Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  Wesley moved over to them. “If you’d like to look at the ledgers, I’m sure you’ll find that we are asking reasonable amounts for each.”

  Noting the smug look on Wesley’s face, Ian waited.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Liverpool said as he closed the stud book. “I always enjoy a little haggling, but not until I see the stock, of course.”

  “I insist,” Wesley said, a little too loudly and pushed the offending ledger toward him. He opened it and thumbed through several pages. “Ah…let me find the latest page…” A frown began to appear on his face. “I know it’s here… The latest prices from last season… Ah!” Wesley pulled the piece of paper from near the back and then his face paled. The frown reappeared and he set his lips in a tight, white line.

  “Did you find something?” Ian asked.

  The look that Wesley shot him was filled with malice. Ian smiled. Wesley slowly crumbled the blank paper in his hand.

  “Nothing,” he muttered.

  “Glad to hear it,” Ian replied affably. “For a moment, I thought it might be something important.”

  Wesley glared at him, his eyes promising revenge. “Why don’t you take Lord Liverpool to the ballroom?” he said between clenched teeth. “I’ll just return these to the library and join you.”

  Ian nodded and walked with the prime minister to the door. He turned just before they left.

  “Newburn,” he said and smiled pleasantly. “Make sure the fire is banked in there, will you?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ian left Lord Liverpool in the capable hands of Lady Jersey and searched the ballroom for Sherrington. If the letter from Marshal Ney were authentic, then Wellington needed to be notified. He and Sherrington were friends, Jillian had once said.

  Sherrington and his wife were speaking to the Havishams. He wasn’t about to join them. His eyes lit on Abigail, standing alone and looking rather forlorn near the punch bowl. He managed to elude both Amelia and Violetta on his way across the dance floor to her.

  “Would ye like some punch?” he asked with a smile as he poured a cup and held it out to her.

  She jumped and blushed furiously, then looked around to see to whom he might be speaking. “Pardon me?”

  “Ye did naught to be pardoned for, lass,” he said and placed the cup in her hand. Her eyes behind the glasses grew wide and he felt her tremble. Had no mon ever brought her punch before?

  “Tha-Thank you,” she managed to say and flashed a tremulous smile at him. “You’re very kind, my lord.”

  Ian frowned slightly. The girl had a beautiful smile that made her face light up. He thought it was a damn shame that these young bucks were so taken with the flighty, flirtatious nitwits that they didn’t appreciate the quiet girl standing here. Her skin was flawless, creamy now that the redness was residing. The gown was the wrong color for her and her hair was pulled back too tightly. Her mother probably didn’t want anyone to realize that her daughter could be more attractive. Ian exchanged pleasantries with her, pushing aside a twinge of guilt that he might be using her to get her father’s attention.

  “Would ye like to dance?” he asked.

  She blushed again and Ian was reminded of how easily Jillian’s fair skin would color becomingly. Maybe later he would be able to make her blush too, with some wickedly placed kisses.

  “Abigail, why don’t you join your mother?” Sherrington said as he walked up behind Ian. “I would like a word with Lord Cantford.”

  “Yes, Father.” Abigail bobbed a quick curtsy to both of them and scurried off like a rabbit thankful that the fox had been held at bay.

  Sherrington raised an eyebrow. “Are none of the women in my family safe from you, Cantford?”

  Ian met his gaze unwaveringly. “I can assure ye, they both are. I need to talk to ye.”

  The earl studied him for a moment without speaking. Then abruptly he nodded. “Lead on.”

  Ian took him back to the library, making sure that Wesley was occupied elsewhere. He closed and bolted the door. “Please have a seat, my lord.”

  Sherrington took one of the two leather chairs in front of the desk. “What’s this about?” he asked.

  Ian took a deep breath. Ironically, he trusted this man. Would Sherrington trust him though? Quickly, he told him what had transpired.

