Anthony laughed, and this time his laughter did not fill her with fury. Instead, the dark sound of it made her shiver.
“But we are avoiding scandal, Caroline. Because I will have you tomorrow night, no matter what the prince decides to do in two weeks’ time, whether you and I stand together before the curate tomorrow morning or not. You are mine, and I am going to see that you know it.”
“I am not yours,” she said, but her voice was faint. She lost her breath as he pressed his lips to hers, this time not as gently.
It was she who leaned into him so she felt the hard planes of his chest against her breasts. His arms tightened around her, first to catch her in case she fell, then reflexively as she opened her mouth under his.
His hunger overwhelmed her. She felt his strength along the curves of her body, the hard length of him against her belly through the light silk of her gown. She shivered, pressing closer, sure that in this way, at least, they were well matched. It was not enough to base a marriage on, but it was something.
In the end, it was Anthony who drew back, his breathing harsh. Caroline leaned against him, taking in the spicy scent of his hair.
When she raised her head, she could just reach the edge of his jaw with her lips. Her lips were feather light on the stubble of his beard as she reveled in the sweet, salty taste of him.
Anthony groaned and pulled away, holding her at arm’s length so he would not kiss her again.
Caroline found her voice. “I must go to bed.”
“And I must let you go to your bed alone.” Anthony bent over her hand and unfastened her glove at the wrist, slowly, one button at a time. Caroline watched him, transfixed, sure she might never move again. He drew the long sheath from her hand, leaving her arm exposed to the cool night and to his gaze. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist where her pulse beat in frantic time, his lips lingering on her skin.
“But tomorrow night,” he said, “I will be with you.”
He pressed his lips to hers once more, very lightly, like a butterfly’s wing.
“Say you will marry me tomorrow, Caroline. Say you will be mine.”
She was breathless, longing for his touch, wishing he might kiss her properly one more time before she slept. “I will marry you tomorrow, my lord. And we will take what comes.”
Anthony let her go. Caroline stumbled and told herself she lost her footing only because of the dark.
She stepped toward the door and opened it, the corridor beyond pitch-black save for the moonlight. When Caroline looked back, Anthony stood where she had left him, still watching her. He did not move except to raise one hand. Caroline smiled and took the memory of his face with her into the dark.
***
Anthony frowned as he saddled his horse for his morning ride. He had not slept after leaving Caroline. Fantasies of her golden hair falling over his skin, of her soft body laid out beneath his had burned in his mind, leaving him awake and more frustrated than he had ever been. This fascination with Caroline and her golden hair was unwelcome at best, and at worst, a sign of weakness. He was a man in control of himself. He would not be one of those elderly husbands of the ton who hung on their wives’ every word, those dotards who were led around by wives half their age.
Caroline would learn to be a proper wife, even if she never set foot in London. She would stop her wild ways and hold her tongue when he spoke to her instead of challenging everything he said. Their bargain would be kept on both sides. She would give him his heir, while he paid her father’s debts and kept her safe from men like Viscount Carlyle. Caroline would never suffer as Anne had suffered, but would live under the protection of his name. She would live quietly on his family estate in Shropshire, and he would go on with his life.
Anthony felt a pang of remorse even as he entertained this thought, but he dismissed his remorse at once. Some men kept their wives in the country, birthing their children and running their houses, leaving London to their mistresses. Anthony had not come through fire and war to be led around by his wife.
He thought of his mistress, Angelique Beauchamp, the Countess of Devonshire. By now, word of his marriage must have reached her. No doubt there would be a scene when he returned to the city. He would bring her a jewel so her inevitable anger would fade quickly, an offering that might encourage her to accept his marriage, to see the world as it was.
As Anthony rode out of his father-in-law’s stables, he could not hold onto thoughts of his mistress. On the morning of his wedding, Anthony could not even remember her face.
All he could see was the curve of Caroline’s throat when he bent to kiss her in the library the night before. She had bewitched him with her beauty and her fire. No doubt the spell would break once he had tasted her body, once he had her for his own.
The thought of his wedding night made him lose his breath. He let his horse gallop across fallow fields, so tenants had to scatter before him on their way to market. But no matter how fast he rode, or how far, Caroline rode with him, her maple eyes following him, and the scent of her long golden hair.
Act II
“If I be waspish, best beware my sting.”
The Taming of the Shrew
Act 2, Scene 1
Chapter 9
Caroline woke on her last day of freedom, but she was not free. She was bathed and combed and plucked until she thought she would go mad. She longed to be out riding across the moors, but she knew those days were over. Soon she would be riding on her husband’s lands, across the hills of Shropshire that would look nothing like the wild moors of her home.
She did not want to think of her husband’s estate or what her new life might bring. Instead, she brought her mind to where she was, taking in the scent of the fresh bread from the kitchen, drinking cool, clear water from the well as Tabby dressed her hair.
That morning, Caroline stood in the gown her husband had brought. The indigo silk was smooth against her skin, its skirts held in a wide circle around her by vast petticoats. The intricate lace of the veil fell behind her, covering her hair to her waist, continuing all the way to the floor.
