An Improper Wife (3 page)

“Bloody hell,” Caroline cursed.

He looked down at her. “Interesting vocabulary, my lady.”

She scowled. “Not nearly as interesting as our present position.”

“Indeed.”

There was no mistaking the laughter in his voice and Caroline narrowed her eyes with the intent to chastise him when the woman giggled.

Caroline jerked her gaze in the direction of the voices. “They are searching for a private nook.”

“I shall inform them that this particular nook is occupied.”

He started to turn and she seized his arm. “No!” The voices drew closer. “Good God.”

Caroline released him, and rearranged the sash. The bodice didn’t fit as snugly as it had earlier.

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Do you think we will be discovered?”

“There is always a chance.”

More giggles followed, closer this time. Caroline squinted past him into the shadows. His warm fingers grazed her cheek beneath her mask. She lifted her gaze up to his. He stared down at her and her pulse spiked. A woman’s low moan sounded nearer. Caroline’s masked lord grasped her shoulders and manoeuvred them a few inches to the left, then back between the bench and denser foliage. The rustling of fabric drew her attention and she peered around his broad shoulders.

“Shh,” he whispered against her ear.

A woman dressed as a chambermaid faced the stone cherubim, gripping the angel’s shoulders as a masked bandit stood behind her and bunched her drab, brown dress up around her waist.

The bandit swatted her backside with an open palm. A blush of rose coloured her cheek.

“Please, do not hurt me,” she begged with feigned acquiescence. “I promise to be good.”

He swatted her again and chuckled. “That I know, I believe I have had you before.”

The bandit held the maid’s dress in place, while loosening the tie on his pantaloons with his free hand, then shoved them down far enough to free his cock. The man took a step forward and plunged his engorged member into the woman. Caroline’s mouth fell open. The kilted stranger pressed closer. His breathing grew shallow and fingers tightened on Caroline’s hips. Did he want the same pleasure from her?

“Beg for my cock,” the bandit said. “Beg me to fuck you.”

“Please. Please, fuck me,” she pleaded as the man thrust his large, ruddy cock in and out of her. Her cries of pleasure matched the rhythm of his pumping hips.

Another loud smacking sound made Caroline jump.

“Oh yes!” the woman cried.

Caroline couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight. “Do you suppose this will take long?”

“If it is done right,” the kilted god replied.

She glanced at him and his gaze slowly tracked her face and down her body. He growled and pulled her close. Feral grunts from the man joined the woman’s pants. Caroline’s would-be lover gripped her derrière and pressed her mound against his shaft. A tingle started between her legs and radiated out. The steady, yet rapid beat of her heart throbbed in her nipples and between her legs. He rolled his erection against her a second time and she answered with a tremulous undulation of her hips against him.

“You surely know how to drive a man to his knees,” he said.

Caroline glanced down. His tartan stood at a point, aimed towards her, testament to his arousal. She returned her gaze to his face. “I would like to drive you to your knees, my lord.”

He stared as if daring her to test his worthiness, to push him to the edge, then beyond. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft through his tartan. He shuddered and an unexpected sense of power swelled inside her. A loud moan from the woman made Caroline’s heart pound harder.
Dare I?

Caroline glanced up at him. Then she knelt.

“My lady,” he rasped.

She lifted his kilt, exposing heavy, muscular thighs, then lifted it higher. She gasped. The sight of him, the smell so close, intoxicated her beyond any wine she’d drunk tonight. Deep red, his cock jutted from a thatch of dark, tight curls. Tentatively she closed her hand around the girth. He sucked in a ragged breath. She instantly released him.

“Does it hurt?”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Aye.”

He grasped the base of his shaft with one hand and placed the other on her head. She swatted at the hand grasping her wig. If he knocked the wig from her head, the disguise was worthless.

“Take me in your mouth.” His strained voice turned gravelly.

He slid his hand higher along the thick, veined stalk. She breathed in the musky essence as her masked lover stroked the length, pulling back the foreskin to reveal a large, mushroom-shaped head. Clear liquid seeped from the tip. Caroline touched the leaking slit, smoothing the slippery cream over the crown. Sticky, yet the velvety skin felt hot to the touch.

