess, Lady Hartley. On any other occasion, Pippa might stop to admire and study the brushwork of a kindred spirit.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, she had an assignation with a Frenchman—or his legacy at any rate. The artist himself had died more than a decade ago.

  The sitting room’s door stood ajar, but Pippa hovered outside for a moment. It wouldn’t do if she walked in on an actual assignation. All quiet. The flickering glow of candlelight spilled onto the parquet, beckoning her inside. She tiptoed inside, her approach almost reverent.

  The painting, a new acquisition, a present from the Viscount Hartley to his countess, dominated the far wall set off on either side by wall sconces. Pippa had seen it earlier when the work was unveiled for the guests, but the crowd had prevented her from inspecting it at her leisure.

  Standing back, she took in the entire composition, noting the placement of each element—the fluffy swoop of clouds against an azure sky, the airy foliage in the background, the way the tilt of the trees drew the eye onto the main subject. Two men dressed in the colorful silks of the previous century surrounded a lady sporting the sort of gown Great-aunt Matilda still wore in society. The whole conveyed an airiness and frivolity of a long lost summer in a time that never existed. A time where no one had a care.