An Improper Wife (22 page)

Taran smiled with memory of how she had accused him of kidnapping her. He nearly had—might have—had she not melted beneath his touch. And she had melted. Her responses hadn’t been practised that night, or the next, or the next. She had intended on experiencing another man’s touch before being ruined by the brother she envisioned to be the mirror image of John. She hadn’t bargained for him. Taran laughed. He hadn’t bargained for
her
.

“Are you all right?”

Taran turned at the sound of William’s voice behind him. He grinned. “Better than I have ever been.”

William’s brow rose. “Seems married life agrees with you.”

“Who would have thought it?”

A shadow crossed William’s face. “We need to talk.”

Taran motioned him to follow and began threading through the crowd towards the small parlour down the hall on the east side of the ballroom. There was no doubt. William had discovered Caroline was Aphrodite and was certain the news wouldn’t bode well for their marriage. Odd, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. While Taran wouldn’t stand for another man touching her, he was immensely thankful for the woman who wasn’t willing to take only that which men allowed her. Yet, in the end, like him, she understood duty. Though, for the life of him, he suddenly couldn’t understand why duty dictated she marry a man she loathed. Etherton might threaten poverty, but Taran could see intimidation having little effect.

They reached the edge of the crowd and William came up alongside him as they strode down the hall. Once in the parlour, Taran closed the door and seated himself in the wingback chair across from the small sofa William lowered himself onto.

“Had you not asked me, Blackhall, I would keep my nose out of the whole business.”

“You have discovered that Aphrodite is my wife.”

Surprise flickered across William’s face. “How did you find out?”

Taran laughed. “It would have been hard not to see it.”

His friend’s expression turned speculative. “You sound as if it is a good thing.”

“It is.”

“And the fact she was at the masque with another man?”

“She fled your company, if I recall.”

William assented with small dip of his head, then said in a neutral tone, “You do not seem perturbed that your wife intended to fuck another man the night before your wedding.” His brow creased into a frown. “How is it that you were the man she fucked—er—made love to?”

Taran’s cock jerked with memory of Caroline crying out when he’d buried himself deep inside her.

“You two decided to consummate the wedding early.”

Taran jarred from the erotic picture and shook his head. “She did not know who I was, nor did I her.”

“By God, Taran, that bit of deceit goes too far.”

“Beware,” Taran said in a low voice.

William regarded him, then shrugged. “As you wish.”

“Things are not as they seem,” Taran said, regretting the surge of possessiveness that had forced the outburst. By God, he was a besotted fool.

“She is your wife. If you are satisfied with her, that is your business.”

Satisfied was hardly the word Taran would have chosen.

* * * *

The ball was only three hours into swing and already the ballroom was overflowing. Caroline paused at the doors leading to the rear gardens and scanned the dance floor. Anxiety burrowed deep in her stomach. This party was too reminiscent of the masque, and the wanton acts she’d committed with Taran earlier were too close to the things they had done in the gardens that night. How had the truth escaped his notice?

She slipped onto the balcony. Cool air washed over the flushed skin of her face and neck and she wished mightily the elbow length sleeves were shorter. She stepped up to the stone railing and gazed into the darkened garden. Instead of the ridiculously manicured maze of Lord Forbes’ garden, tall trees dotted the horizon beyond the expanse of lawn. Branches rose like stick phantoms that beckoned into a dark world where the night creatures’ opus rivalled the music drifting from the ballroom.

With a glance through the French doors at the crowd that seemed even larger than it had been a moment ago, Caroline hurried down the steps to the grass and across the lawn. As she entered the cover of trees, she slowed. Insects and frogs went quiet as she crept forward, guided by slivers of moonlight so skimpy it seemed she walked in a dream. She’d had little opportunity to explore such large treed gardens. Her uncle’s London townhouse garden was a small patch of land where a solitary elm stood sentinel in the middle of the tiny kingdom.

