Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  Chapter Thirteen

  Taran grinned wider, knowing full well his wife wanted nothing more than to throttle him—a thought he found intriguing.

  “Caroline Wilmont?”

  Taran twisted and looked over his shoulder at the well-dressed man standing in the doorway.

  The older man strode to their table and halted. “Why, it is you.”

  Caroline inclined her head. “Lord Cambrooke.”

  He gave a small bow. His attention centered on her ring, then jerked back to her face.

  “You—” His eyes flicked to Taran. “My apologies, sir. I had no idea Caroline had married.” “Just yesterday,” Taran said.

  The older man’s eyes widened. “You jest?”

  From the corner of his eye, Taran caught sight of the slight grimace that twisted his wife’s mouth. He smiled and shook his head. “No jest, sir. She is now Viscountess Blackhall.”

  Cambrooke’s mouth dropped open. “You are the Earl of Blackhall’s son?” Before Taran could answer, he flicked a glance at Caroline, then gave Taran a formal bow. “Lord Aldwin Cambrooke, at your service. I am an old friend of the family.” His gaze shifted to Caroline. “I wondered how long before you guessed—” He broke off. Something flickered in his eyes. He shook his head. “Forgive an old man.”

  “No apologies are required.” Caroline extended a hand.

  He grasped her fingers, bending over them. “Most kind.” He released her.

  Guilt stabbed at Taran at the reminder he was at fault for the fact that their wedding night had been spent at the place where her father had died. “It is my doing.”

  “You know I always wanted to come to the Cross Keys Inn,” Caroline interrupted. “I insisted we stay.” She smiled. “You know I will have my way when I truly desire it.”

  Lord Cambrooke laughed. “Indeed, she is persuasive.” He leaned towards her and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I hope you have satisfied this particular desire.”

  In a placid tone, Taran said, “The strange thing about desire is that it tends to ignite at the most inopportune moment.” Caroline snapped her head in his direction. He smiled as if not noticing the blush that crept up her cheeks, and added, “Regardless of place or time.”

  Lord Cambrooke nodded, clearly not catching the byplay. “Indeed. Otherwise, a bride could not choose such a place as this.” Her gaze swung back to him.

  A soft smile curved the old man’s mouth upward. “Put this behind you, my dear. Life is for the living.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Taran’s mind snapped to attention.

  Lord Cambrooke patted her arm. “Where are you off to?”

  “Strathmore,” Taran answered. “Our home.”

  Surprise reflected in the man’s eyes. “Surely, you do not mean to keep Caroline from London?”

  Taran regarded him. “Viscountess Blackhall may visit London whenever she pleases. We will reside at Strathmore.”

  “But of course,” he put in quickly. “No offence intended.”

  Taran inclined his head. “Of course not.”

  “What are you doing here?” Caroline asked. “This is not hunting season.”

  “True. But I seldom take part in the hunt any more. Too old.”

  Taran thought the man looked fitter than many men his own age, but kept silent.

  “I am returning from a week in Melrose.” Cambrooke grimaced. “A wasted week. But I must be going, I wish to make Newcastle today. So good to see you, my dear.” He faced Taran and gave a slight bow. “Sir.”

  Taran nodded and took the last bite of eggs. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it on his plate. “Our carriage awaits.” He rose and stepped aside in invitation for Caroline to precede him.

  Frustration sparked in her gaze. He forced back a laugh and lifted an enquiring brow.

  She rose and started past him, but Taran grasped her elbow and stopped her.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked.

  She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Marriage is exactly as I imagined.”

  He trailed fingers higher on her arm. “Is it too much to hope you refer to last night’s activities?”

  She drew in a thready breath. Desire skittered down his spine.

  “How would I have had any preconceptions on that matter, sir?” she asked in a sweet voice that didn’t fool him for an instant. “I refer to your determination to bring me to heel. What say have I in decisions that affect me? Before yesterday, I did as I chose.”

