Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (30 page)

“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 were 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.”

Looking pleased, he stood back as Ian slid down and the groom nervously saddled the stallion and led him to the mounting block.

Wesley stepped up and moved into the saddle. The groom handed him the reins and he turned the horse around.

“Shall we?” Wesley said to Jillian and gave Gunnar a swift kick in his flanks.

The horse flattened his ears, his head went down, his back legs kicked out and Wesley went sprawling on the ground. Ian leaned against the fence, one foot crossed in front of the other, his arms folded across his broad chest.

Wesley glared at him as he stood and dusted himself off. “I thought you said he was broken.”

“He is. Why don’t you try again?” Ian said pleasantly.

“Bring me a whip,” he snarled at Finley.

“We have no whips here,” the man answered. “’Twas not me da’s way, nor is it mine, to strike the animal.”

“That’s what’s wrong with him then,” Wesley snapped and heaved himself into the saddle once more. “I’ll see about getting some when I replace you, old man.”

Jillian bit her lip. Losing her horses was already a blow, but if Finley weren’t around to care for them… To protect them from someone like Wesley…

“I’ve never used a whip on a horse either, my lord. It really isn’t necessary. Be gentle with him.”

“Bah!” Wesley tightened the reins and Gunnar arched his neck so that his chin was nearly touching his chest to rid himself of the pain of the bit.

“Loosen up,” Jillian said in a voice that had all three men looking at her. “I’ll not have that horse’s mouth ruined because you don’t know how to handle him.”