Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (21 page)

The familiar royal horn sounded just then and Jillian groaned. With a flourish, the butler announced that the Prince of Wales had arrived.

Prinny glided in, surprisingly light on his feet for one so heavy. His entourage swarmed in after him as footmen scurried to take hats and gloves. Lord Sherrington met them with a bow while Delia curtsied and managed a smile that didn’t look all that proper. The prince grinned.

“This way, Your Royal Highness,” she said and made a graceful gesture toward some gilded chairs. “I’ll see refreshments brought.”

Jillian melted into the shadows near the terrace door and prayed Ian would remember how to behave. She watched the prince’s eyes scan the room and then rest on Ian, who was talking with Lady Tindale.

Wesley approached Prinny and bowed, then said something that caused the prince to frown slightly. He waved his hand, dismissing the men who surrounded him and gestured for Wesley to sit. She could practically see Wesley’s smirk from where she stood, but then her own brow furrowed as she saw the prince’s frown deepen as he looked back to Ian. She had seen Ian do nothing wrong. What was Wesley telling him?

Jillian moved toward the door that opened on to the terrace and then froze as one of Prinny’s set tapped her shoulder.

“The prince would like a word with you, Lady Newburn.”

So she wasn’t going to get her reprieve after all. At least Ian was acting like a gentleman, now giving Abigail a big smile as he offered his arm for a dance. The poor girl practically swooned and that unfamiliar pain cut through Jillian again.

She took a deep breath and followed Lord Yarmouth back to the improvised dais where Prinny sat. “Your Royal Highness,” she said and dipped a curtsy.

“Sit, my dear,” the prince said and waved at the chair that Wesley had vacated. “We wish to discuss Lord Cantford.”

Jillian clasped her hands in her lap and tried not to fidget. “He’s doing rather well, I think. He’s been a most apt student.”

Prinny studied her. “And has he indicated which of the lovely young ladies he wishes to wed?”

She hoped her face wasn’t blazing like a sunset. “No, Your Royal Highness. He has been with us but a few weeks. I… He probably wishes to make the best match possible and thus takes his time with that decision.”

The prince nodded. “Of course. We would wish for him to have a successful marriage.”

Jillian hid her surprise. The prince rarely acknowledged the fact that his own marriage to his cousin, Caroline, had been disastrous. Would he be willing to give Ian more time? Then his next words shattered that hope.

“Still, We would wish him wed unless you know of any reason he should not be?”

This time she knew her face flamed. How could he possibly know that Ian had said he wanted to wed her? No. It couldn’t be that. At any rate, Ian had hesitated when she mentioned his clan’s heir, so that only proved he had spoken in haste.

“I know of no reason.”

“Hmmm. Has Lord Cantford mentioned the French who live on his Scottish lands?” the prince asked.

Puzzled, she replied, “He’s said nothing, but aren’t there French exiles living all over Scotland?”

“There are still some. Many went back to France when Napoleon returned. We would wish to know if Lord Cantford is, indeed, harboring any Frenchmen loyal to the Revolution. We would not want a new English earl befriending them.”

Jillian had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The prince loved to speak in riddles and she was sure this was one of them. But what was he alluding to? She couldn’t very well ask unless she had permission to speak.

Prinny smiled benevolently and patted her hand. “We do not wish to worry you, my lady. You may go.”

As she took her leave, she realized the prince had made no mention of paying her.

She headed for the terrace, definitely in need of some fresh air. She moved out of the stream of light stretching across the beamed floor and into the shadows where she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of nearby rose bushes.

Ian found her there a short time later.

“Ye disappeared. I thought ye’d left again,” he said.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. He stood close enough for her to feel the heat from his massive body. She smiled wanly. “It’s not wise to leave while the Prince Regent is here.”

“Ah. I met him.”

Her stomach felt like it had a lump of coal in it. “Did the meeting go well?”

“I suppose,” Ian replied and leaned against the wall beside her. “I doona think I made any mistakes.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply… Actually, your manners have been quite good. I’ve been meaning to tell you that.”

Ian smiled, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

“You’ve been a willing pupil.” Then, before he could reply to that, she added, “Did he…did he ask if you’ve decided on a wife?”

“Aye.”

Several more lumps of coal joined the one already burning in her stomach. “”What…what did you say?”

“I said that with so many lovely lasses, it was hard to choose.”

“Why, my lord, that sounds almost poetic. And very English.”

Ian moved in front of her, a hand braced against the wall on either side of her, effectively trapping her with his body, although he did not touch her. “Aye, lass. ’Tis what the English dandies would say amidst their foppery. A Scot would do this.” He bent his head down and slanted his lips across hers in a slow, full, moist kiss. He brushed tiny kisses along her jaw to her ear and then he stopped.

Her body was reacting to him, every nerve ending tingling for more closeness, but he kept himself a few maddening inches from those body parts that wanted to be pressed up against him the most. His warm breath fanned across Jillian’s cheek, but he made no move to kiss her again. Instead, he murmured, “And a Scot would tell the royal pompous arse the name of the woman he wanted. Jillian.”

“You didn’t!” Horrified, she looked up at him. Prinny would never believe that she didn’t deliberately seduce Ian, and she knew what happened when anyone thwarted the Prince of Wales’s plans.

Ian straightened and grimaced. “Nae. I dinna speak your name since I have yet to convince ye I want ye to be my wife.”

She shook her head and moved away from him. She couldn’t think clearly when the scent and warmth of him embraced her. “You need an heir, Ian.”

He smiled again. “Ye called me Ian.”

Startled, she looked up at him. “I—”

“Shhh,” he soothed. “’Tis a start. Let it be.” He glanced back at the activities going on inside. “I suppose, if ye are to get the coin promised ye, that I need to go back inside and act the moonstruck swain again.”

