The Devilish Lord Will: Mackenzies, Book 10 Page 13

  Will, having spent a few years coming and going in European courts, had grown used to impromptu parties dreamed up by a bored queen or official mistress. Spontaneity counted as entertainment in their cushioned worlds.

  “More time to learn things, my dear,” Will said into Josette’s ear.

  He pressed a kiss to her neck. The smile she flashed him made Will want to consign the Bentleys to hell and take Josette to bed for the rest of the night.

  Will finished lacing Josette’s gown and helped tie on her mask, a lace affair with a spray of silk flowers on one side.

  Will had fashioned his costume from a banner he’d found hanging in the gallery, taken with permission from Stelton, the majordomo. It had been easy for him to sew seams at the shoulders and tack the banner—a gold cross—to the front to make a surcoat.

  “You are handy with a needle,” Josette commented.

  “Forced to be. Grew to manhood without a mum and not enough servants willing to sew clothes for six lads. We learned to shift for ourselves. A handy skill to have, stitching.”

  He finished and pulled the surcoat over his regular clothes.

  “A knight of old,” he said, studying himself in the mirror. “Sir William of … Who knows where?”

  “Unfair,” Josette said. She wore flowers in the wig she’d donned over her knot of hair. “You only have to throw that off when the evening is over. I’ll have to struggle out of all this fussiness.”

  “I don’t mind helping you struggle.” Will laced his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

  Josette touched his hair, and Will’s blood pumped hot. He was already thoroughly sick of Sir Harmon and his wife and their equally unpleasant guests.

  At the moment, he wanted to bury himself in Josette and forget his pain. Damn men like Bentley and idiots like the zealous Highlanders who’d thought it would be easy to throw King Geordie’s armies out of Scotland. If not for them, he could be curled up around Josette without a care, the two of them wrapped in a warm plaid.

  Josette’s touch brought Will back from his vast well of regret. “Are you all right?”

  Will shook his head. “No. But I’ll weather it. I always do.”

  Josette watched him, her beautiful eyes troubled. Will raised her hand to his lips, kissed it, and clasped it to the cross on his chest.

  “Shall we go down, my lady?”

  “Of course, my knight.”

  Lady Bentley must have sent word to other Englishmen in the area, because the ballroom had filled with about a dozen couples. None were Scots—a quick scan told Will that—and all were masked. They spoke and laughed in the bright way of people determined to enjoy themselves, no matter that they were in the middle of a hostile wilderness.

  Captain Ellis’s only nod to a costume was a black mask and a tricorn pulled over his dark hair. He looked Will up and down. “Knight of what order? I don’t recognize it.”

  “I’m sure no one does,” Will answered. “One can buy banners of obsolete orders for decorating one’s house. My many times great-grandfather was a famous knight, so why not?”

  Old Dan Mackenzie had been a savage man who’d fought every enemy of his clan with a ferocity that even now flowed through Mackenzie veins. He’d been given a dukedom for being unstoppable—or perhaps the Scots king had simply tried to tame him with it. Hadn’t worked, from what Will had been told.

  Captain Ellis frowned. The man liked caution, and he believed Will was never cautious. Not that Captain Ellis hadn’t charged out of smoke, alone, against a handful of Scottish soldiers, in an attempt to take back captured artillery. Mal had fought him down, but only with great difficulty.

  “Speak to me later,” Will said to Ellis under the cover of musicians beginning to play. Couples formed into squares for a minuet.

  Will led Josette out, bowing to the other two in their square. He and Josette were skilled at the minuet—they seemed to end up dancing it whenever they came together.

  Josette was graceful, her feet moving daintily, her skirts swaying enticingly as they went through the many steps. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling, and the smile she flashed at Will as they met and clasped hands held genuine pleasure.

  Will was sorry when the minuet wound to an end. He and the second gentleman bowed to Josette and the other lady in the square, and the ladies curtsied prettily.

  Josette took Will’s arm, and they strolled the room to catch their breaths as another dance formed.

