Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  Mari tilted her head to one side. “What’s wrong?”

  Jillian blinked, not realizing that she had been standing there, holding a garment and staring off into space. “I was just thinking about the horses,” she said. “This may be the last chance I have to work with them. Next year, we may not be invited to attend the house party.” Not that she wanted to stay in the same house with Wesley ever again once the prince paid her…if he paid her. She would have her own home.

  Which brought her back to the fact that Ian needed to choose a bride.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. If Ian didn’t marry, she didn’t get paid and Mari’s prospects of a Season and a good marriage evaporated. If she got the money and bought the house, she would have lost Ian.

  She was going to lose, either way.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Wesley said at supper when she asked him to have Ian stay with them to work with the horses.

  She ignored the inscrutable look that Ian gave her across the table and contemplated Wesley. His acquiescence had been almost too easy. Why was he agreeing so readily? She knew he didn’t like Ian.

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” she said.

  “Ça ne me fait rien.” Wesley shrugged and took a swallow of wine. “It leaves me time to tend to money matters and deciding which staff to cut.”

  Mari gave Jillian a startled look, but she shook her head imperceptibly at her sister. She wasn’t about to let Wesley goad her into an argument that might lead to his changing his mind. She would check with Mrs. Willows once she got to Newburn and find out what kind of accommodations had been made since their last visit.

  Jillian caught Ian watching her. He hadn’t spoken to her since he returned late that afternoon. It was hard to tell if he were still angry with her over attending the duel. She was pretty sure he wasn’t used to having anyone thwart him so openly. With Mari sleeping in her room, she wasn’t going to be able to find out tonight either.

  The evening seemed to drag on. Wesley showed no signs of leaving for either an assignation or to one of the clubs, instead choosing to drink brandy in the library where she and Mari sat. Ian was there too, but he buried his nose in Le Morte D’Arthur and rarely looked up. Even Mari’s incessant chatter was wearing down. Jillian had answered as many of her questions as she could. Yes, there would be dancing at Newburn. Yes, there would be lawn games and riding and hunting as well. Finally, she stood.

  “I believe Mari and I will take your leave and retire,” she said.

  Both men looked up, Wesley somewhat bleary-eyed. Ian closed his book. “I’ll escort ye to your rooms.”

  “Like hell you will,” Wesley said and staggered to his feet. “I’ll do it.”

  “Gentlemen,” Jillian said, a little more loudly than she intended. “There is no need. I doubt that Mari and I will get lost in the hallway. Good night.” Taking her sister’s hand, she almost dragged her through the doorway and down the hall. The last thing she needed was for them to get into fisticuffs just when Wesley had agreed to let Ian stay at Newburn.

  She closed and bolted the door. Darcy was already there, waiting to help them undress. The maid yawned widely.

  “I’ve got everything packed for both of you. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  “Ummm,” Mari agreed and snuggled under the light blanket. “I’m going to get a good night’s sleep so I’ll be ready to go.”

  Jillian climbed in beside her and laid her head on the pillow. It was almost impossible for her to relax. Her mind churned with what to do about the horses and how to make sure the staff would be okay. She tried not to think about Ian upstairs in his bed chamber. She still had no idea of how angry he was. His face had been impassive all evening, his tone neutral when he spoke, his words not directed at her for the most part.

  She tossed and turned long after she heard Mari’s deep, even breathing and the gentle snore from Darcy on the cot.

  Pushing the covers aside, she sat and slipped on her robe. She hesitated in the hallway, tempted to go up the stairs and knock on Ian’s door. She smiled a little, thinking about how brazen she had become since Ian made love to her. Just thinking about his hands stroking over her bare skin made her shiver with longing.

  But Wesley’s room was up there too, and she would have to go past it to get to Ian. The risk was too great. With a sigh, she turned and padded toward the kitchen and let herself out the back door to the small area where she had planted several rose bushes and installed a bench. It wasn’t the country, but it was a quiet place to think.

