Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (11 page)

“But their retainers would,” Wesley answered. “After all, haven’t a lot of them returned to France to aid Napoleon? The ones remaining may very well spy on England from the North.”

“I fail to see how any could do that if they live in Scotland,” Jillian answered.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “We have a Scot in our midst, don’t we? Who’s to say he isn’t sending messages back to the French…refugees, as you call them.”

Jillian gasped in outrage, but before she could answer, Baron Dunster did.

“You have reason—or proof—to believe that Lord Cantford is a spy?”

“Proof? No.” A sly look came over Wesley’s face. “But would you like to be the man’s father-in-law if he is?”

The baron frowned. “I see what you mean. Perhaps I should seek out my daughter. If you’ll excuse me?”

Jillian watched him walk away. She should be grateful to Wesley for interfering with that spoiled girl’s flirtations, but she was furious with him.

“How dare you insinuate such a thing, Lord Newburn?”

“Wesley.” He shrugged. “How do you know it’s not true? The Scots have never forgiven the English for the Disbanding Act, have they?”

Jillian remembered Ian saying his clan still existed, albeit it not openly. “They’ve accepted English law.”

“Some of them.”

She didn’t want to think about the fact that Ian had mentioned the split between his great-grandparents’ families during the rebellion. Ian just couldn’t be a spy. He just couldn’t. “I think you’re out of line, my lord.”

“I should throw the bastard out.”

A sudden chill took her. The old Earl of Cantford had sold his townhouse long ago, preferring to stay in the country. If Wesley turned Ian out, he would have to rent rooms in a boarding house. Jillian could hardly visit him there. Not unless she wanted to tarnish her reputation, and she couldn’t afford to do that for Mari’s sake. But neither would she get paid by Prinny if she were not allowed to finish her job.

“I’m sure the Prince of Wales would expect you to be hospitable. After all, it was the regent himself who suggested that Ian stay at the house,” she said.

“I’m aware of that,” Wesley replied. “Perhaps it
is
better that the Highlander stay under my roof. That way, I can keep an eye on him. And, if I’m right and I turn him in, perhaps the prince will reward me with Cantford’s lands as well as my own. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go speak to Miss Violetta. She seems quite alone at the moment.” He started to walk away and then turned back, smiling wolfishly. “The combined lands would make me a very rich man, madam. Perhaps you should think about that.”

Jillian stared after him. What had he meant by that last remark?

Wesley was still quite pleased with himself for turning the tables on the Highlander later that evening as he crawled up the drainpipe to the terrace that led to Lady Sherrington’s boudoir.

Things were really going his way. Dropping subtle hints amongst the peerage that the Highlander might be harboring French spies would certainly divert any suspicion from himself. After all, Ian Macleod was from Glenfinnan, the very place where the Young Pretender had rallied his forces for the last time. Wesley had brought two trusted men with him on his return from France. Jean St. Croix had already found employment as a fencing instructor at
Le Rapier Tranchant
where he could report back to Wesley on whatever useful bits of information the Englishmen might drop during practices. But Louis Tredeau was still free. Perhaps he would send him to Glenfinnan to do some scouting. Find out who the refugees up there really were and if any of them could be persuaded to work for him.

But right now, he had another task in mind. He crept up to Delia’s window on the second floor and carefully looked in.

She was sitting in front of her nightstand, combing her long, chestnut hair, her face in silhouette to him. The filmy negligee she wore left little to his imagination, the full mound of her breast exposed through the transparent material each time she raised her arm to brush her hair. She was alone.

He scratched on the window and was rewarded with her quick turn and sudden smile. She hurried over and undid the window latch.

“
Monsieur
. I was hoping you’d come,” she said as Wesley crawled through the window.

“I got your calling card this afternoon,” he answered as he kneaded both breasts hard, drawing a slight gasp from her. “It was carefully coded, but I thought this was the intent. Am I right?”

Delia pressed the length of herself against his. “Of course. I just hoped you’d be able to get my real message.” She giggled a little. “Writing in code is kind of like playing spies, isn’t it?”

He stiffened momentarily and then relaxed. She couldn’t possibly know. And her amateur attempt at
coding
was laughable. But no matter. She was here and he needed a good rutting.

“It’s not the only game I’d like to play,” he murmured as he tore at the ribbons holding the flimsy material together.

“Careful, my lord,” she said as she removed his hands and undid the ribbons herself. “I would not care to have Sherrington wonder how this garment came to be torn. He gave it to me.”

“I don’t want to hear about him,” Wesley growled, taking her breasts in his hands again, “except to know we won’t be bothered.”

Delia arched her back, jutting her nipples against his hands. “He’s at his club no doubt pretending to be drunk while he robs his friends blind at cards.”

So the man was shrewd. A tingle of excitement shot through Wesley. He particularly enjoyed bedding wives of pompous asses who thought they were so smart. “He’s not a drunkard then?” he asked as cupped her bare buttocks and rubbed his erection against her mound.

“Hardly. Wellington has said Sherrington has the hardest head he knows.”

Her husband was friends with Colonel Wellesley? Wesley’s luck was just getting better and better. What kind of information could he get out of her that Napoleon might find useful? Then he frowned.

“I thought you said the other night your husband would sleep soundly because of all that he’d had to drink?”

She half-hooded her eyes and gave him a coy look. “He does…when I put a little something into his wine.”

Wesley made a mental note of that too. Only drink from her cup after she did.

He ran his hands down her belly and thrust two fingers up inside her to find out if she was ready.

“Oooh,” she moaned and threw her head back, giving him access to her throat. “That feels so good.”

He bit her neck, careful not to draw blood, his fingers imitating what he was about to do. “Why don’t you undress me?” he whispered.