  Something caught Will’s eye, a flash of familiarity that broke through his disguise and struck the heart of the true Will. It was a jolt of incongruity, past rushing forward to meet present like a hazy phantom.

  “A moment.” Will made an abrupt turn to a window alcove, which contained a settee with delicate, curved legs. “I think that’s one of mine. Yes, I’d swear it.”

  The settee was a graceful thing of gilded wood, upholstered with a petit-point scene of lords and ladies that had been expertly rendered.

  Josette peered at it, bewildered. “One of yours? What do you mean?”

  “I had it shipped from France to Kilmorgan. It sat in the front drawing room.” Will bent to it, finger going unerringly to a hole in the upholstery above its front left leg. “Yes, here’s the tear where Dad threw a whisky tumbler at Duncan. I tried to deflect it, but it caught the edge.”

  His breath came faster as the phantom rose to blot out his vision. Will had made himself stay away from his burned home—he’d only once returned to the ruins and then never gone again. But to see this piece of furniture, given to Will by the French king when Will had praised it, stirred the red rage inherited from Old Dan Mackenzie.

  This was plunder, spoils of war, taken by those who’d destroyed his family. The fact that it had ended up here, in the possession of the idiot Sir Harmon, was more than Will could take.

  “Will.” Josette’s soft voice cut through his anger.

  Will forced himself to look down at her. Josette was warning him, but her dark eyes were full of understanding. She knew.

  Josette was the only person in Will’s life who grasped what he did and why. Gone were the days a Highlander could muster his clan and protect his lands—Scotland was now one country, gathered into the kingdom called Great Britain with a stroke of a pen.

  Will had defended his family the only way he could, inside the nebulous world of intrigue. By becoming a dealer in secrets, he knew what truly went on behind the closed doors of the British government and used the knowledge to protect his family and friends.

  In the end, it hadn’t been enough. Kilmorgan had fallen, his family scattered into hiding. All because Will hadn’t been quick enough, hadn’t understood soon enough what would happen when the Jacobites joined Prince Teàrlach when he came home from across the sea.

  “Will,” Josette whispered again.

  “Come with me,” Will said, fierceness in his voice. He swept her abruptly out of the room and into the cool garden.

  Chapter 14

  Josette had to jog to keep up with Will as he pulled her down the long path, around the silent fountains, past the yew hedges and the folly, and out a far gate.

  It was still light outside, daylight lasting to midnight now. The long twilight bathed the sky in dusky blue edged with gold.

  Will found a path that wound up the hill, the house soon lost in the folds of green and brown. Behind them was the loch, glittering and gray, hemmed in by hills on its west side, winding to the sea to the south. A soft rain fell, not so much pattering on the earth as filling the air with liquid.

  Will halted when the house and formal garden were out of sight and let out a long breath. “God of gods, Josette, what am I doing here?”

  The plea was genuine, his voice filled with anguish.

  Josette took his hand, which was cold without his gloves. “Saving your family. Your friends.”

  “Am I?” he growled. “I’m playing a damned game, as I always do. So caught up in the game I for
get what the end is supposed to be.”

  “It is easy be lost in the role,” Josette began.

  Will jerked from her. He spread his arms, letting the breeze from the loch lift the surcoat and stir the tail of his wig. The disguise couldn’t hide what he was from Josette—a Scotsman in his own lands, wild and free.

  He spoke to the sky. “When Alec told me he’d almost gone berserk in a crowd of highborn Englishmen, I thought him a fool. He should have put on an inane smile and made digs the English idiots couldn’t understand. I didn’t realize …” He swung to Josette. “I ought to let Henri kill Sir Harmon and to hell with the rest of them.”

  “You’d not find the gold, if you did that.”

  “The gold.” Will scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t believe it exists, Josie. It can’t, at least, not in one place. It’s a dream.” He gazed over the loch, body outlined by dying light.

  “If it’s true it doesn’t exist, what will you do?” Josette asked softly.

