Page 7 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Taran tensed.

“Here?” a man replied. “At a masque?” He snorted. “That prig would no more deign to lower himself to mingle with English Society than he would—” The man broke off. “Well, he just would not.”

Taran mentally laughed. The man was right.

“Well,” the woman sniffed, her voice nearer, “Lady Haverly says he is here.”

Taran offered thanks to his friend. William had prevailed upon him to ‘mingle with English Society’. Had he not come, he wouldn’t have met the woman at his side. Taran looked down at her. Her face was white.

“My lady,” he whispered, realizing the couple would pass them in seconds.

He bit back a laugh. She still feared discovery. He shoved her into the hedge and cut off her surprise, mid-squeak, with a kiss. She arched into him. Her mouth opened and he swept inside with his tongue. She tasted sweeter with each wet, passionate stroke. The heat of arousal surged into his shaft.

“Lady Haverly is a notorious gossip,” the man said as they passed. “And a drunk.” “No need to be unkind,” the woman said as they turned the next bend.

Taran wrenched his mouth from Aphrodite’s and buried his face in her neck. He slid a hand down to her rounded bottom and gently squeezed. His heart thundered. He wouldn’t settle for a quick romp in front of the cherubim as had the maid and bandit. He needed time to explore every inch of the goddess’ body to learn what brought her to mind-bending pleasure. When she saw the ecstasy he could give, she wouldn’t be able to resist taking him as a lover.

“I—I must go,” she said into his chest.

He pulled her from within the hedge and headed towards the rear of the maze. He navigated several turns when a woman’s soft moans sounded up ahead. Arousal hardened his cock. Aphrodite halted. Taran pulled her into the crook of his arm and gritting his teeth.

The swish of wool rasped against his swelling shaft.

“They care nothing for us,” he whispered as he started forward again.

He quickened his pace. Her hold on his arm tightened.

“I am as eager as you to leave,” she said breathlessly, “but must we sprint?” Taran slowed.

She fell into step beside him. “Have you a curfew?”

“Not since I was a lad and my father attempted to keep me out of mischief.”

“Unlearned lessons, I see.”

“You have indulged in your share of mischief,” he replied. “I wager the blue domino still searches for you.”

Her grip tightened. He liked the feel of her long fingers around his arm.

“In the ballroom,” she began, but paused, then said, “I had decided not to remain at the masque.”

Taran halted. “What changed your mind?”

She gave a low, throaty laugh that unnerved him. “You did.”

He glanced at her profile, unable to tear his gaze from the seductive smile hinted at in the corners of her mouth. “And if I choose not to release you?” Her gaze narrowed.

“A jest,” he quickly whispered. “Forgive me. We have tonight.”

Taran didn’t want to waste another moment when he could have her panting and writhing beneath him.

He led her around three turns, then a left, only to come to a dead end. Taran cursed.

“Lost again,” she muttered.

“I will find the exit soon, or beat a path through the damned bush,” he growled, and led her forward. “To the left, always to the left,” he murmured. “It is inevitable we find the way out of this madness.”

“So you say,” she replied.