  He paused, gaze locked with hers. “Indeed? I had no idea your uncle was so indulgent.” Taran inclined his head. “Never fear, I will give you choices, my lady, while I have you undressed and in my bed.” He lifted a brow. “Unless, you have a preference to my lovemaking?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he steeled himself for a barrage of womanly recriminations, but she clamped her mouth shut.

  “No preference and no complaints.” He nodded. “Good.”

  “I have a complaint. I loathe another day spent in a hot carriage.”

  “Indeed?” He gritted his teeth against the feel of his cock hardening at the thought of another day in the carriage. “Then I shall be forced to entertain you. There are many activities, besides travel, that can be done in a carriage.” As Aphrodite knew.

  * * * *

  Caroline sat stiffly in the carriage. They had ridden but an hour. The five hours that still lay ahead stretched out before her like a prison sentence. She shifted her attention out of the window to Taran riding alongside the horses that drew the coach. He swayed with each easy stride of the beast as if they were one. Powerful thighs flanked the mammoth animal. The man was master of all he touched—including a lust-consumed wife.

  She shivered. As her master, he had already begun spending her money. It was ridiculous that it should bother her. He was right, no creditor should wait a day longer than necessary, but it pricked her because doing so boiled their marriage down to the transaction it was.

  She was now Viscountess Blackhall and he was lord of twenty thousand pounds a year. Warmth tinged her cheeks with recollection of the accusation that he would allow his father to rule their finances. She leaned against the cushion. Given a choice, Taran would have married Aphrodite…or would he? He spoke of an affair, but marriage had never been mentioned. And why would it have been? They might desire each other, but both knew duty came before lust.

  Memory of his buttocks hard as stone beneath her fingers as he thrust his cock deep inside her last night brought a flush to her skin. As if sensing the illicit thought, he glanced over his shoulder at her. Her breath caught. Had he read her mind or, mayhap, the look on her face? Taran wheeled his horse around and she startled as he urged the animal towards her.

  A moment later, he came up alongside the window. “You are well, madam?”

  Her heart pounded as she drew in the mid-morning air. “As well as can be expected,” she said in a calm voice.

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “I have neglected you.”

  Before she realized it, he seized the door handle and leapt from the horse onto the step.

  The carriage rocked.

  Caroline grabbed the handle. “My lord!”

  He laughed and tossed the reins up front. “Davis, if you please,” he called, and yanked the door from her grasp.

  Caroline scrambled to the far end of the cushion as Taran stepped inside. He dropped onto the opposite seat, his grin wider than it had been a moment ago. The carriage rocked more violently as Davis climbed to the rear of the box and tethered the horse, then climbed back up front.

  Taran stretched his legs out on the seat opposite him. “You haven’t spoken a word since we left the inn.”

  The intensity in his eyes stoked a simmering heat deep in her secret places—places that ached for him again. Heat pooled between her legs and sweat trickled between her breasts.

  “I am alone in a carriage,” she replied. “Who would you have me converse with?”

 
His expression sobered, catching her off guard. “I am sorry about stopping at the Cross

  Keys Inn.”

  “My father died long ago.”

  He regarded her and she realized she’d spoken too quickly.

  “Not so long. Three years, you said.”

  Familiar sadness tugged at her heart, but she answered evenly, “Yes.”

  “What of your mother?”

  “She died when I was twelve.”

  “Your father never remarried?”

  Caroline shifted her attention to the gently rolling hills outside her window. Recollection of her mother’s cold stare contrasted with the soft eyes immortalized in the portrait hanging over the library hearth. Despite the fact the cold look was reserved primarily for her father, Caroline often found him at his desk, staring at the picture.

  “He loved her,” she said.

  “He was a lucky man.”

  Caroline broke from the vision and swung her gaze onto Taran. He stared intently.

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. “Yes,” she replied, unable to tell him that her father wasn’t at all lucky. Neither was her mother. How was it possible love could make two people hate each other?

