An Improper Wife Read Online Free PDF Page A

morning Times . The lady’s reputation would be in ruins. A hired carriage would have to do. Away from prying eyes, he could dispense with her clothes—and that damn mask and wig.
    They stepped from the alley and he started across the street towards a respectable looking carriage sitting in front of a townhouse. He glanced at her. She wore no cloak. What had the little fool meant, leaving the safety of the gardens for the public streets in that costume?
    “I have a coach—” she began.
    “Hush,” he cut her off as they neared the hackney.
    He released her and reached into his shirt pocket for his small purse. Taran opened the door.
    The driver’s head snapped in their direction. “Hey there, I ain’t open for business. I have a customer—”
    Taran pulled a coin from the purse and tossed it to him. The man caught the glistening gold piece without hesitation. He cast the lady a glance, clearly taking in her costume, then bent forward to examine the coin in the streetlight as Taran grasped her waist.
    “What—” she began, but he cut off the protest by hoisting her into the coach.
    Taran grasped the carriage door. “Drive until I say otherwise and there will be another of those for you at the end of the trip.” He leapt into the carriage, slamming the door shut behind him.
    “At your service,” the driver called, and whipped the reins.
    Taran settled into the velvet seat across from Aphrodite. The coach lurched into motion, sending the flame in the corner lamp into a momentary dance.
    “I must return to my carriage,” she said in a quiet voice.
    Taran studied her.
    “I am at your mercy.” The defiant lift of her chin belied the words.
    He leant forward and grasped her chin with two fingers. “No secrets, remember, my lady?”
    Light from the lantern, low, but distinct, illuminated the guilt that flashed in her eyes. His heart rate accelerated. What could she possibly be hiding? He brushed her soft skin with his thumb, then leant back against the cushion.
    “Come,” he said, “was it not you who said a woman need feel no shame for attending a masque?”
    “It is not shame, I feel, but wonder at being kidnapped.”
     

Chapter Four
     
     
     
    Taran’s body tensed when her gaze turned to steel.
    “I am to wed,” she said.
    “To wed—you mean—” He stared. “What in God’s name are you doing at this masque?” But he knew the answer. Innocence and sin. Heaven and sweet hell. When she’d first touched his cock with those delicate, inexperienced fingers, he’d nearly exploded.
    “Christ,” he muttered.
    She had purposefully misled him. He should turn her over his knee and paddle her backside. Or her soon-to-be-husband should.
    He was a fool. At cards he beat the most skilled player, few dared face him in a dawn appointment, yet this wisp of a woman had brought him to his knees when she’d knelt and taken him into her mouth.
    Moonlight seeped through the crack in the window drape and fell across the purple sash that now lay unevenly beneath her breasts. As if reading his mind, she slid the drapery closed.
    Taran lifted his eyes to her face, bathed in the soft light of the interior lamp. “Why attend the masque?” he demanded.
    Her gaze dropped.
    The carriage bumped and rolled along the lane for a long moment before he prompted, “My lady?”
    Her eyes rose to meet his. “You know as well as I that a woman has only that which is given her.”
    Taran thought of the woman who would be his wife tomorrow. Condemned to life with a man she had met once as a girl, her betrothed’s brother, a man she didn’t know, but must take into her bed on the day they wed.
    “I decided—” Aphrodite paused. “I decided to take something for myself.”
    Taran released the breath he held. This he understood. “Many hours remain before morning. There are ways we may pleasure one another and satisfy your husband in the bargain.”
    Her expression turned wary.
    “Something for yourself?” He extended a