Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (10 page)

Jillian laughed as he straightened. With a start, she realized she hadn’t laughed in a very long time.

“And why—” Ian continued exaggerating his aches and pains, “—does the thing have to last so long?”

She continued to smile, realizing how good it felt to be having a teasing, light-hearted conversation.

“Just be thankful you didn’t have to learn a cotillion,” she responded. “The quadrille is a shorter version and quite the thing right now, being new.”

“And long.” Ian rolled his eyes.

“Well, the five parts—
La Pantalon, L’été, La Poule, La Pastourelle and Finale—
all tell a story of sorts about summer, a shepherd girl, and a hen…it’s quite the rage in France, I’m told.”

“Aye. Strange relations England has with France, with the war not finished.”

Jillian shrugged. “We thought it was. Napoleon was supposed to be safely exiled to Elba. However, even if he hadn’t been, I’m sure Lady Jersey would have found a way to bring the dance to England. She’s quite capable of almost anything.”

“Such as?”

“Well, most importantly for me, she is a patroness of Almack’s,” Jillian said, “and with Mari’s Season next year, it’s good sense to learn this dance she loves.”

“Will we be meeting her?” Ian asked in a more serious tone.

“Probably.” Jillian glanced up at him. “If we do—”

Ian placed his fingertips across her lips. “Doona fash, lass. I will do nothing to shame ye.”

Jillian’s face felt hot again, but whether from embarrassment or the fact that she had an almost insane urge to draw his fingers into her mouth, she couldn’t say. What was it about him? Wherever he touched her, that part ignited into a flame that spread all over her body.

“I’m sure you’ll behave just fine,” she finally managed when he removed his hand. “Now if I could persuade you to be on better behavior with Wesley…?”

The smile that had been in his eyes died and his jaw tightened.

“All I can promise is that I willna kill the man on the morrow.”

Jillian opened her mouth to retort and then closed it. She really didn’t want to know if he meant that or not.

Chapter Six

Boys
. Jillian shook her head as she watched Ian and Wesley eyeing each other warily in the small yard in front of the stables the next morning. Wesley had dressed in a white fencer’s suit complete with glove and mask. Ian had scoffed at the outfit, saying he preferred seeing his opponent.

Jillian could certainly see
him
. His leather breeches hugged his corded thighs like a second skin. Over his expansive chest he wore a boiled-leather hauberk that left his heavily muscled arms bare save for the wide silver bands around his wrists. He flexed his muscles, testing the balance of the rapier that Pierre had brought for him.

“Lord Cantford certainly looks impressive,” Mari said from beside her. “It seems the maids think so too.”

Forcing her gaze away from watching Ian practice swinging the blade, Jillian turned her attention to the back entrance that led to the kitchens. Darcy, Fern and several scullery and chambermaids stood there, giggling and poking one another. The housekeeper, Mrs. Fields, came bustling out, scolding and herding the girls back inside, but even she paused for a moment to give Ian an appreciative glance.

Jillian sighed. No one seemed immune to his barbarian charms, it seemed. Married women flirted openly with him. The debutantes blushed furiously when he spoke to them, to say nothing of Violetta and Amelia practically ready to scratch each other’s eyes out. It didn’t help that he was unfailingly courteous to all of them, like one of King Arthur’s knights, or that when he focused his attention on a woman, he made her feel like she was the center of the universe. Jillian had seen that dazed, blushed look come upon too many feminine faces not to realize that he was charming them as surely as Lancelot did Gwenevere.

He had told her he would be charming, hadn’t he? So she should be glad about that. What did it matter that he had actually made her laugh at the dance class?

“Oooh, they’re about to begin,” Mari exclaimed.

Jillian refocused her attention. Pierre was explaining the rules—points would be awarded for a touch. No blood-letting. Ian and Wesley glared at each other before nodding grudgingly to Pierre. Wesley donned his mask and they stiffly saluted each other with swords raised.

“On guard!” the instructor called and hurriedly backed out of the way.