  The older man steepled his hands thoughtfully, his elbows on the chair arms, as he listened to what Ian had to say. “So you think information has actually been sent to the French commander or is this letter false and meant to get you branded a traitor?” His eyes went to the fireplace. “I assume you’ve burned it?”

  “Nae. I wanted ye to see it.” Ian answered as he withdrew the letter and handed it to Sherrington.

  The earl took it and read, and then looked up. “You’re taking quite a chance, showing me this. You’d have a hard time proving your innocence since you aren’t English. I could go straight to the Prince of Wales myself.”

  “Aye. Ye could.”

  ‘But you don’t think I will. Why shouldn’t I?”

  Ian straightened his shoulders. “Because I think ye would prefer that England wins this war. Yer friend, Wellington, needs to be warned that Marshal Ney has some kind of information about English plans. I have no proof other than that letter, but he would take heed if the message came from ye, wouldna he?”

  “Umm. I suppose he would.” The earl reread the letter once more and then stood. “I’ll send a courier at once.” He smiled slightly. “I had better get back to the dance before I find myself having to call another man out for incriminating circumstances.”

  “About that—” Ian started to say when Sherrington held up a hand.

  “I know my wife,” he said quietly. “You need say no more.” He handed the letter back to Ian. “I won’t be needing this.”

  Ian stayed in the library after the earl had gone and fed the letter to the small flame in the hearth. He watched the real letter dissolve to ashes, feeling he had been right to trust Sherrington.

  Now all he had to do was prove Wesley the culprit.

  Wesley clenched his fists. How had that damn Highlander eluded him once again? He had been sure that hiding the incriminating letter in the last ledger would be a safe wager. Lorelei had told him a story once that certain Scots had fey blood in them that protected them. He had laughed and thought she was building a fantasy for him. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “You seem really tense,” Delia said as she pressed her body against his turned back and ran her hands across his stomach and then lower. “Why don’t you let me get you to relax?”

  He turned away from the window in the solar and the perennial darkness and reached for her breasts. “What do you have in mind, pet?”

  She smiled and pulled him to the settee. She loosened his trousers and then hiked up her skirts to straddle him. She stroked herself with his staff before impaling herself on it. “Something like this.”

  “Ah,” Wesley groaned and lay back, letting her do the work. Delia had a sexual appetite that matched his. She was nearly always wet and ready for him and didn’t demand a lot of fooling around beforehand. He wondered idly how long it would take to train Jillian to pleasure him like this. He squeezed Delia’s breasts hard and she began to whimper.

  “We’d better hurry before your husband realizes you are missing,” he said as he flexed his hips upward to go deeper.

  “William won’t miss me,” she said. “He wandered off with Cantford. Maybe they’ll finish what they started on the hill the other morning.”

  Wesley started, his cock softening considerably at the news. Why would the Scot go off with Sherrington, of all people? He had an uneasy feeling. Surely, the man wouldn’t tell Sherrington about the purloined letter? No, of course not. Wesley had seen the remnants of that letter in the fireplace in the library. Cantford had even told him to look there. He almost laughed in relief.

  Delia frowned. “Aren’t you liking what I’m doing?”

  He was feeling much
more confident and his cock was responding. “Do you have to ask?” he growled and then suddenly rolled off the settee with her and flipped her over on her back. “Let me show you how much.”

  He drove into her hard, wishing that the particular weapon that he was sliding into her wet sheath was really a sword penetrating the Highlander. Once and for all, the man would be dead.

  “Why are ye avoiding me, lass?” Ian asked the next morning when he found Jillian grooming her favorite mare in the box stall.

  She tensed, causing the mare to toss her head and neigh. She frowned and automatically began to soothe the horse. “I’m not avoiding you.” With a final pat, she moved toward the door.

  Ian blocked her path. “Ye are. Ye are skittish as a filly to a new halter. Why? Ye have naught to fear from me.”

  If anything, she looked even more wary. He stepped closer and cupped her chin lightly, his thumb brushing her cheek. “What is it, lass?”

