An Improper Wife

by Tarah Scott

  “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.

  “My lord,” Taran said.

  “Where did you get off to?” The man looked at Caroline. “A stolen moment with your bride, perhaps?”

  Taran canted his head. “She is hard to resist.”

  Caroline shot him a narrow-eyed glance, but he seemed not to notice. Not surprising. He didn’t realise she’d figured out the truth, and he was intent upon attending to the guest in the dungeon. Her pulse jumped. Father. Uncle had murdered her father. She tamped down on the rising tide of emotions that threatened tears.

  “If you will excuse me,” Taran said.

  “My lord.” Caroline grasped his arm. “I will walk with you.”

  He gave her a thin lipped look, but said nothing.

  Caroline nodded to the others. “Forgive us. I must speak with my husband.” Before anyone could protest, she started him towards the stairs. He veered left, and she was forced to follow him into a narrow servants’ corridor.

  “In here,” he said, and opened a door on the right.

  Taran shoved her through the opening and she found herself in a storage room filled with towels and linens. She turned as he closed the door. His gaze met hers. All at once, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, shout the question, Why have you lied to me?

  Instead, she began, “The man who attacked me was taking me to my uncle. He said I should have married you and left well enough alone. He must have mistaken my leaving Strathmore for the decision to find out what happened to my father. ”

  “You said you recognised him from the Cross Keys Inn,” Taran said.

  She nodded.

  “He did not harm you? I want the truth.”

  “I am well, my lord.” She flushed. “As you know. He was intent upon delivering me to my uncle.”

  “How did the bastard think he would ride with you all the way to England and without being caught?” Before she could answer, he added, “Because Etherton is not in England. What else did he say?”

  “That is all. But there is no doubt he is the man from the Cross Keys Inn, and he somehow knows of my conversation with Liam.”

  “Liam?” Taran demanded. “Who is Liam?”

  “The stable master at the Cross Keys Inn. That morning, I rode with him too see where the race is run.”

  Anger flashed across his face. “Caroline, I realise you wished to put to rest your father’s death, but I would ask that you cease going off alone—or in the company of strangers.”

  “If I had not gone off alone, I would not have learned that my father was murdered.”

  “And you would not have nearly gotten yourself killed. For all you know, this Liam is part of this scheme.”

  “He had no reason to tell me of the strange events surrounding my father’s death. Had he kept quiet, I would have remained ignorant.” Caroline placed a hand on Taran’s arm. “My father was murdered,” her voice choked, “by my uncle.”

  Tears at last crashed through the barrier. Taran pulled her close. Her legs gave way and he swung her into his arms. He crossed to a crate and lowered himself onto it, then settled her across his lap. Caroline clung to his neck, her face buried in his chest as he whispered indistinguishable words into her hair. At last, the tears subsided. Her chest remained tight with sorrow, but she could breathe, could think.

  Taran grasped her chin and tilted her face upwards. “Will you be all right while I see to the man?”

  She straightened. “I will.”

  But would she be all right once this business was sorted out and she faced her husband with the question of why he had lied to her?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  From the corner of her eye, Caroline scanned the ballroom for Taran, but found no sign of him amongst the still too-crowded room. She nodded without hearing the droning of a doting mother, who chattered loudly enough to be heard over the orchestra about her daughter’s first season. An hour had passed since Taran had instructed her to entertain their guests, then disappeared into the dungeon. Why would he take so long with her attacker?

  The music ended and the woman’s voice sliced into Caroline thoughts. “Your husband has promised to attend our next ball. We expect you to accompany him, of course. Oh, but Sophie has three offers already. None that we can consider them, only a baron and two military men. I do not know what possesses them to think they should offer for the hand of an earl’s daughter.”

  Caroline shifted her attention onto the woman. “My husband was a mere military man, until his brother’s unfortunate accident.”

  The proud mama’s eyes widened. “Of—of course, but these men cannot compare to your husband.”

  Caroline lifted a brow. “No?”

  “Oh, no, no, they are very young and have yet to prove their mettle. You understand. We cannot give our Sophie to a man who has yet to make his way in the world.”

  Unfortunately, Taran would agree with the abominable woman.

  The woman’s eyes shifted past her. Caroline turned to come face to face with her uncle. She couldn’t halt the gasp of breath ripped from her chest. Tremors rolled through her belly.

  Comprehension flickered in his eyes. “Caroline,” he said in a cultured voice that would have fooled anyone into believing he was anything but the murderer he was.

  A scream rose to her throat—along with the demand to know what he was doing there. But she knew the answer. His henchman hadn’t appeared at the appointed meeting place, so he had come to investigate. And her reaction had told him more than he could have hoped for.

  He gave a slight bow of his head to the woman. “If you will excuse us, madam, I must speak with my niece.”

  The woman’s cheeks reddened in obvious fluster at the sultry note in his voice. “Niece? Oh, of course, sir.”

  The orchestra began playing a minuet, and couples headed for the dance floor. Etherton’s fingers closed around Caroline’s elbow and he turned her towards the door.

