The Devilish Lord Will

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Before did not involve my daughter. Now it does.”

  “Makes no difference. We’re always better together, love. Ye know it.”

  “You are very certain of yourself. Perhaps I should give you over to Colonel Chadwick to take you down a peg.”

  “Do ye think that will work?”

  “Not really.”

  Josette was so comfortable against his chest, his warmth dissolving her tension, as though he could take all her troubles away. He likely could, but then, there was no greater trouble in the world than Will himself.

  “We’ll keep Glenna safe, Josie.” Will rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I love her like she was my own. Always have.”

  He had, that was true. Josette remembered the second time she’d seen Will in her life—Alec had arrived at her rooms unexpectedly to deliver a drawing he’d done for her, and Will had accompanied him. For the excuse of seeing her again, Will had confessed later. Glenna had burst upon them. She’d been five years old, dressed in nothing but a dirt-streaked chemise, her hair a tangled mess, and began screaming like a hellion.

  Will, instead of being appalled, had laughed, caught Glenna as she tore about, and had her cleaned up in a trice and eating her milk and bread, which she’d been rebellious about taking from Josette.

  From then on, Glenna had called him Oncle Will and flung herself into his arms whenever she saw him. Will hadn’t minded—in fact, he seemed to enjoy taking care of a child. He read books to her, sang to her and taught her songs, took her for walks and rides on his horse, and helped Josette dose her when she was sick.

  He’d done all the things a father should, and had explained, when Josette asked him why he was so good with Glenna, that as the second of six brothers, he’d taken care of the younger ones. Will’s oldest brother, Duncan, had been too lofty and too conscious of his role as heir to have much interest in his younger brothers, so Will had taken the role as their leader.

  “Trying to get Malcolm to settle down long enough to eat, bathe, drink, and even relieve himself was a pitched battle from morn to night,” Will had told her. “Glenna is a calm little angel compared to what he was like.” Josette had expressed her sympathy.

  The carriage bumped over another rut and Josette pushed thoughts of the past aside. “I don’t know how we can keep Glenna’s true father from her, even if she’s his by-blow,” she said mournfully. “Do you know a decent, sober, kind, practical, and well-off single gentleman who can marry her? Young and handsome as well—I’d not foist her off on a doddering man she has to grow weary nursing.”

  “Hmm. I’m not certain there are any decent, sober, kind, practical, well-off, single, handsome gentlemen in the world. Well, apart from myself. But I’m a bit long in the tooth for her at three and thirty.”

  And he could always make Josette feel better, even when they were plunging into peril. “Well, you can strike sober and practical from that description of yourself,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t mean you’re a drunkard, but you’re hardly serious and solemn. Practical? Resourceful rather, but you’ll go off on a wild tear if it suits you. Kind, I will give you, when you want to be. Single, unless you’re hiding a wife you’ve not told me of.” Josette hesitated, fearing he’d spring such information on her as Oliver Chadwick had that horrible day long ago. “And yes, handsome.”

  “Good, I feared ye’d leave off the last one. No, love, I have no secret wife or a string of mistresses. Only one lady has ever had my heart.”

  Will leaned to her and kissed her cheek, moving to her lips. Josette let her fears die away and turned to him, seeking his mouth with hers, unable to stop herself.

  Will started, then gave in to the kiss, his lips parting hers. He slid his hand up her stomacher to cup her breast, his touch firm and hot through the fabric and boning.

  The carriage, which had no springs to speak of, jounced over a road far too rutted. Their mouths bumped, painfully, and they broke from each other with a laugh.

  Will did not release her, however. He continued to caress her breasts, pressing a kiss to the top of each, dipping his thumb behind the stomacher to the space between them.

  Josette melted against him and enjoyed the pleasure of his touch, which stirred fire in her blood and in her heart.

  She would not let herself succumb completely to him this time, but she’d learned to savor joy when she found it. In that carriage for a few more miles, she took the sweetness Will gave her, storing it up against lonely days to come.

