Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (22 page)

Jillian sat at the dressing table, combing her hair, and reflected on the evening. Even though Prinny had not offered to pay her, he had seemed pleased with Ian’s manners. And Ian had followed through as he said he would. He’d danced with not only Violetta and Amelia, but the other eager debutantes as well. Even shy Abigail had blossomed with rosy cheeks and luminous eyes at his attention. Jillian squelched the pang that twitched through her stomach. She should be happy for the girl.

Putting down the brush, she took a deep breath. The house was silent at this hour, the servants, except for Darcy, having gone to bed. Neither Ian nor Wesley were home. Wesley had disappeared earlier, along with Delia, but then she had put in a somewhat disheveled appearance some minutes later. Jillian had chosen the moment that the prince was distracted by the flirtatious Delia to slip out unnoticed.

Jillian tied the ribbon on her night rail just as the door to her chamber opened. Perfect timing. Darcy would be bringing hot chocolate for both of them. She turned and gasped.

Ian’s broad frame filled the doorway. The light behind him caused him to be in silhouette, but Jillian could see from the whiteness of his shirt and the dark V of his chest that he had removed his waistcoat and cravat.

She reached for her robe, only to remember she had left it on the bed. She pulled the lightweight fabric of her night rail closer to herself.

“What are you doing here, my lord?”

Ian stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and drawing the bolt. “I’ve come to bring you this,” he said and put down the cup of steaming chocolate on the dressing table. “Your maid said you were waiting for it.”

Jillian’s eyes slanted toward the door. “Where is Darcy?”

He shrugged. “I asked her to leave us alone.”

Drat her for deserting me.
She stood, all too aware of how Ian’s eyes traveled the length of her scantily clad body with pure male interest. She hurried over to the bed to grab the robe, but he reached his hand around her, got to it first and threw it across the bed. “Ye won’t need that,” he said as he took her shoulders and turned her around.

Jillian gazed up at him, feeling the warm, clean scent of him enveloping her. She was sure he could see her heart pounding beneath the thin rail and crossed her arms over her breasts. “This is most improper, my lord.”

He laid a finger across her lips. “I hate that word.” He traced her lower lip to the corner of her mouth and then cupped her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. “I’ve come for that favor ye said ye owed me.”

She felt her breath quicken even as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers in a tantalizingly slow motion. His lips were firm and warm as he slanted them to take full advantage of her mouth. He caught her lower lip between his and tugged gently before his tongue glided past to sweep in glorious circles around and over her own tongue. Jillian made a soft mewling noise in her throat and then put her hands on his chest to push him away. He didn’t budge.

“You really shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? Yer a grown woman, Jillian, with a woman’s passion—”

“I don’t have passion.”

“I think ye do,” he said and pulled the ribbon to loosen the top of her gown. “Why not listen to what yer body is saying to ye?”

“It’s not-not saying anything,” she replied in a shaky voice.

“Nae?” Ian brushed his thumb over the peak of an already hardened nipple. “Do ye stay like this all the time then?”

She made a feeble attempt to move away from him. “It’s…cold in here.”

His eyebrow rose as he continued to unfasten the laces. “Then let me warm ye.”

Jillian put her hand over his. “No. Please, Ian.”

He stopped, a puzzled look on his face. “Ye have nothing to fear from me, lass. I only want to show ye pleasure.”

“I can’t—”

“Shhh,” he said as loosened her hand from his. “I vow I willna do anything ye do not wish for me to do.” He nuzzled her neck. “This feels good, doesna it?”

It felt more than good. The light, airy kisses he was planting along her nape sent rivulets of sensation pulsing through her body. “You promise to stop when I ask you to?”

“Aye, lass,” he murmured, his mouth claiming hers before she could say more while his hand slowly pulled at the laces again.

Jillian closed her eyes. She really should stop him. His large, warm hands felt so good, though, on her bare shoulders as he eased the nightgown down to expose her breasts. A wicked imp, buried long ago, rose from the recesses of her mind.

You might like it.

Her nipples tingled and her breasts filled as Ian cupped and kneaded them softly and gently. Instinctively, she arched against him and he brought his dark head down to swirl his tongue over an areola, teasing the tip by flicking over it.

Jillian moaned, and he drew her closer, his mouth covering her as he suckled her thoroughly. She felt a gush of wetness between her legs and that little previously undiscovered nub between her folds began to throb. She ached for him to put his hand there and do what he had done in the maze.

But he seemed content to play with her breasts, then moving up to kiss her deeply while his hands stroked her bare back. Then she felt his caresses stop and she stiffened.

Her back. She had forgotten the welts.

Ian broke their kiss and straightened and then spun her around before she could stop him. The only thing she could be grateful for was that she was turned from him and he couldn’t see the total mortification and humiliation on her face. Why had she not remembered how her back looked?

“What kind of a monster did this to ye, lass?” he asked in a cold voice.

Oh, God. His voice told her everything. He was repulsed by what he saw. She tore herself away from him, pulling her gown back up and then curling herself into a ball in the chair next to the bed. She buried her face in her hands.

“Please leave,” she said, holding the tears back. “I know how hideous I look.”

“Lass,” Ian began and was interrupted by a soft knocking at the door.

“It’s Darcy, my lord,” the maid called.

Uttering a Gaelic oath beneath his breath, Ian went to the door. “What is it?” he growled in a tone that would have most men quaking in their boots.

Darcy didn’t flinch. “Lord Newburn is in the stable. He’ll be in the house any minute. I’ll not have my lady’s reputation ruined. You need to leave.”

Ian cast a glance over at Jillian. “Lass. Look at me.”

She just shook her head. “Go,” she said in a muffled voice.

The front door opened and they all heard Wesley enter. Ian swore again. “Take care of her, Darcy,” he said as he stepped out into the hallway. “And lock the door.”