She had once visited an estate in London renowned for its arboretum, but she’d been there during a day party and had explored but a small section before being waylaid by the Baron of Lochshire. For once, Caroline gave thanks for her uncle. The baron was set on making her his baroness, but Uncle had his sights on nothing less than an Earl for a son-in-law.

Caroline halted beside a large elm. The creatures resumed their song and she relaxed against the hard wood of the tree, eyes closed. So here she was, wed to the earl of her uncle’s choosing, the one man she loved, for all the good it would do her.

Taran had given no indication that he found anything about her familiar. Perhaps Aphrodite was nothing more than a distant memory. Hope rippled on a quiver through her stomach. If enough time passed, and he noticed any likeness between her and the woman he had spent the night with in the carriage, he might reason that time had coloured the memory. She had never meant to hurt him. How could she have known he was nothing like his brother, that she would fall hopelessly in love with him, and that the crushing need for him made life without him unbearable?

Sounds of a rustle to her left caused Caroline to straighten. She gave a small cry at sight of a large figure approaching.

“Lady Blackhall.”

Caroline’s blood went cold.
Lord William Edmonds.

He stopped a few feet in front of her. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

When had he arrived? Her breath caught. Had he followed her into the gardens? Why? Did he want to confront her, extract money or perhaps her charms in exchange for his silence?

“Quite all right, my lord,” she said in a steady voice.

“Gardens like these are a dangerous place,” he replied. “Would you not agree?”

Panic pushed her wayward pulse into a gallop.
Did he know what she and Taran had done in Lord Forbes’ garden?
Had Taran told him about their tryst? The answer hit with a sick turn of her stomach. He knew because he had been watching when Taran had pulled down her bodice and touched her breasts.

“Is everything all right, my lady?” Lord Edmonds’ voice broke the silence she hadn’t realised stretched out between them.

“Yes,” she replied. “Just tired. I believe I will retire for the evening.”

“Retire? Come now, your guests will be disappointed should you disappear so early in the evening. All you need is more fresh air.” He grasped her elbow and started deeper into the trees.

“Sir.” She pulled free and took a step back. “It is enough we are alone, going deeper into the trees is scandalous.”

“Caroline—”

She stiffened. “Lady Blackhall.”

Her heart skipped a beat when she thought he hesitated before saying in a low, silky voice, “Lady Blackhall, surely you cannot care what these Scots think.”

Caroline gasped. “One of these
Scots
is my husband.”

“You need not fear him.”

“True enough,” she replied. “But you might when he discovers you tried to entice me into the gardens.”

“Entice you?” The steel in his voice was unmistakable. “I found you here in the gardens.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“Alone? That can be even more dangerous than an assignation. A lady never knows what sort of knave she might encounter in the darkness.”

“The kind my husband will run through with a sword—even if that man is a friend. He has fought duels over far less things than a man accosting his wife.”

William’s sudden laughter caught her off guard. “Indeed he has. I have never known a man to challenge so many duels and live.”

Fear tightened her chest. Was that a threat? Several heartbeats of silence passed and she had the impression he was studying her in the dark.

“Forgive me, madam. For a moment…never mind. I had better get you back inside before Taran sends a search party.”

This time, he placed a hand beneath her elbow and gently guided her in the direction of the mansion. They broke from the trees in time to see Taran standing at the balcony railing, silhouetted by the blazing lights of the ballroom. He had stated to turn back towards the doors, then pivoted back in their direction. He stilled, stared for an instant, then hurried down the steps towards them.

The light behind him kept his face in shadow, but there was no mistaking the determined gait in his stride. Over the course of the evening, Caroline had noticed the almost imperceptible way he favoured the injured leg. He made no such consideration now, and she cursed her stupidity for seeking refuge in the trees. He was furious, and if anything could trigger his memory of their night in the gardens, it would be the reversal of roles in this garden.

He reached them, but she kept walking. Caroline caught sight of the downturn of his mouth and steadied the sudden wobble in her knees. No matter what, he wouldn’t say anything in front of Lord Edmonds. Or would he? And why not? That was what she wanted, wasn’t it, to be free of him and the threat that hung over her like an adder ready to strike? It wasn’t a matter of
if
he would remember, but
when
.

