How to Tame a Willful Wife

by Christy English

  The thought was not as comforting as it would have been five minutes before. He watched her, still smiling, as if he knew all her secrets, as if he wished to teach her one or two more.

  She shook off the stupor she had fallen into. She dismissed the thought of the hidden knife and turned her mind to escape. Whether or not she lost her reputation, whether or not he thought her a coward, she had to get out of that room.

  The man rose to his feet and closed the distance between them so swiftly she did not see him move. She felt only the warm pressure of his hand as he drew her against him. His body was hot on hers where his chest pressed into the softness of her breasts. He breathed in her scent, as if she were a loaf of newly baked bread or some morsel he meant to devour in one bite. He did not keep her standing but sank down once more in her favorite chair, bringing her onto his lap in one smooth motion.

  After a day of men ogling her, all eager to paw her if they could, Caroline had had enough. She struggled to free herself from his grip and managed to get at the knife on the table. Her father’s training came back to her without thought, without fear. She drew the blade up to his throat but found she could not drive it home. “I could run you through right now, sir. But first, tell me who you are.”

  “I am impressed, Caroline. You have defended your honor well. But you do not need to defend yourself against me.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I am Anthony Carrington, the Earl of Ravensbrook. The man you are going marry,” he said.

  Caroline barely registered the stranger pushing her arm away from his throat as he claimed her dagger. She blinked at the shock of the news that she was betrothed to this man, and then wondered if he might be lying.

  Caroline found herself distracted once more by his touch. He kept one of her arms pinned between his weight and the arm of the chair. He held her other wrist so she could not move against him again. His free arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her close, keeping her safe from falling. They sat together, her skirts foaming around them as she perched on his lap. His thighs were hard beneath her, unyielding. His chest was warm against her breasts.

  Their breaths mingled as they looked at each other, his dark eyes holding her prisoner just as his hands did. Caroline forgot about decorum, reveling in the scent of him and in the new-discovered flame he stoked deep in her belly, one that burned even as she touched him. She was still pressed against him, her breath coming short, her mind lost to all but what she felt, when his hand touched her breast.

  She leaped like a scalded cat, moving so quickly he lost his grip on her. Freed from his embrace, Caroline was on her feet in an instant. She raised her hand to him, intent on causing him what harm she could.

  The man stood and caught her wrist before she struck his face. Her aim was true, and he had to move fast to stop her. They were both breathing hard, as if they had been engaged in mortal combat. They faced each other like enemies, measuring each other with their eyes.

  “Never touch me again. Get out of my room,” she said. “Get out of my father’s house.”

  His chestnut eyes lost their intensity. The fire in them was banked slowly as he breathed. She watched the effort he made and what it cost him to let her go. She snatched her hand away, rubbing her wrist where his grip had bruised her.

  “I had to know if you’d ever been touched before, Caroline.”

  “I was not, until you sullied me. Now get out.”

  He straightened, donning his coat with the air of a man pleased with himself and with what he had discovered in her room. Caroline felt the overwhelming need to curse him, but she swallowed the words. She would not give him the satisfaction.

  “Good evening, Miss Montague. Until tomorrow.”

  “If I never see you again, it will be too soon.”

  Anthony smiled, his dark eyes gleaming as he walked away. “I think you’ll change your mind.”

  “You are wrong, my lord.”

  “I am never wrong.”

  Her fingers closed on the dagger he had left on her mahogany table. She threw the knife without thinking, embedding it in the frame of the servants’ door, just inches from his head. She heard his mocking laughter as he closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 2

  Caroline stood staring at the closed door. She strode across the room and drew her dagger from the door frame. A flake of white paint fell from the wound in the wood, and she cursed under her breath.

  Marriage to a stranger was bad enough. Marriage to Lord Ravensbrook would be a nightmare.

  Her interminable day had gotten even longer. She sank onto her favorite chair, still warm from Anthony Carrington’s body. She could not stand to be reminded of his touch. She stood up and tossed the cushions on the floor. Another feather escaped from the tear her dagger had made.

  She sighed, placing the knife on the table beside her. Her mother was going to kill her.

  She stared with longing at her bed covered with dark green velvet brought from France before the Terror. The softness of that haven beckoned her. She wanted to bury her head under those pillows and forget the man she had just had the misfortune to meet.

  Lady Montague walked into the sitting room beyond, the door thrown open before her as if by a great wind. Caroline plastered on a smile and went to meet her. Lady Montague’s dark blond hair was streaked with silver, tucked away beneath a cap of lace.

  Caroline forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew the baroness saw everything, even things Caroline so often wanted to hide. She could not bear the thought that her mother would look at her and somehow know Lord Ravensbrook had just been there. As long as no one knew of his visit, she could pretend she had never met the insufferable man. Desperate to distract her mother, Caroline curtsied.

  No doubt it was the spectacle of her daughter showing obedience that made Lady Montague stop in her tracks, the sound of her lightly tapping feet suddenly silenced on the hard mahogany floor. Caroline realized then she had gone too far with her curtsy, but she braved it out, summoning a sweet smile.

