Page 34 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

“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 reveled 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.