They circled each other, each looking for a vulnerable position on which to strike. Wesley lunged suddenly, but Ian parried, their blades clashing, before Ian disengaged. Not giving Wesley time for a second attack, Ian did a quick riposte, advancing with fast blows to the left and right. Wesley retreated and then feinted right, bringing his blade up in a cut that caught Ian in the vulnerable part of the hauberk where it laced together along his ribs. Blood spurted down Ian’s side.

“Foul!” Pierre called and crossed his own blade over Wesley’s to stop the match.

“Tell Mrs. Fields to get some bandages,” Jillian said to Mari as she rushed to Ian’s side. “How badly are you hurt, my lord?”

“’Tis naught but a scratch,” Ian said as he glowered at Wesley.

Wesley stared back. “You should have worn the suit, Cantford.”

“Never mind that,” Jillian said as she pulled off her shawl and pressed it to Ian’s side. “You’re bleeding a lot.”

“’Tis just a wee cut—”

“Not another word,” Jillian said and looped his arm around her shoulder, one arm around his waist while her hand held the shawl in place. “Into the house with you.”

Mrs. Fields set a pot of water to boiling as Jillian eased him into a chair. Fern brought in clean strips of linen and Darcy followed her with the medicine bag.

Givens appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Shall I send for the doctor?”

“Not until I see how bad it is,” Jillian said as she unlaced the stiff hauberk.

“My lady, allow me to do that,” Givens said as he stepped forward. “It’s really not fitting for you—”

“Nonsense,” Jillian said as she slid the leather covering off Ian, exposing his bare chest. “I attended to Papa’s cuts and bruises long before I became a marchioness. And it isn’t as if I haven’t seen—” She broke off suddenly, all too aware that she had never seen a man so magnificently shaped as Ian was. Smooth muscles defined and contoured his shoulders and biceps. His entire torso was bronzed. A light sprinkling of dark hair brushed across his chest and proceeded downward in a thin line across the hard ridges of his flat belly to disappear into the waistband of his breeches. Jillian caught her breath.

“Perhaps you should escort Mari to the parlor,” she said to Givens.

Mari opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Fields shooed her away along with the ever-hopeful Fern. Darcy remained, staring at Ian.

“You may go too, Darcy,” Jillian said. “Mrs. Fields will be all the assistance I need at present.”

Ian’s dark eyes glinted as she bent over him to examine the wound, bathing the dirt and blood away. He held himself still while she poured whisky over the cut to cleanse it, although she noticed the whiteness around the tight line of his mouth.

“I don’t think it will require stitches,” she said as the bleeding slowed. She reached into the duffel and removed some sphagnum moss which she pressed over the wound. “Hold this while I get a bandage ready.”

He obliged her, sitting forward and lifting his arm so she could wrap the bandage around his chest. As she reached around behind him, he bent his head, his lips brushing against hers in the lightest of kisses.

“Thank ye, lass.”

Flustered, she tucked the tip of the cloth into the bandage and stood abruptly. Thank goodness Mrs. Fields had been turned away. Ian had probably not meant anything more than a simple thank you. It wasn’t like he had reached out to hold her or tried to demand any type of response from her. Yet her lips tingled from that mere graze and her breasts felt swollen and heavy.

Ian was watching her with a half-smile on his luscious mouth, no doubt relishing her confusion. Charming indeed. She really didn’t think he needed to practice on her.

“You’re quite welcome, my lord. I shall speak to Wesley about his actions.”

The smile disappeared. “Doona bother. The mon showed his true colors today. He wilna take advantage of me again.” Then he shrugged. “But perhaps I should be thankin’ the mon.”

Jillian frowned. “For what, my lord?”

Ian stood and leaned down, his mouth mere inches from hers. “I wouldna have been able to kiss ye otherwise, lass.”

He held her gaze, his warm breath fanning her cheek. Her nipples pebbled and for a moment she thought he would kiss her again, but Mrs. Fields cleared her throat.

