Page 27 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Taran returned his attention to her. “It is time I examine your wardrobe.”

“As you wish,” she said with a nonchalance she was far from feeling. If he made good on the threat and found the vial tucked away in a corner of the smallest chest, the ruse would be up before it had begun. That morning, when Mabel had finally left her to bathe, Caroline had emptied the sleeping powder from the vial she kept in her armoire and extracted precious drops of blood from her finger. That had been the simple part. Getting the blood onto the sheet would prove the real challenge.

She lifted her chin and met Taran’s gaze. “Take yourself off while I bathe.”

He laughed, the sound deep and masculine. Caroline checked the leap of her heart. The laugh wasn’t meant as the intimate insinuation she yearned for. The man was simply a charming rogue who seduced women.

A second knock on the door broke the spell.

Without breaking his gaze from hers, he called, “Enter.”

The door swung open and the driver and guard entered, each with a chest over their shoulders.

Taran eyed the trunks. “You made full use of the hour before we left your uncle’s. What could possibly be left to send to Strathmore?”

“I could not leave home to find I’d left behind something important.”

His brow shot up. “Important?” He flicked a meaningful glance at her dress. “More of the same, I presume.”

She straightened. “This is my most stylish dress. The others are not nearly as fashionable.”

“Praise be for one consolation,” he said, and faced the men. “Over there.” Taran pointed to the far corner of the room.

The men deposited the trunks in the corner, then left. Two more men appeared in the doorway with buckets of steaming water. Taran nearly laughed aloud at the wide-eyed glance his wife flicked in his direction. The men filed out and the door clicked shut behind them.

Taran met her gaze. “You look like the fox about to be eaten by the hound.”

Caroline wrapped her free arm around her middle before realizing the action confirmed his assessment, and dropped it back to her side.

He crossed the room and halted in front of her. “You haven’t a maid. Allow me.” He tugged the cloak string loose.

Her pulse jumped. “I…I can manage. The dress is torn, if you recall.”

He pushed the cloak from her arms. The thick fabric pooled at her feet as he trailed his fingers over her shoulders. She stiffened, but he pulled her closer nonetheless. He bent and placed his lips to the fluttering pulse in the column of her neck. She inhaled sharply.

“My lord,” Caroline whispered and gripped his forearms, “my bathwater.” The weak protest trailed into silence.

Tunneling his fingers into her raven tresses, he angled her head up towards him and pressed his lips to hers. He breathed in her gasp and parted her lips with his tongue. Caroline forced her arms to remain limp at her side. He slid his tongue along hers. Desire jump-started her heart. Pray God he misinterpreted her excitement as fear, and not the lust that demanded she open her thighs for him. She must play the wilting lily.

He deepened the kiss and she imagined herself stripped bare, him parting the delicate petals of her pussy with his rod, then plunging into her. Did his core burn as hers did? He ended the kiss and stroked a thumb across her lower lip. She willed her trembling mouth to still, but without success.

“Your bath is waiting.” As he drew his hands away, he tugged the fabric of her dress forward.

“Sir.” She clutched the dress to her breast. “A few moments of privacy, if you will.” She tried a conciliatory smile. “The trip was long.”

He leaned close, grazed his lips along her cheek, then whispered near her ear, “I am well past resisting your charms. A bath is not required, just a bed.”

She inhaled sharply. Satisfaction flickered in his eye before he turned and strode towards the door. “I leave you to your bath.”

The door closed and she stared at the empty place where he had just been. And once the bath was finished, how would she deal with him?

Chapter Eleven

Caroline exhaled a sigh as she stepped one foot, then the other, into the bathwater. Soothing warmth enveloped her feet and sent a quiver of gooseflesh up her legs. How was she to pretend she didn’t want Taran when every inch of her body ached for his touch? A tiny flutter played against the inside of her tummy. He desired Aphrodite, but determination had shown in his gaze when he looked at her—he intended to have her. Tonight.

She lowered herself into the water. If only someone would tell her how to keep her heart from melting when heat sparked in his gaze. She cast a glance at the door. If he returned before she finished her bath or devised a way out of this mess, she might be forced to end this ridiculous marriage by throttling him.

Blessedly, he hadn’t yet connected her to Aphrodite. When he’d called her by that name in the carriage, she thought her ruse over. A flash of anger blended with a secret pleasure. The slip of the tongue meant he’d been as affected as she by their encounter—and that he was no better than her. The lout hadn’t the good grace to keep his women straight.