Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  He glanced up at her once, his eyes black and smoldering, and then he covered her nipple with his mouth and began to suckle, drawing hard and deep. A mighty spasm took hold of Jillian and she shattered, a kaleidoscope of colors flashing before her eyes.

  Slowly, she became aware of Ian’s breath, as rugged and harsh as her own. Miraculously, he was still holding her for her body felt limp and boneless.

  “What…what happened?” she asked.

  Ian laughed and set her on her feet, holding on to her until she had her balance.

  “Ye behaved like a woman, ’tis all,” he said and reached over to cover her breast.

  She felt herself flush, if that were possible, as overheated as her face already felt. Now that she could breathe again, she realized what she had done. She looked at the ground. “Please forgive me. I behaved like a wanton, I’m afraid.”

  He sobered immediately and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Nae, lass. Ye did not. ’Tis what happens between a man and a woman…” He paused and traced her lips with his thumb. “Ye have never had that pleasure, my lady?”

  Could she be any more mortified? She not only had never felt anything close to what she just experienced, but she didn’t even know she could feel that way. And Ian—experienced rogue that he was who had women swooning for him—was going to think she was totally naïve and stupid. She had been married after all. She should know about such things.

  Jillian stepped back from him. “I should not have allowed such liberties, my lord. It will not happen again.”

  He tilted his head slightly as he studied her. “I think it will, lass.”

  She felt her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t force me…”

  “Nae, lass. I wouldna.”

  “Well, then,” she said as she turned to leave, “it will not happen again.”

  His warm breath suddenly fanned her ear and she didn’t realize he had stepped so close. She inhaled sharply, her breasts rising, nipples hardening in spite of her words.

  “Ye liked it too much not to want it again,” he murmured. “Besides, ’twas only a beginning. There’s so much more I want to do to pleasure ye.”

  More? Her stomach quivered and her knees turned weak. Just the thought of more… She shook her head. “I really don’t—”

  “Shhh,” he said and put a finger across her mouth. “Ye must learn to feel with your heart, lass, and listen to what it has to say.”

  She stared at him and then she turned and ran, hoping that her defenses were still very much intact.

  Wesley could barely control his rage as they headed back toward London the next day. He had seen the damn Highlander taking liberties with Jillian when he’d followed them into the maze yesterday, liberties that only he should be taking. Cold fury filled him. Not only that, but the lands given to the Scot by King George had actually been part of Newburn. It wasn’t Wesley’s fault that his ancestor had royally angered the king enough to have some of his lands taken. The way he saw it, Cantford lands should be his. And he wanted them back.

  The best way to do it? He’d sent Louis Tredeau to Glenfinnan to nose about and find out if any French renegades resided on Macleod land and indeed, there were some. Whether they were ex-patriots or still loyal to Napoleon didn’t really matter to him. He would spread the rumor that they were and that Macleod was harboring them.

  He smirked. Once those rumors reached the prince’s ears, he’d have to take notice. Wesley would have to plant careful evidence so there would be no doubt. Easy to do since he still had French contacts. Treason was a hanging offense, and with Macleod dead and no heir, the lands would revert back to the Crown. And to him as a reward for identifying a traitor. Much tidier than cutting the girth strap on the horse.

  He would continue to drop hints to the very protective fathers of the debutantes as well. Already, Baron Billingsby was making efforts to keep Violetta away from the Scot, although the little twit ignored them. Let her flirt, as long as her father would not approve a marriage.

  Making sure the Highlander did not marry was a must. First, because Wesley did not want to take a chance that a wife—albeit one who would be an early widow—might be with child and an heir would be produced, but also, having Cantford remain single would ensure that Jillian did not get paid.

  She would be penniless without that coin. Wesley’s smirk widened into a self-satisfied grimace. She would not want to be turned out onto the streets, not with that bratty sister of hers about to come out for the Season next year. Jillian would be totally dependent on him. Desperate enough to marry him. He laughed, the irony of marrying his stepmother would no doubt have his blasted father turning in his grave. It would serve him right after what he did with Lorelei.

  He frowned suddenly. Cantford had no right to be kissing his intended. And Jillian had no right to flirt with another man. Not when she was to marry Wesley. She would have to be punished for that. His groin tightened as he anticipated having her spread-eagled and bound to his bed on their wedding night. The tiny, specially-made cat-o-nine tails that was so much the sexual rage among certain circles in France had leather knots at the end and wouldn’t draw blood. The sting, though, as he flicked it over her nipples, across her stomach and between her legs, would be enough for her to beg for mercy. Which he wouldn’t grant until she accepted his dominance in all things. He liked the idea of her struggling beneath him. He drew a ragged breath, realizing that he was about to climax and make a fool of himself.

  Well, that fantasy would have to wait for now, but it was a good thing he’d be in London tonight. Delia would be waiting. And she liked it when he played rough.