  “End this charade. Have Captain Ellis arrest Sir Harmon on suspicion of being a spy and possible traitor. Take my damned settee and return it to Kilmorgan. At least I’d have something to sit on.”

  “No.”

  Will went still, the wind lifting the curls of his brown wig to let his own red locks escape. “What was that, lass?”

  “I said, no.” Josette squared her shoulders. “Sir Harmon has promised to send you to a man to give you funds. Who knows? He might have the French gold.”

  Will shook his head. “A very long shot. He’ll likely be a simple moneylender Sir Harmon has in his pocket.”

  “A chance I am willing to take. We have come this far, and I have put up with much. I’ll not run back to the castle and tell the ladies we failed them because you saw a piece of old furniture.”

  Will glared at her, the anguish in his eyes naked and raw. Josette knew that finding the settee, blatantly pillaged from his father’s house, had struck a nerve, had ripped off the bandage he kept over his deepest wounds.

  Josette began to apologize for speaking too harshly, but Will’s anguish abruptly fell away and he burst out laughing.

  “Bless you for the fine woman you are.” He seized Josette’s hands and pulled her to him, then he reached up and swiftly untied her mask. “No one cuts to the heart of the matter like you, my Josie.”

  He tossed the mask away as his arms went around her. Josette’s breath left her as Will drew her up and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  He tasted of brandy and spice, anger and laughter, the complexity of Will Mackenzie. His strong hands braced her as the kiss turned forceful, Will’s torment and determination coming to her like fire.

  They stood on a craggy hill in an untamed land, its Highland son firmly rooted. The land flowed up through Will and out through his touch, his kisses, his embrace. Josette had sensed the solidness that was Scotland in him when they’d first met, and now that he was home, it filled him, welcomed him.

  The rough of his whiskers burned her lips, his fingers bit into her back, his hard body pressed aside her skirts. Josette drank him in, knowing she could have so little of him. Will was strength, desire, a mountain she needed to steady her but one she could never ascend.

  She expected him at any moment to break the kiss, straighten their clothes, and lead her back inside to take up the game once more.

  Will rose from her, the light in his eyes like stars against the night. He removed the fake surcoat in one rapid movement and dropped it on the ground like a carpet.

  He lowered her to it and Josette went willingly, tugging off her irritating wig on the way. Will’s skilled hands easily found the laces and hooks of her stomacher, bodice, skirts. He wore almost as many clothes as she did, and began to laugh as Josette fought his cloth-covered buttons, ribbons, and profusion of fabric.

  “’Tis so much easier with a kilt, lass,” Will said. The front piece of his breeches came undone, letting his cock, thick and hard, tumble out.

  Josette caught it in her hands, and Will drew a sharp breath.

  She hadn’t been properly with him in an age, but she remembered the feel of his cock, every long inch. The rigid cap, the smooth, tight skin of the shaft, the intoxicating weight in her hand.

  Will braced himself over her to kiss her. He took his time, kissing her thoroughly while cool breezes blew across her exposed legs.

  Josette wasn’t cold, though. Will kept her warm, sheltered from the weather.

  He’d bared her breasts, and they tingled as he kissed them. He licked her skin then nuzzled his way to her nipple, dragging it into his mouth.

  Josette savored the pull of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, how his eyes closed as he concentrated on suckling her. She stroked his cock, swirling her thumb over the tip in the way she remembered he liked.

  When Will looked at her, his eyes held fire, but his smile was slow and wicked.

  “I’ve missed you, lass.”

  Josette had missed him—she’d hadn’t known how much, until she’d seen him again. Now she realized she’d waited for his return with every breath, wanting him to bound back into her life, send her his smile, and ask in his rich Scots voice, “How are you, love?”

  She couldn’t speak, words catching in her throat. I missed you. I want you. I need you. The sounds seemed inadequate for the emotions that gripped her.

  Josette laced her fingers through his hair, as Will stretched on top of her, a comforting weight.

