Page 2 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Margaret’s gaze followed their retreat, then shifted back to Caroline. “Looking for a bit of privacy?”

Caroline ignored the cold—she had left her wrap inside and had not intended on retrieving it—and leaned against the stone pillar. “I am alone, as you can see.”

“Yes, I can see you are…now.” Margaret took two of the steps, stopping so that she towered over Caroline. “Perhaps you have a lover waiting in the garden?”

Caroline sighed. “How did you know it was me?”

Margaret snorted. “We have known one another since the nursery. I would know you in any disguise. Just as you recognized me—and do not deny that is the reason you fled.” She descended to the fourth step so that they were eye level with each other and said in a voice barely audible over the music filtering from the ballroom, “You are to marry on the morrow. What in God’s name are you thinking?”

“As you say, tomorrow I marry. I go from grieving betrothed to wife.” Unwanted wife, she mentally corrected. So much so that her future husband’s business had taken precedence over their marriage and he refused to come to England until the very day of their wedding. “Surely, I can have this,” she added, “my last night of freedom.”

Margaret arched a brow. “Do not expect the privileges of rank then flout the responsibilities.”

Caroline snorted. “Responsibilities be damned. I have worn black a full year and will wed the Viscount tomorrow, as my rank dictates. Tonight, I am not Lady Caroline, heiress to twenty thousand pounds a year, soon to be Viscountess. Tonight, I am Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, who indulges her whims as she wills.”

A couple appeared from the garden shadows beyond the light cast by the open balcony doors. The dark wig on the woman dressed as Curiosity was askew and leaves clung to the cape on the gentleman dressed as Death.

Margaret frowned and waited until they’d ascended the stairs and entered the ballroom before saying, “If word of your escapade reaches his lordship, you may well not become Viscountess.”

“By God, I shall rip off my mask now!” Caroline declared.

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Pray, forego the dramatics.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Where is your sense of adventure? What is this spell that has turned you into a prig?”

“Good sense and age,” Margaret replied. “The same spell you should have fallen under long ago.”

Caroline gave an unladylike snort. “A year of mourning has soured me. As if being betrothed to that indifferent man hadn’t been enough,” she added under her breath.

Margaret’s face softened. “Perhaps his brother will be better.”

Better? She’d heard rumors. Lord Taran Robertson demanded obedience. As apathetic as John had been, Taran was forceful in his cravings—his sexual cravings. She’d even heard he’d used a paddle on a mistress when she’d been disobedient. A thrill streaked along her spine. Controlling and dominant, yet virile and passionate. She remembered the new Viscount of Blackhall. Eyes the color of copper laced with amber strands had darkened to a rich brown when he’d met her gaze in the instant before bending over her hand. She’d been sixteen, too young to recognize the tremor of awareness in her stomach as desire.

When John died, Taran had become Viscount of Blackhall. A prickle skimmed her arms. Odd, that the same twist of fate that had taken her father had repeated itself and saved her from John. Both had died in riding accidents. Despite her lack of feeling for John, his death had come as a shock. Finding herself betrothed to the brother ere the body was cold had been an even greater shock. She’d had her uncle to thank for that. No. Her father. Had he not left his brother-in-law in charge of her fortune, her future might have looked very different.

Loneliness closed around her heart. She missed her father. He had been a good man, who couldn’t accept that his wife’s brother, privateer Phillip Etherton, was the infamous pirate Peiter Everston. The fortune Phillip Etherton had amassed came as a result of blurred lines between protecting the seas for the Crown, and murder. But wealth wasn’t enough. Uncle wanted to join the elite circles of society, and her marriage to the Viscount of Blackhall was the price.

“John cared nothing for me,” she said, more to herself than Margaret. “He was cold and unfeeling.” As would be his brother. A lifetime of cold nights and dreary, lonely days stretched out before her.

Margaret placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have heard otherwise.”

“From his mistresses, no doubt.”

“A man may have as many mistresses as he likes,” Margaret replied. “It is no shame to the wife.”

“I shall provide the required heir,” Caroline replied with an aplomb she was far from feeling. “I am going.” She turned and continued down the stairs.

“Car—Aphrodite,” Margaret called, but Caroline didn’t turn back.

Chapter Two

“By God,” Caroline cursed ten minutes later.

Lord Forbes had not been boasting when he’d said his garden maze was unmatched in all of northern England. She blew out a frustrated breath. Of all the nights to become lost in one of the damned labyrinths. She turned down another bend and a white stone statue became visible ahead on the left. Caroline groaned. Already, she’d seen half a dozen replicas of Greek and Roman goddesses. This statue, she realized upon approach, was a large cherubim. The half-moon peeked through a hole in the veil of clouds, illuminating an alcove just ahead.

“Thank God.”

Caroline hurried forward. As expected, a stone bench lay nestled between the bushes. She hiked up her skirt and stepped onto the bench. Wind rustled across the hedge tops, setting her nerves more on edge. She scanned the acres of perfectly manicured shrubs that cut and curved in all directions.