  “I was wondering if ye’d come,” Ian said from the darkness.

  Her heart skipped a beat. He was here. She smiled, remembering the trepidation she had with that very same thought when he’d first arrived, weeks ago. Now her trepidation was of an entirely different kind. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw him sitting on the bench.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  He reached out, took her hand and pulled her down beside him. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “I should be. Ye disobeyed me. How did ye escape?”

  Jillian stiffened and tried to move away, but his arm had her firmly anchored. “I have my ways. Besides, you don’t own me, Ian Macleod.”

  He chuckled and nuzzled her ear. “Nae, but I have claimed ye.”

  His breath tickled her ear sensually, but she forced herself to ignore it. “Claimed me? Like I’m some kind of freight that was dropped off at the docks?”

  He slid his hand slowly down her arm until his fingertips brushed the side of her breast. “Not quite like freight, lass. Or do ye need another lesson in how a woman is claimed by a mon?” Lazily, he traced a path around her areola, leaving the tight nipple agonizingly alone.

  The soft silk of her robe brushing against it only heightened the torture of its need to be touched by him. Of how her whole body was reacting, readying itself for him. She mewled softly as his mouth covered hers, kissing her fully, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth, then withdrawing and thrusting again, in imitation of what another part of him would do. Jillian felt wetness gush between her legs and then felt the coolness of the night air as he opened the robe and slid the thin material off her shoulder, exposing the tormented breast. She arched, pushing it into his hand. Dear Lord, if he didn’t soon… She almost cried with relief as he bent his dark head and began to suckle. His hand stroked up her leg and he lifted her thigh across his, opening her to him.

  Two fingers slipped inside her, pumping, while his thumb flicked over her throbbing nub. She felt the tension mounting as he inserted a third finger and thrust deep inside of her. Inner muscles fluttered, began to contract, a wave of frenzy and desire building to a crest. Then he flexed his fingers, pressing along that inner nerve and the floodgates opened. The wave crashed over her, nearly wiping her from consciousness completely.

  She lay limp against him, her leg still straddled over his, the night air cool against her hot, swollen core and the dampness of the nipple that had been fully satiated.

  “That,” Ian said softly as he tugged the robe up over her breast and rearranged her crunched gown, “is how I claim ye. Do ye have any doubts, lass?”

  Jillian opened her mouth to retort and then closed it again. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a rebuttal. Maybe being claimed wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

  Jillian tried not to show her disappointment the next morning when Ian decided to ride astride rather than in the carriage. Even though Darcy and Mari were with her, she still wanted Ian’s company. He had claimed her on that bench two more times last night before letting her retreat to her bedchamber where she had slept like she’d swallowed a bottle of laudanum.

  It was a long ride, the carriage bumping along dusty roads once they left London. At midday, they stopped for lunch at an inn, but Wesley hovered over her. She had no chance to speak to Ian alone, although he did give her a long look, his eyes focusing on her breasts, before he gave her a quick wink and a grin when he caught
her staring across the room at him. She looked down at her plate quickly. Her all-too-traitorous body was thrilled with such a scandalous display from him while her mind chided her. How could he take what he had done to her last night so casually?

  He had even showed her how to pleasure him with her hand. She had been surprised at how velvety his skin felt and how his member grew thick and hard as steel beneath her hand. She enjoyed stroking the veined throbbing shaft and marveled in the satiny smoothness of his tip. She blushed suddenly, remembering that she thought she had hurt him when he groaned loudly and suddenly covered himself with a linen handkerchief. He’d assured her he was anything but hurt.

  She looked up to find him watching her, an amused look on his face as though he could read her thoughts. She felt her face heat even more. She never had been good at playing whist— her partners always said her emotions showed on her face. Ian didn’t need the kenning he had told her about to know just where her thoughts lay.

  The rest of the drive, she was lost in hazy daydreams of him. Mari complained twice about her not listening and then gave up on her. Darcy, a knowing look on her face, kept up the chatter that Mari loved to indulge in.