Anxiety surfaced with the memory of overhearing John tell of how women pleasured men in this manner. She had gone to the stables in search of him and stopped short at hearing his voice from within one of the stalls. “I tell you, Matthew, when Clarice took my cock in her mouth, she near did me in with the first stroke.”

The flush Caroline had felt evaporated at the raucous laughter that followed. She had determined to find and bed a young stable boy. Instead, she’d found herself awaiting John in the drawing room like a good soon-to-be-Viscountess.

Her tummy tightened. This man seemed to share John’s baser desires. His cock pulsed. What if she didn’t please him? She steeled her nerves and placed a hand over his. With a breath, she leant forward and took him into her mouth.

“Sweet Christ,” he ground out.

Caroline glanced up and found him staring as she opened wider and took more of the engorged length into her mouth. The taste of the tangy sweet excretion from the tip was pleasant, but what now?

He must have understood her silent question because he whispered in soft, encouraging words, “Do what you will. I am yours.”

He released his shaft and, covering her hand with his, helped build a rhythm with her strokes. Caroline sucked on the smooth crown and slid her lips along the shaft. She unexpectedly grazed him with her teeth. He jerked and she released him, tumbling to her backside.

She stared up at him, heart pounding. “I–I am sorry.”

He gave a strangled laugh and pulled her back onto her knees. “Take me into your mouth again.”

He tucked his kilt into his belt then, legs spread, held his cock to her face and cupped the wrinkled pouch hanging beneath. Caroline adjusted herself on her knees more comfortably. In the years to come, this night would remind her that she was a woman capable of inciting a man’s passion. Perhaps he, too, would remember the rustle of wind in the trees and the scent of juniper in the air…and the squeals of lovers in the adjacent area. Caroline grimaced. She could do without the woman’s cries.

Steadying her trembling fingers, she worked his shaft between her lips with renewed zest. A hint of saltiness sizzled on her tongue. She swallowed and licked the length, dragging her tongue from base to tip, before sucking him deep into her mouth until the crown touched the back of her throat. Slowly withdrawing, she stroked the taut skin, mouth meeting fist in the centre of his shaft.

Warmth infused her. Her masked lover groaned, pumping his hips. He gently cupped the sides of her head, but didn’t interfere with her rhythm. In an effort to discern his likes, she listened for the change in breathing and subtle shifts in his body.

With a low feral growl, he ripped his cock from her mouth, angling to the side. Cream spurted from his shaft. Muscles in his thighs tensed, then relaxed. The heavy musk scent of his essence made her mouth water. Why had he pulled away? Gripping the back of his thigh, she spun him towards her and took his rod into her mouth.

“Wait.” He clutched her shoulder, but she had already begun sucking the head. “By God—
fuck
.”

She lapped until he glistened. Yes, she could see why a man would be driven crazy by a woman’s mouth. Disappointment unexpectedly surfaced. As a wife, she wouldn’t dare pleasure her husband in this fashion. Lust coiled in her tummy. She wouldn’t have the courage to drop to her knees for the Viscount of Blackhall, nor would she beg for the pleasure of her husband.

Caroline lifted her gaze. This man begged for nothing. Tonight’s memory must last a lifetime, for she would never witness stark lust on her husband’s face like that of her masked lord.

Chapter Three

The woman was a she-devil. Innocent as a girl just out of the schoolroom, she had driven him as wild as any mistress, nonetheless. Innocence and sin. Heaven and sweet hell. What was such a woman doing at a masque—what had she been doing dallying with William Edmonds, Viscount of Thornhaven? What did it matter? She had left the earl in the ballroom. And now, she was here with him, submitting to his needs, offering her treasures to him—if only for the night.

Might he see her again? Tomorrow—curse God—tomorrow he was to wed. Instead of this vixen in his bed, he would plough into the dry channel of a woman who had no more use for him than she’d had his brother.

Guilt stabbed at him. She had been but a child when he’d met her. His brother had died a year ago. Not nearly long enough to prepare a man to bed his brother’s betrothed.

She adjusted his plaid and slowly rose. He pulled her close, sealed their lips with a kiss. The taste of his musk combined with her feminine scent nearly undid him. What would she do if he tossed her over his shoulders and fled with her back to Strathmore? What would his family do if he married a Sassenach other than the one intended for him? What would she do once she found herself abducted to Scotland?

