An Improper Wife

by Tarah Scott

  The man’s head dipped. Caroline tensed, then realised he was looking at her. Shadow hid his expression. Yet, he was hesitating. This was her chance.

  “Touch me, even at my uncle’s command, and my husband will kill you.”

  His hold tightened.

  Gunfire pierced the air.

  He twisted in the direction of their pursuers, then faced forward. “We will meet again.”

  Caroline gasped as he flung her from the saddle.

  * * * *

  Taran’s heart stopped. Fear twisted soul deep when the man shoved Caroline from his horse.

  “No!” Taran bellowed.

  She hit the ground. Blinding rage shoved aside the terror. He levelled his pistol on the man. Caroline shifted. Taran jerked his gaze onto her as she rolled to her knees. He swung his gaze back to the man who was riding as if a demon was on his heels—a demon was on his heels— then gritted his teeth against the primal urge to empty his pistol into him and stuffed the weapon back into his waistband.

  “Get him!” Taran shouted, and veered in Caroline’s direction.

  William and Huntly sped past.

  She stumbled to her feet and took several sideways steps. She glanced in his direction, then unexpectedly shot towards the trees. Taran blinked in confusion. She doesn’t recognise me. Unreasonable laughter threatened. His wife was running from him. She reached the trees and disappeared into them an instant before he leapt from the saddle. Taran reached her in three heartbeats and seized her arm. She whirled, raking nails across his jaw.

  He winced. “Caroline!” He yanked her to his chest.

  She shoved at him, pounded with small fists against a shoulder. He hugged her close, forcing her to still. The tremble in her body sent another wave of rage through him. If William and Huntly didn’t catch the bastard who had tried to take the Viscountess of Blackhall from her own land, he would. Caroline had chastised him over his dawn appointments. There would be no gentleman’s score. The man would see his last sunrise. Taran bent and pressed his mouth to her ear. She stiffened, then pushed hard against his chest and began to struggle.

  He tightened his hold. “Caroline, tis’ me, Taran.”

  Her head snapped up. She groped his cheek, then trembling fingers slid across his lips. He closed his eyes and drank in the feel of the soft fingertips he’d feared would never touch him again. She sobbed and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Shh,” he soothed with gentle strokes to her hair. “All is well.” But was it? What damage had the man done?

  “No” she said through tears. “It is not all right. He…he…” Taran’s heart wrenched when she gulped air. “Cross Keys Inn—he followed us…followed me. He killed my father.”

  Killed her father? “Who?” The highwayman? She wasn’t making sense. Her father had been gone nearly three years. Taran kissed her temple. “You are safe now.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “No.” Ragged breaths racked her body. “He promised to return for me.”

  “Promised to return—Caroline, love, no highwayman would be foolish enough to return.”

  “He said we would meet again.”

  “He will not escape Huntly and Edmonds,” Taran insisted.

  Caroline shoved at his chest. “My father—” She struggled to break from his hold.

  Taran grasped her shoulders. “Calm yourself and tell me what happened.”

  “I have told you.” The irrational note in her voice frightened him. “He—my uncle—they killed my father.”

  “Etherton? What has he to do with this?” Taran demanded.

  “He said I would end up like my father.”

  “End up like your father?” Taran repeated. Her father had died in a riding accident. Why would Caroline concoct a story of murder? Dread slammed through him. She wasn’t capable of such a lie. Etherton, however, was quite capable of murder.

  Caroline seized Taran’s arms. “My God.”

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  Her nails bit into his biceps. “What if he harms you? Taran.” She spoke his name in a whisper. “What is one more murder to my uncle?”

  “He cannot harm me.”

  Hysterical laughter broke from her lips. “No? You risk too much.”

  Taran’s gut twisted. She was right. His desire to be right had put her in danger. His pride had put them both in danger. If anything happened to him, she would again be at Etherton’s mercy.

  Something rustled to their right. Caroline cried out. Taran grasped the butt of his pistol as he jerked his gaze in the direction of the noise. A tree branch moved as shadow in the murk and wind whistled passed. He released the pistol, hand shaking. Caroline tried to pull away.

