Page 26 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Mr. Main hurried past her. “Your rooms are ready.”

Caroline paused at the open French doors to the right. A couch sat in front of the hearth where a fire blazed. Queen Anne chairs sat on each side of the couch, facing one another. A secretary was located in the far left corner, and a table and chairs sat in front of the window on the wall to the right. A lone man lounged in an overstuffed chair to the left of the fireplace. He nodded, acknowledging her with a smile.

She looked back at Mr. Main. “A quiet evening.”

“‘Tis early, my lady. Another hour and the drawing room will be filled.”

“Will the famed ballroom be in use tonight?”

“Aye, a wedding party.”

“Ah,” she intoned, and refrained from glancing at Taran, afraid he would read the thought—another poor girl is to walk the plank.

“This way,” Mr. Main said, and led them down a narrow hallway and up a long flight of stairs.

He stopped at the third room to the right and opened the door, standing aside so they might enter. Caroline stepped into the room. To the right, a fire burned in the hearth. Two chairs sat on each side of a small table in front of the fireplace, with a tub between them and the crackling fire. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the large, four poster bed on the opposite side of the room, but she kept her gaze on the tub and strolled towards it.

“Have water for a bath prepared,” Taran said, “and send up a bottle of your best brandy.”

“Aye, my lord,” Mr. Main replied.

Caroline ran a finger along the tub’s rim, cursing the unsteadiness in her hand and the spike in her heartbeat when the door clicked shut.

“Caroline.”

She faced her husband. “A hot bath will set me to rights, my lord. Very kind of you to think of it.”

He crossed the room and halted before her. “I am sorry.”

She waved him off. “You could not know.”

He caught her hand in his. “Nay.”

Caroline stood frozen, unable to feel anything, but the warmth of the fingers clasping hers.

“I am sorry I was fool enough not to have consulted you directly about our travel plans. Sorry you could not spend your wedding night in more familiar surroundings.” He paused and she feared he could hear the hammering of her heart. “Sorry you were forced to marry a man you did not know, would not have wanted even if you had.”

“You owe me no apology. We are both defined by our positions.” She stared up into his dark eyes. Lust coiled in her belly. This man had made her toss out all reason and give her heart to a masked lord. Would he be sorry to learn she did want him?

Taran’s expression turned speculative and his grasp on her hand tightened. “A shame Etherton did not allow you more freedom. Worldly experience would have better prepared you for what lies ahead as Lady Blackhall.”

Caroline stared. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Hysterical laughter bubbled up, but she swallowed the compulsion. If he even suspected the extent of her experience… He lifted a finger to her cheek. She jumped.

He paused, a tender smile spreading across his face, then slowly traced a line down her cheek. “I will do my best to see that you do not regret the bargain you were forced to make.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. “What have I to regret, my lord, except perhaps the ruin of my dress?”

Surely not the fact he would trade her for another woman if fate allowed. And would she not trade him for the kilted god in the garden? Would she? This morning, she could think of nothing but the emotion he had stirred deep in her breast during the midnight hours. Yet, only hours later when, as Lord Blackhall, he’d faced her uncle without flinching. A trembling began deep inside her that had intensified at sight of the pain on his face when he’d realized he had brought her to the place where her father died.

His hand dropped from her cheek. “Count yourself fortunate you survived that death contraption you call a dress.” He slid his gaze down her body.

The quiver in her belly deepened, but she lifted her chin. He had offered his life for his wife’s honor, but last night, he had offered Aphrodite his heart. She was his Aphrodite. Today, his touch had ignited fires deep in her center, just as it had last night. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. He hadn’t recognized her when he’d touched her as his wife for the first time. She should be grateful, but that didn’t lessen the sting.

“I hope before the night is through you will have nothing to regret.”

Taran reached for her. A hard knock sounded at the door. He cast an irritated glance at the door. “Who is it?”

“Your bags, my lord,” their driver called through the door.