  It was twilight by the time they reached Newburn, and after a simple but delicious meal of freshly baked bread, pea soup and mince pie, followed with a lemon tart, Adams came to show Ian to his quarters on the third floor in the opposite wing from where Jillian and Mari would be staying. She had seen Wesley speak to Adams on their arrival. No doubt he had made sure Ian would be as far away as possible.

  No matter. Guests would begin arriving tomorrow and the house would be full. It was one of the reasons she’d used in insisting that Mari share a room with her, and that the bedchamber next to Wesley’s—traditionally her room—be kept open should the Prince of Wales decide to visit. Jillian managed to get Mrs. Willows to have her trunks sent to a room at the far end of the hall.

  She fingered the key in her pocket. Wesley had said nothing about wedding plans lately, but neither did she think he’d discarded them. If she’d caused enough trouble between him and Delia so that the woman had actually denied Wesley, Jillian didn’t want to take any chances on an unexpected visit from him either. Even if Darcy and Mari were in the room with her.

  It saddened her that she would probably not enjoy her last trip to Newburn. Her last time to see her beloved horses. At least Mrs. Willows had confided that the staff had managed to squirrel away enough supplies to tide them over when they were let go, so Jillian didn’t need to worry about them.

  Now all she had to do was convince Ian to choose a bride so she could get her coin and move on with her life. Pain stabbed her heart when she thought about it, worse now than the first time they had made love. She chewed on her lower lip. She had known this would happen…had told herself that the one experience was enough. Last night had proved that it wasn’t. How was she going to give Ian up? She didn’t think she could stand it if the pain got much worse.

  There was only one thing to do…not let the Highlander claim her again.

  Ian leaned back in the leather chair in the library and rubbed his eyes. Wesley had given him the breeding-stock ledgers earlier and he’d been going over them all afternoon. In addition to Gunnar, there were two other studs along with twenty brood mares. He and Jillian had spent yesterday looking over the colts and fillies to determine which ones to sell and which ones to add to the herd.

  He tapped his fingers on the table. Something was wrong with Jillian. Every time he had gotten close to her, she’d moved away. When he’d taken her arm to steer her clear of a pile of dung in the pasture, she had nearly jumped out of his grasp. She’d gone back to calling him my lord too.

  How could a woman who reacted so passionately to his kisses and touch suddenly become so cold? He knew he aroused her. No lass could climax that quickly and easily if she weren’t. There was nothing false about Jillian either. He had felt those inner muscles contract and clench his fingers each time she so deliciously came for him. He thought he had thawed the ice around her heart. He shuddered slightly, remembering how tentative her touch had been at first and her growing confidence as he grew beneath her hand. His cock had nearly spilled his seed immediately, like some green schoolboy. He’d had to call on every bit of will-power he had to delay that moment, especially when her silky fingers stroked the tip of his shaft. Even now, his groin tightened in response.

  Tiredly, he closed the ledger and pushed it aside. He had a list of which animals were up for sale and he’d give that to Wesley tomorrow. Tonight, he had to endure another of those interminable parties.

  Mari met him as he walked down the hall toward the dining room later that evening. As usual, she nearly bounced with enthusiasm. “Did you hear?” she asked. “Lord Liverpool just arrived.”

  Ian stifled a groan. If the prime minister were in attendance, Ian would have to play the part of the amorous suitor to several of the twittering girls that flitted about. He had hoped to dance with Jillian. “I suppose that will make Newburn happy?”

  Mari smiled widely. “It’s an honor for us. Lady Jersey will remember it next year when the invitations go out.”

  “Aye, lass.” The child was such an innocent. All that concerned her was that she be invited to all the right parties and find a husband. She probably didn’t think past the ball gowns and dinners to what went on between a mon and woman when the bedrooms doors were closed. She probably dinna know. The wrong mon could be much worse than no mon, as Jillian knew. Suddenly, Ian had the fierce desire to protect this little sister from that fate.

