An Improper Wife (6 page)

The carriage rounded the corner and he disappeared from view. Caroline dropped the curtain and slumped against the cushion.

“Dear Lord, what have I done?”

Chapter Six

Caroline carefully closed the wrought iron gate leading to her uncle’s rented townhouse, wincing at the distinct grate of metal when it clicked shut. She leant her head against one of the bars, willing her stomach to unknot long enough for her legs to remain steady until she reached her room. She was a complete fool. The gown she’d worn when she left home probably still lay unmolested on the seat of her rented hackney parked outside Lord Forbes’ estate.

Mabel, no doubt, had already risen, and had possibly even woken one or two of the maids. If they caught her wearing the Aphrodite costume, by dawn, all of Newcastle would know she had attended the masque. The servants might be in the kitchen, a blessing if Uncle was still out and the front door unlocked in anticipation of his return—the end for her if he had returned and bolted it behind him.

Had she come straight home instead of staying with Taran… Caroline grimaced. Had she not attended the masque at all, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She stopped, an awful truth hitting her like a hammer. She couldn’t possibly be in
love
with her future husband, not the man she had wantonly given herself to the night before she was to marry him. In the space of an hour, she had completely lost her mind.

With a steadying breath, Caroline faced the house and hurried up the walkway and the four steps to the door. She grasped the latch and gently pushed. Her heart jolted. Locked. She spun, yanking up her skirt as she flew down the stairs and around the house with a silent prayer that Mabel hadn’t woken the maids. Caroline didn’t relish facing the housekeeper—the old woman had been with her since the nursery—but better her recriminations than the maids’ wagging tongues.

At the end of the house, Caroline halted and peered around the corner into the small garden. Faint light from behind curtained windows illuminated the steps leading to the door that opened into a pantry. She cursed. Her luck hadn’t held true. Fortune—good fortune—had departed with her future husband. A flush rippled through her at memory of his warm hands on her breasts. She cursed her body’s treacherous tightening and crept to the door, then up the steps. Aromas of pastries and yeast breads hung in the air. Things were worse than she feared. Mabel must have risen by midnight—if she’d slept at all.

Keep your nerve
, Caroline ordered
.
If they had discovered her absence, the house would be ablaze with light and servants would be swarming the house.

No movement shown behind the curtains. She paused, hand on the latch, the roar of blood in her ears so loud she grimaced, and placed her ear against the wood. She detected no sounds beyond the door and inched it open. Silence followed, and she slipped into the empty pantry.

Pies, three baskets of rolls, apples, pears, plums, carrots, potatoes, and two platters of meats filled the counter to the left. She’d been right. Mabel hadn’t slept, but had toiled through the night so that her wedding day would be an event talked about from Newcastle to London.

The shuffling of feet sounded to the left. Someone ascended the servant’s stairway from the kitchen below. She was an imbecile as well as a fool. Caroline flew up the three steps to the stairs, glanced to the right where the stairs descended into the kitchen, saw no one, and raced up to the first floor. At the top, she hurried across the foyer to the main stairs. She seized the newel post and swung herself around and onto the second step. Her foot caught on her hem and she grabbed the railing just in time to save herself from hitting the carpeted stair, face first. Yanking her skirt to calf level, she propelled herself upward.

At the top of the stairs, she paused. She had come too far to be nabbed by a maid who chose this morning to use the main stairs instead of the servants’ or rear stairs. She peeked around the wall to the right and scanned the hallway. Empty. Relief flooded her, then evaporated at a faint scratching sound from the second floor.

Caroline darted forward. A moment later, she reached her room and slipped inside. Facing the room, she cautiously closed the door and slumped against the wood. She rested a hand on her heart and slowed her breathing.

Embers glowed in the fireplace. No one had entered her room. Fate had seen her this far. Now to face the day. Never mind
the day
. How was she to face the night when her husband bedded her? Would he plunge into her as he had in the carriage, or would he be quick, as predicted? The absurdity of his instructions struck her. He had coached her on how to deceive
him
. If another man had taught her such things, Lord Blackhall would call him out for the dawn appointment the kilted god spoke of. That was a duel she would pay to see.

