Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (25 page)

“Come here,” he said.

Chapter Fourteen

Wesley waited in the shadows of Sherrington’s house for nearly an hour after the last lamp had been extinguished before he began crawling up the trellis to scratch on Delia’s window. He was feeling quite pleased with himself and he wanted a woman.

After convincing the earl that perhaps he should search for his wife and the resulting fiasco when he found her, Wesley had spent some time bending the ear of Lord Liverpool. The prince would be getting Wesley’s version of Cantford’s behavior soon.

He had really wanted to gloat to Jillian, but she’d scarcely made an appearance before she turned around and left again. He narrowed his eyes as he climbed. The rumor had flown across the room that perhaps it was Jillian who Cantford thought he was going to see, but that was a risk Wesley had to take when he told Delia to dress and act like Jillian to lure Cantford into a bedchamber.

At any rate, he wanted Jillian back at the townhouse. Tomorrow, he would make sure she returned, but for tonight, there was Delia.

She opened the window at once. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she said as he stepped over the sash.

He pulled the ribbon that was holding her robe closed and pushed the garment down, squeezing her breasts as he back-walked her to the bed.

“I had to come to celebrate,” he said as he tossed her onto it and quickly stripped his own clothes off.

Delia spread her legs wide for him. “Then come and take me.”

She had hardly finished the sentence before Wesley was on top of her and buried deep within her warm, welcoming wetness. She flexed her hips and began thrashing beneath him. He rode her hard, the way she liked, but if he slitted his eyes in the near darkness, she became Jillian. The thought of training Jillian to submit to him made his groin tighten and he came fast.

“I’m not satisfied,” Delia complained when he rolled off of her and got up. “William was quite put out with me and I had to listen to a tedious lecture from him. I was looking forward to a rather long session with you tonight.”

Wesley stopped in the act of reaching for his pants and sat back on the bed. “Why don’t you finish pleasuring yourself while I watch?” he asked. “You know that always excites me.”

Delia made a sound deep in her throat as she reached between her legs to begin stroking herself. With her other hand, she pinched and pulled at her nipple.

“That’s it, pet,” Wesley crooned as he moved toward her head and then over her, bracing himself on his hands and knees so that his phallus was near her mouth. “Suck on it while I watch you make yourself come,” he said.

Her fingers began to stroke her core harder as her mouth closed over him and she began swirling her tongue over his head. He pushed himself deeper. “Take more, pet.”

Obligingly, she sucked on him harder and he closed his eyes in bliss, imagining Jillian in the same position. Once he got Cantford out of the way—either killed in the duel or hanged as a traitor—Jillian would be his.

Delia’s body went rigid and her hips lifted as she brought herself to climax, her mouth clamping down on his cock hard. With a grunt, he felt himself spurt into her throat. She gagged a little and he pulled himself out.

“Feeling better?” he asked as he reached for his trousers once more.

She licked her lips. “When Lord Cantford kills my husband, you’ll be able to stay all night, love.”

“Right.” No need reminding her that Sherrington was an excellent shot and that it was Cantford he wanted dead. He had no intention of letting Delia get her hooks into him. He leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, not wanting to taste himself on her lips. “For now, I need to go.”

He slipped out the window and down the street where his horse waited. All in all, it had been a good night.

Givens met him at the door. Wesley wondered if the man actually slept in his uniform or why he was still up. Dawn was near. He glanced down the hall to the closed door of Jillian’s chamber. No sense in trying the lock. The room would be empty as it had been this past week.

He turned to Givens. “I want a footman sent first thing in the morning to fetch Lady Newburn back.”

Givens nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Tell her when she arrives that I expect to have her company at lunch.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Wesley yawned hugely. “And don’t wake me before then. Understood?”

Givens nodded once more. “As you wish, my lord.”

As Wesley ascended the stairs to his bed chamber, he didn’t see Givens look toward Jillian’s closed door. Nor did he see the butler’s lips twitch.

Darcy arrived the next morning amidst a flurry of trunks and baggage and a very excited Mari in her wake. Givens showed them into the library where Jillian was attempting to do some embroidery.

“Is it true?” Mari asked as soon as the door had closed. “Is Ian—Lord Cantford—really going to duel with Lord Sherrington?”

“Goodness.” Jillian’s nerveless fingers dropped the hoop onto her lap. “News certainly travels fast.”

“Oh, yes,” Mari said as she bounced on the couch, oblivious to Jillian’s stillness. “Maddie’s maid heard it from Lord Sherrington’s footman herself.”

Jillian arched an eyebrow. “And how did that happen?”

Mari paused and then blushed a little. “Well, I think the footman is rather fond of Maddie’s maid.”

“I see,” Jillian said and picked up the needlework again, although she didn’t attempt to work it. “And Maddie came straight away to tell you?”

Mari frowned. “Well, yes. It was just shocking. Such a scandal.”

“And haven’t I told you not to listen to such things?”

She stared at her sister. “Are you angry with me? I didn’t spread the rumor. All of London is buzzing about it.”

Jillian sighed and set the cloth and needle aside. “I’m not angry with you, Mari, but a duel is not something to get excited about. One of them could get killed.”

Mari looked down, her tone remorseful. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Well, I did.”

She looked up. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go and talk to the earl myself. What happened last night was a misunderstanding, nothing more.”

Mari’s brow creased once more. “Maddie said it was Delia Sherrington—”

“Enough. No more gossip.”

Her sister’s lower lip thrust out. “All right. Well, if it is a misunderstanding then all Lord Cantford has to do is apologize.”

