Going Rogue (Ribbons and Rogues Book 1)

by Jefferson, Jessica

  Derek snorted. “Perhaps it’s another one of those wood nymphs . . . or it could be the wine finally getting to you.”

  Brayan shook his head. “No, there’s definitely somebody singing. And is that a pianoforte?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps Glastonbury hired entertainment for the evening.”

  His cousin laughed. “I doubt it’s a professional. I’ve heard that same ditty from the boys out by the stables.”

  Derek motioned for him to be quiet while he listened. It was indeed the type of song one heard in village pubs and only truly appreciated after a few tankards of ale. And the woman’s voice made the situation all the more hilarious—it was so pretty, so angelic, so . . .

  Familiar.

  Chapter 15

  Derek sprinted toward the house with Brayan barely able to keep up.

  “Have ye gone mad?” his cousin yelled after him.

  Derek didn’t bother to answer.

  He threw open the French doors leading back into the house and fought through the crush that had gathered in the music room. He pushed the last person aside, providing a completely unimpeded view of the bawdy performer.

  There was Meredith Castle, sitting behind the pianoforte in her Grecian-styled gown, as if she were singing a hymn in church, rather than a completely inappropriate, raunchy sailor’s ballad.

  “Is that—”

  “Not now, Brayan,” Derek hissed, waving him off.

  What the hell was she doing there? Not just at the pianoforte, but what on earth was she doing at Glastonbury’s home at all? The party was completely inappropriate for a young, unmarried woman. Hell, the party was barely acceptable for a man like him. It was all he could do to resist throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to her aunt’s.

  The audience cheered at the end of the song, and she stood, curtseying with a regal flair.

  The chit was actually proud of her little stunt! She was relishing the attention, like a common street performer.

  She was joined by a group of young ladies, a few faces he recognized from events about Town. And then it occurred to him—could Ophelia also be in attendance?

  He wasn’t going to wait to find out.

  Derek stormed up behind her, grabbing her elbow and whirling her around to face him.

  “Lord Sutherland!” she exclaimed, trying to pull away from him.

  “Derek . . .” Brayan said, putting a hand on his arm in caution.

  Derek let her go. “Miss Castle, could I have a word with you?” he asked calmly, but with a healthy dose of warning behind it.

  She walked over to him, leaving the girls in a fit of whispers, gossiping behind white-gloved hands. He noticed them all wearing identical yellow ribbons around their wrists and rolled his eyes. Another ridiculous trend in fashion, he supposed.

  She wasn’t angry like one would expect, or even remotely offended by his assault. Instead, she was smiling and even giggling a little. “Lord Sutherland? Did you see me play? It’s been ages since I’ve sat down and played. I would have preferred something a bit more classical in nature, but a guest must do what the host requests.”

  He made a note to have words with Glastonbury just as soon as he’d finished with Meredith.

  “Lord MacCalistair.” She curtsied, looking up at him through a fan of long, dark lashes.

  Derek felt the anger sear up his chest and neck. She was flirting. Flirting!

  Brayan leaned closer to Derek. “I do believe she’s tried the wine.”

  Meredith set her shoulders back, flipping her hair in the process. She’d worn the majority of it down, with only the sides gathered up with what looked to be gold combs. She looked every bit the Grecian goddess in all her golden splendor.

  “I may have had a glass or two with dinner,” she said defiantly. Then hiccupped.

  “You’ve been imbibing?” Derek cried. Unbelievable!

  “I’ve done nothing of the sort. My chaperone, Mrs. Nelson, has been with me the entire time.” She nodded toward a small, graying woman, sitting in the corner singing to herself.

  Derek and Brayan exchanged glances. The old woman looked to be no less than a hundred and was obviously addled. She had just about as much right chaperoning young women as he did.

  He turned back to Meredith. “And where’s the chaperone for your chaperone? What happened to Lady Browning?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Mrs. Nelson has been my chaperone ever since I arrived in London. Aunt Cynthia is far too busy with her own schedule to have to follow me around.”

  Clearly a mistake on her part, he thought to himself. “If you don’t want me to embarrass you in front of your friends, then I suggest you follow me into the garden,” he warned quietly so that only she could hear.

  Meredith bit her lip, then looked back at the small group of girls. “I’m going to get another glass of ratafia. Lord MacCalistair, would you be so kind as to wait here and entertain these ladies while I’m away?”

  Brayan swallowed, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. Derek couldn’t blame him. These girls with the ribbons seemed a particularly aggressive sort. “Aye,” he finally agreed.

  Derek left first, knowing Meredith would be following shortly.

  “You’re not leaving, are you, Sutherland?” A hand reached out to paw at him as he walked across the room.