All amusement vanished. She would heed his advice and get him drunk. Perhaps, she could use some added insurance. Uncle kept sleeping powders in his bedchamber. If she could steal enough to slip into Blackhall’s wine, he would pass out on the wedding bed and wake believing he’d done his husbandly duties. A tremor rocked her stomach. The prowess of the man in the carriage would not be satisfied until he could remember sealing the pact.

Slipping the sash over her head, she crossed to the bed and slid the sleeves from her shoulders, letting the dress fall to the carpet. She hesitated, her gaze glued to the costume pooled at her feet, Lady Margaret’s words playing in her mind.
Do not expect the privileges of rank then flout the responsibilities.
She had done just that and altered her future.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. She snapped her head in the direction of the door. Her future had just become her present. Caroline snatched the dress from the floor and dived beneath the bedcovers. Cold enveloped her naked body.

She bit back a curse and stuffed dress and sash under her pillow, barely yanking the covers up to her chin as the door opened. Mabel entered with a tray of hot chocolate and bread rolls in hand. Caroline blinked sleepily at her.

Mabel set the tray on the bed beside her, then lit the candle on the night table and turned a critical eye on her. “Chilled, are you? Not to worry, tonight you will have a fine lord to warm you.”

Caroline’s cheeks heated. She knew exactly what Aphrodite would experience in the arms of her husband. Lady Caroline Wilmont, however, would have Aphrodite’s castoffs. Unexpected guilt surfaced. The masked stranger—the man she believed she would never see again—was the one man she shouldn’t have dallied with.

Caroline sat up as Mabel served her hot chocolate and bread. Caroline kept the blanket tight beneath her arms as Mabel picked up the tray and set it on her lap.

“I do not feel well.”

The housekeeper frowned and tugged the blanket down to reveal Caroline’s naked breasts. “What is this? No shift, and this being April?” She glared. “No wonder you feel ill.” The old woman tucked the covers beneath Caroline’s arms, then stopped midway and gave her an assessing look. “You would not purposefully mean to fall ill on your wedding day?” She straightened before Caroline could reply, and added, “Your uncle will see you to the chapel if he has to carry you there and hold you upright during the ceremony.”

“And speak the vows for me,” Caroline muttered. He would deliver her in a hearse, if need be, and have the coffin carried to the altar. He intended to be the Viscountess of Blackhall’s uncle—the Countess of Blackhall’s uncle, once the earl died and Taran took his place.

“Do not complain. He is seeing to your best interests.”

“And that of his own.”

Mabel tsked as she tucked the blanket a little tighter around Caroline. “You need to eat.” She crossed to the hearth. “I will not have you faint during the ceremony.” She knelt in front of the dying embers and pulled the ash tin from the corner.

While Mabel shovelled ashes from the fireplace, Caroline surveyed the tray. Her stomach unexpectedly growled and she realised she was famished. She picked up a roll and began buttering it. Mayhap she would choke on the bread and end her misery. She reached for the hot chocolate as she took a bite. Her thigh muscles protested the movement and she froze. She hadn’t considered the possibility there would be any lasting effects to lovemaking—other than the loss of her heart and a possible child in her lover’s image. She nearly laughed aloud at the ridiculous thought. A broken heart and a son to remind her of the man who had moved her beyond words were two things she could live with. That man despising her would be her undoing. If he suspected she was his Aphrodite…
his
Aphrodite. For one night she
had
been his Aphrodite.

What a fool she had been. Had she not attended the masque, she wouldn’t have seen this passionate side of him until it was too late. Like most women married off for a price, she would have learned hate before love, and her hell would be only the smell of brimstone, instead of its heat.

Caroline took a swallow of the chocolate, then stuffed the remaining bread into her mouth before tentatively stretching her legs. Thigh muscles screamed—the grating of the ash tin across brick made her jump. She jerked her gaze onto Mabel and saw a fire burning in the hearth.

The housekeeper rose and faced her. “By now your bathwater—what in the world?”

She scowled and Caroline froze. Had Mabel somehow guessed she wasn’t the innocent Lord Blackhall expected in his bed tonight?