  “I am busy.” She yanked her arm in an effort to free herself, but his grip tightened on her flesh as he pushed them through the crowd.

  He said under his breath, “Make a scene, Niece, and I will slit your husband from sternum to cock.”

  Caroline lifted her gaze to his. “Blackhall is not the easy mark my father was.”

  Etherton steered her around three women oblivious to their presence. “So you have met Phillips. What did the fool do?”

  She yanked hard and he released her. Caroline halted and locked gazes with him. “Tried to kidnap me.”

  Her uncle’s mouth tightened. “What did you do to deserve that?” She didn’t answer and he added, “You are a fool, Caroline.”

  “Just like my father?”

  “You are your father’s daughter.”

  Before she realised his intent, he snaked his arm around her and the barrel of a pistol dug into her side. She glanced down and he opened his coat wide enough to reveal the double flintlock Blunderbuss pressed against her waist. She recognised the pistol as the one that hung over his mantle. He’d kept the weapon as a souvenir from his days as privateer. He had spoken of how the gun was particularly useful in warding off p
irates trying to board a ship. Her heart rate accelerated. What had he loaded it with, shot, nails, glass? The pistol fired anything with the potential to harm the target—and was especially effective in at close range. Even if she survived being shot, the doctor could never retrieve from her body all the pieces of whatever he had loaded into the barrel. She would die of infection, if she didn’t bleed to death first.

  Caroline looked up at him. “There are two hundred witnesses present.”

  “The report of the pistol will cause chaos,” he answered without hesitation. “You will be dead, and I will be forced to shoot at least two others in order to ensure my escape.” She started to say the pistol fired only one shot, but he cut in, “I never carry only one weapon. Where is your husband?”

  Panic shoved forward. If he discovered Taran was in the dungeon, he could dispose of her first, then surprise him and Lord Edmonds, and kill them.

  “He has taken your man to the sheriff.”

  Her uncle cast her a condescending look. “Blackhall owns the sheriff. He will dispense justice, then inform the sheriff of the verdict and sentence after the fact.” Etherton glanced around the crowded room. “I imagine there is a tolerable dungeon in this castle. Likely accessed from the kitchen or perhaps beneath one of the towers.”

  She startled. How many dungeons had the infamous Peiter Everston visited? How many had he been imprisoned in? She had never been in a dungeon, hadn’t thought to ask Taran where the dungeon was. How long had he been gone now, one hour and fifteen minutes? Perhaps he was no longer in the dungeon. It would be like him to leave her in the dark while he discussed matters with Lord Edmonds. For once, she would be glad his male mind didn’t take into account her female sensibilities.

  Etherton started them towards the exit. “Even a peep, Caroline, and I will shoot you, then find your husband and kill him.”

  “You will do that anyway,” she replied.

  “I may let you live,” he replied.

  He skirted the dancers and, a moment later, they reached the door. He led her down the hallway, deeper into the castle’s interior. Here was her chance. Caroline whirled. The back of his hand came across her mouth with such intensity stars streaked across her vision. He seized her shoulders. Footsteps sounded in the corridor up ahead. He turned in the direction of the sound. Hope rushed to the surface.

  “I will shoot whoever that is,” he hissed, and shoved the pistol into his waistband.

  Caroline tried to shake the grey fog from her brain. She tripped, and he plastered her to his side, forcing her to walk alongside him. The approaching footsteps were too soft to be Taran’s. Patterson appeared from around the bend. Her heart fell. The old butler would be of no help, and Uncle would make good on his threat.

  Patterson stopped in front of them and frowned. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

  She recalled Etherton’s slap to her face. Was her cheek bruising? Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart.

  “My niece is overwrought,” her uncle said. “She wishes to see her husband.”

  Patterson’s eyes shifted to him. He seemed uncertain, then gave a slight, deferential incline of his head. “His lordship is still indisposed.”

  Etherton’s fingers dug into her waist.

  “Yes, Patterson,” she burst out. He blinked in surprise and she gave a quick smile. “I am growing concerned. Please, where is the, er—” Her mind froze. Did Patterson know what Taran was up to? Yes, he must, for the way he said indisposed indicating he hadn’t wanted to reveal his master’s whereabouts. “The dungeon, Patterson. He told me that was where he was going.”

  “The west tower, my lady,” he replied, his face expressionless. “The entrance is in the alcove directly below the tower. I can show you the way.” He started to turn.

  “No need,” her uncle said. “I saw the tower when I arrived. This corridor will lead there if we keep the left. Am I correct?”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  Etherton nodded. “I will see to my niece. I wish to speak with her husband as well.”

  “As you wish.” Patterson bowed and continued on his way towards the ballroom.

  Uncle started forward. She had to stop him, slow him down somehow, anything to buy Taran time. She also had to know…

  “Why did you kill my father?”

  His head turned in her direction. “Why do you think?”

  Her heart pounded. “What did he know?”

  He faced forward.

  “Bastard,” she hissed.

