Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (29 page)

Ian leaned back in the leather chair in the library and rubbed his eyes. Wesley had given him the breeding-stock ledgers earlier and he’d been going over them all afternoon. In addition to Gunnar, there were two other studs along with twenty brood mares. He and Jillian had spent yesterday looking over the colts and fillies to determine which ones to sell and which ones to add to the herd.

He tapped his fingers on the table. Something was wrong with Jillian. Every time he had gotten close to her, she’d moved away. When he’d taken her arm to steer her clear of a pile of dung in the pasture, she had nearly jumped out of his grasp. She’d gone back to calling him
my lord
too.

How could a woman who reacted so passionately to his kisses and touch suddenly become so cold? He knew he aroused her. No lass could climax that quickly and easily if she weren’t. There was nothing false about Jillian either. He had felt those inner muscles contract and clench his fingers each time she so deliciously came for him. He thought he had thawed the ice around her heart. He shuddered slightly, remembering how tentative her touch had been at first and her growing confidence as he grew beneath her hand. His cock had nearly spilled his seed immediately, like some green schoolboy. He’d had to call on every bit of will-power he had to delay that moment, especially when her silky fingers stroked the tip of his shaft. Even now, his groin tightened in response.

Tiredly, he closed the ledger and pushed it aside. He had a list of which animals were up for sale and he’d give that to Wesley tomorrow. Tonight, he had to endure another of those interminable parties.

Mari met him as he walked down the hall toward the dining room later that evening. As usual, she nearly bounced with enthusiasm. “Did you hear?” she asked. “Lord Liverpool just arrived.”

Ian stifled a groan. If the prime minister were in attendance, Ian would have to play the part of the amorous suitor to several of the twittering girls that flitted about. He had hoped to dance with Jillian. “I suppose that will make Newburn happy?”

Mari smiled widely. “It’s an honor for us. Lady Jersey will remember it next year when the invitations go out.”

“Aye, lass.” The child was such an innocent. All that concerned her was that she be invited to all the right parties and find a husband. She probably didn’t think past the ball gowns and dinners to what went on between a mon and woman when the bedrooms doors were closed. She probably dinna
know
. The wrong mon could be much worse than no mon, as Jillian knew. Suddenly, Ian had the fierce desire to protect this little sister from that fate.

He pushed aside the thought that he too was supposed be finding a wife with a dowry who would breed sons for him. Damn English Society. Dinna it matter that a mon needed to find his true mate?

Adams announced dinner and Ian escorted Mari to her seat beside a young blond man who looked at her admiringly. He turned red and quickly looked away when Ian glared at him.

He found himself seated far down the table from Jillian, who presided as hostess. He comforted himself with the fact that Wesley had to sit at the other end as host. Liverpool was seated to Jillian’s right. Sherrington and his non-contrite wife were near Wesley. Lady Jersey sat across from Ian and, irritatingly, Violetta was to his right and Amelia to his left. It was going to be a long dinner.

Ian sat through courses of pheasant soup, haunches of venison and braised ham, truffles and an assortment of fruits and cheeses, taking care that he not talk to one of the young ladies more than the other. He praised Mari’s virtues to Lady Jersey, causing both Amelia and Violetta to pout. Lady Jersey looked amused, but didn’t make any of her usual forthright remarks.

They were getting ready to go up to the ballroom after a dessert of ginger ice cream and Manchester pudding with clotted cream, when Wesley signaled to him. He dinna think he would ever be grateful to Newburn for anything, but an escape from feminine clutches made him almost smile at the mon. Liverpool was with him.

“So sorry to detain you,” the prime minister said when he approached, “but I’m quite interested in seeing some of your Andalusians. Newburn tells me there will be some colts and fillies for sale?”

“Yes, my lord. I can show them to you tomorrow, if you like.”

“Splendid,” Liverpool replied.

