Page 14 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Tears stung her eyes. She found his face in the dark and put a finger to his lips. “Our destinies are written.”

“Heaven can rewrite destiny.” He kissed her palm. “He does not deserve you.” Her heart broke.

“And if your husband discovers the truth?”

She snapped to attention. The Viscount of Blackhall would not be pleased—nor would his father. She would see to it they never knew.

Her lover brushed a thumb across her cheek and she realized he felt the tear that had escaped. He pulled her close and buried his face in her neck.

“Do not judge yourself harshly,” he whispered. “I do not regret our union. I pray you can say the same. Just remember, if your husband discovers the truth, if he rejects you—”

“Please. Tonight you have claimed a piece of my heart.” She slid her lips over his. “What is left I will find a way to give to my husband.”

He released her, then grasped the door handle. The click of the latch opening echoed in the hollow silence.

He paused. “Tell me your name. I swear, I only wish to be certain you are well.”

Tears dampened her cheeks. “I cannot.”

“If your husband does not care for you, find me.”

He swung the door open and light spilled into the compartment. He stepped from the carriage. His massive frame filled the door as he faced her.

Familiar eyes, the color of copper, laced with amber strands darkened to a rich brown stared back at her.

Caroline barely stifled a gasp. Heat rushed into her face. “Blackhall,” she whispered.

“Aye. Come to me when you can,” he said, and shut the door.

Caroline stared at the closed door, numb with disbelief. Lord Blackhall wasn’t supposed to—had refused to—come to England until their wedding day.

The carriage rolled forward. She yanked aside the curtain and watched her betrothed step back from the street, then turn. Her gaze remained glued to his receding back. She had feared no lasting repercussions from attending the masque. But if Lord Blackhall should discover her duplicity… The man with a penchant for dominance and discipline would not be forgiving.

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 leaned 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.