  Artemis.

  He caught her hand and briefly kissed it. “Don’t worry—I’ll be right back. Please say you’ll save me a dance?”

  She smiled at him. “Of course.” Artemis winked, turned around, and wiggled her behind before slowly walking away.

  He gazed after her for a moment before remembering he wasn’t alone. When he turned back, he could see Meredith glaring at him with her arms set firmly on her hips.

  “She’s the Goddess of the Hunt,” he explained.

  “Obviously,” she returned flatly.

  Derek bit his tongue and proceeded to lead her into the garden.

  Some of the torches were extinguished, leaving much of the garden in the dark. It was a starless night, a layer of clouds blocking out what little light the night sky provided.

  Derek stopped when he reached a secluded area, a large bush obscuring them from public view. “Tell me you haven’t brought Miss Marshall?” he asked, his voice much louder than he’d intended. But damn, he was angry.

  “What would it matter if I did?”

  “This isn’t the type of place for a woman like her.” Or for Meredith, he added silently.

  Meredith shook her head “The Duke of Glastonbury is a very important man and she’d be lucky to have received an invitation.”

  “Just because he’s popular, doesn’t make this a privilege.” He raked his hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  She jutted her chin like a petulant child. “I have to attend. Anyone who’s anyone is here tonight.”

  “And that’s how you impress them all? By acting no better than a common barmaid, blasting out naughty songs?”

  “There was nothing wrong with what I did back there,” she argued. “Glastonbury asked me to play the piece, and so I did. Besides, I was only having a bit of fun and the guests loved it.”

  “You can justify your behavior any way you want. Just make sure you don’t involve Miss Marshall in any of it.”

  “And just what right do you have to dictate the extracurricular activities of Miss Ophelia Marshall?”

  “Because I plan on making her my wife.”

  Meredith stomped her foot. “You will do nothing of the sort. I’ll be damned before I let Miss Marshall sell herself short to someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?” he repeated, taking a threatening step closer. He’d stabbed men for less and couldn
’t believe he was being dressed down by an insolent female.

  Again.

  Meredith took a step back, her hands fisted at her sides. “She can do better than you,” she challenged, her voice wavering slightly.

  He glared at her. “Are we still on that? Five years, a fortune, and an Earldom later, and I’m still not good enough for you?”

  She held her head high. He had to admit, Meredith was lasting longer with him than most men ever did. “You misunderstand me, Lord Sutherland. I’m not talking about the coins in your coffer or whatever your rank. I’m referring to the fact that you’re not a good enough man for Miss Marshall. She deserves someone who’s genuine.”

  “Suddenly, I’m not a good man? I’m not genuine?”

  “No, you’re not. You’re the farthest thing from it. You may be a rogue now, but we both know this isn’t who you really are. You don’t even truly care for her.”

  “How would you know? Perhaps I’m madly in love with her?”

  “Because if you genuinely had feelings for Miss Marshall, you wouldn’t have allowed Lady McBride to fondle you back there in the music room like she did.”

  Derek held his arms out. “Who’s Lady McBride and what the hell does she have to do with any of this?”

  “The Goddess of the Hunt—your Artemis, that was Lady McBride. You’re practically bedding her and you don’t even know her real name?”

  “Well, it’s not her name that I’m interested in.” Derek folded his arms. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m married yet.”

  “Genuine feelings don’t change upon the signing of a marriage contract.”

  She had a point, but he was too proud to acknowledge the rationality in her statement. Besides, it didn’t matter. He had his mind set on marrying Miss Marshall and that was that. “I’m going to take Miss Marshall as my wife,” he declared again through gritted teeth.

  Meredith took a step closer and poked him in the chest with her finger. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Chapter 16

  Derek didn’t realize just how much he wanted her until she was within reaching distance. Once she touched him, even if it was just with her index finger, he’d been unable to restrain himself. It was as if his entire body was consumed by insane desire. And despite his better judgment, all he could think about was having her.

  Her sleeves stopped just past her shoulders, leaving her arms exposed. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, holding her so she couldn’t get away. He pressed his lips tighter to hers, his tongue ruthlessly plunging inside her mouth. He didn’t let up for breath—he was powerless to stop it.

  Her gloved hands pressed against his chest, but didn’t push him away. They remained there, her fingers pressing into him. He fisted his hands in her hair, her combs falling to the ground.

  She tasted like the sweet girl he remembered.

  Her hair spilled about her shoulders and he groaned, burying his hands deeper into the unruly mass of curls. Her hands moved to his back, her fingers kneading the muscles. Meredith moaned into his mouth, the sound of her unmitigated pleasure making him harder still. He ran his hands down the length of her, cupping the soft flesh of her arse, pulling her closer to him.