“I’ve an idea,” Wesley said. “It’s too dark to see the stock right now, but why don’t we retire to the smoking room for a brandy and give you a chance to look over the stud book?” He turned to Ian. “I believe it’s with the stack of ledgers I gave you.”

“I hate to keep you from the young ladies,” Liverpool answered.

“Nonsense,” Wesley said jovially. “My ears need a bit of quiet anyway.”

For once, Ian had to agree with him. The constant chirping from Amelia and Violetta had grated on him. “As do mine,” he said.

Liverpool looked at both of them. “Well, then
…p
erhaps a moment?”

“Of course,” Wesley answered and gestured for him to proceed down the hall. “Cantford, bring all the books, will you?”

Ian nodded and went to the library. He gathered up the ledgers along with the stud book, balancing it on top. As he turned, one of the ledgers slipped and fell to the floor. Ian leaned down to pick it up and noticed a corner of paper sticking out. Setting the others down, he pulled it out.

As he read, he felt the blood draining from his face. It was a letter addressed to him from Marshal Michel Ney, Napoleon’s second-in command, stating that the information had been received and troops would be in place to stop Wellington.

Ian fingered the paper. It had not been in the ledger earlier. There had been no loose paper. Which meant that someone had put it in there after he’d left the room earlier.

The hairs on his nape bristled with the kenning.

Wesley.

This whole thing was a ruse. Wesley had insisted that Liverpool look at the stud book. He had asked Ian to bring all the books, so that Wesley wouldn’t be accused of planting the letter. He probably didn’t expect Ian to look through any of the ledgers first, not with the prime minister waiting. And Ian wouldn’t have caught it, had it not been for the book slipping.

Perhaps the
Sidhe-fae
did come into England. Had he been caught with this, he would have been arrested. He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket and then walked to the hearth where the embers still glowed. Taking the poker, he coaxed them into a small flame and held a blank piece of paper to it. At the last minute, he extinguished the flame, leaving the partially burnt piece there. Then he inserted another blank page inside the ledger.

He kept his face passive as he returned to the smoking room where Wesley had just lit a cigar. He set the books down in from of Liverpool and opened the stud book. “These are the colts and fillies that will be for sale,” he said.

The prime minister studied them. “A good assortment.”

Wesley moved over to them. “If you’d like to look at the ledgers, I’m sure you’ll find that we are asking reasonable amounts for each.”

Noting the smug look on Wesley’s face, Ian waited.

“That won’t be necessary,” Liverpool said as he closed the stud book. “I always enjoy a little haggling, but not until I see the stock, of course.”

“I insist,” Wesley said, a little too loudly and pushed the offending ledger toward him. He opened it and thumbed through several pages. “Ah
…
let me find the latest page…” A frown began to appear on his face. “I know it’s here… The latest prices from last season…
Ah
!” Wesley pulled the piece of paper from near the back and then his face paled. The frown reappeared and he set his lips in a tight, white line.

“Did you find something?” Ian asked.

The look that Wesley shot him was filled with malice. Ian smiled. Wesley slowly crumbled the blank paper in his hand.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Glad to hear it,” Ian replied affably. “For a moment, I thought it might be something important.”

Wesley glared at him, his eyes promising revenge. “Why don’t you take Lord Liverpool to the ballroom?” he said between clenched teeth. “I’ll just return these to the library and join you.”

Ian nodded and walked with the prime minister to the door. He turned just before they left.

“Newburn,” he said and smiled pleasantly. “Make sure the fire is banked in there, will you?”

Chapter Sixteen

Ian left Lord Liverpool in the capable hands of Lady Jersey and searched the ballroom for Sherrington. If the letter from Marshal Ney were authentic, then Wellington needed to be notified. He and Sherrington were friends, Jillian had once said.

Sherrington and his wife were speaking to the Havishams. He wasn’t about to join them. His eyes lit on Abigail, standing alone and looking rather forlorn near the punch bowl. He managed to elude both Amelia and Violetta on his way across the dance floor to her.