  “It is just the wind,” he assured her.

  “I cannot lose you,” she choked.

  Taran crushed her to him. “Caroline.”

  Reason warred with need. He needed to get her home, safe in their bed where her mind could settle into the understanding he would never again let harm come to her. But he also needed her. Now.

  “I cannot lose you,” she had said. She wanted him. Was it possible she loved him?

  Taran’s heart thundered as he cradled her head and claimed her lips. Caroline whimpered, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth. His kiss turned frantic, as desperate as her emotions. By God, he had to show her he could protect her…had to show her he couldn’t live without her.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered against her lips.

  Lifting on tiptoes, she tightened her fingers on his neck. She leant into him, breasts crushing into his chest , sending a lightning bolt to his groin. His cock thickened as he rocked into her. What was he doing? How could he take her now…when she was confused and afraid?

  Because she was confused and afraid. After he made love to her, he’d make sense of what had happened. Right now, she needed him.

  He kissed her harder and Caroline’s mouth opened, demanding more. He sank into her sweet taste. His cock, now hard and throbbing, bordered on painful. He needed to drown in her heat, needed to know she was all right, that she was his. Taran stiffened against the fierce need surging through him and broke from the kiss.

  “Caroline, I need you.”

  “Yes.” The word spoken in a breathless voice sent a jolt of desire to his groin. She reached between them and covered his cock with a warm palm.

  Desire clouded his brain. He ached to take her…to make love to her. Her fingers closed around his erection. She trembled. Or was the tremble rolling through him? He knotted his fingers in her hair and tipped her head back as he devoured her mouth. He drove his tongue inside and searched out hers, connecting, tasting, driving out all thoughts but the woman in his arms. His woman. Holding her tight, he dropped to his knees and pushed her onto the moss covered ground.

  “Hurry,” she urged.

  Caroline drew up her knees, feet flat on the ground, and spread her thighs. She dragged her skirt above her waist. He pulled the pistol from his waist and set it on the ground beside them, then cupped her mound. Moist heat from her pussy warmed his palm. Cream dampened his finger. Gliding along the plump folds, he slipped a finger into her tightened passage.

  “More,” she begged.

  Caroline tugged down her bodice and pulled his head to a nipple. He latched onto the marbled point. Her hips lifted and Taran inserted a second finger, sawing in and out, stretching her. She gripped his wrist and bucked against his hand. Taran drew hard on the nipple as he fucked her with his fingers.

  She cried out, as desperate as he was for a physical connection between them. She didn’t want finesse and comfort. Rather a hard fuck, and he was just as primed. He ripped open the ties of his breeches, grasped his pulsing rod and settled between her thighs. Her body opened for him and he shafted his cock deep in one fluid plunge.

  Caroline wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to meet his thrust. She whimpered and clung to his shoulders. “I am sorry, Taran.”

  “Shhh.” He braced his upper body on out
stretched arms and poured his emotions into his movements. “You are safe now.”

  Her back bowed off the ground as he drilled into her again. “And I am yours.”

  Taran growled and fucked her the way she needed—to feel alive and safe in his arms. Slow, measured glides spiralled into hard intense thrusts. Momentum built. Faster, all the way in until the head of his cock bumped the top of her core and she clutched at his back. Hot inner walls gloved tight to his shaft.

  “Oh.” Her channel quivered with her release. “Taran,” she gasped on a hard breath. Her body shattered beneath him. She shivered and exquisite pressure milked his cock.

  With a guttural groan, Taran slammed into his orgasm. Hot seed erupted from his rod and filled his wife.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Taran lay beside Caroline, head resting against the soft swell of her breast, and drank in her scent. His heart pounded and his body, replete in passion, moulded to hers.

  “You are mine,” he whispered against her flesh.

  She combed fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Only yours.”

  He pulled back and stared at her shadowed features. “Did he harm you?” Taran gently stroked her jaw.

