An Improper Wife
Page 12
He lifted her dress and she whimpered, a soft mewling sound. Strong, calloused fingers grazed the flesh behind her knee. Higher, along the inside of her thigh. A shiver raced up her spine. Heat radiating from her core seemed to draw his fingers like a moth to a flame. Caroline parted her lips and glided her tongue along his, sucking him into her mouth. Taran groaned, deepening the kiss, then abruptly broke away. His breathing heavy, he rested his forehead against hers. Caroline sat frozen, until his fingers touched the damp curls covering her sex.
“You burn as I do,” he said. “Why resist?” Tracing the slick seam, he then parted her folds. “Feel how your honey flows…” He slipped a finger into her clenching passage. “For me.” He plunged deeper, stroking her internally, then easing out.
Cream coated his fingers. She couldn’t hide her response to his touch. Anywhere but here in this carriage, if they were anywhere else. “We should stop. This is improper.”
He growled, slamming a second finger into her pussy. “Perhaps I do not want a proper wife.” A third finger.
Caroline cried out, gripping the edge of the seat as she bucked her hips against his thrusting fingers. Pleasure spiralled through her centre. Quivers built in her passage.
Taran jerked his hand from between her legs. Loosening the ties of his breeches, he freed his erect, swollen rod. Juice seeped from the slit, glistening on the ruddy head. Taran grasped the underside of her knees, tugged her to the edge of the seat, and spread her thighs wide.
Positioning his rod at her opening, he looked at her face and thrust his cock into her pussy. Invading, stretching, oh God, sending her straight into delirium. His hips pumped, pounding his shaft into her. An orgasm rolled over her. She thrashed, crying his name as her inner walls convulsed around him.
Taran groaned, clenching his jaw as he increased his speed.
Bracing her hands behind her back, she rolled her hips.
“Ah fuck.” Taran leveraged over her, plunging hard, rearing back, then slamming deep again. Sweat beaded across his brow. Muscles bunched in his arms. Unlike the sweet love he’d rained over her last night, he ploughed into her channel. Taking, demanding, consuming. Secret pleasure surged within her. He’d lost his control and fucked her like a woman—not his wife.
A shout from above broke into their lust-filled cocoon, and the carriage jerked as it slowed.
Caroline cried out. Tarah ripped from her body and jerked her dress down. He shoved his cock into his breeches and tugged the ties closed. She gasped when he yanked up his trouser leg and pulled a small pistol from within his boot. He shoved the weapon into the waistband at his back, then swung the door open and jumped to the ground.
A male voice she didn’t recognise said, “Your sister, my lord.”
Taran cursed. “Fiona?”
“Aye,” the man said.
Caroline stilled. His sister?
“What has she done?” Taran demanded.
“Run off to Edinburgh, m’laird.”
“By God,” he muttered. “Where is Ran? The coward should have come himself and faced me with the explanation of how a slip of a girl bested him.”
“She administered enough laudanum to put him down for two days,” the man said. “A maid discovered him and sent word to Strathmore.”
“Leave it to a woman,” Taran muttered, then, “You will ride with Davis and the carriage to escort my wife to Strathmore.” He glanced at Caroline. “I am sorry.” He slammed the door shut.
She slid across the cushion and opened the door. “What has happened?”
Taran untethered his horse from the rear of the carriage, then stepped into the saddle and swung his leg over the horse. He urged the beast up to the door. “Do not choose this moment to try me.”
Caroline jumped back when he shoved the door closed again.
He spurred the horse forward. “I expect you at Strathmore by supper,” he said, and kicked the horse’s belly. The animal lunged forward.
Caroline fell back against the seat when the carriage wobbled into motion.
* * * *
Despite her best effort, Caroline felt the surprise on her face when Fiona’s maid told her that Taran’s youngest sister had eloped. The maid’s eyes widened as if acknowledging she’d overstepped her bounds.
“No need to fret. You have a friend in me,” Caroline hurriedly assured her. She patted the place beside her on the couch.
Jennet glanced at the bedchamber door as if expecting the housekeeper to burst in any moment.
Caroline rose and hurried to the door. She slid the lock into place and turned. “There now, no one can interrupt.”
The girl cast a nervous glance at the door.
“Never mind.” Caroline crossed to where Jennet stood at the foot of the bed and gently grasped her arm while leading her back to the bench that sat near the window. She eased the maid onto the bench and sat beside her. “My husband took off as if chased by the devil himself, and gave no explanation. You can imagine my concern.”
The girl nodded vigorously.
“That infernal Davis remained silent as a mute.” Try as she might, she had been unable to coax more than an ‘Aye, my lady’, and ‘Nay, my lady’, from any of the men on the remainder of the trip. “Tell me, why did my sister-in-law elope? Surely, my husband would give her a suitable wedding.”
“Indeed, he would,” Jennet agreed. “Only, Fiona is but sixteen years old.”
“Sixteen?” Caroline gave a slow nod. “Yes, I can see why he would object. But why does Fiona not wait? And the groom.” She grimaced. “He cannot want a green girl.”
