Page 63 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Caroline frowned.

“I said I could make pleasuring yourself all the more pleasurable.

She couldn’t halt a gasp of surprise or the blush that reddened her cheeks. A knowing gleam entered his eyes and a rush of fear displaced the embarrassment. What they had just done was something no wife did. Such illicit behavior belonged in the world of the demimonde…belonged to Aphrodite.

Chapter Nineteen

Taran scanned the ballroom for his wife. He’d last seen her on the dance floor. Their eyes had met and her expression had said she would murder him at first opportunity. He couldn’t prevent a smile. No doubt the wench was remembering another such soirée where the room had been just as stifling and she’d got herself into a pickle by giving her maidenhead to the very man she was trying to cuckold.

For the first time since discovering her identity, he wondered what would have happened had she succeeded. He couldn’t halt the vision of her in another man’s arms, his mouth on her breasts, finger insider her channel as he brought her to climax before filling her with his cock. Taran recalled the previous night in his bed, her intent to cover her deception. She had tried to avoid his bed, but that was because she feared he would sense the familiarity. She had intended to hide the fact she betrayed him.

“What are you doing to yourself?” he murmured. “A woman has only that which is given her,” she had said. “I decided to take something for myself.” How could he blame her? Any woman of substance would have seen marriage to John as a prison sentence. She couldn’t know he was any different and had, in fact, done everything short of running away to get him to cry off.

Taran smiled with memory of how she had accused him of kidnapping her. He nearly had—might have—had she not melted beneath his touch. And she had melted. Her responses hadn’t been practiced that night, or the next, or the next. She had intended on experiencing another man’s touch before being ruined by the brother she envisioned to be the mirror image of John. She hadn’t bargained for him. Taran laughed. He hadn’t bargained for her.

“Are you all right?”

Taran turned at the sound of William’s voice behind him. He grinned. “Better than I have ever been.”

William’s brow rose. “Seems married life agrees with you.”

“Who would have thought it?”

A shadow crossed William’s face. “We need to talk.”

Taran motioned him to follow and began threading through the crowd towards the small parlor down the hall on the east side of the ballroom. There was no doubt. William had discovered Caroline was Aphrodite and was certain the news wouldn’t bode well for their marriage. Odd, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. While Taran wouldn’t stand for another man touching her, he was immensely thankful for the woman who wasn’t willing to take only that which men allowed her. Yet, in the end, like him, she understood duty. Though, for the life of him, he suddenly couldn’t understand why duty dictated she marry a man she loathed. Etherton might threaten poverty, but Taran could see intimidation having little effect.

They reached the edge of the crowd and William came up alongside him as they strode down the hall. Once in the parlor, Taran closed the door and seated himself in the wingback chair across from the small sofa William lowered himself onto.

“Had you not asked me, Blackhall, I would keep my nose out of the whole business.”

“You have discovered that Aphrodite is my wife.”

Surprise flickered across William’s face. “How did you find out?”

Taran laughed. “It would have been hard not to see it.”

His friend’s expression turned speculative. “You sound as if it is a good thing.” “It is.”

“And the fact she was at the masque with another man?”

“She fled your company, if I recall.”

William assented with small dip of his head, then said in a neutral tone, “You do not seem perturbed that your wife intended to fuck another man the night before your wedding.” His brow creased into a frown. “How is it that you were the man she fucked—er—made love to?”

Taran’s cock jerked with memory of Caroline crying out when he’d buried himself deep inside her.

“You two decided to consummate the wedding early.”

Taran jarred from the erotic picture and shook his head. “She did not know who I was, nor did I her.”

“By God, Taran, that bit of deceit goes too far.” “Beware,” Taran said in a low voice.

William regarded him, then shrugged. “As you wish.”

“Things are not as they seem,” Taran said, regretting the surge of possessiveness that had forced the outburst. By God, he was a besotted fool.

“She is your wife. If you are satisfied with her that is your business.” Satisfied was hardly the word Taran would have chosen.