  Caroline covered his hand with hers. “No.” Tears slipped from her eyes. “But my father…” She buried her face in his chest.

  Taran’s heart pounded. He held her close as more tears fell. “I will deal with him. Trust me.”

  On owl screeched. Caroline flinched. Taran lifted his head to assure her all was well, but the trees rustled, and her head jerked towards the dense scrub to their left. He squinted at where slivers of moonlight shimmered as if alive.

  “Someone is there.” She scrambled to a sitting position.

  Taran grabbed the pistol and shoved to his feet as a large figure emerged from the trees. Taran pulled back on the hammer. The soft click broke the quiet like a thunderbolt.

  The man halted. “I’d feel more welcome if you would lower your weapon.”

  Taran pointed the pistol skyward and released the hammer. “Damn it, Edmonds, you nearly got yourself shot.”

  “So I did,” the earl replied in a dry tone.

  Taran grasped Caroline’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “You picked a fine time to make an appearance,” he said.

  “My apologies,” Edmonds replied. “But I assumed you would want to know we caught him.”

  Caroline’s fingers tightened around his.

  Taran pulled her against his side and whispered into her ear, “Trust me to keep my promise.” No one—least of all Etherton—would hurt her again.

  * * * *

  Caroline was thankful for the comfort of Taran’s arm around her waist as he guided her through the trees, but she wished Lord Edmonds was anywhere but with them. Their last encounter confirmed that he knew her secret. Taran led her around a fallen branch. She needed to confess the truth about Aphrodite, but Lord Edmonds’ presence made that impossible. Would Taran see her silence as yet another deceit? A kaleidoscope of butterflies flitted in her stomach. He hadn’t fucked her in the forest. He’d made love to her, claimed the last of her heart. How much better was reality than the fantasy she had so desperately wanted…created? Truth and fiction were blurring within her mind. Before another opportunity passed, Taran had to know the truth. Tonight, Aphrodite died.

  “We tied the bastard’s arms and legs, and threw him over his own horse.” Lord Edmonds laugh broke into her thoughts. “Young Huntly will deposit him in the dungeon at Strathmore for safekeeping.”

  Taran’s fingers flexed around her waist. His fury was evident. Caroline repressed a shiver and was glad when they broke from the murk of the trees. The horses stood tethered to a nearby branch. Caroline moved to break from Taran’s hold, but gave a small cry when he swept her off her feet. He rounded her horse to his chestnut and hoisted her onto the saddle.

  She grabbed for the pommel. “My lord! I am capable of riding my own horse.”

  He swung up behind her. His arm snaked around her waist as he urged the beast into motion. “After tonight’s events, I intend to keep you close.” He pulled her flush against him. “Very close.”

  Caroline glanced to the left at Lord Edmonds. The sight of his slightly upturned mouth caused her cheeks to warm. Taking off for England in the dead of night was the single most stupid thing she’d ever done. No. Going to the masque had been even more stupid. No. Lying to Taran took the prize. As if he’d read her mind, his arm tightened as though it was possible to pull her inside his skin.

  “My lord,” she gave his hand a slap. “You are holding me too tightly. I cannot breathe.”

  Taran pressed his mouth against her ear. Warm breath against her ear sent a shiver through her.

  “I wish to do more than hold you,” he said.

  She forced back pain. “You will think differently when we arrive home.”

  Taran shifted the reins from his right to left hand, and she startled at the unexpected weight of the free hand on her leg. He began inching up her skirt. Caroline froze. What was he doing? She clamped a hand over his, but his stronger fingers continued to draw the fabric upward. She darted a glance at Lord Edmonds, but he seemed oblivious to Taran’s shenanigans. He wouldn’t be once her skirt was above her waist!

  “What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath.

  He didn’t answer and she gave the top of his hand a hard pinch. The skirt continued its slow upward slide. When the hem reached thigh height on her right leg, he slid his hand beneath the skirt and let it fall over his arm. Caroline bit back a gasp at feel of his fingers sliding down her inner thigh. When he brushed the edge of her mound, she squeaked.

