Page 71 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

He gave a low laugh, the sound rich and dark in her ear. “Mayhap I want an improper wife.” The finger slid inside her channel. “Tell me, wife,” he whispered as he plunged his finger in and out—out and in, “would you prefer a proper husband?”

No, she wanted Taran. Sudden awareness of the erection digging into her back caused her mouth to go dry. He rubbed against her as his thumb began massaging her clit. She couldn’t halt the need and rocked into his hand, then back against his cock. Cream slipped from her passage. Teetering on the edge of euphoria, she bit down on her bottom lip and closed her eyes.

“Why would I want a proper wife when I have you, my…”

She snapped open her eyes. My…? Her heart pounded. His finger increased the pressure on her clit. Her channel convulsed around his probing finger. She whimpered as a shuddering orgasm rolled over her. A few final, gentle flicks to her clit brought a second, soft orgasm, then Taran removed his hand and banded his arm around her, pinning her to his chest. She melted against him.

He kissed her temple. “Will you fault me for pleasuring my wife?”

She drew in a shaky breath and tried to form coherent thoughts. “There is no reasoning with a man’s sexual appetite.”

“Hungry only for you,” he interjected.

Strathmore loomed in the distance, ablaze. Apparently, the guests hadn’t noticed the hosts’ absence. The soirée would go until the wee hours of the morning, but she was too tired to join the merrymaking. A pleasurable drowsiness clouded her brain. She needed to talk to Taran. Aphrodite—she had to tell him the truth about the masque. Caroline snuggled closer to his warmth. Come what may, she would have this moment. He desired her, his wife, not the fantasy woman he’d known for but a few hours.

Caroline froze. “Why would I want a proper wife when I have you, my…” He had been about to call her…Aphrodite.

The pieces fell into place with a sickening turn of her stomach. “Perhaps I do not want a proper wife.”

He had purposely fucked her in the carriage after leaving the Cross Keys Inn…just as he had fucked Aphrodite.

“You burn as I do. Why resist?”

He had known then that she was Aphrodite.

Their first night at Strathmore, when he’d had her on all fours, then the next night in front of the mirror. What man bedded his wife in that fashion? A man who knew that the women in his bed had the same appetite he did. A man who knew he’d married a—she closed her eyes—a spoilt woman.

Why hadn’t he told her? Why let her agonies? Why rut with her as if there were no tomorrow? Was he trying to produce an heir while he could still stomach being between her legs? She recalled the way his cock pounded into her while they were in the trees, and his finger pleasuring her on the horse. Those were not actions of a man who couldn’t stand to touch a woman. No. Those were the actions of a man taking possession of what was his.

Her head reeled. He knew and still wanted her? How was that possible? It was possible, she realized, because he was enjoying letting her squirm in fear—so long as she squirmed on his cock when he so chose. Her pussy tightened at the thought of his rod rubbing the sensitive folds of her sex, teasing, bringing her to a fevered pitch before finally giving her what she wanted.

And there was no denying, she wanted his hard steel as often as he would give it to her. He had demanded she let him do what he would to her on the ride home. What would he do if she demanded he drive his cock into her this very moment—time, place, and onlookers be damned? Would he think her wanton for not being satisfied with having him pleasure her twice already today? He wanted Aphrodite. He would have her. On her—his wife’s—terms.

Then she would have his head on a platter. No. His bollocks.

* * * *

Caroline preceded Taran into the foyer, with Lord Edmonds behind him. Her desire to drag Taran upstairs as his head thumped on each step had taken a back seat to reality. Despite the party that was still in full swing, Taran was intent upon dealing with the man who had attacked her. First, she had to make sure Taran understood what the man said to her.

“My lord,” she began.

The door opened and the boy who stood outside greeting guests, stepped aside for an older man and woman as they entered.

“Blackhall,” the man said. “Giles,” Taran said. “Madam.” “Edmonds,” Giles said. Lord Edmonds nodded.

“What in God’s name happened to your jaw?” Giles burst out.

Taran frowned, then touched the spot on his jaw where Caroline had raked her nails across his flesh. He shifted his gaze to hers as he traced the scratch with a finger. “A run in with a wild cat,” he said.

“Too close for comfort,” the man said.

“Aye,” Taran agreed. He cupped Caroline’s elbow. “May I present my wife, Caroline

Robertson, Viscountess of Blackhall. Caroline, Baron and Baroness Debrett.” Caroline offered her hand to the baron, who bowed over it.

Another couple appeared from the hallway leading to the ballroom.

“Ah, Blackhall,” the man said. He and the woman stopped beside them.