  He pushed aside the thought that he too was supposed be finding a wife with a dowry who would breed sons for him. Damn English Society. Dinna it matter that a mon needed to find his true mate?

  Adams announced dinner and Ian escorted Mari to her seat beside a young blond man who looked at her admiringly. He turned red and quickly looked away when Ian glared at him.

  He found himself seated far down the table from Jillian, who presided as hostess. He comforted himself with the fact that Wesley had to sit at the other end as host. Liverpool was seated to Jillian’s right. Sherrington and his non-contrite wife were near Wesley. Lady Jersey sat across from Ian and, irritatingly, Violetta was to his right and Amelia to his left. It was going to be a long dinner.

  Ian sat through courses of pheasant soup, haunches of venison and braised ham, truffles and an assortment of fruits and cheeses, taking care that he not talk to one of the young ladies more than the other. He praised Mari’s virtues to Lady Jersey, causing both Amelia and Violetta to pout. Lady Jersey looked amused, but didn’t make any of her usual forthright remarks.

  They were getting ready to go up to the ballroom after a dessert of ginger ice cream and Manchester pudding with clotted cream, when Wesley signaled to him. He dinna think he would ever be grateful to Newburn for anything, but an escape from feminine clutches made him almost smile at the mon. Liverpool was with him.

  “So sorry to detain you,” the prime minister said when he approached, “but I’m quite interested in seeing some of your Andalusians. Newburn tells me there will be some colts and fillies for sale?”

  “Yes, my lord. I can show them to you tomorrow, if you like.”

  “Splendid,” Liverpool replied.

  “I’ve an idea,” Wesley said. “It’s too dark to see the stock right now, but why don’t we retire to the smoking room for a brandy and give you a chance to look over the stud book?” He turned to Ian. “I believe it’s with the stack of ledgers I gave you.”

  “I hate to keep you from the young ladies,” Liverpool answered.

  “Nonsense,” Wesley said jovially. “My ears need a bit of quiet anyway.”

  For once, Ian had to agree with him. The constant chirping from Amelia and Violetta had grated on him. “As do mine,” he said.

  Liverpool looked at both of them. “Well, then…perhaps a moment?”

  “Of course,” Wesley answered and gestured for him to proceed down
the hall. “Cantford, bring all the books, will you?”

  Ian nodded and went to the library. He gathered up the ledgers along with the stud book, balancing it on top. As he turned, one of the ledgers slipped and fell to the floor. Ian leaned down to pick it up and noticed a corner of paper sticking out. Setting the others down, he pulled it out.

  As he read, he felt the blood draining from his face. It was a letter addressed to him from Marshal Michel Ney, Napoleon’s second-in command, stating that the information had been received and troops would be in place to stop Wellington.

  Ian fingered the paper. It had not been in the ledger earlier. There had been no loose paper. Which meant that someone had put it in there after he’d left the room earlier.

  The hairs on his nape bristled with the kenning.

  Wesley.

  This whole thing was a ruse. Wesley had insisted that Liverpool look at the stud book. He had asked Ian to bring all the books, so that Wesley wouldn’t be accused of planting the letter. He probably didn’t expect Ian to look through any of the ledgers first, not with the prime minister waiting. And Ian wouldn’t have caught it, had it not been for the book slipping.

  Perhaps the Sidhe-fae did come into England. Had he been caught with this, he would have been arrested. He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket and then walked to the hearth where the embers still glowed. Taking the poker, he coaxed them into a small flame and held a blank piece of paper to it. At the last minute, he extinguished the flame, leaving the partially burnt piece there. Then he inserted another blank page inside the ledger.

  He kept his face passive as he returned to the smoking room where Wesley had just lit a cigar. He set the books down in from of Liverpool and opened the stud book. “These are the colts and fillies that will be for sale,” he said.

  The prime minister studied them. “A good assortment.”