Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (6 page)

He strode over from the paintings to stand a bit too close. “
Peut-être
. Perhaps I wish you had, madam.”

Jillian stepped back to put some distance between them, reminding herself that French culture permitted much more closeness than the English did. It meant nothing.

“Would you like to have a seat, my lord?”

“
Merci
. After you, madam.” He made a flourish with his hand.

“Of course.” As she sat, so did he, bringing his chair closer to hers. She fidgeted. It would be highly improper of her to move her chair away, even though she was not comfortable with the situation. “Would you care for refreshment, my lord?”

“
Non
. I am fine.
S’il vous plaît.
Call me Wesley.”

She would much prefer to keep to formality, but given the circumstances—she was legally his stepmother, after all—he really wasn’t asking too much. And, at the moment, she was no longer in her house, but his.

“Wesley.” She pasted on her best Society smile. “Tell me about yourself. Will your wife be joining you?”

He looked amused. “I don’t have a wife.” He looked around. “Do I have a brother or sister that I need to meet?”

Jillian managed to keep smiling. “I’m afraid not, my lord—Wesley. I…was not able to give your father that gift.”

His expression was inscrutable. “Perhaps that was for the best.”

What did he mean? How could any woman not want to have a child? She had only been eight when her mother died giving birth to Mari, and Jillian had raised her sister until her own marriage. Had fate given her that responsibility to make up for her barrenness? Jillian gave herself an inward shake as she realized what Wesley had probably meant. She felt herself stiffen.

“Even if there had been a child, you would still be the heir, my lord.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Anger? She couldn’t tell.

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said softly. “My father beat me. It’s the reason I ran away at fifteen. I merely meant I would not wish any other child of his to suffer the same punishment.”

Jillian relaxed somewhat. So that was what had happened. She knew all too well what Rufus’s beatings were like. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. “We thought you were abducted.”

“I’m sure that made a much better story,” he said with a trace of bitterness.

Jillian could empathize with that. How many times had Rufus made excuses for why she was suddenly unable to attend an event? That she had suddenly taken ill? The
ton’s
matrons had thought her a fragile, hot-house flower when, in truth, the razor strap had made her too stiff and sore to sit or move properly. She looked at Wesley in a new light. Perhaps they could become friends after all.

“Well. That’s behind you now. You’ve inherited quite a large country estate, as well as this townhouse.”

“What of you?” Wesley asked. “What did my father leave to you?”

She tried to swallow her embarrassment. “Um… He really didn’t expect you to return, so he didn’t directly leave me anything.”

“
Bâtard.
”

That was one word she did know. Her husband was indeed a bastard, although perhaps not biologically. “I have made an arrangement with the Prince of Wales that will allow me to buy back my father’s townhouse at the end of the Season,” she said. “If I might impose upon you until then?”

“
Certainement
. I would never throw a beautiful woman out. You may stay as long as you wish.”

“Thank you,” Jillian said with relief. It would just be a few weeks and then she would have her own home. “There is one more favor I must ask, if it isn’t too forward of me.”

His smile looked almost wolfish. “You may be as forward as you wish.”

She felt uneasy again. “My arrangement with Prinny… I agreed to help refine the manners of a Highlander who’s inherited the property next to yours.”

He laughed. “The Highlands are still as wild as they were when the Romans tried conquering them. I’m not sure that England stands a chance. You’ve been set quite a task, I think.”

If only he knew
. “The prince wants him to be able to make a suitable marriage among the peerage,” she said, and felt a sudden sharp pain in her chest. Sakes! What had she eaten that was disturbing her so?

“Ah, yes. The title must be preserved. It’s why I’ve been brought back.” He sounded amused again. “So what is the favor you wish? I’ll be glad to take the man along on my rounds to the clubs…”

“That would be fine,” Jillian said, “but you should know that the prince asked that he reside here at the house so that I could work daily with him. Just until the end of the Season,” she added hurriedly, “and he has a guest room on the third floor, well away from your master chamber on the second.”

“Of course. That’s not a problem.” He let his glance rake over her. “If I remember correctly, my mother’s chamber was next door to my father’s. Is that where you still reside, madam?”

Jillian shivered suddenly, although the room was warm. Wesley seemed so nice and understanding, yet some of his questions were doubled-edged and she was unsure of what he meant. Surely no man would flirt with his father’s wife, even if she were younger than he was. Perhaps it was time to act the marchioness.

“No, my lord. I do not. I moved my quarters to the first floor some time ago. It makes it easier on the servants.” She had moved out of that room with its bad memories as soon as Rufus was buried and had no intentions of ever entering it again. “I much prefer this arrangement.”

He studied her for a moment and then he nodded. “As you wish, madam. So…tell me about this Highlander. How much of a clod is he?”

The bell clanged at the front door just then. Jillian smiled. “I think you’re about to find out.”

Chapter Four

Och, it did a mon good to go a few rounds with his fists, even though they were wrapped in padded boxing gloves. Gentleman Jack had turned out to be a worthy opponent too. Ian flexed his shoulder muscles as he strode through the hallway to the parlor where Givens told him Jillian would be. The lass just dinna ken how a fight helped keep a mon’s temper in check at times.

He stopped short in the doorway. Some dandy was paying court to Jillian and he was sitting much too close to her for Ian’s comfort. With her insistence on being proper and having rules, he wondered why she allowed it. His eyes narrowed. Had she invited it? Was this overly dressed fop a swain?

They both looked up at his entrance and Jillian frowned as she looked over him. He followed her gaze and wondered what the problem was. He wasn’t wearing a top-coat, true, but he saw no need as the day was warm. And he’d left the waistcoat undone, but he’d just had a short carriage ride home. His shirt might be a little wrinkled since he’d taken it off to box. The damn cravat he’d left at home in the first place. He brushed an unruly lock of hair off his forehead.