  Several miles before they reached the estate of Sir Harmon Bentley—optimistically named Oak View Park—the road improved immensely, straight and packed, like the Wade roads to the east.

  Sir Harmon must have friends in high places, Will reflected, as the going became almost easy. Something to note.

  He’d reluctantly left Josette’s seat and resumed his own to put the rest of his disguise in place. The smoother road made easier the job of combing his hair flat on his head and donning a wig of dark brown. Josette helped adjust it, the lace on her sleeves brushing him most distractingly.

  In the box of potions he’d had Bhreac acquire was a bottle of face paint from Paris, which dandies there used to smooth their complexions. Will peered at himself in a mirror Josette held up as he slathered it on, turning his wind-burned face pale as a pampered aristocrat’s. The mirror wobbled a bit, because Josette insisted on laughing.

  She was beautiful when she laughed. Her cares dropped from her, and her natural beauty glowed. So many people in her life—including Will—had given her the troubles that brushed faint lines about her eyes.

  Will would rectify that, he’d already decided. Oliver Chadwick could go to the devil, and Will would send him there. Then he would install Josette in a lavish home with servants to wait on her hand and foot, provide Glenna a governess to polish her so that she could debut and have her pick of the best men in England or France.

  Will would give Josette the choice of marriage to him or not—if all went well with his mission, he’d no longer be a fugitive. They could settle in France or London—Josette’s choice—and grow middle-aged and peaceful together.

  Such a lovely dream.

  No matter what, he wanted Josette beside him in the night—and in the morning, and the afternoon, and every time in between.

  Will smoothed the makeup on his face and finished it with a little white powder. Josette sneezed.

  He handed her the powder box and told her to don it as well. They would be playing a silly young couple who wanted nothing more in life than to be fashionable and rich and run with fashionable and rich people. They’d be too foolish and gauche for the very best circles, so they’d make do with second best, but preen themselves for that.

  “The insipid Anna Jacobs I become once again,” Josette said, closing the powder casket.

  The powder made her very pretty—she’d deftly applied it to give her cheeks a soft glow.

  Will added a touch of rouge to her cheeks, but just a touch. Her natural blush was better than artifice.

  Her warm skin invited lingering, but Will made himself sit back, smear the rouge on his own cheeks, and wipe off his fingers. At least the personas of William and Anna were besotted with each other—Will looked forward to holding hands, secret smiles, flirtation, a touch on the waist, promising looks for later …

  He carefully set a tricorn hat on his head. “There. Am I a vision?”

  “You look awful.” Josette’s grin told him all he needed. “An overweening popinjay.”

  “Perfect. You, of course, are splendid. Much too good for the likes of your ridiculous husband. I will be perpetually in awe that such a lady married me.”

  “She was too foolish to know any better,” Josette returned. “This Anna is a complete featherhead. I always believe I’ll go cross-eyed with all her tittering and simpering.”

  “Anna and William deserve each other. They’ll be happy ’til their dying day, and never realize what fools they are.” Will lost his smil
e. “I envy them sometimes.”

  “They’re not real people, you know,” Josette reminded him.

  “The trouble with being so many different people is that they are real.” Will put away the mirror and box. “One is the vagabond Highlander who may or may not know secrets but is too untrustworthy to carry any real ones. He’s very useful.”

  Josette gave him a wry look. “I believe I found him tied up in an army camp, being questioned and beaten.”

  “Yes, that is one drawback. But I have learned much through him.”

  Josette shook her head. “I hope one day—very soon, for your own good—that you become only Will Mackenzie and cease your nonsense.”

  What he wanted with all his heart. “I’m not sure I can be only me, love. Do I even know this Will Mackenzie, and will I like him?”

  “Well, I like him.” Josette gave him a glance that eased his heart. “I look forward to seeing him again.”

  Will winked at her. He longed to return to her side and kiss her, but forced himself to keep to his seat so he wouldn’t smear the makeup he’d just slathered on.