“Which the stubborn man won’t do,” Jillian said. Lord knows, she’d tried to convince him this morning before he left for sword or pistol practice to apologize and be done, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Ian had swept her into his arms, given her a long kiss and then told her not to fash about it.

Mari gave her a sly smile. “You like Lord Cantford, don’t you?”

Jillian wasn’t about to tell her sister how much she did. “I don’t want to see either of them injured or worse.”

“I think you don’t want to admit it.” Mary tilted her head to one side, studying Jillian. “Umm. Something’s different about you this morning.”

Jillian stood and walked to the bookcase on the pretense of selecting something to read. When she’d looked into the mirror this morning, after a slow and completely thorough love-making session that had totally satiated her, her eyes and skin had glowed.

Her body tingled as if it were sensitive to the very air around her. Colors were brighter and more vibrant. Sounds more acutely heard. His scent clung to her hair, and when she remembered his soothing yet titillating touch, she began to quiver.

What in God’s name had she done? She smiled at that. Of course she
knew
what she had done—her rebellious body had ached with the need to fulfill a lust-driven desire she didn’t even know she possessed—but what had she done to
herself
? Would she ever again achieve that quiet, contented peace that had been hers once Rufus was dead? She had never wanted to endure a man’s touch again. But that was before Ian Macleod had come into her life.

She had hoped, once Mari’s Season was over and her sister happily betrothed, that she could move to the country estate and concentrate on breeding the horses. But with Wesley being found, the estate was no longer hers. She had thought she would be content to live in Papa’s townhouse again, to quietly live her life without the interference of Society’s demands. Now she could see the long days dragging out, dull and dreary and empty. And alone.

For Ian would marry someone else. Even though he had sworn last night that he loved her, she had heard enough tidbits from her friends to know that men would say anything while in the throes of passion. One or two of the women had even hinted that it was at that exact moment that they managed to wheedle the promise of jewels and new dresses out of their husbands. Or in the case of the ones like Delia, their lovers.

Jillian’s hand froze on the binding of a book. Could she be Ian’s lover? The thought of never tasting his kisses or feeling him inside of her again was nearly unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying. She gave herself a little shake and opened them. As painful as it would be, she knew she couldn’t take Ian to her bed if he were married to another woman. She just couldn’t dishonor what had been beautiful between them like that.

She sighed and pulled the book from the shelf without reading its title. She was already in pain. The best thing to do would be to stop this now. She would only feel worse the longer she continued to allow Ian in her bed. Even as she thought it, her renegade body was tightening in anticipation for the next time. She muttered a very unladylike curse under her breath.

“What?” Mari asked.

She turned quickly. “Nothing, dear.”

Her sister looked at her curiously, and then glanced at the book she held. “Thomas Mallory’s
Le Morte D’Arthur
? Are you feeling romantic?”

Jillian looked down at the book. Tales of Arthur’s gallant knights fighting for their lady loves she didn’t need. Especially not Lancelot’s un-deterring quest for Guenevere. She bit her lip, remembering Lady Jersey’s remark. Damn good in bed, she’d said. Jillian began to feel the familiar heat rush to her face. Ian had been that and more.

How was she going to get over him?

She slammed the book down, startling Mari. “Sorry, sweet. Instead of reading, I think I had best go pay a visit to Lord Sherrington.”

Mari arched her brows questioningly. “Is that proper?”

“Probably not, but it’s something I have to do.”

“Well, you might at least wait until the proper time to go calling. It’s not past noon yet.”

“I know, love, but I really need to do this before Ian—Lord Cantford—returns.” He would be furious if he knew what she was doing, but if it could prevent the duel tomorrow morning, she would face his wrath later. She rang for the butler.

“Have the carriage brought around, please,” she said when he appeared in the doorway. He hesitated.

“What is it?”

Givens cleared his throat. “Lord Cantford was very clear that you were not to leave the house without him.”

Jillian stared at him. Just because Ian had bedded her didn’t give him the right to tell her what she could and could not do. “It is not for Lord Cantford to decide that, Givens. Kindly do as I request.”

“Lord Newburn requested that you attend lunch with him this afternoon as well.”

Jillian waved her hand. “By the time Lord Newburn rises, I shall be back.”

Givens still looked uncomfortable and Jillian squelched the rising anger and irritation she was feeling. It wasn’t the butler’s fault that he was caught in a battle of wills. She laid a hand gently on his arm. “This is important, Givens. Please. A life may depend on it.”

His eyes widened slightly and then he gave a stiff bow. “I’ll see to it then.”

She thought she heard him mutter something about the saints preserving him from Ian’s wrath and she grimaced.

Her handsome barbarian had not seen her wrath either…at least, not yet.

A half hour later, she rang the bell at Sherrington’s townhouse and looked up at the tall windows on either side. The house was unusually quiet, and she began to worry that perhaps Mari had been right and she should have waited to call. But if Ian had come home, she wouldn’t have had this chance at all.

Their butler finally opened the door, managing to convey disproval of the hour with a slight raise of an eyebrow, but his voice was flatly neutral.

“Lady Sherrington is just finishing breakfast if you’d like to leave your card.”

“Actually, I’ve come to see the earl,” Jillian answered and then raised her chin as surprise shown in the butler’s eyes.

“Is Lord Sherrington expecting you, madam?” he asked.

No doubt the gossip would be all over the staff quarters in a few minutes, but Jillian was still a marchioness—and a widow to boot—who had every right to ask to see an earl, even though she cringed inwardly at how highly irregular it was. “I did not have time to send a footman,” she said, “but it really is a matter of utmost importance.”

The butler nearly sniffed, but caught himself. “Lord Sherrington isn’t in at the moment. I will inform him of your call.”