Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  “You’re quite welcome, my lord. I shall speak to Wesley about his actions.”

  The smile disappeared. “Doona bother. The mon showed his true colors today. He wilna take advantage of me again.” Then he shrugged. “But perhaps I should be thankin’ the mon.”

  Jillian frowned. “For what, my lord?”

  Ian stood and leaned down, his mouth mere inches from hers. “I wouldna have been able to kiss ye otherwise, lass.”

  He held her gaze, his warm breath fanning her cheek. Her nipples pebbled and for a moment she thought he would kiss her again, but Mrs. Fields cleared her throat.

  He straightened, gave her a small bow and walked away, leaving Jillian more confused than ever.

  The luncheon had been overly long and now the guests were mingling in Baron Dunster’s drawing room. He was Violetta’s father and no doubt this hastily arranged fête had been his daughter’s idea to lure Ian more closely to her side. Amelia was nowhere to be seen. Jillian smiled a little. Violetta would pay for such a cut to Amelia.

  Ian seemed to have recovered from his wound of two days ago for he was moving about with no hint of stiffness. Nor had there been any hint of any more kisses, although, if she wanted to be truthful, it was she who tried to avoid him unless other people were present.

  Her thinking became muddled whenever he was near. His large, muscular warrior’s body should have intimidated her, yet she felt somehow safe when she was close to him. Safe was never a word she had associated with a man before. She certainly hadn’t been safe with Rufus. From Rufus. Her back still bore scars to prove it. She didn’t want another man in her life owning her, controlling her. Beating her because she wasn’t womanly enough to keep a man erect. Jillian bit her lip thinking about how hard and thick Ian’s member had felt against her hand at the tailor’s. He was a younger man…perhaps they became aroused just naturally. But men wanted children and she was barren. Rufus had beaten her for that too.

  Better to squelch any wayward thoughts she had of Ian. He was, after all, a wild Scot. Who knew how they handled their women folk? Even as that thought flitted through her brain, her body responded with a slow throbbing deep inside as she remembered how gentle those large hands had been when he caught her in the carriage, how good her body had felt pressed up against his. How soft and moist his lips were when they brushed hers just the other day. God help her, she had wanted more. Wanted to know how demanding his mouth could be. Wanted…

  “My Violetta seems quite taken with your houseguest, Lady Newburn,” Baron Dunster said at her side.

  She started. She really had to stop acting so moonstruck. She was a mature woman. “It would seem so, my lord.”

  The baron frowned. “Are his intentions honorable? I’ll not have my daughter violated by some foreign scape-grace.”

  If anyone violated Violetta, it would be with her willing permission, she was sure. Jillian kept her voice cordial. “His lordship is no scape-grace. From what he’s said, he comes from a closely knit family. As for his intentions, he seeks…a suitable wife, as do the other young men.”

  She wondered what made it so hard to say that. It was the raison d’être for the Season after all. She should be glad that Ian would choose a wife in a few short weeks. Her work would be finished and she would be able to purchase the townhouse for Mari and make a home for herself. Somehow the idea of another woman—one of these young girls—finding out what kissing Ian was really like didn’t set well with her. She gave herself an inward shake. There he went again…befuddling her brain.

  “Violetta would come with a considerable dowry,” her father said. “I wouldn’t want him to marry her just for that.”

  Jillian’s stomach dropped to her toes. Violetta’s father might only be a baron, but he was wealthy and owned lands on the continent as well. Ian had told Jillian that he needed the profits from his estate to help his family in Scotland. Would the dark-haired beauty’s riches entice him? She looked across the room to where Violetta had her hand curled inside Ian’s arm, standing way too close to be socially acceptable. Ian wasn’t exactly pulling away either.

  “A dowry seems to be important for every man, doesn’t it, my lord?”

  The baron looked shocked and then he laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be quite that frank before, Lady Newburn.”

  Jillian wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. It had been an inappropriate comment, almost snide. “I beg pardon.”