“Madam,” he growled, and grasped her arm, bringing her to a halt.

She winced at the pain that splintered through her injured arm, but he appeared not to notice.

“What are you up to?” he demanded.

Despite his right to ask and despite good sense, ire flared. “Only the worst kind of chicanery, my lord. Nothing short of exactly what you expected.” Her heart broke. Once Lord Edmonds revealed her identity, Taran would never believe Aphrodite had gone into the gardens alone. It would seem Lord Edmonds agreed.

Caroline pulled free of his grasp and marched across the grass towards the mansion.

“Lord Taran,” she heard William say from where he and Taran still stood, “but you are a fool.”

* * * *

Caroline hunkered down in the saddle, pulled her hood up around her face, and rolled with the cadence of the horse’s gait. Damn these Highland nights. They were colder than those in England and even more dismal for a ride. Her head throbbed, and she wanted to change from her gown into the warmer riding habit she’d sneaked from the castle. But she had been gone for only half an hour and needed to put distance between herself and Taran before he discovered her absence. Uncle would threaten death once she told him her plan to annul the marriage, but her promise to marry the first man he chose would ensure his cooperation. He would insist she marry quickly, before paternity could be determined for a child born within the next nine months.

Many a nobleman desperate for an heiress would take a bastard child as their own. She envisioned Taran’s dark-eyed child cradled in her arms, soft, warm, cooing. The picture vanished and reality hit. A child born too soon would bring an immediate challenge of paternity from Taran. His testimony of their shared hours in bed—as well as in the carriage the night
before
their wedding—would force an annulment, and give him an unimpeachable claim to her, the child, and her fortune. Unless…would he want a child whose mother was a practiced liar? Why not? An heir would secure her fortune for him. Panic shot to the surface with scalding intensity. The hand grasping the reins trembled.

“Calm yourself,” she ordered. The chance she was carrying his child was slight, but she would have to wait until her next monthly flux to be certain. But Uncle—damn his soul—would gladly beat her into submission.

Her stomach churned. If she returned to England, Taran would make good on this threat to meet Etherton for that dawn appointment. Taran was nothing, if not consistent. She hadn’t thought through her actions. Lord Edmonds’ appearance had frightened her, then Taran’s anger brought her to the sudden conclusion there was no choice but to leave.
Now.

Her heart sank. She was caught between the Devil and the sea. Going meant forcing Taran’s hand with her uncle. Staying meant living with his disdain for the rest of her life. After enough time—and women—she would grow to hate him.

Could she ease her pain as he would…take lovers? A mental picture flashed of herself, sprawled naked on a strange bed, a faceless lover over her, muscles bunching with the effort of each thrust of the foreign cock driving inside her. Her heart squeezed and a sob broke the near quiet of hooves on moist ground. Any child conceived by Taran and foisted onto another man would suffer the same fate she had. She’d loved one parent and hated the other. How could she sentence a child to that life? How could she be that hated parent?

Caroline closed her eyes and forced herself to relax into the easy rhythm of the horse. Cool night air dried her tears. If she tricked another man into marriage while carrying Taran’s child, she would be guilty of being the worst sort of scheming female. The exact sort of female he would have a right to hate.

Whether she went or stayed, he would discover the truth—that she was Aphrodite, or that she had raced into marriage in hopes of hiding a possible pregnancy, both were equally damning. Caroline opened her eyes and straightened in the saddle. She had to face her husband and confess the truth.

Her words that night in the carriage rose in memory,
“I decided to take something for myself.”
What man would accept that as good cause for cuckolding him—even if
he
were the lover she had taken? None.

She couldn’t look in his eyes every day and see his hatred, nor could she watch him return every night from another woman’s bed. But once an heir was born that was exactly what she would have to do, for he would keep her as wife, but in name only. Margaret was right. She had flouted the privileges of rank. Now she would pay.