An Improper Wife (15 page)

Seizing his shoulders, she shoved him away. “We cannot do this.” Her ragged breath leached the statement of power.

“Never fear,” he said, amusement still evident in his voice, “I will teach you how to please a man in a carriage.” He paused. “Or perhaps you will teach me?”

Caroline jerked her chin up in a challenge. “Making love in a carriage is not proper behaviour for a lady.”

He lifted a brow and she flinched, but didn’t break from the stare. A corner of his mouth twitched in obvious amusement as he leant past her and yanked the window curtain closed. Two nights ago, he had done this very thing on the streets of Newcastle. Her heart raced. She couldn’t think. He muddled her thoughts, drove her to irrational behaviour.

He settled back beside her, his fingers tracing circles on her exposed thigh. “In my bed—or carriage—there is no need for you to behave as a lady.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I am your wife, not your mistress.”

His head snapped up. Even in the dim light of the carriage she discerned the glitter in his eyes.

“Last night—”

“Last night is behind us,” she broke in. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. How could she continue to lie to him? “We must forget the past.”

“I cannot.” He leant forward and pressed his lips to hers.

His tongue traced the seam of her closed mouth and she breathed in a strangled sob. He wanted more of what she had given him last night, the reassurance their union was not built on hate, that she could—would—accept him. How much would she have to give before he was satisfied? Too little would break her heart. Too much would drain her soul.

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 jumped 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.