How to Tame a Willful Wife

by Christy English

  “What does?”

  Anthony stared into the water as it passed. “Chance,” he answered honestly. “Perhaps luck.”

  “I have always been lucky,” she said.

  “As have I.”

  Anthony relaxed for the first time since he had sat down beside her. Perhaps she had begun to follow his lead. Perhaps like a good horse, she balked at first until she felt the guidance of her master’s hand.

  “I have important business with the Prince Regent in London in two weeks’ time that cannot wait.”

  “More important than getting to know the partner of your future life?”

  “You will not be my partner, Caroline. You will be my wife.”

  “I thought they were one and the same.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  She did not answer him but stared out over the riverbed, her shoulders hunched. Her beautiful golden braid lay tangled on her shoulders, and he longed to run his hand through it, to smooth it down as he wished to smooth her feelings.

  “You will be my wife, Caroline. We will have the rest of our lives to know each other.”

  He shivered at the thought of knowing her, of drawing her beneath him on the soft sheets of his feather bed. He shook his head to clear it, ordering himself to focus on the matter at hand. She was angry, and he was sorry for it. He did not want her to loathe her new life but to embrace it.

  “I will speak to my father,” she said. “Perhaps he can make you see reason.”

  Anthony’s hard work was beginning to slip away. He watched as she moved past him to place the bridle on her horse. She also had to pass Achilles, and she greeted his stallion warily, offering him the heel of her hand. Anthony’s warhorse, a mount that had slain men in battle with his hooves, was conquered by that woman in the space of a breath. The horse took in her scent, just as Anthony had the night before, and accepted her as his own.

  Caroline smiled at the great beast, rubbing the streak of black that ran between his eyes and down his nose. Achilles tossed his head, but he was not affronted. The stallion pressed closer to her, that she might pet him again.

  Caroline patted him absently as if he were her lapdog. She moved to her own horse then, her back to Anthony.

  If he let her go now, she would think she could do whatever she wanted for the rest of their lives. She would learn to afford him the proper respect. She must. He was no milksop to be led around by a young wife.

  He rose to his feet and caught her arm, drawing her toward him. Caroline dropped the bridle, her body pressed against his. Anthony almost lost his train of thought at the feel of her soft curves beneath the hideous breeches and vest. Holding her close, he realized she was not wearing stays. Achilles snorted, displeased that his master had taken away his new prize. Hercules looked up to watch the scene in front of him, still munching grass.

  “I will woo you after we are married, if you wish,” Anthony said. “But you must believe me when I tell you that you are mine. I have chosen you. You will be my wife. You must learn to obey me.”

  Fury filled the eyes of the woman in his arms. “I must obey you? Like your horse? Like your dogs?”

  Anthony’s anger faded at the touch of her body on his. His lust for her was rising, taking his breath. He had never yet met a woman he could not have, if he applied his skills and wooed her.

  He had never before met a woman who could spit and fume at him while he held her in his arms. Perversely, he found he liked it.

  “Like all wives, you will promise to obey me when we marry. But obedience will not be as terrible as you suppose.”

  He lightly pressed his lips against her temple. She tensed, resisting him, but he did not let her go. His hand slid down to her waist; the other cupped the back of her head. She let him cradle her hair, but she still glared at him.

  “You seek to distract me, my lord, but I will not be moved.”

  “No?” His lips came to her temple again, and this time, he felt her catch her breath. “What of this then? If I touch you here?” He ran his hand up her spine, and she shivered.

  “What if I kiss your cheek?”

  “I will be unmoved, my lord. I would speak to you like a reasonable person, not a plaything.”

  “You are no plaything, Caroline. Believe me when I say I know that already.”

  His lips slid over the softness of her cheek, even as his hand smoothed her hair.

  “I do not seek to play with you, Caroline. I am in deadly earnest. I am going to have you for my wife. Now, in two days’ time, in two weeks’ time, the outcome will be the same. You are mine.”

  His lips were on hers then, tasting her, drinking her in. The heels of her hands pressed against his chest, but he would not release her. He lingered over her sweetness, even as she seemed to fight the pleasure he offered her. He did not press her hard but kept her in his arms as his lips courted hers. Her mouth did not open beneath his, but she shivered again as his hand ran down her back.

  Anthony did not want to push her too far. She was a virgin, and pure. Clearly, she did not yet know how to kiss him back. He drew away, pleasure surging through him, along with proprietary triumph. He would teach her all she needed to know. The heat between them would do the rest.

  She was breathless when he pulled away. She did not try to escape his embrace but leaned back in his arms far enough to meet his eyes. Her maple-brown gaze stared at him, perplexed by what he had shown her. Her innocence was almost his undoing.

  “I will make a good husband, Caroline.”

  Caroline held his gaze. With all the power he would soon be granted over her life, he saw in her eyes that she was not afraid of him, or of anything. “So you say, my lord. Time will tell.”

  She stepped away from him. This time, he let her go.

  Anthony watched as she set the bridle on her horse’s head, taking the great stallion’s mouth between her hands as if he were a newborn foal with no teeth to bite her. The horse did not object but nuzzled her hand when she was done.

