An Improper Wife (13 page)

Chapter Twelve

The following morning, Caroline shoved the hood of her cloak back from her head as she slipped into the stables. Three years had passed since her father had died in the racing accident. She didn’t expect anything to be the same. How would she know if it were? But to be in the place where he had died sent a wave or sorrow over her. Early morning light streamed into the stable from the cracked door behind her. She halted and gazed down the centre of the darkened stable. Familiar scents of leather, horse manure and straw hung in the air. Tears stung her eyes. Riding together had been her and her father’s greatest joy.

“Pull yourself together,” she instructed. “You have come to put your father to rest, not to grow dewy-eyed.”

She had always known she would eventually come to the Cross Keys Inn. How strange that fate had chosen her wedding day to bring her here. A chestnut stuck his head out of the nearest stall to her left and nickered.

“Oh.” Caroline approached the stall.

The beast tossed his head and sniffed at the fingers she extended. “You’re a tame one.” she murmured, and stroked his neck. “You would do perfectly. I wonder—”

“Can I help you, my lady?”

Caroline jerked her head in the direction of the male voice emanating from further within the stables. A form slid towards her from the murky shadows. As he neared, she distinguished a tall, muscular man with greying hair and a long stride that spoke of powerful thighs.

“Yes,” she replied. “I was hoping for a morning ride.”

The man stopped in front of her. “A morning ride? ‘Tis not fully light yet. You should return in an hour and bring your husband with you.”

The word
husband
made her stomach swoop. That she would require his permission pricked her pride. She shook her head. “I travelled all day yesterday in a carriage, and am to have more of the same immediately after my husband rises. I will have a little exercise before being confined for another day in that insufferable coach.”

To her surprise, the man grinned. “Aye. A carriage is an abominable prison.”

“Indeed. Sir, is there a horse I might ride? Twenty minutes is all I ask.”

He nodded towards the chestnut beside them. “This fellow is a fine horse, but he has spirit.”

“Spirit?” she repeated. “That is exactly what I need.”

His brows lifted. “Ye sure you do not want a gelding?”

She grimaced. “I rode before I walked. Such animals are for the weak-kneed.”

He grinned again. “I thought you might say that.”

He strode back into the shadowed stables and returned a moment later, lantern in hand. He hung the lantern on the wall beside the stall, then started back the way he had come.

Caroline hurried to catch up. “I can saddle him. You need not bother.”

He gave her an appraising look. “Aye, I see you can, but I cannot allow that.”

They turned into the tack room and he grabbed brush, saddle, and bridle. He nodded towards something behind her and Caroline turned to see the bucket of apples beside the door.

She beamed at the man, then scooped up two apples. “One for later,” she said, “just in case.”

The stable master nodded approval and she fell into step alongside him as he strode back to the chestnut. They reached the stall and he tossed everything but the brush on the ground, and reached for the latch.

“Sir,” Caroline said, “I would be pleased if you let me brush him down.”

He hesitated, then handed her the brush and lifted the latch on the door. The stall door swung open and he stood aside. Caroline smiled a thank you and entered.

“Easy,” she cooed to the horse, and laid a firm hand on his neck as she extended the apple.

The chestnut sniffed at the fruit, then opened his lips. Caroline pushed the apple into his mouth, and the horse sucked it in. He crunched as she began brushing his lean back.

A few minutes later, the stable master returned and saddled the horse. He handed her the reins and she led the beast out of the stall. A mare stood tethered beside them.

Caroline gave the stable master a quizzical look.

“I cannot let ye go riding alone. If your husband is still sleeping…” He gave her a penetrating look.

“He is a late sleeper.”

“Liam Rose at your service, my lady.” He gave a slight bow, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “If your husband doesna’ see my good deed as altruistic, I beg you to tell my wife I loved her.”

Caroline gave a whoop of laughter, then clamped a hand over her mouth. She bit her lip and removed her hand from her mouth. “I promise you, sir, you have nothing to fear from my husband.” She leant closer and added in a whisper, “Particularly, if we return in the next hour.”

