Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  Jillian sighed and set the cloth and needle aside. “I’m not angry with you, Mari, but a duel is not something to get excited about. One of them could get killed.”

  Mari looked down, her tone remorseful. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Well, I did.”

  She looked up. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go and talk to the earl myself. What happened last night was a misunderstanding, nothing more.”

  Mari’s brow creased once more. “Maddie said it was Delia Sherrington—”

  “Enough. No more gossip.”

  Her sister’s lower lip thrust out. “All right. Well, if it is a misunderstanding then all Lord Cantford has to do is apologize.”

  “Which the stubborn man won’t do,” Jillian said. Lord knows, she’d tried to convince him this morning before he left for sword or pistol practice to apologize and be done, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Ian had swept her into his arms, given her a long kiss and then told her not to fash about it.

  Mari gave her a sly smile. “You like Lord Cantford, don’t you?”

  Jillian wasn’t about to tell her sister how much she did. “I don’t want to see either of them injured or worse.”

  “I think you don’t want to admit it.” Mary tilted her head to one side, studying Jillian. “Umm. Something’s different about you this morning.”

  Jillian stood and walked to the bookcase on the pretense of selecting something to read. When she’d looked into the mirror this morning, after a slow and completely thorough love-making session that had totally satiated her, her eyes and skin had glowed.

  Her body tingled as if it were sensitive to the very air around her. Colors were brighter and more vibrant. Sounds more acutely heard. His scent clung to her hair, and when she remembered his soothing yet titillating touch, she began to quiver.

  What in God’s name had she done? She smiled at that. Of course she knew what she had done—her rebellious body had ached with the need to fulfill a lust-driven desire she didn’t even know she possessed—but what had she done to herself? Would she ever again achieve that quiet, contented peace that had been hers once Rufus was dead? She had never wanted to endure a man’s touch again. But that was before Ian Macleod had come into her life.

  She had hoped, once Mari’s Season was over and her sister happily betrothed, that she could move to the country estate and concentrate on breeding the horses. But with Wesley being found, the estate was no longer hers. She had thought she would be content to live in Papa’s townhouse again, to quietly live her life without the interference of Society’s demands. Now she could see the long days dragging out, dull and dreary and empty. And alone.

  For Ian would marry someone else. Even though he had sworn last night that he loved her, she had heard enough tidbits from her friends to know that men would say anything while in the throes of passion. One or two of the women had even hinted that it was at that exact moment that they managed to wheedle the promise of jewels and new dresses out of their husbands. Or in the case of the ones like Delia, their lovers.

  Jillian’s hand froze on the binding of a book. Could she be Ian’s lover? The thought of never tasting his kisses or feeling him inside of her again was nearly unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying. She gave herself a little shake and opened them. As painful as it would be, she knew she couldn’t take Ian to her bed if he were married to another woman. She just couldn’t dishonor what had been beautiful between them like that.

  She sighed and pulled the book from the shelf without reading its title. She was already in pain. The best thing to do would be to stop this now. She would only feel worse the longer she continued to allow Ian in her bed. Even as she thought it, her renegade body was tightening in anticipation for the next time. She muttered a very unladylike curse under her breath.

  “What?” Mari asked.

  She turned quickly. “Nothing, dear.”

  Her sister looked at her curiously, and then glanced at the book she held. “Thomas Mallory’s Le Morte D’Arthur? Are you feeling romantic?”

  Jillian looked down at the book. Tales of Arthur’s gallant knights fighting for their lady loves she didn’t need. Especially not Lancelot’s un-deterring quest for Guenevere. She bit her lip, remembering Lady Jersey’s remark. Damn good in bed, she’d said. Jillian began to feel the familiar heat rush to her face. Ian had been that and more.

  How was she going to get over him?

  She slammed the book down, startling Mari. “Sorry, sweet. Instead of reading, I think I had best go pay a visit to Lord Sherrington.”

  Mari arched her brows questioningly. “Is that proper?”