  She rose into the saddle with grace and power, an unarmed Amazon. He thought she might ride away without another word between them. Like an addled boy, he had lost his tongue and could only watch her, any words he might have spoken, lost.

  She did not leave him in silence. Caroline wheeled her horse in a half circle, smiling at Anthony over one shoulder.

  “Your kisses are charming, my lord. But the facts remain unchanged. I will not marry you yet.”

  “I beg to differ, Caroline.”

  “That is all you seem to do, my lord. But this time, I will win.”

  “Time will tell.”

  If she was annoyed to hear her words thrown back at her, he could not see it.

  “Indeed it will, my lord.”

  Anthony watched her ride away, the thunder of her horse’s hooves the only sound on the moors. He stood staring after her, the taste of her sweetness still on his lips. He thought for a moment to ride her to ground again, but he stayed where he was. He would give her time to think and to speak with her father. He would see her tonight. In spite of all she said, he would try to woo her. Perhaps a few soft words and a waltz in the candlelight would move her where reason and good sense would not.

  Either way, she would be his.

  Chapter 6

  Caroline guided her stallion back onto the road that led to the stables. She rode past a party of gentlemen out to hunt. They raised their hats to her, and she bowed from the saddle, her public smile curving her lips, a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  They stared at her breeches and hose, at the curve of her calves and at her breasts beneath the shapeless vest. They said nothing, but she felt the heat of their censure as well as their shock. She had spent so long on her father’s estates that she had forgotten how unconventional it was for a woman to go about in men’s attire, even for riding. She realized she should have brought a riding habit to wear over her breeches, but it was too late now. She squared her shoulders and rode into the stable yard. She was g
reeted by Martin, who helped her down from Hercules’s back.

  “Your father calls for you, miss,” he said as one of the younger grooms warily led her stallion away to be stripped of his saddle and rubbed down. She preferred to care for Hercules herself, but when she saw the unsettled look in Martin’s eyes, she nodded and accepted her fate. She could no longer ride about the countryside willy-nilly as she had always done. She would soon be a married woman. God help her.

  Caroline did not sneak in through the kitchen garden as she had escaped that morning but took the formal path through her mother’s roses up to the main drive. She mounted the steps to the front door, and her father’s butler, Jenkins, swung the door wide. She took the marble steps two at a time, thinking of her father and of how to face him with a smile, though her heart was hurting. She was thinking these things when she ran directly into a man coming down the stairs.

  “Miss Montague.”

  She blinked, the sunlight in her eyes. She moved away, a polite apology on her lips, but the man held her arm to keep her from falling. “My lord. I beg you pardon me.”

  “No pardon is necessary. What man would not want such a woman in his arms, even for a moment?”

  “Lord Carlyle, you are too forward.”

  Caroline said this to chastise him, and though Carlyle bowed in apology, he did not look in the least contrite, nor did he seem scandalized by her attire. He perused her calves briefly but returned his gaze to her face almost at once. His blond hair fell across his forehead and over one eye, giving him a rakish look.

  “Victor, please, Miss Montague. Or should I say Lady Ravensbrook?”

  “I am not married yet, my lord.”

  “But you soon will be.”

  “Indeed. So it seems.” Caroline could not keep the irritation out of her voice.

  Carlyle’s smile widened. He gestured to the white gravel drive where his carriage and footmen waited. “Best wishes on your forthcoming nuptials. I am for London, and home. But as soon as your new husband brings you to town, I hope to see you there.”

  “I have longed to see the city.”

  “I am sure you will get your wish. Until we meet again.”

  Carlyle made an elegant bow before he continued his descent. A man with such warm wit and easy ways might have made a pleasant husband. She wondered why her father had not chosen him.

  Jenkins closed the door behind Carlyle with an emphatic slam and glowered at her. He did not approve of her speaking freely with strange men, and loathed her boy’s attire.

  She found her father in his library tucked away on the first floor toward the back of the house. Lord Montague stood ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out at the moors beyond the window. The archery range was still on the lawn from the contest the day before.

  He turned to face Caroline as she closed the door to the hallway quietly behind her.

  She thought perhaps she might sketch a bow, as she still wore breeches, but such a gesture might show too much cheek. She had spent all her life wishing she had been born the son he longed for, the son he needed. Though she was only a girl, he loved her beyond reason, just as she loved him. She knew her wild ways displeased him, though he had never spoken of them to her. Only her mother had chastised her. Caroline curtsied instead.

  “I see you have lost your gown,” was all he said.

  “No, Papa. My gowns are in my room. I was out riding, and fencing with Paul.”

  “I suppose it is too much to ask that Lord Ravensbrook did not see you dressed this way.”

  “It is,” she said. “He did see me, I mean.”

  Her father got a pained look on his face as if his trusted spaniel had bitten him on the leg. For the first time, she was ashamed of herself. Perhaps she should have shown more caution.

  She braced herself for a set down, for no doubt she deserved one, but her father did not censure her. He simply took her in his arms.

  He was not a man given to tender gestures, but that day he held her close to his heart. Lord Montague kissed her and drew back so he could look into her eyes.