  Caroline twisted in his grasp. He yanked her feet off the carpet and lengthened his stride. Tears sprang to her eyes with the sudden realisation that he didn’t intend to kill her and leave her body hidden in some alcove as she’d thought. Instead, he meant to use her against Taran. She began to thrash. Pain ricocheted inside her skull, but she kicked and raked her nails across his cheek.

  “God damn you,” he cursed, and backhanded her again, this time harder than the last.

  Ringing filled her ears. She felt as if she was going to slip from his grasp. But then he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She gasped for air. They turned a bend and, a moment later, he pushed through a door into a stone passageway. He grabbed the sconce hanging on the wall to the right and continued forward. They passed a window facing the inner courtyard. He pushed through another door and she glimpsed an arched entryway to the left.

  Nausea pitched her stomach as he made his way down a narrow staircase. At the bottom, he slipped the sconce into a holder, then lowered her to her feet. Her surroundings swam and she clutched at thin air. He grabbed her waist and opened the door to a well-lit stone corridor. Caroline drew in a breath to scream. He clamped his free hand over her mouth and wrenched her head back against his chest. She grabbed his hand out of reflex, then froze when he pressed his mouth against her ear.

  “I will empty my handgun into your skull, then fill your husband full of what I have in the Blunderbuss. He will slowly bleed to death. Very painful, I am told.”

  She still gripped the fingers clamped over her mouth as he crept towards the T at the end of the hallway. Her mind raced. He planned to surprise Taran and threaten him with the fact he held a gun to her head. Etherton had yet to pull the Blunderbuss from his waistband, and he didn’t know Lord Edmonds was with Taran. If she screamed, Taran and Lord Edmonds would be alerted that something was wrong. Was that a better advantage than showing up, or would Etherton shoot them when they raced from whatever cell they were in once they heard her scream? What would Uncle do if Taran wasn’t in the dungeon?

  Indecision mingled with fear. What would give Taran the best chance of survival? They reached the T and Uncle leant forward. Five feet to the left, another corridor ran parallel with the one where they stood. He turned left, then left again down the hallway. If she bit down on his fingers and yanked with all her might, she had a chance of dislodging the hand. A wrought iron gate barred an empty cell on the right. A faint murmur sounded from another bend up ahead. Her heart sped up. She couldn’t tell if Taran or Lord Edmonds was speaking.

  Please, Lord Edmonds, keep quiet.

  Uncle crept to the next corridor and peered around the corner. A grated iron door stood open to the middle cell.

  “I will ask one more time,” Taran’s voice was soft, but lethal.

  Tears burned Caroline’s eyes. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered that he couldn’t hear it.

  “Where were you to meet Etherton?”

  Her uncle’s low laugh sounded in her ear.

  A slurred response followed from the man in the room.

  Blood roared in Caroline’s ears. Had Taran brought a weapon with him? She recalled the pistol he’d pointed at Lord Edmonds when he’d come upon them in the trees. He might have the weapon with him. Would he keep it close? How would she save him? If Lord Edmonds was with Taran, Uncle would have to keep the gun on her in order to manipulate the two men.

  Caroline bit down on her uncle’s hand—hard. He stiffened. Sh
e ground her teeth against the thick finger. Blood spurted across her tongue. She gagged. Then screamed. He yanked his hand from her mouth. A dark curse burst from him in unison with heavy footfalls on stone. Uncle took two steps backwards and stopped, his back against the wall, and lifted the Blunderbuss to her temple.

  Taran shot into the corridor, then came to a skidding halt thirty feet from them, a pistol aimed at them. Caroline darted a glance at the open door. Where was Lord Edmonds? A sob lodged in her throat. She had counted on the viscount being there. Etherton would be far more nervous at facing two men, instead of one.

  “Drop it,” Etherton ordered.

  Taran’s gaze flicked from the gun at her head to her face, and she read that he was familiar with the weapon.

  “Drop it,” her uncle again ordered.

  Taran tossed the weapon down. It hit the stone with a clatter and skidded several feet towards them.

  His eyes shifted behind her. “Come to finish the job yourself, Etherton?”

  “If you had taken your wife in hand, she would be safely in your bed, instead of here.”

  Taran’s gaze remained neutral, but Caroline sensed he didn’t disagree. Hysteria blurred her vision. She clawed at the hand banded around her waist. Her left elbow bumped something hard at Uncle’s waist.

  “What do you want?” Taran demanded.

  Caroline froze. Was that a second pistol in her uncle’s waistband?

  “It is no longer a matter of what I want,” he replied, “but what I need.”

  Taran nodded. “And you need me dead. Caroline, as well.”

  “Caroline can live.”

  Taran’s gaze didn’t break from his. “So long as she remains in a laudanum-induced state?”

  “She will serve a purpose.”

  Her mind raced. That was a second pistol stuffed inside the waistband. He surely had a third pistol in his boot. But he would never be able to get to it before Taran was upon him. If she grabbed the pistol from his waistband, he would be forced to fire the weapon at her temple—if she didn’t get a round off into his belly first. Either way, Taran would be safe.