Page 36 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

“Did you pay Beetleton and Hoffman?”

Taran halted in grasping a piece of bacon from his plate and looked at her. “What have you to do with attorneys at law?”

“A great deal, when the man I am to marry is in debt to them to the tune of twenty thousand pounds.”

“You have been hard at work, I see.”

“I am no idiot, sir.”

He regarded her for a long moment before murmuring, “No, you are not.” He took a big bite of the bacon and dropped the remaining piece on his plate. “Reckless, yes.” “I will not stand for your father taking charge of my inheritance,” she said.

Taran laughed. “You just said you were not an idiot. Do not make the same mistake your uncle did in thinking my father runs my affairs.”

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. He was right. “As you say, but you must admit paying creditors the day of our wedding is improper.”

“Are you suggesting our creditors wait even a day longer than necessary?”

She stiffened. “Your creditors, sir.”

He grinned. “Never fear, madam. I paid your debts as well.”

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.”