  “Probably not, but it’s something I have to do.”

  “Well, you might at least wait until the proper time to go calling. It’s not past noon yet.”

  “I know, love, but I really need to do this before Ian—Lord Cantford—returns.” He would be furious if he knew what she was doing, but if it could prevent the duel tomorrow morning, she would face his wrath later. She rang for the butler.

  “Have the carriage brought around, please,” she said when he appeared in the doorway. He hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  Givens cleared his throat. “Lord Cantford was very clear that you were not to leave the house without him.”

  Jillian stared at him. Just because Ian had bedded her didn’t give him the right to tell her what she could and could not do. “It is not for Lord Cantford to decide that, Givens. Kindly do as I request.”

  “Lord Newburn requested that you attend lunch with him this afternoon as well.”

  Jillian waved her hand. “By the time Lord Newburn rises, I shall be back.”

  Givens still looked uncomfortable and Jillian squelched the rising anger and irritation she was feeling. It wasn’t the butler’s fault that he was caught in a battle of wills. She laid a hand gently on his arm. “This is important, Givens. Please. A life may depend on it.”

  His eyes widened slightly and then he gave a stiff bow. “I’ll see to it then.”

  She thought she heard him mutter something about the saints preserving him from Ian’s wrath and she grimaced.

  Her handsome barbarian had not seen her wrath either…at least, not yet.

  A half hour later, she rang the bell at Sherrington’s townhouse and looked up at the tall windows on either side. The house was unusually quiet, and she began to worry that perhaps Mari had been right and she should have waited to call. But if Ian had come home, she wouldn’t have had this chance at all.

  Their butler finally opened the door, managing to convey disproval of the hour with a slight raise of an eyebrow, but his voice was flatly neutral.

  “Lady Sherrington is just finishing breakfast if you’d like to leave your card.”

  “Actually, I’ve come to see the earl,” Jillian answered and then raised her chin as surprise shown in the butler’s eyes.

  “Is Lord Sherrington expecting you, madam?” he asked.

  No doubt the gossip would be all over the staff quarters in a few minutes, but Jillian was still a marchioness—and a widow to boot—who had every right to ask to see an earl, even though she cringed inwardly at how highly irregular it was. “I did not have time to send a footman,” she said, “but it really is a matter of utmost importance.”

  The butler nearly sniffed, but caught himself. “Lord Sherrington isn’t in at the moment. I will inform him of your call.”

  “Whoever is at the door at this hour?” Delia came to stand behind the butler and peered around him, her eyes widening at the sight of Jillian. Then she smiled in a way that only another woman would recognize as a baring of fangs and said sweetly, “Really, Smythe, I’m surprised at you for keeping Lady Newburn standing on the step. Won’t you come in?”

  The butler stepped aside and Jillian followed Delia to the front parlor. After the door closed, Delia waved a well-manicured hand and indicated that Jillian should sit. “I can’t imagine
why you are here.”

  For a moment, Jillian was tempted to come up with an excuse for coming to see Delia rather than her husband. But that would accomplish nothing and she only had this one chance.

  “Actually, I needed to speak to Lord Sherrington. Will he be back shortly?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Delia replied. “He was a bit put out with me.”

  A bit? Enough to demand a duel that might end in death? Jillian took a deep breath. “It’s about that, actually.”

  One of Delia’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted. “Really? However would what happened concern you?”

  Jillian tried to choose her words carefully. “I believe that Lord Cantford made a mistake last night.”

  Delia laughed outright, sounding more like a doxie than a lady. “I should say so. The man tried to seduce me all evening, and when he caught me near the stairs, he practically forced me up to that bedchamber. Thank heavens, my husband intervened in time to prevent too much from happening.”

  Too much? Jillian felt a queasiness in her stomach. What state of disarray had they been in? Had Ian given Delia those hot, searing kisses that kindled Jillian’s whole body into flames? She didn’t want to think about his body covering Delia’s or where his hands might have touched and stroked the woman.