  He couldn’t get enough. His hands greedily slid up her body, beyond the curve of her waist, to the swell of her breasts. He yanked her bodice down, exposing those glorious mounds of flesh. He’d admired them since childhood, and now with them resting heavy in his palms, he knew why. They were more than any man deserved.

  He broke their kiss, dipping his head to take one of the taut peaks into his mouth. She shivered with pleasure, moaning as he sucked and rolled his tongue around her hard flesh. As his mouth moved from one to the other, he ran his fingers down the center of her body, stopping at the enticing skin of her stomach.

  Then Derek abruptly pulled himself away, wanting to see all of her. Her flaxen hair and white dress made her look ethereal in contrast to the darkness. “God, you’re beautiful.” He only meant to think it, but couldn’t be certain if he’d actually spoken the words aloud.

  She drew a ragged breath and stared back at him, her eyes heavy with desire. “Derek?” she whispered.

  Hearing his name on her lips drove him mad. He tore off his jacket, spreading it on the lawn. Without speaking, he took her into his arms and gently eased her down on the ground, positioning himself beside her.

  Propped up on one hand, he used the other to grab a fistful of her gown, slowly inching it up her thighs until he caught sight of her sex. He nipped at her ears, his hand roaming freely over her body, teasing the exposed flesh. He licked the sensitive piece of skin behind her ear, simultaneously cupping her. Meredith pressed against his hand and he lightly brushed his fingers against her. She was wet, warm. He explored her, parting her folds, gently easing a finger inside.

  Her hips rocked against his hand, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He withdrew his fingers, then parted her—expertly searching for that special place he knew would drive her wild with desire. Finding it, he touched her until she writhed helplessly, her body begging for release. And he wanted to give it to her.

  Their kissing had become more broken now, each one gasping for breath.

  He tore himself from her mouth and admired her. Meredith’s eyes were closed, her thick brown lashes pressed against her cheeks. She was close now, and he wanted to see her eyes when he sent her tumbling over the edge. More determined than ever, he inserted another finger.

  Within seconds, she screamed with pleasure and he muffled her cries with his lips, sucking the air from her lungs. He kissed her through the explosion of her pleasure, and when he felt the last wave of climax wash over her body, he finally allowed himself to tear his lips away.

  He wanted her.

  If she were any other woman, he would have already buried himself deep inside her. But she wasn’t any other woman—she was Meredith. And that cold realization hit him like a bucket of icy water.

  He sat up and ran his hand through his hair, the heady feeling of desire replaced by anger and self-loathing. She’d succeeded in making him weak again. How, after all that had transpired between them, could she still have such power over him?

  She was sitting now, adjusting her gown and trying in vain to smooth down her hair.

  He looked away. “Meredith?” he started, still uncertain of what to say. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

  She stopped what she was doing. “I see,” she finally said.

  “It was a terrible lapse in judgment on my part and it won’t happen again.” Before he finished his thought, a rustling from the path caused them both to scurry to their feet.

  “Derek?” A baritone brogue called out from the darkness. Brayan had come to find them.

  Meredith had already picked his jacket up off the ground and was holding it out for him. His knuckles brushed against hers while he accepted it, sending a shiver up his spine. He ignored the exhilaration, refusing to let himself feel anything other than scorn. Even that was giving her more than she deserved.

  Derek cleared his throat. “I assume I can trust that Miss Marshall will not be made aware of what’s happened tonight?” He felt a pang of guilt at the girl’s name.

  She nodded, still avoiding his eyes. “Of course. For both of our sakes.”

  Brayan appeared in the clearing. “There ye two are. Ye’ve been gone almost an hour now and people are starting to notice.” He looked them over before settling his narrowed gaze at his cousin. “Miss Castle’s chaperone is beginning to look a bit more lively. Perhaps she should get back inside?”

  “Thank you, Lord MacCalistair.” She curtsied. “I believe I’ll do just that.” She nodded at the Scotsman, then stopped at Derek. “Good evening, Lord Sutherland.” She looked as if she were about to say
something else, but didn’t. Instead, she picked up her skirts and headed quickly down the path toward the house.

  Derek watched her until she was out of sight, then turned back to his cousin. “Shall we be going, too? It’s rather late and I have appointments in the morning.”

  “Ye’ve got grass stains on yer jacket.” Brayan glared at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

  He shrugged. “So what if I do.”

  “Some spots are harder than others to get rid of. Sometimes no matter how hard ye try, ye can’t ever remove them completely. They’re with ye forever.”