  Mother had wanted a man who fought duels in her honor, attended her at every soirée until deep into the night, then left her to sleep until noon the next day while he discreetly slipped off to his mistress’ bed. Instead, he’d remained loyal, despite her many indiscretions. Her mother hated him as much for that as the tender heart that always forgave her. She died when Caroline was twelve, her father when she was fifteen, but her mother’s hatred and father’s sorrow lived on in her heart.

  “Perhaps as lucky as me,” Taran murmured.

  Her heart fluttered. Would he feel that way once he discovered her deception? Or would she would follow in her parent’s footsteps, would she hate—and be hated?

  He removed his feet from the cushion and she froze when he crossed to her side and sat beside her. Anticipation of his touch had her heart pounding so loudly she feared he would hear. He slid an arm behind her and wrapped four fingers along her nape. Trembles slithered over her flesh. She swallowed, the silence hovering between them deafening. Her pussy clenched with the possibility of having Taran plunging in her depths again. She closed her eyes as the blunt tips of his fingers burned through the fabric of her dress. Her nipples tightened to aching points.

  “Sir, it is broad daylight.” Her voice sounded husky, sinful, dripping with invitation.

  “Mmm hmm.” Taran pressed a kiss to the pulse below her ear.

  He cupped a breast and she inhaled sharply. Desire rocketed through her.

  “We are not alone.” She choked out the words.

  There were men perched on the box and—panic shot to the surface—she and Taran had already played out this scene. There could be no repeat performance. Caroline commanded her body to break free of his hold but his mouth melted her.

  She shifted on the seat, aware of the wetness that slicked her thighs. “My lord.”

  The carriage rocked and his hold on her tightened. “This is our first day as man and wife.”

  His moist lips seared a trail down her neck and his deft fingers had her dress buttons undone, revealing the swell of her breasts.

  “Such things are to be expected.” He stroked his thumb over the exposed skin.

  Her nipple strained against her shift’s fabric. He bent his head and took the taut, cloth covered tip in his mouth. Wetting the fabric with his tongue made the material cling to her skin. She shivered and arched into his mouth. His tongue teased and nibbled. Soft suction tugged on the raised peak and streaked into her core. Caroline pressed against the cushion as if she could sink into the velvet and escape the exquisite torture.

  Taran sucked harder. Her pussy clenched. A moan escaped her mouth and she grasped the sides of his head, holding him tight to her breast. She spread her thighs, needing his heavy weight between them.

  “Yes,” Taran whispered.

  Caroline stilled.

  His eyes met hers as he grasped the edge of her skirt and slowly inched it upward. Fear tightened her tummy while desire tightened her clit to torturous pleasure.

  “Give yourself to me,” he coaxed.

  Terror ripped through her. He was too close, too aware of her…of Aphrodite.

  Seizing his shoulders, she shoved him away. “We cannot do this.” Her ragged breath leached the statement of power.

  “Never fear,” he said, amusement still evident in his voice, “I will teach you how to please a man in a carriage.” He paused. “Or perhaps you will teach me?”

  Caroline jerked her chin up in a challenge. “Making love in a carriage is not proper behavior for a lady.”

  He lifted a brow and she flinched, but didn’t break from the stare. A corner of his mouth twitched in obvious amusement as he leaned past her and yanked the window curtain closed. Two nights ago, he had done this very thing on the streets of Newcastle. Her heart raced. She couldn’t think. He muddled her thoughts, drove her to irrational behavior.

  He settled back beside her, his fingers tracing circles on her exposed thigh. “In my bed—or carriage—there is no need for you to behave as a lady.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir. I am your wife, not your mistress.”

  His head snapped up. Even in the dim light of the carriage she discerned the glitter in his eyes.

  “Last night—”

  “Last night is behind us,” she broke in. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. How could she continue to lie to him? “We must forget the past.”

  “I cannot.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

  His tongue traced the seam of her closed mouth and she breathed in a strangled sob. He wanted more of what she had given him last night, the reassurance their union was not built on hate, that she could—would—accept him. How much would she have to give before he was satisfied? Too little would break her heart. Too much would drain her soul.