Jillian heard his footsteps fade away and she let the pent-up tears flow.

Darcy hurried to her side. “Did he hurt you, my lady? I’ll cut his balls if he did.”

Jillian sat, swiping at her tear-stained face with the back of her hand. “He didn’t hurt me, dear. He saw my back.”

The maid smoothed back a tendril of Jillian’s hair. “So things got that far, did they? I’d say it was a good sign.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t hear his voice. One minute he was warm and caring and the next… He felt the welts, then he looked at them. I’ve never heard such disgust and loathing in any man’s voice.”

Darcy looked stricken. “Surely you are mistaken, mum. Lord Cantford is a kind man. He wouldn’t—”

“He was repelled,” Jillian interrupted. “I could hear it.” She gave a final sniffle. “I should have known better than to trust him. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Darcy opened her mouth to protest, then closed it when Jillian shook her head.

I should have known better. No man wants a woman who is disfigured, even if it isn’t visible in public
. She bit her lip.
If only his touch hadn’t felt so good
.

Chapter Thirteen

Several nights later, at the end-of-the-Season Masquerade Ball, Ian found himself looking anxiously over the crowds of masked women in hopes of spotting Jillian.

He had waited for her to come down for breakfast the morning after his attempt at lovemaking had been so abruptly interrupted. He knew she was upset and he wanted to reassure her that how her back looked had nothing to do with how he felt about her.

White rage nearly consumed him again at the thought of what her late-husband had done. He’d finally persuaded Darcy to tell him what had happened. How any mon could raise a hand to a helpless woman, he couldna understand, but to deliberately whip her because she couldna bear a child? No wonder the lass shied away from a mon’s touch. Ian clenched his fists. It was truly a good thing that the bastard was dead, or his demise would have been much slower and more painful than anything he’d inflicted on Jillian.

Jillian had stayed in her room that morning, and when Ian returned from sword practice, she was gone. So was Darcy. Wesley had angrily thrown a crumpled note at him that said simply she had gone to visit her aunt and sister for a few days.

Now, Ian scanned the crowd once more. This was the last ball and he didn’t think Jillian would miss it since it was the last opportunity she would have at convincing Lady Jersey and the rest of the Almack’s matrons to sponsor Mari for next year’s Season.

He spotted a familiar glimpse of a dark green gown. Jillian’s favorite color. Her chestnut hair was piled high on her head, the elaborate curls hiding the streak of faerie gold. A black mask banded with ostrich feathers covered the upper half of her face. Perhaps both of them wearing masks would ease the awkwardness of this first meeting.

Ian walked toward her. For a moment he was afraid she’d bolt, but she stood still, watching his approach.

“Good evening. Ye are looking lovely, Jillian.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, but didn’t speak.

Ian cleared his throat. “I want ye to know, lass, that I dinna care about the welts.”

Her chin lifted and even with the mask in place, he could see a look of interest in her green eyes.

“I only want to do what pleases ye. Please believe that.”

Full lips curved upward in a small smile and Ian felt immensely relieved. So far, this was going well. Jillian was listening and hadn’t shunned him. Did he dare ask her to dance? Would she welcome his arm around her?

Ian swallowed. “Would ye do me the favor of dancing with me, lass?”

She inclined her head again and he led her to the dance floor, careful not to hold her too close, lest she panic. A gentle, slow hand was what she needed.

He was surprised and pleased when she inched marginally closer to him and her hand tightened on his biceps. He rested his head against hers briefly. “Ah, lass, I would like to finish what we started the other night. Will ye trust me?”

For an answer, she pressed her breasts against his chest and Ian almost shouted for joy. “Tonight then, when we get home—”

“No,” she whispered. “Now.”

He leaned back, surprised, to look down at her, but her expression was hidden behind the mask. “Now?”

She nodded and stood on tiptoe to murmur in his ear, “Before I lose my nerve.” The faint scent of roses from her hair wafted toward him.

“But lass, ’tis a party. We canna—”

Putting a finger to his lips, she smiled again and crooked a finger. “Come.”

Ian followed her through the ballroom and down a hallway towards the back stairs that the kitchen help used. Jillian preceded him to the next floor and opened a guest bedroom. She gestured with her hand for him to enter and then closed the door.

Ian put an arm around her, his hand reaching for her mask.

Jillian stayed his hand. “I’d rather leave it on.”

Ian thought he understood. She was still embarrassed by what she thought was a horrible disfigurement and a part of her still wanted to hide from him. He’d play along for now, but he planned on putting all her fears to rest. Soon.

She inched her way to the bed and again, he was pleased that she didn’t hesitate about that. The days away from him had obviously given her time to think.

He leaned her backwards onto the bed and then lay down beside her. One hand stroked her collarbone, working slowly toward her breast as he leaned over to kiss her.

The door swung open so fast that it hit the wall with a solid thump. Startled, Ian looked up. Wesley and Sherrington stood in the doorway.

The earl’s face was white, his teeth clenched. “What the hell are you doing with my wife?” he asked.

With a sinking feeling, Ian looked down at the woman who lay sprawled halfway beneath him.

Delia removed her mask and smiled.

Jillian took a deep breath as her rented carriage rolled to a stop in front of Lord Liverpool’s town house. She had not wanted to come to this masquerade ball, but Mari’s tearful entreaties had finally convinced her. After all, Lady Jersey would not miss the prime minister’s party and her sponsorship of Mari guaranteed not only Almack’s, but invitations to all of the important events of next year’s Season.

As she walked up the front steps to the waiting butler, she was glad she had her mask in place. It was going to be humiliating enough to face Ian after the disdain he had so clearly voiced, but at least she could hide the pain that she felt. Whatever had she been thinking to let him disrobe her?