  He waved his hand. “No need. I just want my daughter to be happy. I’ve no experience with the Scots. All I know is that they harbor Frenchmen.”

  “Refugees, my lord. Nobles who escaped the Revolution.”

  “Spies, you mean?” Wesley said from behind her.

  Jillian steadied her nerves before she turned to face him. More and more, he was reminding her of some night predator, slipping silently upon its prey. He’d left the townhouse right after the fencing incident, claiming he had business with Prinny and arrived back this morning in time for the luncheon.

  “I doubt that the French aristocracy—or what’s left of it—has any desire to help Napoleon succeed.”

  “But their retainers would,” Wesley answered. “After all, haven’t a lot of them returned to France to aid Napoleon? The ones remaining may very well spy on England from the North.”

  “I fail to see how any could do that if they live in Scotland,” Jillian answered.

  Wesley raised an eyebrow. “We have a Scot in our midst, don’t we? Who’s to say he isn’t sending messages back to the French…refugees, as you call them.”

  Jillian gasped in outrage, but before she could answer, Baron Dunster did.

  “You have reason—or proof—to believe that Lord Cantford is a spy?”

  “Proof? No.” A sly look came over Wesley’s face. “But would you like to be the man’s father-in-law if he is?”

  The baron frowned. “I see what you mean. Perhaps I should seek out my daughter. If you’ll excuse me?”

  Jillian watched him walk away. She should be grateful to Wesley for interfering with that spoiled girl’s flirtations, but she was furious with him.

  “How dare you insinuate such a thing, Lord Newburn?”

  “Wesley.” He shrugged. “How do you know it’s not true? The Scots have never forgiven the English for the Disbanding Act, have they?”

  Jillian remembered Ian saying his clan still existed, albeit it not openly. “They’ve accepted English law.”

  “Some of them.”

  She didn’t want to think about the fact that Ian had mentioned the split between his great-grandparents’ families during the rebellion. Ian just couldn’t be a spy. He just couldn’t. “I think you’re out of line, my lord.”

  “I should throw the bastard out.”

  A sudden chill took her. The old Earl of Cantford had sold his townhouse long ago, preferring to stay in the country. If Wesley turned Ian out, he would have to rent rooms in a boarding house. Jillian could hardly visit him there. Not unless she wanted to tarnish her reputation, and she couldn’t afford to do that for Mari’s sake. But neither would she get paid by Prinny if she were not allowed to finish her job.

  “I’m sure the Prince of Wales would expect you to be hospitable. After all, it was the regent himself who suggested that Ian stay at the house,” she said.

  “I’m aware of that,” Wesley replied. “Perhaps it is better that the Highlander stay under my roof. That way, I can keep an eye on him. And, if I’m right and I turn him in, perhaps the prince will reward me with Cantford’s lands as well as my own. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go speak to Miss Violetta. She seems quite alone at the moment.” He started to walk away and then turned back, smiling wolfishly. “The combined lands would make me a very rich man, madam. Perhaps you should think about that.”

  Jillian stared after him. What had he meant by that last remark?

  Wesley was still quite pleased with himself for turning the tables on the Highlander later that evening as he c
rawled up the drainpipe to the terrace that led to Lady Sherrington’s boudoir.

  Things were really going his way. Dropping subtle hints amongst the peerage that the Highlander might be harboring French spies would certainly divert any suspicion from himself. After all, Ian Macleod was from Glenfinnan, the very place where the Young Pretender had rallied his forces for the last time. Wesley had brought two trusted men with him on his return from France. Jean St. Croix had already found employment as a fencing instructor at Le Rapier Tranchant where he could report back to Wesley on whatever useful bits of information the Englishmen might drop during practices. But Louis Tredeau was still free. Perhaps he would send him to Glenfinnan to do some scouting. Find out who the refugees up there really were and if any of them could be persuaded to work for him.

  But right now, he had another task in mind. He crept up to Delia’s window on the second floor and carefully looked in.