“Would ye like some punch?” he asked with a smile as he poured a cup and held it out to her.

She jumped and blushed furiously, then looked around to see to whom he might be speaking. “Pardon me?”

“Ye did naught to be pardoned for, lass,” he said and placed the cup in her hand. Her eyes behind the glasses grew wide and he felt her tremble. Had no mon ever brought her punch before?

“Tha-Thank you,” she managed to say and flashed a tremulous smile at him. “You’re very kind, my lord.”

Ian frowned slightly. The girl had a beautiful smile that made her face light up. He thought it was a damn shame that these young bucks were so taken with the flighty, flirtatious nitwits that they didn’t appreciate the quiet girl standing here. Her skin was flawless, creamy now that the redness was residing. The gown was the wrong color for her and her hair was pulled back too tightly. Her mother probably didn’t want anyone to realize that her daughter could be more attractive. Ian exchanged pleasantries with her, pushing aside a twinge of guilt that he might be using her to get her father’s attention.

“Would ye like to dance?” he asked.

She blushed again and Ian was reminded of how easily Jillian’s fair skin would color becomingly. Maybe later he would be able to make her blush too, with some wickedly placed kisses.

“Abigail, why don’t you join your mother?” Sherrington said as he walked up behind Ian. “I would like a word with Lord Cantford.”

“Yes, Father.” Abigail bobbed a quick curtsy to both of them and scurried off like a rabbit thankful that the fox had been held at bay.

Sherrington raised an eyebrow. “Are none of the women in my family safe from you, Cantford?”

Ian met his gaze unwaveringly. “I can assure ye, they both are. I need to talk to ye.”

The earl studied him for a moment without speaking. Then abruptly he nodded. “Lead on.”

Ian took him back to the library, making sure that Wesley was occupied elsewhere. He closed and bolted the door. “Please have a seat, my lord.”

Sherrington took one of the two leather chairs in front of the desk. “What’s this about?” he asked.

Ian took a deep breath. Ironically, he trusted this man. Would Sherrington trust him though? Quickly, he told him what had transpired.

The older man steepled his hands thoughtfully, his elbows on the chair arms, as he listened to what Ian had to say. “So you think information has actually been sent to the French commander or is this letter false and meant to get you branded a traitor?” His eyes went to the fireplace. “I assume you’ve burned it?”

“Nae. I wanted ye to see it.” Ian answered as he withdrew the letter and handed it to Sherrington.

The earl took it and read, and then looked up. “You’re taking quite a chance, showing me this. You’d have a hard time proving your innocence since you aren’t English. I could go straight to the Prince of Wales myself.”

“Aye. Ye could.”

‘But you don’t think I will. Why shouldn’t I?”

Ian straightened his shoulders. “Because I think ye would prefer that England wins this war. Yer friend, Wellington, needs to be warned that Marshal Ney has some kind of information about English plans. I have no proof other than that letter, but he would take heed if the message came from ye, wouldna he?”

“Umm. I suppose he would.” The earl reread the letter once more and then stood. “I’ll send a courier at once.” He smiled slightly. “I had better get back to the dance before I find myself having to call another man out for incriminating circumstances.”

“About that—” Ian started to say when Sherrington held up a hand.

“I know my wife,” he said quietly. “You need say no more.” He handed the letter back to Ian. “I won’t be needing this.”

Ian stayed in the library after the earl had gone and fed the letter to the small flame in the hearth. He watched the real letter dissolve to ashes, feeling he had been right to trust Sherrington.

Now all he had to do was prove Wesley the culprit.

Wesley clenched his fists. How had that damn Highlander eluded him once again? He had been sure that hiding the incriminating letter in the last ledger would be a safe wager. Lorelei had told him a story once that certain Scots had fey blood in them that protected them. He had laughed and thought she was building a fantasy for him. Now he wasn’t so sure.