Ten minutes later, they were on the hard dirt road headed east out of Kelso. Sunlight streaked through thick clouds in wide beams as sharp as knives.

“Looks like rain,” Liam commented.

“Yes.” She inhaled air that already smelt and felt heavy with water. Caroline pulled back on the horse’s reins. “Is this the road where the Caledonian Hunt is held?”

“Caledonian Hunt?”

She jerked her attention onto him at the edge in his voice. Intense brown eyes studied her.

“Yes,” she replied. “Caledonian Hunt. My father—” She broke off and took a slow breath as she slid her gaze along the wide open field before them. Why, after so long, was she suddenly at a loss for words? Caroline returned her gaze to Liam. “My father used to attend the hunt.”

Liam studied her. “The Caledonian Hunt is a sight to behold. ‘Tis a shame a horse lover like yourself could not attend.”

“How long have you been stable master, Liam?”

He glanced heavenward. “We had better start back, my lady. Rain is sure.”

“Wait.” She slowed and he followed suit. “Please, tell me, where are the markers?”

His gaze bore into hers for an instant, then he nodded to the right of the massive field surrounded by trees on three sides. “That is the starting line.” His gaze moved left. “They race across the field and through those trees for half a mile.” He pointed to an opening on the left side in the middle of the trees.

“Half a mile through the forest?” She looked at him. “That must be dangerous.”

“Aye. That is what makes the race exciting.”

Her heartbeat accelerated. Exciting? How could anyone call a race that risked a man’s life exciting?

“We must return,” he said, and started to wheel his horse around.

Caroline grabbed his arm. “You did not answer my question, Liam. How long have you been stable master here?”

“Twelve years, my lady.”

“Twelve!” She snatched her hand back as if singed. “Then you knew my father.”

“Many men attend the hunt, my lady.”

She stiffened. “How many die?”

“Die?”

She nodded and a chill crept across her flesh at sight of the knowing look that glinted in his eyes.

“Only one, my lady. And he did not simply die.”

* * * *

Taran woke to drowsy awareness. Filmy images of creamy skin, full breasts, and dark curls between slim thighs flitted through the fog that shrouded his brain. His cock hardened. A firm mouth took in his length. Green eyes stared up at him as she worked his shaft in and out. Taran groaned, pumping slowly into the mouth.
Sweet innocence. Heaven and Hell. She-devil and—
he snapped open his eyes
—wife
!

Morning sun streamed through the window, scorching his eyes. He squinted against the blinding light. As the fog of sleep burned away, memories of Caroline pounded like a hammer. Her taking him into her mouth in the garden, begging him to fuck her in the carriage, her gasp when he’d entered her, her cry of pleasure, and the way she had ridden him last night until they were both exhausted.

He turned his head to the right to discover the spot beside him on the bed empty. He scanned the room. Empty. Fury shot to the surface. Her reticence last night hadn’t been a maiden’s fear of the wedding bed, but fear of discovery. She had tricked him. But why? What reason could a woman have for seducing her future husband the night before their wedding?

How had she known he would attend the masque? He hadn’t planned on attending. William had nearly twisted his arm to get him to go. Taran clenched his fist at memory of her in the corner with William, the upper edges of her nipples only inches from his friend’s mouth.

Had she wanted him to become so angry that he called off the marriage? The black handkerchiefs, underdress, and stockings were intended to force him to cry off. Why give him her maidenhead and not reveal her identity? Would he have called off the wedding if she had confessed? By God, he wouldn’t have, and she knew it.

He gave his head a hard shake. What the bloody hell was she up to? What woman went to the extreme of giving herself to a man in order to avoid marriage? Did she hate him that much? Impossible. She had wanted him, had revelled in the intense desire in their mating. No woman, no matter how accomplished an actress, could feign responses such as Aphrodite’s.

Taran threw back the covers and leapt to his feet. He raked a hand through his hair. His gaze caught on the blood on the sheet. How? He recalled instructing her in how to fool her husband. The blood hadn’t been necessary. Unable to control his lust for his wife, he’d torn into her afresh when he’d ravished her body, thrusting his cock into her. How she must have felt relief that she’d bled again.

