Page 65 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Fear tightened her chest. Was that a threat? Several heartbeats of silence passed and she had the impression he was studying her in the dark.

“Forgive me, madam. For a moment…never mind. I had better get you back inside before Taran sends a search party.”

This time, he placed a hand beneath her elbow and gently guided her in the direction of the mansion. They broke from the trees in time to see Taran standing at the balcony railing, silhouetted by the blazing lights of the ballroom. He had stated to turn back towards the doors, then pivoted back in their direction. He stilled, stared for an instant, then hurried down the steps towards them.

The light behind him kept his face in shadow, but there was no mistaking the determined gait in his stride. Over the course of the evening, Caroline had noticed the almost imperceptible way he favored the injured leg. He made no such consideration now, and she cursed her stupidity for seeking refuge in the trees. He was furious, and if anything could trigger his memory of their night in the gardens, it would be the reversal of roles in this garden.

He reached them, but she kept walking. Caroline caught sight of the downturn of his mouth and steadied the sudden wobble in her knees. No matter what, he wouldn’t say anything in front of Lord Edmonds. Or would he? And why not? That was what she wanted, wasn’t it, to be free of him and the threat that hung over her like an adder ready to strike? It wasn’t a matter of if he would remember, but when.

“Madam,” he growled, and grasped her arm, bringing her to a halt.

She winced at the pain that splintered through her injured arm, but he appeared not to notice.

“What are you up to?” he demanded.

Despite his right to ask and despite good sense, ire flared. “Only the worst kind of chicanery, my lord. Nothing short of exactly what you expected.” Her heart broke. Once Lord Edmonds revealed her identity, Taran would never believe Aphrodite had gone into the gardens alone. It would seem Lord Edmonds agreed.

Caroline pulled free of his grasp and marched across the grass towards the mansion.

“Lord Taran,” she heard William say from where he and Taran still stood, “but you are a fool.”

* * * *

Caroline hunkered down in the saddle, pulled her hood up around her face, and rolled with the cadence of the horse’s gait. Damn these Highland nights. They were colder than those in England and even more dismal for a ride. Her head throbbed, and she wanted to change from her gown into the warmer riding habit she’d sneaked from the castle. But she had been gone for only half an hour and needed to put distance between herself and Taran before he discovered her absence. Uncle would threaten death once she told him her plan to annul the marriage, but her promise to marry the first man he chose would ensure his cooperation. He would insist she marry quickly, before paternity could be determined for a child born within the next nine months.

Many a nobleman desperate for an heiress would take a bastard child as their own. She envisioned Taran’s dark-eyed child cradled in her arms, soft, warm, cooing. The picture vanished and reality hit. A child born too soon would bring an immediate challenge of paternity from Taran. His testimony of their shared hours in bed—as well as in the carriage the night before their wedding—would force an annulment, and give him an unimpeachable claim to her, the child, and her fortune. Unless…would he want a child whose mother was a practiced liar? Why not? An heir would secure her fortune for him. Panic shot to the surface with scalding intensity. The hand grasping the reins trembled.

“Calm yourself,” she ordered. The chance she was carrying his child was slight, but she would have to wait until her next monthly flux to be certain. But Uncle—damn his soul—would gladly beat her into submission.

Her stomach churned. If she returned to England, Taran would make good on this threat to meet Etherton for that dawn appointment. Taran was nothing, if not consistent. She hadn’t thought through her actions. Lord Edmonds’ appearance had frightened her, then Taran’s anger brought her to the sudden conclusion there was no choice but to leave. Now.

Her heart sank. She was caught between the Devil and the sea. Going meant forcing Taran’s hand with her uncle. Staying meant living with his disdain for the rest of her life. After enough time—and women—she would grow to hate him.

Could she ease her pain as he would…take lovers? A mental picture flashed of herself, sprawled naked on a strange bed, a faceless lover over her, muscles bunching with the effort of each thrust of the foreign cock driving inside her. Her heart squeezed and a sob broke the near quiet of hooves on moist ground. Any child conceived by Taran and foisted onto another man would suffer the same fate she had. She’d loved one parent and hated the other.

How could she sentence a child to that life? How could she be that hated parent?

Caroline closed her eyes and forced herself to relax into the easy rhythm of the horse. Cool night air dried her tears. If she tricked another man into marriage while carrying Taran’s child, she would be guilty of being the worst sort of scheming female. The exact sort of female he would have a right to hate.

Whether she went or stayed, he would discover the truth—that she was Aphrodite, or that she had raced into marriage in hopes of hiding a possible pregnancy, both were equally damning. Caroline opened her eyes and straightened in the saddle. She had to face her husband and confess the truth.

Her words that night in the carriage rose in memory, “I decided to take something for myself.” What man would accept that as good cause for cuckolding him—even if he were the lover she had taken? None.

She couldn’t look in his eyes every day and see his hatred, nor could she watch him return every night from another woman’s bed. But once an heir was born that was exactly what she would have to do, for he would keep her as wife, but in name only. Margaret was right. She had flouted the privileges of rank. Now she would pay.

Caroline gently pulled back on the reins. The stallion slowed and she steered him around back the way they’d come. She glanced at the cloud shrouded moon. By the time she reached Strathmore, little more than an hour would have passed. Even if anyone noticed her absence, she could claim she’d simply taken a ride. Taran would be furious, would likely know the truth, but there would be no scandal, no annulment, no life and death drama.

With a deep breath, she urged the horse into a trot. She’d gone fifty feet when a rider shot from within the trees. Caroline cried out and yanked on the stallion’s reins, barely missing the rider as she swerved around him. Her horse gave a high pitched whinny when she pulled him in a hard circle.

“Have you lost your mind?” she shouted, then gasped when the man’s horse lunged towards her.

She dug her heels into the stallion’s ribs. He flew forward as if born to the wind. They would reach the trees in seconds. She steered him to back towards the road. Hooves pounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. The rider had turned on an intercepting course. Her heart leapt into her throat. No matter which direction she turned, he would cut her off. She must head for the trees.

Fear sent her already pounding heart into an erratic beat. She fought dizziness and tugged the reins to the right. The stallion veered as commanded. What was she supposed to do once they left the road? The question had barely formed before they were enveloped by the murky darkness of the forest. The horse slowed, unable to keep up the gallop within the trees. Where could she go? Nowhere. Her mind went blank.

“Halt!”

The man’s harsh command startled Caroline from the paralysis and she yanked the reins again, ducking in time to miss a low-hanging branch. The crunch of leaves and twigs behind her indicated the rider was close. She fought tears. The stallion moved fast, too fast for safety, not fast enough to elude her pursuer. Hysteria threatened to immobilize her again. Concentrate. How to escape? If she jumped from the horse and ran, she might out man oeuvre the man—if she managed the jump. But she could never outrun him on foot.