  She was sitting in front of her nightstand, combing her long, chestnut hair, her face in silhouette to him. The filmy negligee she wore left little to his imagination, the full mound of her breast exposed through the transparent material each time she raised her arm to brush her hair. She was alone.

  He scratched on the window and was rewarded with her quick turn and sudden smile. She hurried over and undid the window latch.

  “Monsieur. I was hoping you’d come,” she said as Wesley crawled through the window.

  “I got your calling card this afternoon,” he answered as he kneaded both breasts hard, drawing a slight gasp from her. “It was carefully coded, but I thought this was the intent. Am I right?”

  Delia pressed the length of herself against his. “Of course. I just hoped you’d be able to get my real message.” She giggled a little. “Writing in code is kind of like playing spies, isn’t it?”

  He stiffened momentarily and then relaxed. She couldn’t possibly know. And her amateur attempt at coding was laughable. But no matter. She was here and he needed a good rutting.

  “It’s not the only game I’d like to play,” he murmured as he tore at the ribbons holding the flimsy material together.

  “Careful, my lord,” she said as she removed his hands and undid the ribbons herself. “I would not care to have Sherrington wonder how this garment came to be torn. He gave it to me.”

  “I don’t want to hear about him,” Wesley growled, taking her breasts in his hands again, “except to know we won’t be bothered.”

  Delia arched her back, jutting her nipples against his hands. “He’s at his club no doubt pretending to be drunk while he robs his friends blind at cards.”

  So the man was shrewd. A tingle of excitement shot through Wesley. He particularly enjoyed bedding wives of pompous asses who thought they were so smart. “He’s not a drunkard then?” he asked as cupped her bare buttocks and rubbed his erection against her mound.

  “Hardly. Wellington has said Sherrington has the hardest head he knows.”

  Her husband was friends with Colonel Wellesley? Wesley’s luck was just getting better and better. What kind of information could he get out of her that Napoleon might find useful? Then he frowned.

  “I thought you said the other night your husband would sleep soundly because of all that he’d had to drink?”

  She half-hooded her eyes and gave him a coy look. “He does…when I put a little something into his wine.”

  Wesley made a mental note of that too. Only drink from her cup after she did.

  He ran his hands down her belly and thrust two fingers up inside her to find out if she was ready.

  “Oooh,” she moaned and threw her head back, giving him access to her throat. “That feels so good.”

  He bit her neck, careful not to draw blood, his fingers imitating what he was about to do. “Why don’t you undress me?” he whispered.

  She acquiesced, her hands trembling slightly in her need to see him naked. He ran his fingers through her hair and then pressed down on her shoulders. Eyes widening as she got his intention, she sank to her knees in front of him.

  “Suck on me, my lady. Nothing makes a man desire a woman more than that.”

  Tentatively, she took the tip of him into her mouth. He looked down at her. “Are you scared to do this, Delia? There aren’t many women who are really good at it. Perhaps I misjudged you.” He started to withdraw, but she caught his hips.

  “No…I’ll do it.” She opened her mouth wider and sucked on his head.

  Wesley groaned and held her face between his hands while he slid in and out of her wet, warm mouth. “Make me want you, my lady,” he grunted.

  Her mouth began to work greedily on him then and he decided she might have real possibilities if he trained her right.

  He moved his hands to her thick chestnut hair, lifting it and letting his fingers catch the strands. He wondered what another woman with the same color hair might feel like, sucking on him until he came in her mouth. His very young stepmother. Lovely, cold, overly prim-and-proper Jillian Alton. How he’d love to see her on her knees in front of him like this. And best of all, she was his father’s widow. Ah, revenge would be sweet after what the old man had done to him.

  The more he pictured her doing this, the harder he became. He was close to release, but he sensed that Delia was probably not ready for that right now. He lifted her abruptly and tossed her back on the bed, spreading her legs and plunging into her hot, welcoming wetness in one long stroke. He grabbed her hands and held them over her head while he pummeled her, driving himself in. She squealed and thrashed beneath him and then he felt her shudder. He thrust into her one final time and spilled his seed, collapsing over her.