Tabby had asked her if she would wear the veil draped over her face as the women of Anthony’s family had always worn it on their wedding days. But Caroline had never covered her face in her life, and she did not mean to start now. So the old lace doubled back over her hair, hanging down in cascading folds of white, covering the deep blue of her gown like a layer of snow. She wore jewels from his family vault, sapphires that had been sent from London. The heavy necklace gleamed gold against her skin, and the earrings weighed her down as she turned her head.
Even her slippers had been made for this one day, the soft leather dyed blue to match her gown. Such extravagance was beyond even her mother’s indulgence in fashion, and Caroline raised her hem to look at those slippers more than once. She sighed, regretting she had no more interest in clothes. Another woman would like the gown and shoes much better. She smiled to herself, but her smile soon faded. It was time to walk to church.
Her father met her in the entrance hall by the front door. Jenkins had the heavy oak door open and ready. The stern butler managed to nod to her once, no doubt happy to have the hoyden of the house out of what was left of his hair.
Caroline smiled at the familiar sight of Jenkins’s disapproval, and her father smiled back. “You look very fine,” he said. “Your mother and I are proud of you.”
Caroline’s hand was steady as she took her father’s arm. “Thank you, Papa.”
The church was full. Their guests and the villagers were there already, happy to see her married at last. There was a feeling of a festival in the air, even in the chapel. Caroline felt she stood somehow outside of it, as if the festivities indeed had nothing to do with her.
Tabby stood with her mother, the head cook, Mrs. Hill, at the back of the church, a posy of late-blooming heather in her hands. She waved to Caroline as though it were any other day, and Caroline found a smile to give her. Lady Montague
sat at the front before the curate and the altar. Caroline also gave her mother a smile, and then she saw him, and the rest of the festival and all the people in it fell away.
Anthony waited for her, quietly, calmly, as if he had all the time in the world. Dressed in dark blue superfine and well-tailored black trousers, he stood patiently as if she were his wife already. When he saw her veil thrown back over her hair instead of covering her face as it was meant to, his lips quirked in a smile, but that soon vanished as her father led her down the aisle.
Anthony took her hand and stood with her in silence before the curate who had baptized her. Caroline did not listen closely to the words of the ceremony, until they came to the vows. When the curate spoke the word “obey,” she repeated it, though it caught like a briar in her throat.
Anthony’s lips quirked again, but then it was time for his own vows. As he swore to worship her with his body, his eyes lit with a dark flame. Caroline shivered at the sight of it, thinking of how he had kissed her the night before in her father’s library.
The moment passed, and the ceremony was over. When Anthony’s lips pressed hers at the front of the church, his kiss was cool, remote, a stranger’s. A surge of nervousness consumed her now that it was all over, now that the die was cast. She had agreed to her father’s choice. Her life had been given into the earl’s hands for all to see. But Caroline knew that no matter what vows she uttered that day, she belonged to herself.
After the wedding breakfast, Caroline went to put on her traveling gown as the rest of the guests lingered over their meal. Her mother dismissed Tabby and helped her daughter dress. Caroline sat on the stool in front her dressing table while her mother braided her hair and coiled the long braids beneath a riding hat of blue velvet trimmed with peacock feathers. She stood at last, her trunks already trundling down the road away from the house, her portmanteau gone, whisked to the carriage in which she would soon ride away with her husband.
Her mother turned to her and pulled her close, drawing her down so she could press her lips to Caroline’s forehead. “I hope you will be happy with him.”
“So do I, Maman.”
Caroline clutched her mother close, then took a deep breath of her orchid perfume and pulled away. Lady Montague handed her a bouquet of pink and yellow roses from the hothouse tied with a yellow ribbon, all their thorns shorn away.
Her father stood with Anthony in the entryway. All the guests had gathered outside by the traveling coach to wish the couple well. Her father waited for her in the shadow of the front door. Jenkins had been dismissed so the moment could be a private one.
Her father said nothing but drew Caroline close for the third time in two days. He bent down and kissed her hair. He looked into her eyes, but when he spoke, his words were not for her but for Anthony, who stood beside her. “Care for her well.”
“I will.”
Anthony took Caroline’s hand and led her out into the sunlight. Her mother and father stood in the doorway, each with one hand raised in farewell. Caroline looked back and waved to them. Though all the guests and many of the villagers were cheering her into her new life, all she saw were her mother’s tears and her father’s unbending back as they bid her good-bye.
Chapter 10
They rode through the hours of that afternoon in silence. The road south was smooth beneath the carriage wheels, the squabs of the coach soft at his back. Anthony watched his young wife, but she did not look at him. They had another two days on the road ahead of them, for it was a long way to Shropshire. Caroline’s eyes never left the window, drinking in the sight of her home county as they passed through it. Finally, after four hours’ travel, they reached the city of York.
They came at last to the inn where they would spend their wedding night. Caroline turned to him with the ghost of a smile. “We are here,” she said.
Anthony offered his hand and helped her down from the carriage himself. The inn yard was bustling with many travelers, all on the road south to London, as they were. All others stopped to stare at the black-lacquered traveling coach emblazoned with his family crest, a knight’s helm flanked on both sides by two silver plumes. The people standing by looked at the matched set of four gray geldings with long black manes and well-combed tails.