  “I have news, Caroline. News that would not wait.”

  “Will you sit, Maman? Shall I call for tea?”

  “No, Daughter, I have just drunk pots of tea with the ladies downstairs. Southerners do not know when to go to bed. I am exhausted from all this to-do.”

  “I am sorry, Maman. It is all because of me.”

  “No, ma petite, it is all because you must marry. And marry you will. Your father has made his decision.”

  She wanted to ask her mother if her betrothed was a tall, beautiful man with black hair, chestnut eyes, and insufferable arrogance but for once in her life, she held her tongue.

  Lady Montague was French by birth, and very tiny, the top of her head coming only to Caroline’s sternum. She put her hands on her daughter’s arms, drawing her down to kiss her cheek.

  “In two days you will have the honor of becoming the wife of Anthony Carrington, the Earl of Ravensbrook.

  Two days. The words rang like a death knell over her head. It was bad enough that she would have to spend the rest of her life with that arrogant man. But the thought that her new life would commence in two days was absurd. She would speak with her father. Surely they could extend what was left of her freedom into weeks, not days.

  Her mother continued, never acknowledging that her daughter could barely stand upright. “You will live in his country house in Shropshire most of the year. You will be an obedient wife to him, and you will bear him fine sons.”

  The word obedient filled her ears like poison. “But I don’t even know him.”

  “He is rich and titled. You will be a countess. That is what you know of him, and all you need to know.”

  Caroline swallowed hard. She knew her duty, though it chafed her like an ill-fitting harness on her best horse.

  “We could not afford to give you a Season in London,” her mother reminded her. “This marriage is the best path for you, for all of us. Your father has chosen t
he best man he knows.”

  Lady Montague did not speak of her husband’s mounting debts. Protecting and feeding the veterans of his regiment, giving even the wounded men a place in the world, was the honorable thing to do. And as her mother was fond of saying: honor cost money. Caroline would marry an earl, and the earl would pay her father’s debts.

  Her parents had not bred a coward. It was one thing to learn knife play from trusted men who had served under her father in war, or to ride to hunt on an unruly stallion. Now it was time for her to show true courage. Women were married off to strangers to make advantageous matches for their families every day. Caroline knew this truth. She had been raised on it. She would prove her courage now, by facing her future unafraid. She straightened her back and raised her gaze from the floor.

  “I will do my duty, Maman.”

  Lady Montague gave a Gallic shrug, as if the matter had never been open for discussion, but her eyes softened. “Of course you will. When all is said and done, you are your father’s daughter.”

  Caroline was startled when her mother raised herself on the tips of her toes and kissed her lips in blessing. As she took in the scent of her mother’s light perfume, she realized she would miss her deeply when she was gone to live in her husband’s house.

  Lady Montague’s voice did not waver. The warmth in her eyes was not betrayed in her tone as she gave her daughter the last instructions of the day. “His lordship will send a dressmaker to attend you tomorrow, to fit you for the wedding gown of his family.”

  Caroline held her tongue. She could not believe her fiancé had already chosen her wedding dress. It boded ill for their future that his need for control extended to her wardrobe. She did not voice these concerns to her mother, who she knew did not want to hear them. “I will be ready.”

  Lady Montague’s pride shone in her eyes, along with moisture that might have been tears. “Daughter, I have no doubt of that.”

  Her mother closed and locked the outer door to her rooms behind her. By now, the men downstairs would have heard of her father’s choice. No doubt, her husband-to-be sat among them. Numb from the sudden onslaught of her future, she turned back to her bedroom, reaching for the bell to ring for Tabby, her lady’s maid.

  Caroline would marry Lord Ravensbrook, the most insufferable man she had ever met. What did kind of future was that?

  Chapter 3

  Anthony found an impromptu party celebrating his engagement in full swing two floors below. Footmen offered him Madeira and brandy, but he wanted only to go to his own rooms and be alone.

  He moved through the almost empty hallway, out a back door into the garden beyond the house. Ornamental shrubs stood guard in the moonlight, and lamps lit the terrace. Anthony took refuge in the shadows, gazing up at the window of his betrothed’s bedroom.

  Caroline Montague was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had sampled lovely women and their charms from Italy to Spain, but no other woman had caught his eye and held it as this slip of a girl did. The moment she had walked into the room, he had wanted her as he had wanted little else in his life, and he was a man known for his appetites as well as for his ability to control them.

  His control had almost slipped with her as she challenged him, not once, but over and over again. She had sparred with him, not caring who he was. He was sure if the Prince Regent had met her alone in her rooms, she would have been just as ill-tempered. Never in his life had anyone spoken to Anthony with such blatant disrespect. He had not been offended as he should have been, as any other man of his acquaintance would have been. Instead, he felt the rising need to tame her temper, to make her his.

  He remembered the soft skin of her arm beneath his fingertips, the swell of her breasts rising beneath the scalloped neckline of her gown. She had been warm and willing in his arms until he touched her breast. In that moment, he truly felt she might do him harm. The threat in her eyes, the certain power behind the maple brown of her gaze, had lit a fire in him that still had not gone out. He had left the room almost at once for fear that he might forget the honorable agreement he had made with her father and have her then and there.