  “Sir.” She started to grab his arm, then realised that would draw attention to his hand between her legs. A finger brushed her curls, then dipped between her folds. “This is improper,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He gave a low laugh, the sound rich and dark in her ear. “Mayhap I want an improper wife.” The finger slid inside her channel. “Tell me, wife,” he whispered as he plunged his finger in and out—out and in— “would you prefer a proper husband?”

  No, she wanted Taran. Sudden awareness of the erection digging into her back caused her mouth to go dry. He rubbed against her as his thumb began massaging her clit. She couldn’t halt the need and rocked into his hand, then back against his cock. Cream slipped from her passage. Teetering on the edge of euphoria, she bit down on her bottom lip and closed her eyes.

  “Why would I want a proper wife when I have you, my…”

  She snapped open her eyes. My…? Her heart pounded. His finger increased the pressure on her clit. Her channel convulsed around his probing finger. She whimpered as a shuddering orgasm rolled over her. A few final, gentle flicks to her clit brought a second, soft orgasm, then Taran removed his hand and banded his arm around her, pinning her to his chest. She melted against him.

  He kissed her temple. “Will you fault me for pleasuring my wife?”

  She drew in a shaky breath and tried to form coherent thoughts. “There is no reasoning with a man’s sexual appetite.”

  “Hungry only for you,” he interjected.

  Strathmore loomed in the distance, ablaze. Apparently, the guests hadn’t noticed the hosts’ absence. The soirée would go until the wee hours of the morning, but she was too tired to join the merrymaking. A pleasurable drowsiness clouded her brain. She needed to talk to Taran. Aphrodite—she had to tell him the truth about the masque. Caroline snuggled closer to his warmth. Come what may, she would have this moment. He desired her, his wife, not the fantasy woman he’d known for but a few hours.

  Caroline froze. “Why would I want a proper wife when I have you, my…” He had been about to call her…Aphrodite.

  The pieces fell into place with a sickening turn of her stomach. “Perhaps I do not want a proper wife.”

  He had purposely fucked her in the carriage after leaving the Cross Keys Inn…just as he had fucked Aphrodite.

 
“You burn as I do. Why resist?”

  He had known then that she was Aphrodite.

  Their first night at Strathmore, when he’d had her on all fours, then the next night in front of the mirror. What man bedded his wife in that fashion? A man who knew that the women in his bed had the same appetite he did. A man who knew he’d married a—she closed her eyes—a spoilt woman.

  Why hadn’t he told her? Why let her agonise? Why rut with her as if there were no tomorrow? Was he trying to produce an heir while he could still stomach being between her legs? She recalled the way his cock pounded into her while they were in the trees, and his finger pleasuring her on the horse. Those were not actions of a man who couldn’t stand to touch a woman. No. Those were the actions of a man taking possession of what was his.

  Her head reeled. He knew and still wanted her? How was that possible? It was possible, she realised, because he was enjoying letting her squirm in fear—so long as she squirmed on his cock when he so chose. Her pussy tightened at the thought of his rod rubbing the sensitive folds of her sex, teasing, bringing her to a fevered pitch before finally giving her what she wanted.

  And there was no denying, she wanted his hard steel as often as he would give it to her. He had demanded she let him do what he would to her on the ride home. What would he do if she demanded he drive his cock into her this very moment—time, place, and onlookers be damned? Would he think her wanton for not being satisfied with having him pleasure her twice already today? He wanted Aphrodite. He would have her. On her—his wife’s—terms.

  Then she would have his head on a platter. No. His bollocks.

  * * * *

  Caroline preceded Taran into the foyer, with Lord Edmonds behind him. Her desire to drag Taran upstairs as his head thumped on each step had taken a back seat to reality. Despite the party that was still in full swing, Taran was intent upon dealing with the man who had attacked her. First, she had to make sure Taran understood what the man said to her.

  “My lord,” she began.

  The door opened and the boy who stood outside greeting guests, stepped aside for an older man and woman as they entered.