“Ye have company, I see.”

Before she could reply, the man beside her said dryly, “You
do
have your work cut out for you, madam.”

Ian’s narrowed eyes again. ’Twas a good thing the edge was off his temper.

“Lord Cantford,” Jillian said quickly, “may I present the Marquess of Newburn, Wesley Alton.”

Alton. Gerard Fountaine. Traitor or war hero
? Ian moved into the room, not taking his eyes off the mon, and held out his hand. “Lord Newburn.”

Wesley stood and gripped his hand with surprising force. “Lord Cantford.”

For a moment, the men stared each other down and then Jillian intervened. “Wesley has agreed to let us stay here until the end of the Season. Wasn’t that gracious of him, Lord Cantford?”

Wesley, was it? She didn’t call him Ian. “Are we on informal terms now, my lady?”

A faint pinkness brushed her cheeks. “It’s quite proper. Wesley is my stepson.”

Ian refrained from uttering a Gaelic curse. The mon was not looking at her as though she were his mam. She dinna look like anyone’s mam, with the deep yellow of her dress highlighting the gold in her chestnut hair. Even though the dress had a high collar and her full, soft breasts were not able to be seen, any red-blooded mon could read the lust in Newburn’s eyes. How could the lass not? It was a good thing Ian was staying under the same roof with them. He stopped himself from retorting at that realization. If he intended to keep the mon away from her, he’d have to be here. And this was Newburn’s house. Best to keep a civil tongue in his own head.

He nodded stiffly. “I’m sure yer
mother
appreciates your hospitality.”

A hint of a challenge flared in Wesley’s eyes. “I could hardly throw a beautiful, vulnerable woman into the streets. Of course she’s welcome to stay here.”

The message was clear that Newburn wouldn’t mind at all throwing him out. “Aye. I’m glad to hear it,” Ian said stubbornly. “A son should always treat his mam with respect.”

“I’m sure he will, Lord Cantford,” Jillian said and turned to Wesley. “I’m also sure that the Prince of Wales will be personally grateful to you for allowing the new earl to stay here so I can continue working with him.”

Newburn’s face remained impassive, but Ian could tell his mind was weighing the consequences of tossing him out by the way his body tensed. From what he knew about the prince, the man didn’t take kindly to anyone thwarting him, and if Newburn were a spy instead of a hero, he couldn’t afford to take the chance of antagonizing the regent.

“Of course, my lady,” Wesley said with a smoothness that belied any tension had existed in him. “I’m sure the prince would not mind if I helped you with civilizing the man as well.”

You can try
.

As though he heard Ian’s thoughts, Newburn looked over at him. “I can hardly believe that the prince made this man’s training your responsibility.”

Ian caught Jillian giving him a pleading look that made her eyes the deep green of a shaded glen.
She needs the money.
He sighed.
Aye, ’tis a good thing the edge is off my temper, else I might have to make a wee example of my Scot training.
“Aye, but he did and I want nothing more than to please Lady Newburn.”

Newburn sent him a scathing look. “Don’t worry though,” he said to Jillian. “I’ll be by your side.”

A muscle twitched in Ian’s jaw.
We’ll see about that
.

Dinner was turning into a strange affair, Jillian thought as she listened to questions Ian and Wesley were hurling at each other like javelin players in a tournament. Even Mari, who had been summoned to join them and was usually only interested in what was happening in society, was quiet and listening.

“So ye claim to be a war hero, do ye?” Ian asked.

Wesley gave him a cold smile. “I believe that is how the Prince of Wales refers to me, yes.”

“And what was it ye did?” A crease formed between Ian’s brows. “Something at Vitoria, wasna it?”

“You seem to know much about the war, for a Scot,” Wesley replied, “but then, there are French rebels living in Scotland. Is that how you got your information?”

“It doona matter how I came to know of the matter.”

Wesley shrugged. “It matters if you are protecting the enemy.”

Ian leveled a gaze at him that made Jillian suddenly feel a chill. Some undercurrent was at play here and she didn’t know what it was.

“Wesley, pray tell us what you did to be declared a war hero,” she interjected.

“I did a small favor for Wellington at Vitoria, my lady.”

“Which was?” Ian pressed.

“Not to brag, but it was I who relayed the message to Wellington that the bridge across the Zadorra at Trespuentes had been left unguarded. Having access to that bridge was the turning point in driving the French out of Spain.”

“And you deserve to be proud of that, Wesley,” Jillian said.

“Thank you,” Wesley answered. “I did what I could to serve my country.”

Ian gave him that studied look again. “How did ye get into the spy business anyway? If ye ran off to France as a lad—”

Wesley arched an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t expect me to divulge such classified military information?”

“No, of course not,” Jillian said quickly. “Perhaps we should change the subject.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Wesley answered. “I’d be interested to know how a Scot inherits an English title.”

“My great-grand-da fought with your first King George in the ’45 uprising,” Ian answered. “In return, he received the title.”

“And why would a Scot support the English?” Wesley asked. “Even with the union through James I, you Highlanders never accepted the House of Hanover.”

Ian’s expression grew grim. “Because we were false told that if we accepted peace with the English, the clans would not be banished. ’Tis not what happened.”

Wesley’s eyebrow arched even higher than it had earlier. “You are not loyal to the Prince Regent?”

Ian glowered at him. “I dinna say that. But ’tis the third George who is king.”

Wesley laughed. “He’s mad as a hatter, of course.”

“Do you really think so?” Mari piped up suddenly. “Did he really talk to a tree once and think it was the King of Prussia?”