Read Online An Improper Wife by Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters
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her back, then with the barest of whimpers, she relaxed.
She wasn’t his Aphrodite, but he sensed passion simmering in her kiss. Her full breasts nearly spilled from her dress. He imagined her hardened nipples prodding into his chest. Tonight he would touch and taste them. He groaned low in his throat, tantalised by the way her belly cradled his stiffening cock. At least he could feel desire for his wife.
Taran released her and caught sight of the black handkerchief peeking out from her fisted hand. If the tenacity she’d shown with her inconsequential, but amusing, rebellions were any indication, their children wouldn’t be the mewling creatures he’d feared they might be. He’d underestimated Caroline Wilmont. She wasn’t the quiet schoolgirl he remembered. Amusement vanished. John had been a fool. Taran would bed his wife and bring her the pleasure she deserved. Caroline would want for nothing. He would provide husband, home, and children. However, when the time was right, he would seek Aphrodite. And, like all wives of society, Caroline would seek her interests elsewhere.
Taran linked his wife’s arm in his and glanced at her face. Her eyes narrowed and her lips remained set in a thin line. Everyone rose. Caroline stiffened, her stare straight ahead. Taran tensed. Had he misjudged her? He hadn’t mistaken the passion hidden in her kiss. Tonight would tell him if she was a bitch or just a woman protesting the only way she could. He started down the aisle. For better or worse, they were wed, though he would prefer a woman he could respect to one he hated.
Guests tossed shoes and slippers after them as he hurried them down the aisle and out the chapel doors to his waiting carriage. Taran opened the door and helped her inside, then leapt up and slammed the door shut as he dropped onto the seat opposite her. The carriage lurched into motion.
Her glare turned to him and he read fury in her eyes. “What kind of fool are you?” she demanded.
Despite her clipped tones in the chapel when she’d repeated her vows, the husky note in her voice incited a sense of desire that he found oddly comforting. Her raven hair contrasted with the emerald green eyes with startling clarity far more than he remembered. But he remembered a child, and wagered the woman was having none of his admiration, at least not yet.
“Not the insipid fool you take me for, madam.”
Her lips pursed and he couldn’t help wondering if she were going to punch him. She had clearly intended to do just that in the chapel. He deserved a good right to the gut. He was little better than his brother—or father. He fully intended on producing the needed heir, then leaving his wife to her own devices. As long as she was discreet, he wouldn’t take her to task. He convinced himself that she too would prefer to do as she pleased. Clearly, she would have chosen not marry him at all.
She leant forward. “I had no desire to marry your brother, and I have even less desire to marry you.”
This time, Taran couldn’t prevent a laugh. A mind reader for a wife was the last thing a man needed. She threw herself back against the cushion and a black stockinged ankle showed beneath the hem of the black underskirt.
“If I am not mistaken, that was Mrs Henderland who wailed at sight of your black undergarments,” he said. “I believe our good minister is certain a demon possesses you.”
His wife eyed him. “Something far worse than a demon possesses me.”
Taran blinked, then realised he shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, he should be surprised if she stopped at such paltry attempts to dissuade him as wearing mourning black to their wedding. He had underestimated her a second time. He would not do so again.
“Then our minister has a great deal of work ahead of him.”
She shot him a disparaging look that said he had a great deal of work ahead of him.
He forced the twitch at the corner of his mouth into a frown. “I had not realised you grieved so deeply
She wasn’t his Aphrodite, but he sensed passion simmering in her kiss. Her full breasts nearly spilled from her dress. He imagined her hardened nipples prodding into his chest. Tonight he would touch and taste them. He groaned low in his throat, tantalised by the way her belly cradled his stiffening cock. At least he could feel desire for his wife.
Taran released her and caught sight of the black handkerchief peeking out from her fisted hand. If the tenacity she’d shown with her inconsequential, but amusing, rebellions were any indication, their children wouldn’t be the mewling creatures he’d feared they might be. He’d underestimated Caroline Wilmont. She wasn’t the quiet schoolgirl he remembered. Amusement vanished. John had been a fool. Taran would bed his wife and bring her the pleasure she deserved. Caroline would want for nothing. He would provide husband, home, and children. However, when the time was right, he would seek Aphrodite. And, like all wives of society, Caroline would seek her interests elsewhere.
Taran linked his wife’s arm in his and glanced at her face. Her eyes narrowed and her lips remained set in a thin line. Everyone rose. Caroline stiffened, her stare straight ahead. Taran tensed. Had he misjudged her? He hadn’t mistaken the passion hidden in her kiss. Tonight would tell him if she was a bitch or just a woman protesting the only way she could. He started down the aisle. For better or worse, they were wed, though he would prefer a woman he could respect to one he hated.
Guests tossed shoes and slippers after them as he hurried them down the aisle and out the chapel doors to his waiting carriage. Taran opened the door and helped her inside, then leapt up and slammed the door shut as he dropped onto the seat opposite her. The carriage lurched into motion.
Her glare turned to him and he read fury in her eyes. “What kind of fool are you?” she demanded.
Despite her clipped tones in the chapel when she’d repeated her vows, the husky note in her voice incited a sense of desire that he found oddly comforting. Her raven hair contrasted with the emerald green eyes with startling clarity far more than he remembered. But he remembered a child, and wagered the woman was having none of his admiration, at least not yet.
“Not the insipid fool you take me for, madam.”
Her lips pursed and he couldn’t help wondering if she were going to punch him. She had clearly intended to do just that in the chapel. He deserved a good right to the gut. He was little better than his brother—or father. He fully intended on producing the needed heir, then leaving his wife to her own devices. As long as she was discreet, he wouldn’t take her to task. He convinced himself that she too would prefer to do as she pleased. Clearly, she would have chosen not marry him at all.
She leant forward. “I had no desire to marry your brother, and I have even less desire to marry you.”
This time, Taran couldn’t prevent a laugh. A mind reader for a wife was the last thing a man needed. She threw herself back against the cushion and a black stockinged ankle showed beneath the hem of the black underskirt.
“If I am not mistaken, that was Mrs Henderland who wailed at sight of your black undergarments,” he said. “I believe our good minister is certain a demon possesses you.”
His wife eyed him. “Something far worse than a demon possesses me.”
Taran blinked, then realised he shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, he should be surprised if she stopped at such paltry attempts to dissuade him as wearing mourning black to their wedding. He had underestimated her a second time. He would not do so again.
“Then our minister has a great deal of work ahead of him.”
She shot him a disparaging look that said he had a great deal of work ahead of him.
He forced the twitch at the corner of his mouth into a frown. “I had not realised you grieved so deeply
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