  “Caroline,” he said. “You have saved the family with this marriage. I hope you know it.”

  “It is my honor to make the alliance you need, Papa,” she said, her voice unwavering, her eyes calm. “I only hope we might put it off for a while. Long enough for me to know him better. A week or two is all I ask.”

  He sighed, and she knew he would not grant her request. She realized he could not, for left to his own devices, he would have at least considered her needs. Her anger rose at her fiancé. No doubt Ravensbrook had the wedding date stipulated in the marriage contract.

  “Your betrothed is a good man,” her father said. “He is the best man I could find, both in wealth and character. Whether you marry him tomorrow or in two weeks, I think you will come to love him.”

  Caroline did not flinch or look away, even then. She did not believe in Anthony’s goodness, nor did she share her father’s confidence in the man’s character, but she knew her duty. “God willing, Papa. But I will be a good wife, whether I love him or not.”

  “If I had to be cursed with the death of every child but one, I thank God I was left with you.”

  Caroline’s eyes filled with tears so quickly she could not blink them away. She stayed in her father’s arms, hiding her face against the shoulder of his coat. He held her until she had control of herself. When she drew back, she saw tears on his cheeks, but she knew better than to remark on them. She kissed her father once more, then let him go.

  Chapter 7

  Caroline wiped her eyes with her fingertips as she climbed the staircase to her room.

  As she came to her sitting room door, she half-expected her mother to appear and chastise her for riding alone in breeches while the house was filled with guests. But Caroline saw only one of the upstairs maids, a girl named Mary, who curtsied as she passed, carrying a heavy bin of coal.

  Caroline looked down at her breeches and vest, which smelled distinctly of horse. She had missed tea already. Though she may have gotten away with neglecting her duties as hostess for the day, she could not be late to the evening meal. She would have to bathe again.

  She thought of her husband-to-be, of his fine dark eyes, and of his black hair caressing his cheek in the breeze at the river. He was the most infuriating man she had ever met, but she could not forget his touch. She was clearly losing her mind.

  The door opened of its own accord, and Tabby immediately took her hand and drew her in, slamming the door closed behind her.

  “Miss Caroline,” Tabby gasped. “I am going to London with you, Mam told me today. I pleaded with her to let me go, and she made a special trip to Lady Montague’s rooms to get her permission. When I came back, you were gone and no one knew where, until Martin at the stables sent word.”

  Tabby had to breathe then, and Caroline could get a word in. “Thank you, Tabby. Please call for some bathwater. I smell of horse.”

  “Of course, miss, but you don’t smell bad to me. My mother said that there is nothing to be ashamed of in the stink of a good day’s work. Not that you would ever work…”

  Caroline held up one hand, grateful to be surrounded by the buoyant talk of her maid but already needing a moment of silence. “Tabby, the bath…”

  “Yes, Miss Caroline.”

  Caroline looked at the trailing blue gown now carefully laid out for the morrow. Mrs. Muller had done fine work. Caroline could see where the dress had been taken in and taken up so it would fit her on her wedding day. The long veil of lace lay beside it, slightly yellowed with age. Caroline swallowed hard and turned away. She could not think of wearing that gown and of all that came after. She resolved to think only of today.

  Her sitting room door flew open then, and Tabby froze in place, hoping to avoid the eagle eye of Olivia Montague.

  “Leave us,” Olivia said, her voice imperious, her French accent distinct in the midst of her ire.

  Tabby esc
aped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  “You are still in breeches, I see.” Lady Montague paced, her tiny feet tapping on the mahogany floor. “By God, I never thought I’d live to see the day when I would say I have raised a fool.”

  The insult stung. “You did not.”

  “Is that so? Then please explain to me what you are doing running about in breeches like some savage from the Americas. Do you think you are a Scot from the Highlands? This is a civilized house.”

  “Scots wear kilts,” Caroline said.

  “I half expect you to come down to dinner in one.”

  Lady Montague paced in silence for a moment, anger radiating off her small body in waves. Caroline held her tongue in the vain hope that the storm might have passed.

  “I know you have spoken with your father, and I know he has not chastised you as he ought. He never does. You hung the moon for him, and there is an end to it. But you are a woman, and you must see the world as it is.”

  “I do, Maman.”

  “No, Caroline, you do not.” Lady Montague stopped her pacing and stared at her only daughter. “Marriage is a business arrangement, Caroline, yours as much as anyone’s. Your beauty and purity buy Lord Ravensbrook’s regard. If one of those is called into question, you lose your value.”

  “Like a lame horse that must be shot.”

  “Like a ruined woman who cannot be married.”

  “Am I ruined then? Has he cried off for the capital offense of my wearing breeches in public?”

  “He has not. Not yet. But he could, which is the salient point you seem unable to grasp.”

  Lady Montague took a measured breath, trying to calm herself, and Caroline did the same.

  “You must be unimpeachable, your virtue untouched, or this marriage will not take. If this marriage does not take, not just your reputation but this family will be in ruins. Have I made myself clear? You must behave like the lady I raised you to be.”

  Caroline remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the possessive way he had held her beside the river. “He will not let me go.”