Taran had never kept an unwilling woman. Aphrodite muddled his thinking. A tryst in the gardens wasn’t enough. He wanted her. More than he’d wanted a woman in…in longer than he could remember. But he wasn’t yet at the point of locking his paramours in the dungeons of Strathmore.

Taran pulled back. The blonde wig sat askew on her head. What was her natural color? He realised they were once again alone.

“I believe it is safe to leave.”

Her full lips lifted in a soft smile. Tonight wasn’t just about sating his needs, but hers as well. He would milk every drop of pleasure from her body.

She shivered.

Taran wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her flush to his side. “The night is young, my lady. I will warm you in my carriage.” Her mouth parted in surprise, and he chuckled. “Did you think my pleasure ended the night?” He brushed her nipple with his thumb. “Rest assured, your pleasure is still to come.”

She gasped and the soft sound filled him with the need to plunge his shaft into her warm heat. He envisioned her riding him—hard, and all night. Passion, unbridled and uninhibited. Nothing less than full consummation would slake his need. Once she laid sprawled across his bed—Christ, he couldn’t take her to his father’s estate. William’s home would have to do. Could he wait that long?

She glanced past him.

Taran tensed. She had dallied with William in the ballroom. “Is someone expecting you?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” she said in an impatient tone.

The milkmaid and bandit were gone. Surely she didn’t fear them.

“Something is amiss,” he said.

She hesitated.

Taran caressed a cheek with the back of a hand. “We are friends, are we not? Secret lovers for this one night? Tell me anything, my lady, and the secret goes with me to the grave.”

“I must—”

“I tell you it is true,” a woman’s voice interrupted her. “I heard it myself, Lord Blackhall is here.”

Taran tensed.

“Here?” a man replied. “At a masque?” He snorted. “That prig would no more deign to lower himself to mingle with English Society than he would—” the man broke off. “Well, he just would not.”

Taran mentally laughed. The man was right.

“Well,” the woman sniffed, her voice nearer, “Lady Haverly says he
is
here.”

Taran offered thanks to his friend. William had prevailed upon him to ‘mingle with English Society’. Had he not come, he wouldn’t have met the woman at his side. Taran looked down at her. Her face was white.

“My lady,” he whispered, realising the couple would pass them in seconds.

He bit back a laugh. She still feared discovery. He shoved her into the hedge and cut off her surprise, mid-squeak, with a kiss. She arched into him. Her mouth opened and he swept inside with his tongue. She tasted sweeter with each wet, passionate stroke. The heat of arousal surged into his shaft.

“Lady Haverly is a notorious gossip,” the man said as they passed. “And a drunk.”

“No need to be unkind,” the woman said as they turned the next bend.

Taran wrenched his mouth from Aphrodite’s and buried his face in her neck. He slid a hand down to her rounded bottom and gently squeezed. His heart thundered. He wouldn’t settle for a quick romp in front of the cherubim as had the maid and bandit. He needed time to explore every inch of the goddess’ body to learn what brought her to mind-bending pleasure. When she saw the ecstasy he could give, she wouldn’t be able to resist taking him as a lover.

“I—I must go,” she said into his chest.

He pulled her from within the hedge and headed towards the rear of the maze. He navigated several turns when a woman’s soft moans sounded up ahead. Arousal hardened his cock. Aphrodite halted. Taran pulled her into the crook of his arm and gritting his teeth. The swish of wool rasped against his swelling shaft.

“They care nothing for us,” he whispered as he started forward again.

He quickened his pace. Her hold on his arm tightened.

“I am as eager as you to leave,” she said breathlessly, “but must we sprint?”

Taran slowed.

She fell into step beside him. “Have you a curfew?”

“Not since I was a lad and my father attempted to keep me out of mischief.”

“Unlearned lessons, I see.”

“You have indulged in your share of mischief,” he replied. “I wager the blue domino still searches for you.”

Her grip tightened. He liked the feel of her long fingers around his arm.

“In the ballroom,” she began, but paused, then said, “I had decided not to remain at the masque.”