  No matter. He’d save up the kiss for later. Every touch, every kiss he had to miss now, he’d claim another time. That time would be most satisfying, and they’d reach it together. This he determined.

  Bhreac halted the carriage at a gate leading to a wide lane across a flat stretch of land. Josette could see that an effort had been made to grow oak trees in this park, but they were poor specimens, spindly and tired.

  The road had come down from the hills, and the gate to the estate sat at the top of a slope. A low bank separated the park from a loch, which spread, flat and gray, to a rocky shore on the far side. This loch, Will told Josette, ran southward to the sea, which was not far away.

  The house itself was fairly new. A rectangular structure made of pale brick, it rose several stories, its multi-paned windows crowned with pediments. Square towers flanked the main house, as though the owners wanted to acknowledge the ruined castles that dotted the hills around them—but these towers were decorative and had never held off an army of murderous clansmen.

  A man in breeches and brown coat emerged from the gatehouse to peer at them suspiciously. Will dropped open the window.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” Will cried, his accent switching to that of a foppish English gentleman. “Civilization in the midst of barbarian wilderness—can it be true? Let us in, dear fellow. We are weary travelers, terrified and wandering. We crave admittance. Pray tell your master that Sir William Jacobs and his wife are stranded and plead for his hospitality.”

  The gatekeeper looked Will over and saw exactly what was intended—an arrogant Englishman, spoiled rotten and out of his depth, relieved he’d found what he thought was the house of a fellow Englishman.

  The man’s suspicious expression faded into one of faint disdain. He’d sized up Sir William, Josette saw, and didn’t think much of him.

  “I’ll send my lad running to the main house,” the gatekeeper said. “They’ll be ready by the time you arrive.” He lifted his hat and bowed. “Welcome to Oak View Park, sir.”

  “Thank you, good sir.” Lace fluttered as Will took a coin from his purse and tossed it to the man. “You see, Lady Jacobs, I knew all was not lost.”

  Josette gave the man a vacant smile as he opened the gate, and Bhreac started the coach. The carriage jolted over a bump in the earth that marked the boundary of Sir Harmon Bentley’s estate, and the gate creaked closed behind them.

  Was this sanctuary from the wild lands? Josette thought idly. Or a prison?

  Josette saw a boy skim from the gatehouse and run flat out across the park. By the time Bhreac pulled to a halt at the foot of the double staircase that curved to the front door, several footmen had hurried out to open the coach and set down a stool so the travelers could descend.

  A man in a severe suit emerged behind the footman and gave Will a correct bow. “Welcome, sir. I am called Stelton, and am majordomo here.”

  “Oh, my dear sir, my dear sir.” Will heaved a sigh of relief as he reached the ground and turned to assist his beloved Anna from the coach. “We thank you.”

  Stelton watched him without expression. “Lady Bentley requests you step into her sitting room once you have refreshed yourselves.”

  “Excellent.” Will took out another a coin and pressed it into the man’s hand. “Everyone is so kind, so kind. Lady Jacobs, my darling, are you well?”

  “I will be.” Josette took Will’s arm and sank into his side. “Now that I am no longer rocking in that dreadful coach.”

  It dismayed Josette how easily her voice took on the higher pitch of Anna, how effortlessly she flowed into the role.

  Stelton contrived a sympathetic look that did not reach his eyes, and ushered them up the stairs and into the house.

  Josette had seen plenty of mansions—Marsden House near Salisbury as well as villas in the French countryside and of course, Versailles—and she knew at once that this one had been built with much expense.

  The wooden floors were even and polished. On the walls, white-painted paneling framed wallpaper in a Chinese theme—pagodas and bridges over streams. The mahogany tables and chairs shone with polish, their curved legs elegant, the silk upholstery on the chairs matching the wallpaper.

  A fireplace stood in this main hall, the fire crackling merrily, though there was none to stand by it—the master of the house boasting that he could waste fuel.

