Page 24 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

“I should”—another cough took her—“I should have let him kill you,” she choked.

The carriage settled into an even sway and Taran released her. “You are certain it would be me who died?”

Caroline drew a deep breath, this one more controlled. “Do not be a fool,” she half wheezed. “He is fifteen years your senior, and twice the shot.”

“Twice the shot?” Taran repeated. “I think not.”

The hat shifted upward and he caught sight of a single eye glowering at him. “There is still time for a match. Turn this carriage around and you can test your skill against my uncle at first light.”

Taran leaned against the cushion and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no desire to test my skill against Peiter Everston, though it would doubtless prove far less taxing than dealing with his niece.”

Caroline straightened. “That was your choice.”

He snorted. “Not so, my lass. You did not want me—do not want me,” he corrected,

“but we both know our duty.”

“Duty be damned,” she snapped.

He closed his eyes. At the masque, he had wished Aphrodite would ignore duty and run away with him. His wife didn’t share the same sentiment towards duty. Apparently she didn’t plan to face her obligations head on. Rather she intended to make him pay for his effort.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “What did you hope to accomplish with this idiotic stunt?”

“It is not idiotic. And you ruined my dress.”

“When we arrive at the inn, I will have every one of your cases opened and searched. Any other such deathtraps shall meet the same fate as this.” He waved, indicating the dress and corset.

Her head jerked in his direction, the feather slapping his eye. “You will do no such thing.”

He seized the hat. She cried out as he shoved open the door and tossed it to the ground. Caroline lunged for the opening. Taran grabbed her arm, yanked her back into the seat, and slammed shut the door. He twisted in his seat and forced her back onto the cushion.

“Get off.” She squirmed, but only served to remind him of her lush curves and full breasts. The arousal that had vanished when he’d opened the door to find her unconscious returned with a hard throbbing in his cock. He grasped her waist, yanking her onto her back and lay on top of her. In her struggles, her thighs spread and he settled his hips between them. Desire flashed and twisted in his gut.

“Seems to me that you prefer death to being my wife,” he said. “Mayhap it is my fault for not showing you the benefits of becoming Viscountess Blackhall.”

He kissed her. After her response to his kiss at the altar—and she had responded—he expected more than the cold thin lips that now pressed limply against his. She squeaked and pummeled small fists against his shoulders. His heart fell. Surely that backbone wasn’t cold at the core. She gripped his arms and satisfaction shot through him. He would accept the burn of ire evident in her grip—for now.

He feathered his tongue against her lips. Her fingers tightened around his forearms. Taran slipped a hand beneath her. Velvety smooth skin met his fingertips where her dress lay open at the back. Her mouth parted in a small gasp. Relief flooded him. She was not completely immune to him. He glided his tongue along hers.

She tasted of sweet scones and innocence. Taran deepened the kiss, tasting the smooth inner flesh of her cheek. Her lips softened. Her grip on his arms remained firm, her fingers contoured against his muscles. She pulled him tighter. A low moan rumbled from her chest and her hips arched into him.

He lifted his mouth, dragging in a deep inhalation. By God, he wanted to take her here on the carriage seat, thrust his cock into her, and ravage that sweet body. He kissed her again, gently, tasting her lips and tongue. Memory of Aphrodite’s warmth blurred with the desire for his wife and he rocked against the soft woman beneath him. Her full breasts pressed against his chest.

He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck as he gyrated his hips, rubbing his erection against her. His cock ached, hard, demanding release. Last night, Aphrodite had taken him in hand. He couldn’t expect the same of an innocent wife, but he needed some passion. If he closed the window, the interior of the carriage would be plunged into darkness. Part of him knew it wrong to substitute his wife for the woman locked in his thoughts. Yet, as he’d done last night, he could have Caroline straddle him, ride him hard as she had—

“Aphrodite,” he whispered.

Caroline’s nails bit into the muscles of his arms. Taran froze. Had he just called his wife by another woman’s name? The carriage hit a bump, rocking them. His cock dug into her belly and she gasped as he bounced on top of her. Taran seized the door handle to keep them from falling to the floor. The carriage levelled out and Caroline shoved at him until he sat up.

She scrambled to the far end of the seat, dress clutched to her breasts.

“What did you say?”

“Caroline,” he began in a hoarse voice.

“You toy with me,” she snapped.

He started to answer, but paused. Blood roared in his ears and his shaft throbbed as if it had a mind of its own. God help him, he wasn’t sure that wasn’t the case. How had he confused his wife with the woman he’d met last night? The two glasses of wine he’d had at the wedding breakfast were no excuse. William had been right. A man’s cock ruled his will. Taran met Caroline’s steady stare. She was beautiful. Raven hair, green eyes that deepened when lit with the fire of indignation, and creamy flesh any man would hunger to touch. Yet, he longed to feel Aphrodite tremble in his arms again. His thoughts and emotions jumbled in confusion.