An Improper Wife (16 page)

“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?”

His quiet tone sent apprehension coursing through her veins.
‘Come to me when you can’,
he had told Aphrodite. ‘After you have fulfilled your obligation to your husband’ had been his meaning.

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.”

“You are fortunate,” Caroline said.

Taran appeared at her side, brandy snifter in hand. “You do not consider yourself fortunate?” He extended the glass towards her.

Caroline eyed it. She’d had two sherries already. One more drink couldn’t hurt. She took the glass and lifted it to her lips.

He continued. “Only last night you gave me the distinct impression you considered yourself most fortunate.”

The brandy slid down her windpipe. She sucked in a harsh breath and coughed.

“Taran!” Fiona slid across the couch to her side. She seized the glass and set it on the table. “You will kill her before the night is finished.”

“On the contrary,” he said smoothly, “I plan on—”

Caroline surged to her feet. “
Sir
,” she managed in a hoarse voice.

His expression was all innocence.

“Do not worry.” Fiona shot him a deprecating look. “Once you have provided the required heir, you may tell him to go to the devil.”

Caroline sucked in another harsh breath and swung her gaze onto the girl.

“Is that your plan, my dear?” Taran drawled.

Caroline jerked her attention back to him. He stared. Was that hope in his voice? He might despise Aphrodite. He might not forgive her, but he would gladly let her spread her legs for him. Taran’s words in the garden returned like a clap of thunder—
‘It is more likely you fled the festivities to meet someone. The blue domino perhaps?’

Taran had seen her with Lord Edmonds.

‘I expect to hear news from you immediately’,
he had said to William yesterday before they’d left her uncle’s home.

Taran had sent Lord Edmonds in search of Aphrodite.

Why hadn’t it occurred to her before? When he’d left her in the carriage, he’d told her to come to him when she could, but had planned all along to seek her out. If Taran saw her with Lord Edmonds, then he saw her speaking with Lady Margaret. No one could mistake Margaret for anyone but herself. Margaret would never betray her. But if she didn’t realise—Caroline’s head whirled.

“I—I—” she croaked. “I would—”

A loud pounding on the door interrupted her.

“Blackhall!” a muffled male voice shouted.

Fiona shot to her feet. “Ross.” Her face went ashen. “I told him to wait until tomorrow.”

“Blackhall!” Ross shouted again.

Taran started for the door. Fiona hurried around the table after him.

Patterson passed in front of the open doorway. “Coming, sir,” he called.

The pounding continued.

Taran reached the doorway. “Never mind, Patterson, I will see to the pup myself.”

“As you say, my lord.”

Taran disappeared into the hall, Fiona close behind and, an instant later, Patterson passed, heading back the way he had come.

Caroline stood rooted to the spot.

“Black—”

A loud bang of wood against stone reverberated through the hallway and into the drawing room.

“Lord Huntly, I see.”

Caroline shuddered at the dark tone in Taran’s voice.

He gave a harsh laugh. “Come to face our dawn appointment?”

“Lord Blackhall,” another male voice said.

“Reverend Gordon. By God, Huntly, you could not face me man to man? This is the man you would wed, Fiona?”

Caroline started towards the drawing room door.

“Ross,” Fiona said, “I instructed you to wait until tomorrow when Reverend Gordon could force Taran to see reason.”

Caroline reached the door and peeked into the hallway.

“Blackhall is not capable of seeing reason,” a tall, young man replied.

She winced. The lad looked barely nineteen and had to be at least four stone leaner than Taran.

Fiona laid a hand on his arm. “This is not wise.”

“Lord Blackhall,” the reverend said, “I performed the marriage myself. It is legal.”

“Legal?” Taran repeated. “You speak of legalities. Where is your morality? She is not yet out of the schoolroom.”

“Perhaps,” Reverend Gordon replied. “But the deed is done.”

Taran looked at Fiona. “Deed, is it?”

“Do not act as if I hid the truth from you,” she replied.

Ross gasped. “You told him.” His head snapped in Taran’s direction.

“Patterson,” Taran called, “my duelling pistols.”

Fiona seized his arm. “Brandish those pistols and I will shoot you with one of them myself.”