  She swallowed hard. “We can’t… That is, I don’t think it’s a good idea…if we’re alone together.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “Why not, lass? Ye canna deny that ye enjoyed my touch. It seems to me I pleasured ye well. I canna deny that I enjoy your touch. We fit together verra nice, nae?”

  She blushed at the innuendo and Ian was glad to see her mind ran along the same lines as his. Their naked bodies did fit. Her soft curves molded to him perfectly and he wanted nothing more than to show her in how many other positions they would fit.

  “’Tis not so, Jillian?” From the look on her face, he was sure she’d bolt if he didn’t have the stall door blocked with his body.

  Her chin came up defiantly when she realized she was trapped. “You need to find a wife, Lord Cantford. I’m not it. We both know that.”

  “Ye are the one I want.”

  “That can’t be,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “You need an heir and I need the coin the prince will pay once you’re betrothed. Please, Ian. Leave me alone.”

  His hand fell away. It was the same argument that they kept having. He wished he could make her understand how much he wanted her and not just in his bed. He yearned for her when they were apart. He wanted the right to touch her in public whenever he wanted and not have to abide by the silly rules of English Society. He thought she had felt the same way. Her passionate responses to his kisses had told him that.

  But there was her sister to consider. Everything that Jillian did was so Mari could have her Season and find a suitable husband and have children. Children that Jillian could be an aunt to. Family was more important than whatever lustful indulgences they had shared. He, of all people, should know that. He was in England, after all, for the sake of his clan. His people. Mari was the only family Jillian had.

  With a sigh, he stepped aside. “All right, my wee sassenach, ye have my word I willna seduce ye, even if we are alone, unless ye ask me to do the deed. We do have work to do with the horses, ye ken.”

  Emotions flowed across her face. Relief. Skepticism. Disappointment? He wished he knew. “Go, lass.”

  With a slight frown, she slipped past him. He forced himself to keep his hands at his side as he watched her go.

  How he was going to keep his end of the bargain, he didn’t know, but he had given her his word, a laird’s word, and he would keep it. But it was going to be the hardest thing he would ever do.

  Jillian regarded Ian out of the corner of her eye later that afternoon as they were working with the horses. Did he really mean to leave her alone? The thought put her in an arbitrary mood. She had been tired all day after a restless night. Even though she knew it was for the best—the pain of losing him after only two encounters was already bad enough—a part of her had wanted him to persuade her otherwise. Whatever had happened to her calm, logical reserve and the shield she kept around her heart?

  “I think the filly at the far end is a keeper,” Ian said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Jillian looked across the paddock. It was one of the yearlings, but already the young horse’s conformation stood out. The broad forehead with the slightly dished face, the large liquid eyes placed within an orbital arch. Her back was short with a well-rounded croup and she naturally arched her neck.

  “Her sire is Gunnar,” Jillian replied. “She’d be one of my picks too.”

  As though the young horse knew they were talking about her, she tossed her head and then trotted along the fence, her gait graceful and smooth.

  “She’s got a trot ye could ride all day,” Ian remarked as the filly came closer. He held out a hand and she snuffled at it. “Beautiful girl,” he said softly.

  Jillian narrowed her eyes. He had said he’d leave her alone. Did he mean to try to seduce her with words? She glanced at him, only to realize he was talking to the filly. Jillian looked away, cheeks aflame, before Ian would notice. Hmph. It made absolutely no sense to be jealous of a horse. Good Lord, had she totally lost her wits?

  The young horse nickered in response and stepped closer, nuzzling his shoulder. Jillian already knew that females, including married ones, were attracted to Ian. Apparently, the same applied for horses.

  “She seems as smitten with you as human ladies are,” Jillian said with a smile. “Do you use faerie magic on us—I mean, on them? On the ladies at the dances...the ones who hold out their dance cards for you…” She was babbling and felt her face grow warm. Why had she said us?