“Thank you,” Jillian said as he turned to go. “I owe you a really big favor.”

He turned back, one brow arched. “Do I get to name it?”

She was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see the blush that she knew swept over her cheeks. She realized that she wouldn’t mind a repeat of what had happened in the maze. Her breasts still felt heavy and full and in need of the contact that hadn’t been made. The darkness made her bold.

“Within reason,” she said.

His eyes smoldered for a moment and then he grinned. “I’ll let ye know,” he said and then he was gone, leaving her to shiver even though the night was warm.

“More! Deeper!” Delia writhed on the bed below Wesley, her crimson gown ruched up to her waist, one shoulder pulled down, exposing a large breast. He grunted as he ground into her, riding her hard, her head hitting the headboard. Neither seemed to notice. He felt her start to come, inner muscles clenching, and he grabbed her hands with one of his, pinning them over her head as he leaned down and bit her nipple. She bucked under him and screamed, but his other hand stifled the sound.

“Not so loud,” he said as he pinched the engorged nipple. “You’ve still got a party going on downstairs.”

“I can’t help it. The pain makes the pleasure so much more intense,” she said, her legs still wrapped around his buttocks. “Make it hurt some more.”

Wesley laughed and gave the nipple a final twist before he flipped her over on her stomach, pulling her hips up. “You like the pain, don’t you?” Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward, his hands reaching under her, one to grab the exposed breast, the other to clap over her mouth and then he drove himself into her ass. He felt her entire body shudder at the impact, but his thighs kept her legs spread and his body held hers immobile. He thrust hard and fast, loving the tightness of the sphincter muscle and listening to Delia’s groans and muffled cries. He pulled out nearly to the end of his shaft and then rammed himself in again one final time, spilling his seed.

He collapsed beside her. “We’d better get downstairs before you’re missed.”

Delia rolled over, her eyes still glazed. “Don’t worry about him. William will be in attendance to the prince for some time.” She reached for Wesley. “Want to do it again?”

He shrugged off her hand and sat to adjust his trousers. “The prince asked me some odd questions about Cantford,” he said casually.

“Like what?” Delia asked as she reluctantly sat too.

“Oh, about how many Frenchmen live on his lands…if he’s perhaps harboring any who are loyal to Napoleon.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye. He had planted seeds of doubt in the prince’s mind, he felt sure, but he wanted that doubt to spread among the peerage and Delia loved to gossip.

“That wouldn’t be very smart,” she said.

Wesley clenched his jaw. No one would ever accuse Delia of being bright, but perhaps that was to his advantage. Only two nights ago he’d managed to wheedle information out of her that she had overheard while her husband talked with Lord Liverpool. Wellington had plans to join the Prussian Marshal, Gebhard von Blücher, in Belgium in an effort to stave off Napoleon’s advance. Even now, Louis was on his way to Marshal Michel Ney, Napoleon’s commanding officer, with the news.

Once Wesley learned that the ruse had been thwarted, he fully intended that an incriminating note be found among Cantford’s possessions that would prove to the prince that it was the Highlander who had provided the traitorous information to the French.

He’d finally be rid of the Scot and everything would be in place to get his lands back and marry Jillian. He scowled. The bitch was going to pay for spurning him and so was that maid who never strayed far from her. She had even moved a cot into Jillian’s room and they bolted the door at night. Not that
that
would keep him out, but with the damn Highlander in the house, he’d not have time to force Jillian to submit to him. Right now it was to his advantage to have Cantford stay with him where he could keep an eye on the Scot.

He felt Delia’s body press against the back of his and she put her chin on his shoulder and licked the rim of his ear. “Sure we don’t have time for more?”

“We need to get downstairs, pet, before your husband gets suspicious.”

Delia pouted. “William doesn’t pleasure me like you do.”

Wesley had no doubt of that. Sherrington was such a proper gentleman, he probably asked permission to even kiss his wife. He could imagine how that would make a woman all wet and wild.

“I’ll come back tomorrow night,” Wesley said. “You’ll just have to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Delia answered and slid her hand over his trousers, feeling his erection harden. “And neither do you.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He stood abruptly and loosened his pants, letting his cock jut out. “Suck me then. Make it good.”

As she obliged him, he looked down at her chestnut hair, seeing not her in the dim light, but Jillian instead. He wondered how long it would take him to train her to do this.

Just thinking about it made him swell and he pulsated into Delia’s mouth.

She swallowed and looked up at him. “It’s a pity Jillian Alton is such a cold bitch.”

Wesley was startled out of his fantasy. Delia couldn’t have been reading his mind. “What do you mean, pet?”

She shrugged as she crawled off the bed and stood beside him. “If I were a widow, especially living under your roof, you’d be too exhausted to do anything but stay in bed.”

“Your husband looks hale and hearty to me.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. Too bad he isn’t planning to join Wellington in France. Being killed over there would make me a war hero’s widow.” She put her arms around Wesley and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Just think about the possibilities…”

He returned the kiss, his mind whirling. He wasn’t about to get his hands dirty by murdering her husband, which is what she clearly was hinting at. Not that he was surprised at her callousness. People, after all, were meant to be used. Still…

He broke the kiss and leaned back from her although he kept his arms around her waist. “I wouldn’t think to become involved with anything criminal,” he said, “but there might be a way for your husband to achieve an…honorable death. If that’s what you really want.”

“If it means I could be with you, yes.”

Wesley smiled at her. “Then here’s what I want you to do…”

If his scheme worked, he might have Cantford out of his way even sooner than he thought. Either way, Wesley couldn’t lose, and he liked those odds.