An Improper Wife (25 page)

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.

“Blackhall,” the man said.

“Giles,” Taran said. “Madam.”

“Edmonds,” Giles said.

Lord Edmonds nodded.

“What in God’s name happened to your jaw?” Giles burst out.

Taran frowned, then touched the spot on his jaw where Caroline had raked her nails across his flesh. He shifted his gaze to hers as he traced the scratch with a finger. “A run in with a wild cat,” he said.

“Too close for comfort,” the man said.

“Aye,” Taran agreed. He cupped Caroline’s elbow. “May I present my wife, Caroline Robertson, Viscountess of Blackhall. Caroline, Baron and Baroness Debrett.”

Caroline offered her hand to the baron, who bowed over it.

Another couple appeared from the hallway leading to the ballroom.

“Ah, Blackhall,” the man said. He and the woman stopped beside them.

“My lord,” Taran said.

“Where did you get off to?” The man looked at Caroline. “A stolen moment with your bride, perhaps?”

Taran canted his head. “She is hard to resist.”

Caroline shot him a narrow-eyed glance, but he seemed not to notice. Not surprising. He didn’t realise she’d figured out the truth, and he was intent upon attending to the
guest
in the dungeon. Her pulse jumped.
Father.
Uncle had murdered her father. She tamped down on the rising tide of emotions that threatened tears.

“If you will excuse me,” Taran said.

“My lord.” Caroline grasped his arm. “I will walk with you.”

He gave her a thin lipped look, but said nothing.

Caroline nodded to the others. “Forgive us. I must speak with my husband.” Before anyone could protest, she started him towards the stairs. He veered left, and she was forced to follow him into a narrow servants’ corridor.

“In here,” he said, and opened a door on the right.

Taran shoved her through the opening and she found herself in a storage room filled with towels and linens. She turned as he closed the door. His gaze met hers. All at once, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, shout the question,
Why have you lied to me
?

Instead, she began, “The man who attacked me was taking me to my uncle. He said I should have married you and left well enough alone. He must have mistaken my leaving Strathmore for the decision to find out what happened to my father. ”

“You said you recognised him from the Cross Keys Inn,” Taran said.

She nodded.

“He did not harm you? I want the truth.”

“I am well, my lord.” She flushed. “As you know. He was intent upon delivering me to my uncle.”

“How did the bastard think he would ride with you all the way to England and without being caught?” Before she could answer, he added, “Because Etherton is not in England. What else did he say?”

“That is all. But there is no doubt he is the man from the Cross Keys Inn, and he somehow knows of my conversation with Liam.”

“Liam?” Taran demanded. “Who is Liam?”

“The stable master at the Cross Keys Inn. That morning, I rode with him too see where the race is run.”

Anger flashed across his face. “Caroline, I realise you wished to put to rest your father’s death, but I would ask that you cease going off alone—or in the company of strangers.”

“If I had not
gone off alone
, I would not have learned that my father was murdered.”

“And you would not have nearly gotten yourself killed. For all you know, this Liam is part of this scheme.”

“He had no reason to tell me of the strange events surrounding my father’s death. Had he kept quiet, I would have remained ignorant.” Caroline placed a hand on Taran’s arm. “My father was murdered,” her voice choked, “by my uncle.”

Tears at last crashed through the barrier. Taran pulled her close. Her legs gave way and he swung her into his arms. He crossed to a crate and lowered himself onto it, then settled her across his lap. Caroline clung to his neck, her face buried in his chest as he whispered indistinguishable words into her hair. At last, the tears subsided. Her chest remained tight with sorrow, but she could breathe, could think.

Taran grasped her chin and tilted her face upwards. “Will you be all right while I see to the man?”

She straightened. “I will.”

But would she be all right once this business was sorted out and she faced her husband with the question of why he had lied to her?

Chapter Twenty-Two

From the corner of her eye, Caroline scanned the ballroom for Taran, but found no sign of him amongst the still too-crowded room. She nodded without hearing the droning of a doting mother, who chattered loudly enough to be heard over the orchestra about her daughter’s first season. An hour had passed since Taran had instructed her to entertain their guests, then disappeared into the dungeon. Why would he take so long with her attacker?

The music ended and the woman’s voice sliced into Caroline thoughts. “Your husband has promised to attend our next ball. We expect you to accompany him, of course. Oh, but Sophie has three offers already. None that we can consider them, only a baron and two military men. I do not know what possesses them to think they should offer for the hand of an earl’s daughter.”

Caroline shifted her attention onto the woman. “My husband was a mere military man, until his brother’s unfortunate accident.”

The proud mama’s eyes widened. “Of—of course, but these men cannot compare to your husband.”

Caroline lifted a brow. “No?”

“Oh, no, no, they are very young and have yet to prove their mettle. You understand. We cannot give our Sophie to a man who has yet to make his way in the world.”

Unfortunately, Taran would agree with the abominable woman.