He straightened, gave her a small bow and walked away, leaving Jillian more confused than ever.

The luncheon had been overly long and now the guests were mingling in Baron Dunster’s drawing room. He was Violetta’s father and no doubt this hastily arranged
fête
had been his daughter’s idea to lure Ian more closely to her side. Amelia was nowhere to be seen. Jillian smiled a little. Violetta would pay for such a cut to Amelia.

Ian seemed to have recovered from his wound of two days ago for he was moving about with no hint of stiffness. Nor had there been any hint of any more kisses, although, if she wanted to be truthful, it was she who tried to avoid him unless other people were present.

Her thinking became muddled whenever he was near. His large, muscular warrior’s body should have intimidated her, yet she felt somehow safe when she was close to him. Safe was never a word she had associated with a man before. She certainly hadn’t been safe with Rufus.
From
Rufus. Her back still bore scars to prove it. She didn’t want another man in her life owning her, controlling her. Beating her because she wasn’t womanly enough to keep a man erect. Jillian bit her lip thinking about how hard and thick Ian’s member had felt against her hand at the tailor’s. He was a younger man…perhaps they became aroused just naturally. But men wanted children and she was barren. Rufus had beaten her for that too.

Better to squelch any wayward thoughts she had of Ian. He was, after all, a wild Scot. Who knew how they handled their women folk? Even as that thought flitted through her brain, her body responded with a slow throbbing deep inside as she remembered how gentle those large hands had been when he caught her in the carriage, how good her body had felt pressed up against his. How soft and moist his lips were when they brushed hers just the other day. God help her, she had wanted more. Wanted to know how demanding his mouth could be. Wanted…

“My Violetta seems quite taken with your houseguest, Lady Newburn,” Baron Dunster said at her side.

She started. She really had to stop acting so moonstruck. She was a mature woman. “It would seem so, my lord.”

The baron frowned. “Are his intentions honorable? I’ll not have my daughter violated by some foreign scape-grace.”

If anyone
violated
Violetta, it would be with her willing permission, she was sure. Jillian kept her voice cordial. “His lordship is no scape-grace. From what he’s said, he comes from a closely knit family. As for his intentions, he seeks…a suitable wife, as do the other young men.”

She wondered what made it so hard to say that. It was the
raison d’être
for the Season after all. She should be glad that Ian would choose a wife in a few short weeks. Her work would be finished and she would be able to purchase the townhouse for Mari and make a home for herself. Somehow the idea of another woman—one of these young girls—finding out what kissing Ian was really like didn’t set well with her. She gave herself an inward shake. There he went again…befuddling her brain.

“Violetta would come with a considerable dowry,” her father said. “I wouldn’t want him to marry her just for that.”

Jillian’s stomach dropped to her toes. Violetta’s father might only be a baron, but he was wealthy and owned lands on the continent as well. Ian had told Jillian that he needed the profits from his estate to help his family in Scotland. Would the dark-haired beauty’s riches entice him? She looked across the room to where Violetta had her hand curled inside Ian’s arm, standing way too close to be socially acceptable. Ian wasn’t exactly pulling away either.

“A dowry seems to be important for every man, doesn’t it, my lord?”

The baron looked shocked and then he laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be quite that frank before, Lady Newburn.”

Jillian wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. It had been an inappropriate comment, almost snide. “I beg pardon.”

He waved his hand. “No need. I just want my daughter to be happy. I’ve no experience with the Scots. All I know is that they harbor Frenchmen.”

“Refugees, my lord. Nobles who escaped the Revolution.”

“Spies, you mean?” Wesley said from behind her.

Jillian steadied her nerves before she turned to face him. More and more, he was reminding her of some night predator, slipping silently upon its prey. He’d left the townhouse right after the fencing incident, claiming he had business with Prinny and arrived back this morning in time for the luncheon.

“I doubt that the French aristocracy—or what’s left of it—has any desire to help Napoleon succeed.”