Free An Improper Wife by Tarah Scott and KyAnn Waters

for my brother. I only hope he does not become a barrier between us.” Taran shifted on the seat. “I shall do my best to rise to his stature.”
    She gave an abrupt laugh and clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Taran snapped to attention. What was this? She had a sense of humour? His gaze caught on the long, slim fingers still covering her mouth. Memory of last night and Aphrodite returned with a sharpness that bordered on pain. Her warm fingers wrapped around his cock, the pebbled peaks of her nipples, hard, yet pliant beneath his tongue, the tight sheath that surrounded him when he entered her. Taran shifted his attention to the window and onto the townhouses as the carriage rolled past. He’d been a fool to allow Aphrodite to persuade him to take her maidenhead. He couldn’t regret having her, but if she bore her husband a son anytime soon, she would live the pregnancy—and years beyond—wondering if the boy would in some way resemble another man. Would that pain and guilt rob her of happiness?
    Despite the fear, he couldn’t help wondering how many women would have risked scandal, or worse, to attend a masque before they were wed. Aphrodite had been as brave as she was foolish. He returned his attention to his wife. She sat, hands folded in her lap, lips set in a thin line. She hadn’t the courage Aphrodite had, but he thanked God for the backbone she had shown. They would get on well enough, once she accepted she hadn’t made as bad a bargain as she might have, had his brother or father been the alternative.
    They rode in silence until arriving at her uncle’s townhouse. The carriage came to a rolling stop. “I would like a moment alone.” She brushed non-existent lint from her dress. “I will see you at breakfast.”
    He placed his hand over hers, stilling her movement.
    Small hairs on her arms quivered when he raked his thumb over her knuckle. “Perhaps I would prefer to join you.” She snatched her hand away, and he chuckled.
    “Not to worry, wife, we will spend many moments alone. I can be patient.”
    “I will take some comfort in knowing you have at least one virtue.” The door opened. Grasping the layers of her dress, she gave her hand to the waiting footman. Taran couldn’t take his gaze away from the rounded fullness of her backside as she bent and, in a flounce, ascended the porch steps.
     
    * * * *
     
    Caroline sat in the drawing room of her uncle’s townhouse, spooning a second teaspoon of sugar into a teacup as she released a temporary sigh of relief that the last of the wedding guests had departed. She glanced up to see her uncle in the doorway, a shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. Apprehension tensed her shoulders when he straightened and strode towards her. His anger at her attempts to ruin the wedding had been plain throughout the meal, but she had managed to avoid being alone with him. Time to pay the piper.
    She stirred the tea with remarkably steady fingers considering the clamouring within her. She set the spoon on the tray. He lowered himself onto the opposite end of the divan and stretched a hand out across the back of it. Caroline leant against the cushion and met his gaze while blowing across the surface of the tea. He had the same raven hair and dark green eyes her mother had…the same colouring as Caroline.
    At forty-five, his broad shoulders and muscled thighs still made him a match for even the younger bucks who vied for female attention. Caroline understood why women were attracted to him. The mystique of the privateer turned pirate proved a powerful aphrodisiac and opened more doors—bedchamber doors—within the ton than even his wealth had.
    “Your trifling attempts to fend off Lord Blackhall will cost you,” he said.
    “You mistake me for your former ward,” Caroline replied. “I am no longer under your rule.”
    “Do not be a fool. I still have a great deal of power. Your husband might find your actions amusing. I do not.”
    She sipped her