The woman’s eyes shifted past her. Caroline turned to come face to face with her uncle. She couldn’t halt the gasp of breath ripped from her chest. Tremors rolled through her belly.

Comprehension flickered in his eyes. “Caroline,” he said in a cultured voice that would have fooled anyone into believing he was anything but the murderer he was.

A scream rose to her throat—along with the demand to know what he was doing there. But she knew the answer. His henchman hadn’t appeared at the appointed meeting place, so he had come to investigate. And her reaction had told him more than he could have hoped for.

He gave a slight bow of his head to the woman. “If you will excuse us, madam, I must speak with my niece.”

The woman’s cheeks reddened in obvious fluster at the sultry note in his voice. “Niece? Oh, of course, sir.”

The orchestra began playing a minuet, and couples headed for the dance floor. Etherton’s fingers closed around Caroline’s elbow and he turned her towards the door.

“I am busy.” She yanked her arm in an effort to free herself, but his grip tightened on her flesh as he pushed them through the crowd.

He said under his breath, “Make a scene, Niece, and I will slit your husband from sternum to cock.”

Caroline lifted her gaze to his. “Blackhall is not the easy mark my father was.”

Etherton steered her around three women oblivious to their presence. “So you have met Phillips. What did the fool do?”

She yanked hard and he released her. Caroline halted and locked gazes with him. “Tried to kidnap me.”

Her uncle’s mouth tightened. “What did you do to deserve that?” She didn’t answer and he added, “You are a fool, Caroline.”

“Just like my father?”

“You are your father’s daughter.”

Before she realised his intent, he snaked his arm around her and the barrel of a pistol dug into her side. She glanced down and he opened his coat wide enough to reveal the double flintlock Blunderbuss pressed against her waist. She recognised the pistol as the one that hung over his mantle. He’d kept the weapon as a souvenir from his days as privateer. He had spoken of how the gun was particularly useful in warding off pirates trying to board a ship. Her heart rate accelerated. What had he loaded it with, shot, nails, glass? The pistol fired anything with the potential to harm the target—and was especially effective in at close range. Even if she survived being shot, the doctor could never retrieve from her body all the pieces of whatever he had loaded into the barrel. She would die of infection, if she didn’t bleed to death first.

Caroline looked up at him. “There are two hundred witnesses present.”

“The report of the pistol will cause chaos,” he answered without hesitation. “You will be dead, and I will be forced to shoot at least two others in order to ensure my escape.” She started to say the pistol fired only one shot, but he cut in, “I never carry only one weapon. Where is your husband?”

Panic shoved forward. If he discovered Taran was in the dungeon, he could dispose of her first, then surprise him and Lord Edmonds, and kill them.

“He has taken your man to the sheriff.”

Her uncle cast her a condescending look. “Blackhall owns the sheriff. He will dispense justice, then inform the sheriff of the verdict and sentence after the fact.” Etherton glanced around the crowded room. “I imagine there is a tolerable dungeon in this castle. Likely accessed from the kitchen or perhaps beneath one of the towers.”

She startled. How many dungeons had the infamous Peiter Everston visited? How many had he been imprisoned in? She had never been in a dungeon, hadn’t thought to ask Taran where the dungeon was. How long had he been gone now, one hour and fifteen minutes? Perhaps he was no longer in the dungeon. It would be like him to leave her in the dark while he discussed matters with Lord Edmonds. For once, she would be glad his male mind didn’t take into account her female sensibilities.

Etherton started them towards the exit. “Even a peep, Caroline, and I will shoot you, then find your husband and kill him.”

“You will do that anyway,” she replied.

“I may let you live,” he replied.

He skirted the dancers and, a moment later, they reached the door. He led her down the hallway, deeper into the castle’s interior. Here was her chance. Caroline whirled. The back of his hand came across her mouth with such intensity stars streaked across her vision. He seized her shoulders. Footsteps sounded in the corridor up ahead. He turned in the direction of the sound. Hope rushed to the surface.

“I will shoot whoever that is,” he hissed, and shoved the pistol into his waistband.

Caroline tried to shake the grey fog from her brain. She tripped, and he plastered her to his side, forcing her to walk alongside him. The approaching footsteps were too soft to be Taran’s. Patterson appeared from around the bend. Her heart fell. The old butler would be of no help, and Uncle would make good on his threat.

Patterson stopped in front of them and frowned. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

She recalled Etherton’s slap to her face. Was her cheek bruising? Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart.

“My niece is overwrought,” her uncle said. “She wishes to see her husband.”

Patterson’s eyes shifted to him. He seemed uncertain, then gave a slight, deferential incline of his head. “His lordship is still indisposed.”

Etherton’s fingers dug into her waist.

“Yes, Patterson,” she burst out. He blinked in surprise and she gave a quick smile. “I am growing concerned. Please, where is the, er—” Her mind froze. Did Patterson know what Taran was up to? Yes, he must, for the way he said
indisposed
indicating he hadn’t wanted to reveal his master’s whereabouts. “The dungeon, Patterson. He told me that was where he was going.”