  His dark eyes were inscrutable as he looked at her and just the faintest trace of a smile made the corner of his mouth turn up. “Nae, lass. I find such attention to be more a curse than a blessing.” He leaned against the fence, one arm draped over the filly’s neck, his hand playing with her silken mane.

  Mesmerized, like the proverbial moth drawn to the flame, Jillian watched those skillful fingers sift through the silvery strands of hair, remembering how he had wrapped strands of her own hair around his hand on the bench by the rosebushes. And how that hand had slowly followed the curve of her throat and slipped down to caress her breast. How he had skillfully rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she arched into him, rubbing the other breast against his chest for sheer relief…

  “Are ye all right?”

  Jillian blinked, jerking herself back to reality. It didn’t help that the horse had her eyes half-closed in contentment. “I…I’m fine. Perhaps we should see about trying to get Gunnar from the pasture and into the barn. He hates enclosed spaces, but I’m sure Wesley will want to see him.”

  “Gunnar’s already here,” Ian answered.

  “What?”

  “After our…um, agreement this morning, I felt like I needed to talk to someone. Gunnar is a wise horse. He listened.”

  Jillian furrowed her brows. “But how did you get him up here?”

  Ian shrugged. “I rode him.”

  She felt her eyes widening. “He’s not broken.”

  Ian’s mouth quirked. “He didn’t tell me that.”

  She eyed him. Surely he didn’t mean that literally, although she was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something magical about him after all. He’d managed to bespell her body and she wasn’t too sure about her mind either.

  “Show me.”

  “I’ll get Gunnar,” Ian said. “Why don’t ye have the groom saddle a horse for ye as well?”

  “You want me to ride you?”

  He raised a brow. “’Twould be my pleasure, lass. The horses can wait.”

  “What? Oh!” Jillian’s hands flew to her face, knowing it must be scarlet. And Ian’s mouth was twitching. Was he laughing at her? She put her hands down and glared at him. Or tried to. “I meant, do you want me to ride with you?”

  He grinned. “Pillion?”

  Oooh! Was the man being deliberately obtuse? He had agreed not to seduce her, but he hadn’t agreed not to use her own words against her. “I don’t think Gunnar would accept two riders, my lord.”

  “I could ask him.”

  She slanted a look at him, not quite sure if he w
ere serious or not. Then she shook her head. Horses don’t understand human language. If she didn’t stop this nonsense, she’d be believing in faerie magic too.

  “I’ll get my horse,” she said and went into the house to change.

  When she reappeared a short time later, her mare was saddled and Ian was astride a docile-looking Gunnar.

  She stared. “You’re going to ride him bareback?”

  “Aye. Having nothing between his flesh and my legs gives me a real feel for how Gunnar moves. Think on it.”

  What she thought about was having his flesh between her legs like he had been that night he showed her how much pleasure could be had there. And yes, she had been aware of his moves. Each and every sinfully wicked one of them. Drat it. There she went again. From the satisfied little smirk on Ian’s face, her lustful thoughts were probably written all over her face. She really was going to have to learn to play that vile American card game called poker, where winning depended on keeping a passive face.

  “What have we here?” Wesley interrupted as he walked toward them.

  “We’re going to go for a short ride,” Jillian said as Finley helped her mount. “Lord Cantford tells me he’s broken our best stu—stallion—to saddle.”

  Wesley snorted. “I don’t see one. Just like a barbarian to not use a saddle. How uncivilized.”

  “Would ye like him saddled?” Ian asked. “Perhaps ye’d like to take him for a walk yourself?”

  Jillian glanced at him. Was he handing her over to Wesley? The last person she wanted to be alone with was her stepson. Her master of horse winked at her.

  Wesley’s eyes narrowed as he walked around the magnificent horse. “I believe I might, Cantford. Only I won’t hold him for a walk.” He glanced at Jillian. “You’ll join me, of course.”

  She could have kicked herself for already being mounted. She couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to change her mind, and she didn’t want Wesley kicking Ian out of the house in a fit of temperament if she refused.

  “Very well.”