Jennet clucked her tongue. “It doesna’ matter. Lord Blackhall has told his sister she cannot wed Lord Huntly.”
“She is young,” Caroline said.
The maid shook her head. “Nay. She canna’ marry him at all.”
“Is he a rake, too old perhaps?” Caroline grimaced. “These old men should be ashamed, taking children to wife.”
“No,” Jennet said. “Lord Blackhall says Lord Huntly only wants to marry her for her money.”
Caroline choked.
Jennet shot to her feet. “Are you all right, my lady? Should I fetch help?” She started for the door.
“No,” Caroline croaked.
The girl halted and turned. “Are you sure?”
Caroline waved her back. “Sit.” Her throat cracked and she coughed.
Jennet wavered.
“I am fine,” Caroline said.
“I should return to work.” She cast another glance at the door.
”One more question,” Caroline said. “Does my husband not plan on dowering his sisters?”
Jennet looked surprised. “Of course. They are his sisters. He would not slight them.”
Of course not, Caroline thought. Neither would he allow them to marry a man like himself.
Chapter Fourteen
“He did not simply die.”
Caroline jumped at the loud pop of wood that blazed in the drawing room hearth where she stood. A tiny piece of wood shot from the log, bounced off the brick wall, and landed beside the larger pieces that now simmered as red-hot coals.
Despite the warmth, she shivered. The stable master hadn’t struck her as a man given to idle gossip. Yet the idea that someone had sabotaged her father’s saddle was beyond belief. In the years since his death not so much as a whisper of foul play had reached her ears. Surely, if there were any truth to Liam’s claim that the girth on her father’s horse hadn’t worn loose as was said, but had been cut, word would have filtered down to her. And why would someone want him dead? Her father had no enemies.
She pictured the half dozen horses Liam had described galloping across the field with her father. His stallion drew ahead, the animal’s powerful strides outrunning the others’ breakneck speed of nearly forty miles an hour. He reached the trees ten seconds ahead of the pack and disappeared into the most dangerous leg of the race. She jerked at the sudden picture of him pitching from the horse. His heart ju
mped and he had a mere second to comprehend what had happened before his head hit the ground, his neck broken upon impact.
Caroline jarred from the vision of blood pooling around his face, sightless eyes staring heavenward. Her heart knocked against her chest. She grabbed the sherry from the mantle where she’d left it and gulped the remaining contents, then dropped into the wingback chair in front of the fire. At last, her pulse slowed. Liam may not be given to gossip, but neither was she a girl given to theatrics. She would take her time and find out what happened, but without the aid of sherry or schoolgirl emotions.
She knew several men who attended that fateful hunt, Lord Cambrooke, for one. Would he, or the others, keep silent in order to save her feelings? She recalled their encounter at the inn. He was surprised she’d spent her wedding night at the place where her father died, but that was to be expected. Caroline glanced at the empty sherry glass she still held. Damn her nerves. The hour was late—they had pushed well into the night to reach Strathmore—but, Caroline had worked herself into a state of anxiety that even two glasses of sherry hadn’t eased.
The front door to the old castle opened and Taran’s voice filled the hallway outside the drawing room. “Never mind, Patterson, we will not be needing your services tonight.”
A quiver radiated through Caroline’s stomach.
“Very good, my lord.” The old butler’s voice echoed from the other end of the hallway nearest the kitchen.
“As for you,” Taran said, “go to your room and remain there until I call for you.”
“Reverend Gordon will confirm the marriage,” a female voice replied.
Caroline tensed. It would seem Taran’s sister had made better use of the past few hours than she had.
“He has nothing to say about it,” Taran said. “The marriage will be annulled.”
“You cannot undo what is done. I may already carry Ross’ child.”
“What is wrong with you?” Taran burst out. “Once he has spent your dowry, he will blackmail me for more money. He has tricked you, plain and simple.”
“He did not trick me,” she replied in a tone so reasonable Caroline couldn’t deny a trickle of the respect. “I tricked him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ross insisted we wait. He said I was too young to marry.” She snorted. “Male foolishness. He did not think I was so young when you were in Edinburgh last week.”
“Fiona,” Taran said, in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Caroline’s neck stand on end, “if what you say is true, I will kill him this very night.”
“Kill him?” She snorted. “And deliver the news to your niece or nephew that you are their father’s murderer?”
“You are not with child.”
“You cannot know that. Besides, you are not our father.”
“Indeed, I am not. He cares nothing for your future—or your safety. Have you any idea the risk you took riding to Edinburgh alone?”
“I was not alone.”
“A single male escort is no security,” he shot back. “Not to mention the impropriety. Given what you say, I am surprised Huntly did not wonder at the time you spent alone with your escort.”
“My God,” she snorted, “but you are a fool. Do you think I care what you believe? Unlike you, I intend to please myself, not my family.”
“Do your actions please your husband?” Taran demanded.
“Ross is well satisfied.”
“Fiona—”
“Enough of your sermonising.”
Caroline froze at sound of the swish of skirts along the marble floor and Fiona’s voice moving towards the drawing room.
“We both know if Ross had money, you would have already betrothed me to him.”