  But maybe Delia was lying about that. She was definitely lying about how what had taken place had happened. Ian would never force a woman into bed. Jillian was sure of that. Even if he did think that Delia had been Jillian.

  “Is that what your husband thinks happened?”

  Delia widened her eyes. “Well, of course. It’s just that we’re lucky Wesley—that is, Lord Newburn—happened to see me being practically abducted and informed William. My husband is most grateful to him.”

  Jillian pressed her hands together in her lap to keep from balling them into fists. Wesley again. He was a troublemaker. She began to wonder if he had instigated the whole thing. Delia was his lover. Could he have persuaded her to dress and act like Jillian to lure Ian into a trap?

  She pasted a smile on her face. “I’m most grateful that he was able to intervene before anything more disastrous occurred with you.”

  “Are you?” Delia’s slanted eyes studied her thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose you would be. Tell me, dear, is Lord Cantford as good in bed as he looks to be?”

  Jillian felt the betraying heat crawl up her face. Twenty-four hours ago she could quite truthfully have said she didn’t know. Now… She opened her mouth to retort and then closed it again, not knowing what to say.

  Delia almost purred. “That good? Perhaps my husband arrived a bit too soon.”

  The fact that Delia would so callously want to play cat-n-mouse with Ian while she had Wesley as a lover made Jillian want to be ill. The woman had absolutely no scruples. Lord Sherrington certainly didn’t deserve to die or even be wounded over the likes of his wife. Nor did Ian.

  Jillian lifted her head. “I’m quite content to be a widow, Lady Sherrington. The question is, are you?”

  A strange look passed across the other woman’s face and her smile flickered slightly. “Is Lord Cantford that good a shot?”

  Delia didn’t need to know what Ian’s intentions were. “He’s an excellent shot,” she said, “but blood does not need to be shed. That’s the reason I’m here. I wanted to ask the earl if he would accept a public apology instead of taking the field.” No need to tell Delia about the confession that Jillian intended to make.

  “Lord Cantford sent you to intercede for him?” Delia asked. “How manly.”

  Jillian’s temper flared. “He has no idea I’m here! The stubborn fool thinks taking the field is the only honorable thing to do.”

  Delia shrugged. “William feels the same way, of course. Men are stupid.”

  “But it doesn’t have to happen,” Jillian insisted. “If Lord Sherrington would be willing—”

  “I doubt it,” Delia interrupted. “After all, some barbarian nearly dragged me off by my hair. Naturally, I would expect my husband to champion me.”

  Jillian stared at her. “You want your husband to put himself at risk?”

  Delia tilted her head and slanted a look at Jillian. “I think I rather like the idea of his being willing to champion me. It reminds me of one of those Arthurian knights—Lancelot, was it?—going to defend the queen.”

  Lancelot again. Had all of Society suddenly become enamored with all things medieval? And yet, Jillian could almost picture Ian in armor, riding to challenge anyone who would harm the queen—or the king—because it was the honorable thing to do. With a sinking feeling, she realized that Ian would never back down. Not because he was afraid of being called a coward or was too proud to apologize for something he didn’t do, but because if he did, he wouldn’t respect himself again. Nor would Lord Sherrington. That was what Ian had tried to explain to her.

  “Are you planning to witness the duel?” Jillian asked.

  Excitement gleamed in Delia’s eyes for a moment before she masked her face into indifference. “Of course. I would hardly deny my knightly husband that. And Wesley—Lord Newburn—has assured me he will be there to lend me support.”

  I’m sure he will. Feckless Delia certainly didn’t deserve someone as honorable as Lord Sherrington. Not when she was welcoming Wesley into her bed. A wicked idea began to manifest in Jillian’s mind. She couldn’t keep the wanton woman from being unfaithful, but perhaps she could put a rift in that relationship.

  “Should I decide to attend Lord Newburn will, no doubt, be at my side.”

  Delia narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why do you say that?”

