Page 64 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

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The ball was only three hours into swing and already the ballroom was overflowing. Caroline paused at the doors leading to the rear gardens and scanned the dance floor. Anxiety burrowed deep in her stomach. This party was too reminiscent of the masque, and the wanton acts she’d committed with Taran earlier were too close to the things they had done in the gardens that night. How had the truth escaped his notice?

She slipped onto the balcony. Cool air washed over the flushed skin of her face and neck and she wished mightily the elbow length sleeves were shorter. She stepped up to the stone railing and gazed into the darkened garden. Instead of the ridiculously manicured maze of Lord Forbes’ garden, tall trees dotted the horizon beyond the expanse of lawn. Branches rose like stick phantoms that beckoned into a dark world where the night creatures’ opus rivalled the music drifting from the ballroom.

With a glance through the French doors at the crowd that seemed even larger than it had been a moment ago, Caroline hurried down the steps to the grass and across the lawn. As she entered the cover of trees, she slowed. Insects and frogs went quiet as she crept forward, guided by slivers of moonlight so skimpy it seemed she walked in a dream. She’d had little opportunity to explore such large treed gardens. Her uncle’s London townhouse garden was a small patch of land where a solitary elm stood sentinel in the middle of the tiny kingdom.

She had once visited an estate in London renowned for its arboretum, but she’d been there during a day party and had explored but a small section before being waylaid by the Baron of Lochshire. For once, Caroline gave thanks for her uncle. The baron was set on making her his baroness, but Uncle had his sights on nothing less than an Earl for a son-in-law.

Caroline halted beside a large elm. The creatures resumed their song and she relaxed against the hard wood of the tree, eyes closed. So here she was, wed to the earl of her uncle’s choosing, the one man she loved, for all the good it would do her.

Taran had given no indication that he found anything about her familiar. Perhaps Aphrodite was nothing more than a distant memory. Hope rippled on a quiver through her stomach. If enough time passed, and he noticed any likeness between her and the woman he had spent the night with in the carriage, he might reason that time had colored the memory. She had never meant to hurt him. How could she have known he was nothing like his brother, that she would fall hopelessly in love with him, and that the crushing need for him made life without him unbearable?

Sounds of a rustle to her left caused Caroline to straighten. She gave a small cry at sight of a large figure approaching.

“Lady Blackhall.”

Caroline’s blood went cold. Lord William Edmonds.

He stopped a few feet in front of her. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

When had he arrived? Her breath caught. Had he followed her into the gardens? Why? Did he want to confront her, extract money or perhaps her charms in exchange for his silence?

“Quite all right, my lord,” she said in a steady voice.

“Gardens like these are a dangerous place,” he replied. “Would you not agree?”

Panic pushed her wayward pulse into a gallop. Did he know what she and Taran had done in Lord Forbes’ garden? Had Taran told him about their tryst? The answer hit with a sick turn of her stomach. He knew because he had been watching when Taran had pulled down her bodice and touched her breasts.

“Is everything all right, my lady?” Lord Edmonds’ voice broke the silence she hadn’t realized stretched out between them.

“Yes,” she replied. “Just tired. I believe I will retire for the evening.”

“Retire? Come now, your guests will be disappointed should you disappear so early in the evening. All you need is more fresh air.” He grasped her elbow and started deeper into the trees.

“Sir.” She pulled free and took a step back. “It is enough we are alone, going deeper into the trees is scandalous.”

“Caroline—”

She stiffened. “Lady Blackhall.”

Her heart skipped a beat when she thought he hesitated before saying in a low, silky voice, “Lady Blackhall, surely you cannot care what these Scots think.”

Caroline gasped. “One of these Scots is my husband.”

“You need not fear him.”

“True enough,” she replied. “But you might when he discovers you tried to entice me into the gardens.”

“Entice you?” The steel in his voice was unmistakable. “I found you here in the gardens.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“Alone? That can be even more dangerous than an assignation. A lady never knows what sort of knave she might encounter in the darkness.”

“The kind my husband will run through with a sword—even if that man is a friend. He has fought duels over far less things than a man accosting his wife.”

William’s sudden laughter caught her off guard. “Indeed he has. I have never known a man to challenge so many duels and live.”