“He has a title,” Taran retorted. “Let him find an heiress to support him.”
Caroline’s blood went cold.
“I will not see you wed a pauper.”
Fiona snorted. “Instead, you would condemn me to a marriage with that fop, Lord Burke. No. One Blackhall sacrificing themself is quite enough.” She stepped into the doorway.
Caroline hunched in the chair in an attempt to hide, but Fiona’s ‘Well, well’ told her she’d been unsuccessful.
Caroline twisted and looked around the chair’s edge.
Intense eyes the mirror image of her husband’s stared back at her. The girl stood at least four inches shorter than Caroline. Honey coloured hair piled atop her head. Her full figure explained why her intended victim, Ross, would have been unable to resist her. This was no green girl. This was no girl at all.
Taran appeared behind her. Caroline jerked her eyes up to his face. His gaze seemed to take in the sight of her, heart, mind, and soul in one quick sweep. She cursed the heat that crept into her cheeks, and rose.
“Taran, you did not say she was so beautiful,” Fiona said.
“You saw the miniature,” he replied, his gaze still locked with Caroline’s.
“True, but it did not do justice to that dark hair…and those eyes.” She gave an approving nod. “Maybe you are no sacrifice, after all.”
“Fiona.” Taran grabbed for her elbow but, as if in anticipation of the move, she started forward.
“Your wife heard our conversation,” she said.
When Fiona reached her side, she clasped Caroline’s hands and held her at arm’s length, her gaze sliding down Caroline’s frame. Her eyes came back up to Caroline’s face as she gave another approving nod.
“Come.” Fiona led her around the couch. “Sit.”
Caroline lowered herself on one end while Fiona sat at the opposite.
“You must forgive me and my sister for not attending your wedding,” she said. “Taran did not think we could withstand the day and a half ride he made, and he was unwilling to send us by coach.”
Given the girl’s obvious headstrong mind, Caroline wagered she understood his logic. “‘Tis a long ride,” she said.
“Indeed, it is,” Fiona agreed. “But as Taran knows, I am quite capable of the journey. Our sister Horatia could not have countenanced it. In that, my brother was correct. But then, he could have sent her with a large entourage and allowed a week for the journey.”
“Why did he not?”
“Because he believed I would feel obligated to remain here by my sister’s side and not elope,” Fiona replied.
“I will take you over my knee,” Taran said in a low voice.
“You will do no such thing,” she said without looking at him. “Do not worry,” she said to Caroline, “he is not a man given to beating women…much.”
Caroline couldn’t resist asking, “What is he given to?”
“He is given to holding a grudge.”
The answer came so quickly, Caroline blinked in unison with Taran. “You are mistaken, if you think I will not administer a beating to your backside.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Perhaps your new husband will ride to your rescue and allow me to be done with killing him.”
Fiona turned a hard look on him. “You have salvaged your pride by saving me from a night of debauchery. Make good on this ridiculous threat, and I will leave you, dowry, and even my sister, far behind.”
His expression turned contemplative. “And if you do carry his child?”
“You care nothing for that.”
“But I do,” he said. “I cannot save you from a fortune hunter only to have you and your child waste away in poverty.”
“But you can,” she said, her mouth set in a grim line.
Caroline’s pulse jumped. His sister had not exaggerated when she’d said he was unforgiving. “She has made her decision and acted up on it,” Caroline said. “What hope have you of undoing the deed?”
His head shifted in her direction. “This is not your concern.”
“I believe I like her,” Fiona said.
“Why condemn her for taking matters into her own hands?” Caroline asked.
His eyes narrowed. “Taking matters into her own hands?”
He had not asked her to abandon her duty, only to return to him after she had satisfied that duty. Lord Taran Blackhall had fulfilled his obligations, expected Aphrodite to do the same, as he expected his wife to do. His response to Fiona couldn’t help making her wonder if he didn’t already despise Aphrodite for choosing to deceive her husband. How much greater will be his loathing when he learned his wife had cast him in both roles?
“A woman who creates her own destiny risks losing all,” she murmured.
“What?” he demanded.
“As you say, what if she carries his child?”
Taran’s gaze shifted onto Fiona. “Little did Ross understand the web woven around him.”
“Ross knows well enough what he is about,” she said.
“Does he? Does he truly understand the woman you are?”
She arched an eyebrow. “So you admit it is I, the woman, who has set the snare.”
He gave a slow nod. “You have your part in this disaster. Maybe I should leave you to your fate.”
“Leave her to her fate?” Caroline said. “How will you stop her?”
His gaze remained on Fiona. “I will have the marriage annulled and marry her to another.”
Fiona snorted. “It would take your entire fortune to induce a man to marry me when he glimpses the shrew he takes to wife.”
Caroline choked.
“Are you ill?” Fiona demanded.
Caroline shook her head and cleared her throat.
“Taran, fetch her some brandy.”
He gave Caroline an odd look, then strode to the sideboard.
“You need not worry,” Fiona said. “Scottish law allows me to marry whom I please. Say what he might, my brother cannot annul my marriage, nor can he force me to marry. He may try to browbeat me.” She laughed. “That will prove useless.”