Caroline did not notice the people gawping at her but went at once to the horses that still stood in their traces. The footmen and coachman tried to stop her, though they knew they could not touch her and indeed should not even speak to her without being spoken to first. They each cast sideways glances at their lord, then stepped back when he nodded once. Caroline noticed none of this interaction but went to offer the flat of her palm to the lead horse.
“Thank you,” she murmured to him, low under her breath. Anthony was close, ready to pull her away if the horses shied. He was the only one who heard her speak.
The great beast cast one dark eye on her, took in her scent, and shook out his mane. Caroline smiled and pressed her hand against his sweaty neck once, very lightly. His wife turned to him then and stopped when she seemed to catch sight of the heat in his eyes. Anthony did his best to bank it down, so as not to frighten her. She did not frighten easily, but she was a maid, and her wedding night had come. Tonight he would have to be cautious and gentle and bring to bear all his hard-won skill to make his wife glad she was in his bed.
Caroline did not seem afraid at all as she looked at him. After a slight hesitation, she stepped forward, placing her hand on his arm. The cart bringing Hercules and Achilles rolled into the yard, and he had to restrain her with one hand to keep her from going to greet them.
“You will see them tomorrow,” he said.
His wife looked into his eyes and considered what he said. He thought for a moment she might disregard his words as if he had never spoken, that her usual defiance would come between them. Instead, she nodded and allowed him to lead her into the inn.
Anthony was shocked by her sudden acquiescence, by the silence that had lingered between them all that afternoon. Perhaps the wedding vows had tamed her. Perhaps she was indeed a biddable woman who would do as she had sworn and obey him for the rest of her life.
He had expected to be pleased by this, but a niggling sense of disappointment lingered, an unexpected sour taste like a bite into an unripe berry.
***
Caroline came into the sitting room her husband had chosen. A large table was drawn close to the fireplace, and an old wooden settle faced the hearth. She stepped toward the fire and warmed her hands, though they did not need warming.
“Our bedroom is on the right, Caroline.”
Her husband had barely spoken three words together since they had been bound as man and wife. She repressed her irritation and forced a smile.
“Indeed. Thank you, my lord.”
“They will bring supper up in a moment, some tea and fresh bread, some beef. The fare is plain but very good. You did not eat much at breakfast.”
Caroline turned a sharp glance on him, but his face was impassive. She could not tell if he was merely being solicitous of her welfare or chastising her for not eating enough. She chose discretion as the better part of valor and kept her answer bland, her voice mild.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Caroline washed her face in the warm water Tabby brought, sparing only a glance for the bed where she would spend her wedding night. She did not change her gown but went back into the sitting room. The food had come, and she could smell the fresh-baked bread and the beef stew. She was hungrier than she had thought.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey,” Anthony said.
“Thank you,” Caroline answered. “I did.”
“We made good time.”
Silence descended again. She was not a woman for silence or for polite conversation. Suddenly her future yawned before her in an unbroken line of boredom. The horror of the thought made her shudder even as she ate her beef.
“York came upon us quickly,” Caroline said. “You have fine horses, my l
ord.”
A wry smile touched his lips. “Indeed, my lady. I have been told so.”
“I tell you so again,” Caroline said. “Someone who works for you has a good eye for horseflesh.”
“I choose all my own horses.”
“Perhaps I might come with you to Tattersall’s when we are next in London,” she ventured.
“A horse dealer’s is no place for a lady.”
Caroline swallowed her irritation along with a bite of bread. She gave up on her attempt to converse with him civilly and turned her attention to her dinner.
The silence was broken only by the sound of cutlery scraping against their plates. She finished as her husband did, and a maid from downstairs came in to clear away the remains of the meal.
“I will retire then,” Caroline said.
Anthony met her eyes. “I will follow in a few minutes.”
He took her hand, and a frisson of heat ran up her arm. She had removed her gloves before beginning the meal, so her hands were bare as he raised her palm and pressed his lips to the center of it. Caroline gasped, all fear of boredom gone. There was only this man and the need she felt for him. Anthony stared into her eyes, and she gazed back, trying to find some answer to the riddle of his soul behind the brown of his eyes. If an answer lay there, it was well hidden.
Caroline did not say another word but went into her bedroom. Tabby threw her arms around her as soon as Caroline closed the door.
“Miss Caroline…I mean, my lady, have you ever seen such a fine inn? The food is not as good as Mam’s, but you could never expect that. What a miracle this bed linen is… almost as fine as at home. I’ve got a little water here for your bath…we’ll just sponge you off and take down your hair, my lady. I’ll brush it out, but I’ll not give it a hundred strokes this night. You’ve other fish to fry.”
Tabby stopped to draw breath then, and Caroline laughed as her friend from childhood helped her strip off her traveling gown. “You’ll be wearing a new dress tomorrow, my lady. I’m pressing it now…isn’t it grand that they keep a clothes press right here in the room like civilized people? Of course, the farther south we go, the less civilization we’ll find, but no matter. We’ll make our home among the heathens and say our prayers, as my mam says, God save us.”
How to Tame a Willful Wife Page 6