Recalling the conversation with Aphrodite, he now understood her intention last night.
A little claret will do us both good.
The wench had wanted him drunk to conceal her treachery.

Taran stared at the sheets. He had given great care to her pleasure, yet hadn’t suspected a thing. Nay, that wasn’t true. There had been clues. He gave a harsh laugh. The wedding itself should have told him, those ridiculous black mourning clothes, but he had been so consumed with memories of Aphrodite.

“I have no fear,”
she had said.
“The wedding is soon. I will not say when.”

He had asked what she would do if a babe came, and it wasn’t her husband’s.

“Only God can know who the father is.”

“God and you, my sweet,” he ground out.

Why would she do this?

“I choose this lie,”
she had said.

He refocused on the blood and began to laugh.

* * * *

Caroline broke from her thoughts at sight of her husband standing in the doorway of the drawing room.
Husband.
A tremor rocked her stomach. He hadn’t discovered she was Aphrodite. Might he never know? If she felt secure he wouldn’t figure it out, she could live with this man for the rest of her life and be content. Or could she? He wanted another woman. Did it matter that woman was her?

He strode towards her. Given enough time, perhaps she could make him forget the fantasy, and love her, the real woman. Did that mean she must remain the
chaste
wife? Last night had been wonderful, but she hadn’t given herself to him as she had the night before. Was she willing to never again experience his full passion in order to keep him? Would withholding Aphrodite send him into the arms of other women who would be willing to give him lustful passion?

Taran stopped at the table and angled his head. “Madam.” He seated himself at the chair across from her. A maid appeared and set a tea cup in front of him. “Thank you.” He looked at Caroline. “Have you had breakfast?”

She shook her head. “I eat little in the morning.”

He glanced at the untouched platter of rolls in front of her. “So I see.” He looked at the waiting maid. “Eggs and bacon for me.”

She dropped a curtsy and hurried from the room.

Taran lifted the teapot and began pouring tea. “No hat today?”

Caroline resisted the urge to touch the edges of the simple curls that hung around her ears. “You threw my hat out of the door.”

He grimaced. “That was no hat, madam.”

Laughter threatened. The look on his face when he had seized the hat and tossed it out of the carriage had been worth nearly suffocating.

She forced a frown. “That hat is the height of Paris fashion.”

“Then I am glad we are travelling to the Highlands, rather than France.” He set the pot on the table. “And the corset?”

She no more mourned the loss of the corset than the hat, but lifted her chin, nonetheless. “You are aware of women’s fashion, sir.”

“I am aware of women’s foolishness.” She started to retort, but he said, “You rose early. I had expected to find you beside me when I woke.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I thought you wished to get an early start this morning.”

“Indeed.” He dropped his gaze to her breasts.

Caroline shot a glance at the corner chair where sat the only other occupant of the room, who seemed overly absorbed in
The Times
. He was close enough for her to discern the deep blue eyes that were glued to his paper, and she couldn’t help but believe he must have overheard Taran’s comment. He glanced up and their gazes met. She flushed, now certain he had overheard them, and jerked her gaze back onto Taran.

He took a sip of tea and set the cup back on its saucer. “You slept well, I hope.” He picked up a roll and began buttering it. “I worried I was overly
hard
on you last night.”

“My lord,” she hissed in a whisper.

His eyes lifted to meet hers. “I am only concerned for your welfare.”

“We are not alone.” She resisted the urge to look at the man again. She could feel his eyes on her.

Taran waved a hand dismissively, then took a bite of his roll. “This is a private corner.”

Caroline glowered. “Do you make a habit of talking so openly?”

He paused in chewing and said as if injured, “I am a happy man.”

She snorted. “Satisfied with yourself, is what you are.”

His gaze darkened. “You are well satisfied, my lady. I saw to that.”

She gasped, then clamped a hand over her mouth. He lifted a brow as if to challenge her to deny the statement and she seized her napkin from off her lap and threw it on the table.