Caroline barely repressed a laugh. That she would like to see. Not to mention, a bullet through Taran’s heart would solve all their problems. Well, not through his heart, just a thigh, or shoulder perhaps.

“Never mind,” Ross said with a resoluteness that surprised her. “If I must kill him to have you, then so be it.”

“Kill me?” Taran looked at Fiona. “The pup thinks well of himself.”

“You called, my lord?”

Caroline jumped at the sound of Patterson’s voice as everyone’s attention shifted to the butler, who stood at the other end of the hallway.

“Caroline,” Taran said. She looked back at him. “This does not concern you. Retire to our bedchambers. I will meet you there presently.”

She shook her head. “If I am to be made a widow only a day after being wed, I think that concerns me greatly.”

He scowled. “You and your family have a habit of underestimating me.”

She ignored the flutter in the stomach at the recollection of how Taran had threatened her uncle with a dawn appointment. “What do you expect?” she replied. “What reason have we to believe you can go about engaging in duel after duel and come out the victor?”

“It is not duel after duel,” he said, as if injured. “This is but the second.”

“In as many days,” she reminded him.

“Coincidence,” he muttered.

“Good lord,” Fiona snapped. “Taran, you are mad. Ross, we are leaving.”

Taran seized her hand. “Nay, sister. This whelp and I have unfinished business. Patterson, those pistols.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The butler shuffled to the drawing room and brushed past Caroline.

“Lord Blackhall,” Reverend Gordon admonished.

“Taran,” Fiona began.

“Fiona,” Ross cut in, “you should retire with his lordship’s wife. I will see you presently.”

She gaped. “You are as mad as he is.”

The young man shook his head. “I will not spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. We will settle this once and for all.”

“The final match,” Taran said in a soft voice.

A tremor rippled through Caroline and she knew the others had caught the dangerous note in his voice when they quieted.

“Lord Huntly,” the reverend broke the silence. “You are no match for Lord Blackhall. Let me speak with him.” 

“Listen to him,” Fiona pleaded.

Taran’s head dipped in her direction. “What is this? You have set the stage, yet do not wish to finish the play?”

“This is no play,” she snapped.

“Indeed.”

She levelled a look as dark as his own at him. “You will—”

“Huntly,” Taran shoved Fiona into his arms, “take her.”

The young man caught her. Taran whirled and Caroline realised his intent even before his eyes met hers. She retreated with the plan of locking the drawing room door against him, but bumped into a body.

A low cry from Patterson was followed by Caroline clutching at the butler’s arm as they toppled to the floor, her on top of him. Strong fingers clamped around her arm and yanked her to her feet, face to face with Taran.

“By God, madam, at least have the decency to wait until I am killed before seducing my butler.”

Chapter Fifteen

Taran hauled Caroline over his shoulder.

“How dare you!” she howled.

“Patterson, ready those pistols,” he commanded, and strode from the room. “Huntly, bring my sister—if you have the stomach for it.”

“Ross, do not—” Fiona’s words were cut off when Ross threw her over his shoulder and followed.

Taran bounded up the narrow stairs, two at a time and was surprised to hear the young viscount hard on his heels.

“Put me down!” Caroline commanded.

Taran winced at the sound of each word echoing off the stone walls in a staccato that was punctuated by each step he took.

“Ross!” Fiona shouted.

Taran reached the second floor, turned left, and ascended the next flight of stairs. An unexpected elbow to his back sent a sharp pain through him.

“I will have your head for this.” Fiona shouted.

Taran couldn’t deny a stab of compassion for the boy. He really hadn’t grasped what he was getting into with Fiona.

Taran reached the third floor and strode towards the fourth door. He felt Caroline swing to his left and he veered right as he realised she was making a swipe for the claymore hanging on the wall beside his bedchamber door. He couldn’t prevent a laugh as he crossed the threshold. If she had managed the claymore, she would have brained him with it. He strode to the bed and tossed her onto the mattress. She bounced twice and started to push to her feet. Taran shoved her back down and straddled her. Light radiating from the low fire in the hearth lit her hair like ebony. He suddenly wished his sister and her hapless husband anywhere but here.