Page 42 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

“What is wrong with you?” Taran burst out. “Once he has spent your dowry, he will blackmail me for more money. He has tricked you, plain and simple.”

“He did not trick me,” she replied in a tone so reasonable Caroline couldn’t deny a trickle of the respect. “I tricked him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ross insisted we wait. He said I was too young to marry.” She snorted. “Male foolishness. He did not think I was so young when you were in Edinburgh last week.”

“Fiona,” Taran said, in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Caroline’s neck stand on end, “if what you say is true, I will kill him this very night.”

“Kill him?” She snorted. “And deliver the news to your niece or nephew that you are their father’s murderer?”

“You are not with child.”

“You cannot know that. Besides, you are not our father.”

“Indeed, I am not. He cares nothing for your future—or your safety. Have you any idea the risk you took riding to Edinburgh alone?”

“I was not alone.”

“A single male escort is no security,” he shot back. “Not to mention the impropriety. Given what you say, I am surprised Huntly did not wonder at the time you spent alone with your escort.”

“My God,” she snorted, “but you are a fool. Do you think I care what you believe?

Unlike you, I intend to please myself, not my family.”

“Do your actions please your husband?” Taran demanded.

“Ross is well satisfied.”

“Fiona—”

“Enough of your sermonizing.”

Caroline froze at sound of the swish of skirts along the marble floor and Fiona’s voice moving towards the drawing room.

“We both know if Ross had money, you would have already betrothed me to him.”

“He has a title,” Taran retorted. “Let him find an heiress to support him.” Caroline’s blood went cold.

“I will not see you wed a pauper.”

Fiona snorted. “Instead, you would condemn me to a marriage with that fop, Lord Burke. No. One Blackhall sacrificing themself is quite enough.” She stepped into the doorway.

Caroline hunched in the chair in an attempt to hide, but Fiona’s ‘Well, well’ told her she’d been unsuccessful.

Caroline twisted and looked around the chair’s edge.

Intense eyes the mirror image of her husband’s stared back at her. The girl stood at least four inches shorter than Caroline. Honey colored hair piled atop her head. Her full figure explained why her intended victim, Ross, would have been unable to resist her. This was no green girl. This was no girl at all.

Taran appeared behind her. Caroline jerked her eyes up to his face. His gaze seemed to take in the sight of her, heart, mind, and soul in one quick sweep. She cursed the heat that crept into her cheeks, and rose.

“Taran, you did not say she was so beautiful,” Fiona said.

“You saw the miniature,” he replied, his gaze still locked with Caroline’s.

“True, but it did not do justice to that dark hair…and those eyes.” She gave an approving nod. “Maybe you are no sacrifice, after all.”

“Fiona.” Taran grabbed for her elbow but, as if in anticipation of the move, she started forward.