Mabel crossed the room to the bed. “You are no child to be stuffing your mouth. Is this how you plan to conduct yourself at the breakfast reception?”

Frustration welled up in Caroline. Uncle had arranged this marriage. He could live with the consequences. She swallowed a large chunk of the bread, forcing the lump down her throat despite the discomfort. Mabel lifted both brows.

Caroline washed down the remainder with the hot chocolate, then reached for a second roll. “I am hungry. Ham and eggs, if you please.”

“Before dawn, and with the breakfast you will be expected to partake of after the ceremony?”

“Every condemned man
and
woman is allowed a last meal.”

The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed. “None of your drama, Miss.”

“I will have my breakfast.”

“That you will, after the ceremony.”

Caroline stuffed half the roll into her mouth, swallowed, and bit back a gag Undaunted, she set the tray aside, then threw back the covers and grabbed her robe from the edge of the bed.

She stood. “I am capable of fetching my own breakfast.” Caroline slipped her arms inside the sleeves as she strode to the door.

“What’s this?” Mabel said.

Caroline grasped the doorknob as she glanced over her shoulder to see Mabel reaching for the edge of the purple sash sticking out from beneath the pillow. Caroline sucked in breath. Mabel grasped the sash and pulled it and the dress free. The costume fell to full length in front of the housekeeper. She squinted at the dress, clearly confused, then understanding dawned on her features.

She swung her gaze onto Caroline. Caroline stood immobile. The jig was up. Uncle would—Uncle would what? Her fingers tightened on the door handle. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Her uncle had never cared for her fortune. He was wealthy and, unlike so many of his contemporaries, managed his wealth well.

He intended to buy his way into the most elite circles of London with her fortune. If the new Lord Blackhall called off the wedding because his bride-to-be had defiled herself by attending the masque, Uncle would be furious, but he would simply find another noble in need of money. The scandal wouldn’t be enough to stop a desperate suitor from taking her as wife, and would be forgotten inside a month—just enough time for a quick wedding and honeymoon.

Her heart twisted. A honeymoon without Taran. Was a life with his disdain better than life without him? A tremor rocked her belly. Was she willing to have him at any cost, even trickery? Another thought chilled her. Betrayal or no, Taran Roberston, Viscount of Blackhall, would satisfy family obligation and marry the woman wealthy enough to restore his family’s finances. His father, the old Earl, would see to that.

Caroline ran her gaze across the length of the costume, then looked at Mabel with a raised brow. “What does it look like?”

Mabel’s lips thinned. “Looks like a costume intended for a masque.”

Caroline shrugged. “‘Twas my last night of freedom. What did you expect?”

The housekeeper startled her with a loud snort. “You will not be fooling me
or
your uncle so easily.” She strode to the fireplace and threw the dress into the hearth.

Caroline lunged forward. “Mabel!” She reached the maid’s side and tried to snatch the dress from the blaze of blue flame.

Mabel seized her arm and yanked Caroline around to face her. “No one will believe you attended that masque any more than I do.”

Caroline twisted and looked at the dress. Marred beyond recognition. Another instant, and it would be gone altogether.

Mabel released her.

Caroline stared at her. “Why?”

The housekeeper started for the door. “Your bathwater is ready. The men will bring it up. I will return presently to help with your hair.”

Caroline jumped with the light click of the door shutting behind Mabel. She lowered herself onto the bench at the foot of the bed. What had just happened? Her beloved Mabel had just sealed her fate, that’s what had just happened. When the bath was filled, perhaps she could drown herself in the water.

Chapter Seven

Taran set his plate of eggs and sausage on the breakfast table, then seated himself opposite his father. “Never fear, Father, unlike John, I shall pay the mortgage on Strathmore and purchase the two Friesian stallions you have your eye on before I break my neck.”

His father stopped short in placing a napkin on his lap and met Taran’s gaze. “Do not speak ill of the dead.”

“Ah, yes.” Taran reached for the cup of coffee before him. “
I
will be sure to get my bride with an heir before my untimely death—cannot have her marrying some other hapless viscount before her property is firmly seated in the Blackhall family.” He lifted the coffee cup in salute and took a sip.