  Their gazes met, time flowing away. Josette was young again, three-and-twenty, swept off her feet by Lord Will Mackenzie. He had an easy way with him, a ready smile, a spark she’d wanted to touch.

  Will brushed back a lock of her hair, his intense gaze on her, all smiles gone.

  “I dreamed of you so long, lass.” His whisper melded with the wind. “I scarce dared believe I’d see you again. And then ye came strolling in to my interrogation, cool as you please.”

  Josette touched his cheek. “I didn’t want them to kill you.” She’d scolded him about this before, but now her voice caught on a sob. “I couldn’t let them.”

  Will’s answering look, and touch, burned fires in her blood. “You are the bravest woman I know, my Josie.”

  “I was terrified.”

  “No.” Will brushed his finger down the bridge of her nose. “You have the heart of a lion.”

  Josette had been prepared to strike those men down if the laudanum she’d dosed their drink with had not been strong enough. She’d have done anything to get Will away from men who wanted to rip him to shreds.

  She wrapped him in her arms, pulling him down to her. Their mouths met, and there would be no more discussion. They always knew when they were ready.

  Josette felt his hand, warm and bare, at the join of her thighs. Then his hand vanished to be replaced by his cock, blunt against her opening, which was hot with longing. Will lifted from the kiss, his golden eyes sharp on her, and then he pushed inside.

  Time lost all meaning. Josette no longer felt the chill Highland wind, or saw the sky brushed with its pink-edged clouds, or felt the hard ground at her back.

  She knew only Will, the shape of him inside her as he stretched her in the exact way she remembered.

  He began slowly, as though concerned he’d hurt her, then when her seeking hands found his bare back, pressing him on, he drew partway out and thrust again, harder this time.

  Josette stifled a cry, but they were alone, a long way from anyone. Josette let the shout tear from her throat, her glad cry that the man she loved was loving her, as hard as he could.

  It felt right for him to be inside her, for her to rise to him in urgency. Joy came out in Josette’s cries, her laughter. Will wrenched out a groan, his eyes closing as he continued, his hot kisses falling on her flesh.

  “Josette. Love. Beautiful.” His words were disjointed, broken by groans. “Missed you. Need you. Love …”

  I love you, Will. Josette wanted to yell it to the wind.

  She rocked
her head back and cried her love without words, rejoicing in the dark, wicked sensations pouring through her and blotting out all else. Nothing was real but the point of need where she and Will joined.

  The friction of his thrusts was hot and bright. Will shouted her name at the same time she cried his. They were finishing together, in a crazed frenzy, the two of them locked in wildness. At this moment, nothing mattered but Will, and Josette, alone in the dusk and rain.

  Will gave one last frantic thrust, shuddering. The misty rain, which had picked up, slammed into his back, drenching him. He bowed his head, rain dripping from his hair. He’d spent himself inside her, with the madness he’d told her he lost himself in whenever he was with her.

  “Will,” Josette whispered.

  Will lifted his head and opened his eyes. They burned gold, the color of Mackenzie malt, filled with fire and passion.

  They lay still, letting the rain fall, Josette’s body relaxing in a way it hadn’t in years. She touched Will’s cheek, and he kissed her palm, his mouth slow and hot.

  “My Josette.” Will’s voice was broken. “My Josie.”

  He kissed her lips, lay down on her, and was still.

  * * *

  When they returned to the ballroom, clothing and wigs restored, rain splotches on their clothes hastily rubbed dry or hidden in folds of fabric, Will realized with surprise that few had noted their absence. Lady Bentley was the exception, of course, and she sent Will a broad smile. She noted his missing surcoat—it had been too muddy and stained to don again after serving as a bed—and her smile grew predatory.

  Will ignored her. His whole form felt lighter, his determination returning. Josette had given him back his courage, lifted him from despair.

  She was incredibly beautiful, sailing into the crowd with great poise, charming all as she went. Her wig and mask disguised any disarray their lovemaking had caused.

  Will’s blood thrummed, his body crackling like a charge of lightning. Everything looked brighter, sharper, cleaner-edged.