  Just like Lorelei had.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ian stifled a yawn and tried to look interested in whatever it was that Violetta was blathering on about. The musicians had just returned from a short refreshment and the dancing was about to begin again. He hoped he hadn’t signed her dance card more than once. The girl had clung to him in such a suggestive manner with that dance that he’d actually had to hold her away from him. The young buck, Nevin Faulkner, looked ready to call him out and he really dinna want to hurt the lad.

  “Have you heard a word I said?” Violetta pouted and batted her lashes at him.

  “’Tis a bit loud with the music,” he answered.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “I was asking if you were planning on attending the Sherrington’s rout on Friday? The rumor is that the prince will be there.”

  The prince. No doubt he would want to know from Jillian if Ian favored any of the young ladies for a wife. By the Dagda, he couldna see himself yoked to any of them. Yet Jillian wouldna get her coin until the decision was made. And with that fool Alton threatening to marry her… He frowned, wondering why the bastard hadn’t shown up. He didn’t usually miss an opportunity to dog Jillian’s heels at these functions. His gaze drifted across the dance floor to where Jillian sat, talking with Ladies Tindale and Havisham. She was wearing a dark green gown with a neckline just low enough to expose the beginning of the swell of her breasts. Ian inhaled sharply, thinking of how delectable that breast had felt in his hand and how deliciously ripe and taut the nipple had been in his mouth. She had responded, finding her release when he’d only the used his hand. His groin tightened at the thought of how much more pleasure he could give her by completing the act.

  But she was more skittish than a filly that had ne’re seen a halter. What had happened to her that she was so afraid to let herself go? To explore the depths that passion could take them? He’d never known a woman who hid her heart in the middle of an iceberg. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he did Jillian. And not just naked in his bed. He wanted her for his wife.

  The realization sloshed over him like a bucket of water from the depths of Loch Ness in the dead of winter. He would marry Jillian or he would marry no one. He’d make the prince understand.

  Violetta interrupted his thoughts. “You haven’t answered me. I declare, my lord, I’m not sure if you’r
e well.”

  He gave her a sudden smile. He’d never felt more well in his life. “I’m fine,” he said, “and yes, I will definitely be at the rout.”

  She smiled back, her dimples showing. “I don’t have an escort for it.”

  Even the blatantly flirtatious invitation didn’t dampen his spirits. “I’ll be escorting Lady Newburn,” he said.

  Violetta’s smile faded. “She’s a matron.”

  “Aye,” he answered and reached over to pick up the dance card that dangled from her wrist. “I think ye are keeping Sir Faulkner waiting, are ye not?”

  In a huff, she snatched her hand away and narrowed her eyes. “Just remember that I come with a large dowry. A very large dowry,” she said and flounced away.

  Ian hardly heard her. He made his way across the dance floor, ignoring the hopeful eyes of Amelia and a few others. There was only one woman for him.

  “Lady Newburn,” he said as he reached her chair. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

  Jillian looked startled. She had done her best to avoid him in the two days since they had been back and now she looked cornered.

  “I don’t dance, my lord.”

  “Ye did just fine when we took lessons,” Ian replied. “’Tis time ye had a wee bit of fun, nae?” He turned a charming smile on the ladies with her. “Wouldna ye agree? A widow of three years nae longer need wear widow’s weeds?”

  Lady Havisham tittered and Lady Tindale blushed under his scrutiny. “By all means,” Lady Tindale said. “Jillian, we know you were a good wife. But surely Rufus would want you to enjoy yourself.”

  “Yes, yes. Do go on,” Lady Havisham added.

  A mask settled over Jillian’s features as she stood stiffly. “Very well, my lord.”

  Ian led her to the dance floor and put an arm around her waist, wanting to draw her up against him and feel the softness of her breasts. “Ye feel good,” he murmured in her ear as a waltz began.

  She eased back. “I told you I won’t allow further liberties, my lord.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  Jillian looked up at him suspiciously. “You do?”

  “Aye. Ye are a proper lady and well-mannered. I insulted ye in the maze, though ’twas not my intention.”

  She frowned slightly. “Is that an apology?”

  “Aye. I shouldna have been so bold without announcing my intention first.”

  Her eyebrow rose at that. “And what would that be, my lord?”

  “To make ye my wife, of course.”

  She tripped. “What?”

  Ian caught her and waltzed them over to the door and outside onto the terrace. It was dark and somewhat secluded. “I want ye to marry me. I just forgot to ask ye.”

  “I can’t marry you.”

  “Why not?” Ian ran the back of his hand lightly over the silkiness of her cheek and let his fingers slide down her soft throat to rest on her collarbone. She felt so delectable, he could hardly restrain himself from ravaging her mouth, but he wanted nothing to frighten her off this time.

  “I just…can’t.”

  “Why not?” he asked again, his thumbs brushing along the swell of her breasts. She shivered slightly under his touch and moved away.

  He stepped closer, stroking her hair. “Ye canna deny that ye enjoyed the kiss, lass. Or my touch. I but erred in not offering to make an honest woman of ye. ’Tis sorry I am for that.”

  She stared at him. Even in the dim light, he could see her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “What is it, lass?”