  What if this had been Jillian? Would the aloof lady turn into a wild cat in bed? His father, damn him, had not deserved such rewards. But how to get that woman into bed without forcing her—not that he minded raping, but the consequences here would be devastating—was beyond him.

  Then an idea began to niggle at the back of his mind. Jillian had said the barbarian was to choose a wife from among those foolish virgins and had told Wesley he needed to do the same.

  Only…he didn’t need to beget an heir. He had several by-blows in France, any of which he could declare his heir. But if Prinny wanted to see him married…what better choice than the widow of the man whose title and lands he’d inherited?

  She was penniless, he knew, thanks to the stupidity of his father. Training that barbarian was the only source of income she had. He’d actually be helping her out. She really should be grateful to him, at that.

  He’d work out the details later. Right now there was Delia, already stroking him again, making his cock jump. The woman was near insatiable. And it wasn’t like he would have to give her up once he’d married his stepmother.

  What a perfect plan. He flipped Delia over on her stomach and ground himself into her slick, swollen core again.

  Ah, yes. Things were going his way.

  Mari settled herself into the window seat in the solar, drawing her knees up and hooking her arms around them. “I had no idea a man could look so…so…manly,” she said dreamily.

  Jillian sighed and set her tea cup down on the small table next to the divan. For the past two days, Mari had brought up Ian’s shirtlessness when Jillian had bandaged him. Even though she had quite sternly told her sister that young girls did not think about such things, let alone talk about them, it had done little good. Not for Mari or for herself. She could recall every contour of bulging biceps and flat stomach and how smooth and warm his skin had felt.

  “He was like one of those Greek statues in an art book I saw, except that they didn’t have any clothes on at all. I wonder if he looks like—”

  “Mari! How Lord Cantford looks beneath…beneath his trousers is not something we are discussing.”

  “But you have to admit, he is a fine specimen of a man,” Mari said teasingly. “And all those muscles… Tell me, Jillie, weren’t you just a little impressed?”

  This was an asinine conversati
on. Worse, it was bringing back how very close she had been to him, to his unique male scent. And how he had tilted his head for that oh-so-light kiss. Thank goodness Mari hadn’t seen that or she would never stop talking. But the best way to get her sister to go on to another subject was to agree with her. “Well, he is powerfully built. I supposed I was a little impressed.”

  “I’m glad to ken that,” Ian said from the doorway.

  Startled, Mari spun around, her hands flying to her mouth and she jumped up. Bobbing a quick curtsy, she scampered away, leaving Jillian alone with Ian.

  Jillian remained frozen in place, her back to the door. Please, Lord. He couldn’t have just heard this whole conversation. It was too mortifying. Sakes, they had been talking about his most private parts. What a rogue he was to have been listening.

  Her chin came up defiantly. “A gentleman does not eavesdrop, my lord.”

  He came into the room and sat down next to her on the divan. The room had become stifling, but that was probably due to her acute embarrassment. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was sitting much too close or that they were alone. She could have cheerfully throttled her sister at this point. She stared at the floor.

  “I was standing in the doorway in full view of anyone who turned around,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Although I did have all of my clothes on.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted it, causing her to look at him. “I had no idea that ladies were so curious about male parts.”

  She didn’t think her face could get any hotter. “You’ll have to forgive Mari, my lord. It was an indecent conversation.”

  “Nae. ’Twas an interesting one. Did ye agree with her then?”

  “About…what, my lord?”

  His thumb pad stroked her cheek and his eyes grew even darker. “About what I might look like naked?”

  Sweet heaven. A wet heat puddled between her thighs and her breasts suddenly felt achy with need. She should slap him for such a question, but all her hands wanted to do was feel his solid muscles and…

  “Certainly not,” she said with as much indignation as she could muster. She just was glad her voice didn’t squeak.