  Will immediately went to the fire and held his hands near the blaze. “Ah, I thought I’d never be warm again. Do you know what they burn in this benighted country, Stelton? Peat. Mud they dig out of bogs. I ask you.”

  “Indeed, sir. The footmen will show you upstairs to your chambers.” He gave Will a pointed look, and Will flashed him an abashed grin.

  “Oh, right. Thank you, Stelton. Come along, darling.”

  They followed the footmen through a gallery to a staircase that wrapped its way around one of the towers. Josette was dizzy by the time they reached their floor—the third from the ground. She glanced over the railing to the stairs spiraling below her and turned away with a slight shudder.

  The footmen led them across another gallery lined with windows to a long corridor. White pediments reposed over every door and window, and pleasingly symmetrical plasterwork adorned the cornices and paneling.

  A door opened farther down the corridor as they trundled along, and a man in a cavalry uniform stepped into the hall.

  Josette missed a step in momentary dread, but she drew a calming breath when she did not recognize the gentleman. He was not Colonel Chadwick, nor had this man been at the army camp from which she’d rescued Will. This officer was cavalry, while Chadwick and the soldiers at the camp were infantry, and besides, the camp was far from here.

  Will, on the other hand, paused. His hesitation was infinitesimal, and none but Josette would have caught it, but it made her fears pour back at her. Will knew the man.

  Will turned his head quickly and sent the ribbons and laces on his sleeves and coat fluttering, a move to distract attention from his face.

  “Good afternoon to you, sir,” Will said in his clearest, most English voice. “I will greet you properly later, but for now—the roll of the coach has taken its toll, and I desperately seek relief, if you know what I mean. In you go, dearest.”

  Josette gave the cavalryman a quick curtsy, and he returned it with a proper bow, his dark blue eyes watchful. Will lifted a handkerchief to his face and did everything but cup the join of his legs as he pretended to rush for the chamber pot.

  The cavalryman bowed again, in some disapproval, and walked away in the opposite direction. Josette hurried into the chamber where Will had already disappeared.

  The footman who’d led them upstairs showed Will into a small closet within the bedchamber that held a privy. Not a chamber pot, but a hole in a seat that emptied to a cistern far below.

  “I am most grateful, my boy. You may leave us now—we’ll r
ing for you when we need to trot to your mistress. My heaven, this house is grand—and they’ve provided for everything. Anna, darling, I will show you this wonderful mechanism when I am finished with it …”

  He slammed the door, shutting off his voice.

  Josette let her smile wrinkle her nose and handed the footman a few coins. “Thank you, lad. Go on, now. We’ll be well.”

  The footman bowed with some deference—Josette had given him two shillings. The more extravagant they were, she knew, the more their disguise would be believed.

  Josette waited until the footman’s steps faded toward the gallery before she rapped on the door of the closet.

  Will slid out, his face set in grim lines. He led Josette to the middle of the room and pulled her into an embrace.

  “Damn and blast and bloody hell,” he whispered.

  “You know him, don’t you?” Josette whispered in return. “Do you think he’ll recognize you? If you met him in battle, in all the confusion …”

  “I was never in a battle, but he will recognize me without fail,” Will said in a low voice. “His name is Captain Robert Ellis. He spent the winter before Culloden in my family’s house, and all of us were there—he knows me. He was my brother Mal’s prisoner, and was in love with Mal’s wife.”

  Chapter 9

  What do we do?” Josette said quietly.

  Will liked that she did not immediately panic, or ask whether he was certain of the man’s identity. She understood the trouble and had moved to deciding how they would deal with it.

  “I’ll speak to him. The fact that he didn’t denounce me the moment he saw me gives me hope.”

  “Perhaps I should speak to him,” Josette offered. “He does not know me at all, and I am not Scots. I could plead with him to keep his silence.”

  Will was already shaking his head. “If he exposes me, I want you to be astonished and amazed. You declare that I tricked you, and you know nothing about me but agreed to this deception because I coerced you.”