She acquiesced, her hands trembling slightly in her need to see him naked. He ran his fingers through her hair and then pressed down on her shoulders. Eyes widening as she got his intention, she sank to her knees in front of him.

“Suck on me, my lady. Nothing makes a man desire a woman more than that.”

Tentatively, she took the tip of him into her mouth. He looked down at her. “Are you scared to do this, Delia? There aren’t many women who are really good at it. Perhaps I misjudged you.” He started to withdraw, but she caught his hips.

“No…I’ll do it.” She opened her mouth wider and sucked on his head.

Wesley groaned and held her face between his hands while he slid in and out of her wet, warm mouth. “Make me want you, my lady,” he grunted.

Her mouth began to work greedily on him then and he decided she might have real possibilities if he trained her right.

He moved his hands to her thick chestnut hair, lifting it and letting his fingers catch the strands. He wondered what another woman with the same color hair might feel like, sucking on him until he came in her mouth. His very young stepmother. Lovely, cold, overly prim-and-proper Jillian Alton. How he’d love to see her on her knees in front of him like this. And best of all, she was his father’s widow. Ah, revenge would be sweet after what the old man had done to him.

The more he pictured her doing this, the harder he became. He was close to release, but he sensed that Delia was probably not ready for that right now. He lifted her abruptly and tossed her back on the bed, spreading her legs and plunging into her hot, welcoming wetness in one long stroke. He grabbed her hands and held them over her head while he pummeled her, driving himself in. She squealed and thrashed beneath him and then he felt her shudder. He thrust into her one final time and spilled his seed, collapsing over her.

What if this had been Jillian? Would the aloof lady turn into a wild cat in bed? His father, damn him, had not deserved such rewards. But how to get that woman into bed without forcing her—not that he minded raping, but the consequences here would be devastating—was beyond him.

Then an idea began to niggle at the back of his mind. Jillian had said the barbarian was to choose a wife from among those foolish virgins and had told Wesley he needed to do the same.

Only…he didn’t need to beget an heir. He had several by-blows in France, any of which he could declare his heir. But if Prinny wanted to see him married…what better choice than the widow of the man whose title and lands he’d inherited?

She was penniless, he knew, thanks to the stupidity of his father. Training that barbarian was the only source of income she had. He’d actually be helping her out. She really should be grateful to him, at that.

He’d work out the details later. Right now there was Delia, already stroking him again, making his cock jump. The woman was near insatiable. And it wasn’t like he would have to give her up once he’d married his stepmother.

What a perfect plan. He flipped Delia over on her stomach and ground himself into her slick, swollen core again.

Ah, yes. Things were going his way.

Mari settled herself into the window seat in the solar, drawing her knees up and hooking her arms around them. “I had no idea a man could look so…so…
manly
,” she said dreamily.

Jillian sighed and set her tea cup down on the small table next to the divan. For the past two days, Mari had brought up Ian’s shirtlessness when Jillian had bandaged him. Even though she had quite sternly told her sister that young girls did
not
think about such things, let alone talk about them, it had done little good. Not for Mari or for herself. She could recall every contour of bulging biceps and flat stomach and how smooth and warm his skin had felt.

“He was like one of those Greek statues in an art book I saw, except that they didn’t have any clothes on at all. I wonder if he looks like—”

“Mari! How Lord Cantford looks beneath…beneath his trousers is not something we are discussing.”

“But you have to admit, he is a fine specimen of a man,” Mari said teasingly. “And all those muscles… Tell me, Jillie, weren’t you just a little impressed?”

This was an asinine conversation. Worse, it was bringing back how very close she had been to him, to his unique male scent. And how he had tilted his head for that oh-so-light kiss. Thank goodness Mari hadn’t seen
that
or she would never stop talking. But the best way to get her sister to go on to another subject was to agree with her. “Well, he is powerfully built. I supposed I was a little impressed.”

“I’m glad to ken that,” Ian said from the doorway.

Startled, Mari spun around, her hands flying to her mouth and she jumped up. Bobbing a quick curtsy, she scampered away, leaving Jillian alone with Ian.

Jillian remained frozen in place, her back to the door.
Please, Lord. He couldn’t have just heard this whole conversation.
It was too mortifying. Sakes, they had been talking about his most private parts. What a rogue he was to have been listening.

Her chin came up defiantly. “A gentleman does not eavesdrop, my lord.”

He came into the room and sat down next to her on the divan. The room had become stifling, but that was probably due to her acute embarrassment. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was sitting much too close or that they were alone. She could have cheerfully throttled her sister at this point. She stared at the floor.

“I was standing in the doorway in full view of anyone who turned around,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Although I did have all of my clothes on.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted it, causing her to look at him. “I had no idea that ladies were so curious about male parts.”

She didn’t think her face could get any hotter. “You’ll have to forgive Mari, my lord. It was an indecent conversation.”

“Nae. ’Twas an interesting one. Did ye agree with her then?”

“About…what, my lord?”

His thumb pad stroked her cheek and his eyes grew even darker. “About what I might look like naked?”

Sweet heaven. A wet heat puddled between her thighs and her breasts suddenly felt achy with need. She should slap him for such a question, but all her hands wanted to do was feel his solid muscles and…

“Certainly not,” she said with as much indignation as she could muster. She just was glad her voice didn’t squeak.

“Yer eyes tell me different.”

She closed them, wishing fervently that the floor would open up and swallow her. She had been staring at his close, full, luscious mouth. Could she get any more embarrassed? She took a deep breath and reopened her eyes, all too aware that his fingers were gently stroking beneath her chin. “I assure you, sir, that I have no wish to see you… That is, I would not want you to remove your clothes. For me, I mean.”