  Her voice trembled when she spoke. “I cannot have children. You must marry someone who can.”

  “I doona want a wife who will only be a brood mare,” Ian said softly.

  Jillian shook her head. “The Prince of Wales will expect you to have heirs. And even,” she said as she held up a hand to silence what he was about to say, “if he didn’t, your clan would surely expect you to have a son to carry on.”

  Ian hesitated, not having thought that far. It was only a second’s hesitation, but it was enough for Jillian. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath.

  “My first marriage was not a happy one. I have no desire to make another mistake, my lord.”

  And she turned and walked away.

  Jillian was still trembling when she got home, startling Givens by returning early. She went directly to her bed chamber and sank down on the bed.

  His wife? Had Ian been serious? She wasn’t sure if her shaky condition came from shock or anger. She had wanted to believe him, but she had seen his hesitation when she mentioned his clan. He’d tried to hide it, but it had been there. He wanted children and he deserved to have them.

  Only she would never be a mother. Rufus had used her often enough to prove that she was infertile. While she didn’t think that Ian would ever beat her, he would eventually end up hating her for being barren. Or pity her, which was even worse.

  She would have to find Ian a suitable wife.

  “Mum?” Darcy knocked on the door and entered without waiting for permission. “Is something amiss? Why are you home so early?”

  Briefly, she told her maid what had transpired and sat down in front of the mirror to start pulling pins out of her hair. Darcy took over the task, combing the long strands soothingly as Jillian talked.

  “If you’ll pardon me, mum,” the maid said when Jillian finished. “It’s flattered I’d be if such a strong and comely man as Lord Cantford would be offering for me.”

  “But that’s just it, Darcy. Once he thought about his clan, he realized he didn’t want me for a wife.”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, my lady.”

  Jillian shrugged. “It’s the way a man looks at any woman when he…when he has certain needs.”

  “And I’ve seen the way you look at him too,” Darcy said staunchly as she began to braid Jillian’s hair for the night.

  “I do not look at him any differently—”

  The maid smiled. “You had a near-witless look on your face when you came out of the maze, you did. I never saw your eyes so bright. It might have puzzled me, but then I saw his lordship come out too. And the grin he was wearing told me the story.”

  Jillian’s face heated. Did everyone in the world know of her indiscretion? “I certainly hope you don’t repeat such silly ideas, Darcy.”

  “Of course not, mum,” Darcy said in a hurt tone. “I’m a marchioness’s maid…and your friend. I don’t gossip about you.”

  Jillian reached over to pat her hand. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I know how loyal you are.” For all the times the maid had helped spread healing salves over the welts that Rufus’s strap had left on her back, no hint of such scandal had ever seeped past her lips.

  As if reading her mind, Darcy leaned over Jillian’s shoulder to look at her in the mirror. “Not all men are cruel, my lady. I’d wager my life that Lord Cantford would treat you well.”

  Jillian’s stomach fluttered as she remembered how gentle Ian’s hand had been fondling her breast, leaving no bruises. And when he had suckled her, his teeth has merely grazed her nipple, bringing it to even more aching awareness, instead of the pain of a bite. And his kisses…

  She shook her head. “I have no business encouraging the man. I cannot give him a child.”

  Darcy gave her a sly smile. “The deed isn’t always done to get a child. Sometimes it can be just for pleasure.”

  Pleasure. Jillian would have denied that outright, never having experienced anything even remotely related to pleasure in going to bed with her husband. But Ian’s kisses did make her feel differently. Strange parts of her body tingled and throbbed at the thought of his touch. She knew that the serving girls sometimes snuck off to the stables with one or another of the footmen, so there must be something pleasurable in the act. She had no idea of how the maids gained the experience to please the men. She obviously didn’t know what to do for Rufus had always blamed her for his frustrations.

  “I think I’m better off concentr
ating on getting Lord Cantford married so that the prince will pay me and I can make my own way,” she said. “I need my own home. I’m not comfortable staying here since Wesley came up with that ridiculous idea of his to marry me.”

  In a flash, the maid’s expression darkened. “It’s a good thing the Season is ending in another week,” she said. “I don’t trust that man.”

  “I don’t either,” Jillian agreed as Darcy helped her off with her gown and into her night rail. “I always bolt the door before I go to bed.”

  “I’m going to do the same tonight,” Darcy replied.

  Jillian looked at her. “Has Wesley tried to take advantage of you?”

  Darcy shook her head. “He’s not the time for the likes of me. Not that I’d let him, you understand. I picks my own men, I do.”

  “Then why are you going to lock your door?”

  She lowered her voice. “He has visitors.”

  “Visitors? Now?”

  “Yes. Two men. I don’t like the looks of either of them. They were speaking French until they saw me in the hall earlier. So you take care, mum.”

  Darcy had been raised in the country with four brothers. If she were uneasy because of these two strange visitors at this hour, she probably had good cause. Ian wouldn’t be home for hours. When she had taken her leave of the party, she’d made the Ladies Tindale and Havisham promise to make him dance with more of the debutantes.