  He lifted her dress and she whimpered, a soft mewling sound. Strong, calloused fingers grazed the flesh behind her knee. Higher, along the inside of her thigh. A shiver raced up her spine. Heat radiating from her core seemed to draw his fingers like a moth to a flame. Caroline parted her lips and glided her tongue along his, sucking him into her mouth. Taran groaned, deepening the kiss, then abruptly broke away. His breathing heavy, he rested his forehead against hers. Caroline sat frozen, until his fingers touched the damp curls covering her sex.

  “You burn as I do,” he said. “Why resist?” Tracing the slick seam, he then parted her folds. “Feel how your honey flows…” He slipped a finger into her clenching passage. “For me.” He plunged deeper, stroking her internally, then easing out.

  Cream coated his fingers. She couldn’t hide her response to his touch. Anywhere but here in this carriage, if they were anywhere else. “We should stop. This is improper.”

  He growled, slamming a second finger into her pussy. “Perhaps I do not want a proper wife.” A third finger.

  Caroline cried out, gripping the edge of the seat as she bucked her hips against his thrusting fingers. Pleasure spiraled through her center. Quivers built in her passage.

  Taran jerked his hand from between her legs. Loosening the ties of his breeches, he freed his erect, swollen rod. Juice seeped from the slit, glistening on the ruddy head. Taran grasped the underside of her knees, tugged her to the edge of the seat, and spread her thighs wide.

  Positioning his rod at her opening, he looked at her face and thrust his cock into her pussy. Invading, stretching, oh God, sending her straight into delirium. His hips pumped, pounding his shaft into her. An orgasm rolled over her. She thrashed, crying his name as her inner walls convulsed around him.

  Taran groaned, clenching his jaw as he increased his speed.

  Bracing her hands behind her back, she rolled her hips.

  “Ah fuck.” Taran leveraged over her, plunging hard, rearing back, then slamming deep again. Sweat beaded acro
ss his brow. Muscles bunched in his arms. Unlike the sweet love he’d rained over her last night, he ploughed into her channel. Taking, demanding, consuming. Secret pleasure surged within her. He’d lost his control and fucked her like a woman—not his wife.

  A shout from above broke into their lust-filled cocoon, and the carriage jerked as it slowed.

  Caroline cried out. Tarah ripped from her body and jerked her dress down. He shoved his cock into his breeches and tugged the ties closed. She gasped when he yanked up his trouser leg and pulled a small pistol from within his boot. He shoved the weapon into the waistband at his back, then swung the door open and jumped to the ground.

  A male voice she didn’t recognize said, “Your sister, my lord.”

  Taran cursed. “Fiona?” “Aye,” the man said.

  Caroline stilled. His sister?

  “What has she done?” Taran demanded.

  “Run off to Edinburgh, m’laird.”

  “By God,” he muttered. “Where is Ran? The coward should have come himself and faced me with the explanation of how a slip of a girl bested him.”

  “She administered enough laudanum to put him down for two days,” the man said. “A maid discovered him and sent word to Strathmore.”

  “Leave it to a woman,” Taran muttered, then, “You will ride with Davis and the carriage to escort my wife to Strathmore.” He glanced at Caroline. “I am sorry.” He slammed the door shut.

  She slid across the cushion and opened the door. “What has happened?”

  Taran untethered his horse from the rear of the carriage, then stepped into the saddle and swung his leg over the horse. He urged the beast up to the door. “Do not choose this moment to try me.”

  Caroline jumped back when he shoved the door closed again.

  He spurred the horse forward. “I expect you at Strathmore by supper,” he said, and kicked the horse’s belly. The animal lunged forward.

  Caroline fell back against the seat when the carriage wobbled into motion.

  * * * *

  Despite her best effort, Caroline felt the surprise on her face when Fiona’s maid told her that Taran’s youngest sister had eloped. The maid’s eyes widened as if acknowledging she’d overstepped her bounds.