  Jillian smiled brilliantly at her. “Why, he’s asked me to marry him. Didn’t he tell you?”

  The smile remained in place, but Jillian saw a muscle twitch in Delia’s cheek. The other woman shook her head.

  “I don’t believe he did.”

  “My goodness, he mentioned it to all his friends at the club several weeks ago. Did the earl not mention it either?”

  Delia hesitated, then said slowly, “Now that I think about it, I believe William did say something about having heard that Wesley mentioned you might be part of the package.” Her eyes grew dark. “Like the rest of the property he inherited.”

  Jillian stood and pulled on her gloves. “Well, Wesley put the question to me in quite another way. In addition, he offered me quite a lovely gift.” Her beloved Andalusians, she thought wistfully and then pushed the thought away. “Of course, I haven’t said yes…yet.”

  She gave Delia another falsely bright smile and moved to the door. The butler immediately materialized and she wondered if he had overheard the conversation. She turned as she left.

  “Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  Delia bared her teeth in a smile. “Have no doubt about that, my dear.”

  Ian was waiting for her when she got home, his face set in stone. Jillian sighed. She would much rather have retreated to her bedroom to gather strength for this meeting, but obviously, she wasn’t going to have that chance. Mari looked worried, and Givens conspicuously disappeared after having let her in. At least it appeared that Wesley was still asleep. She walked to the library, Ian treading noiselessly behind her like a black panther stalking its prey.

  She went to stand by the fireplace and Mari crowded up against her. She gave her sister a weak smile.

  “Leave us, lass,” Ian said quietly.

  Mari shook her head, her sausage curls dancing. “You’re angry. I’ll not leave my sister alone with you.”

  Ian raised a brow. “I wilna hurt her. Ye have my word on that.”

  “No,” Mari said stubbornly.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Jillian cut in, her eyes meeting Ian’s. “Lord Cantford and I need to talk.”

  Her sister looked uncertain and Jillian nodded. “I’ll be all right.” Mari gave Ian one more defiant look and moved toward the door.

  “If you hurt her, I swear, I’ll shoot you before the Earl of S
herrington can.”

  “Mari!” Jillian was shocked. Her little sister was not a violent person.

  Ian smiled. “Mari, if I harm your sister, I deserve to be shot. Now run along.”

  He waited while she threw Jillian one more worried look and then retreated. Ian closed the door behind her.

  “You went to him.”

  It wasn’t a question and Jillian sensed there was danger in that soft, low voice he used. She would almost prefer that he shout at her so she could return fire.

  “I did.”

  He paced over to her and she instinctively took a step backward and then another until she bumped against the wall near the fireplace. Ian stopped mere inches from her and braced his hands on the wall beside her head, effectively closing her in.

  “I thought we had this discussion this morn,” he said. “I told ye not to do it.”

  Jillian wasn’t sure if the heat radiating from him was due to anger or just being male. Her female parts reacted to it anyway, her nipples budding and her womb tightening. She tossed her head, trying to ignore his closeness.

  “I didn’t agree with you.”

  He arched his eyebrow again. No doubt he was used to being obeyed in Scotland. Maybe he expected her to become a slobbering fool once he’d made love to her. Jillian narrowed her eyes. Maybe that was why he had taken her to bed. So sure that he could bend her to his will once he’d titillated and awakened every single nerve ending in her body. Her temper began to sizzle along with the rest of her.

  “What right did you have to tell Givens not to let me leave?” she demanded.

  His dark eyes penetrated hers. “I dinna want ye to see the earl. I thought I made it plain enough that I must fight him.”

  His gaze pinned her to the wall as surely as the cage he’d made with his hands and body did. An image flashed into her mind of him sitting on a dais in full Highland regalia, making decisions for his clan. He was a man who wasn’t used to having his orders ignored. Yet she also saw something else in his eyes. Almost a pleading that she understand what this meant to him. And, in a way, after her conversation with Delia, she did. She felt her anger fade away.