  Anthony stared up at her window, thinking of the days to come, wondering how he would stop himself from touching her. Even now, she was changing into her night rail, her long blond hair curling across the peaks of her breasts. He thought of how her nipples would harden at his touch, the warmth of his palms covering them, his mouth closing over them.

  His thoughts did not continue down that pleasant path for long. He was thrown from his reverie abruptly, as if an icy sluice of water had been tossed over his head. All desire died when he heard the voice of his enemy.

  “So, Anthony, how did you fare with your lady love? She seems more of a man than you are.”

  Carlyle lounged against the railing of the marble terrace, gloating as if he were the winner of Caroline’s hand. Anthony wanted to reach for the knife in his boot, but he had given his word to the Prince Regent the year before that he would never spill a drop of this man’s blood.

  Anthony held on to his control. He knew that to show emotion was to let the bastard win. “Why did you come here?”

  Carlyle laughed. “To marry the fair Miss Montague, of course. She is the beauty of her generation. She would have taken London by storm, if her father had wit and money enough to give her a Season. I had hoped to marry the girl without much fuss, and get an heir on her. When I was done, I would have sent her to the country and gone on with my life.”

  Anthony felt his hatred of this man rise like bile in his throat, and he swallowed it down.

  “But as so often happens abroad and at sea, Anthony, I find you are here before me. Her father tells me the marriage contract was signed this morning.”

  “That is not your affair.”

  As always, the sight of his smile was like acid on Anthony’s skin. He held himself still under that smile. He thought of poor Anne, living quietly now in Richmond, where she would no doubt live out the rest of her life.

  “I leave for home tomorrow. And you will stay and marry the girl and find bliss in her arms, no doubt.” Victor’s voice dripped with contempt.

  Anthony moved so quickly Victor had no time to draw a weapon if he even had the sense to wear one. His blade caressed Victor’s throat. Though fury had prompted him, his anger crystallized into a deadly calm. His hand was steady as it held the knife. Anthony sounded almost as if they spoke of the weather or the state of the roads as he gave his final warning. “You will not speak of her again.”

  Victor did not flinch. He did not look down at where the knife’s point threatened to slice into his jugular. He only smiled. He seemed to fear nothing, not even death.

  “As you say, Ravensbrook. I will obey you in this, as in all things.”

  Carlyle’s mocking tone brought him back to reason. Anthony lowered his weapon, his fury draining away as wine from a broken bottle. Carlyle turned from him and strode up the marble steps toward the house, not caring that Anthony had a knife at his back.

  Carlyle stopped at the door that led into the warm light of the front hall. “Until we meet again. Much wedded bliss to you. I hope she is as good to you as your sister was to me.”

  Anthony threw his knife. It left his palm before he stopped to think of his oaths or of the dishonor such an act might bring. But the blade was not made for throwing, only for close combat. His knife fell short and struck the marble of the terrace. It bounced harmlessly, its hollow ring the only sound in the courtyard. As Anthony strode up the terrace steps and picked up his knife by its thick leather hilt, he heard Carlyle’s laughter echoing back to him from somewhere within the house.

  Anthony did not sleep in his room that night. Instead, he hid himself in an unused bedroom across the corridor from his betrothed’s chambers and kept vigil, watching over Caroline’s door. He would not put it past Carlyle to take the girl from her father’s house to spite him. As the light of day began to rise from beyond the walls of the grea
t house, Anthony found himself thinking not of his enemy, but of the girl who would be his wife. For all her defiance, he could not deny her courage. She had faced him down alone in her rooms, when any other woman might have fainted from the shock or screamed like a fool.

  The memory of Caroline beckoned to him, the way she had looked as she stood before him, her breasts rising with her breath beneath the warm silk of her gown. Her golden hair had been bound with pins, but he wondered what it would look like when he took it down to fall along her shoulders, down her back, and over the peaks of her naked breasts.

  He thought of drawing her beneath him on their wedding night, even as she insulted and baited him. He thought of how sweet it would be to tame her with his body as he would one day tame her mind, to silence her with his mouth and hands until all words had fled and all she could do was gasp and moan beneath him. Her inner fire would no doubt scorch his bed with undiluted heat. No doubt that even in the heat of passion, she would defy him.

  Anthony smiled. He had always loved a challenge.

  Chapter 4

  Caroline woke late the next morning and blinked in the warm sunlight that fell across her bed. The curtains of her bed were drawn back to reveal Tabby standing over her, offering a cup of tea on a tray. The girl did not wait for her mistress to greet her but began to speak before Caroline could even draw breath.

  “Miss Caroline, what a fuss! There are people all over the breakfast room, eating us out of house and home. My mam’s been cooking since dawn, and there’s no end to the guests and their morning appetites.”

  Caroline smiled in spite of herself. “I’m sure your mother could handle Caesar’s army, much less a horde of my father’s guests.”