Her Rebel Lord

Until meeting The Ferguson, Jenna had never been interested in men except as patients and friends. And after last night, the last man she would find intriguing was an English soldier. While she had never considered herself a Jacobite, in spite of knowing her cousin was one, seeing how the English tracked down men like Gavin, she began to have more sympathy for the hunted fugitives and less for the English.

This was still uppermost in her mind when Jenna paused at the heavy oak door to the parlour. Surely the English officer from last night was not here, and she had sat through the torture of powdering her hair for naught. Her luck could not be that horrible for he would recognise her even with her hair powdered. Surely.

Burke, the butler, had followed her once she entered the foyer. He bowed his wig-covered head, the wrinkles at his eyes and mouth pronounced, and opened the door. ‘Miss de Warre.’

Jenna gave him a small smile as she swept into the room, her voluminous skirt swishing before her and falling behind her like a wave of cream. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of crimson. Tension engulfed her. She kept her gaze on her parent and her chin up.

‘Papa, I hope I have not kept you waiting.’

Viscount Ayre stood. He was a tall man, slim and straight with just a hint of a stomach. His eyes were a deep, kindly brown. His skin was swarthy and his hair dark. She had inherited her colouring from her mother.

Papa held out both hands. She put her fingers in her father’s warm palms, barely managing not to grasp at the security he always made her feel.

She sensed the other man rise, and only then did she turn to face him. Seller. Her smile felt frozen on her face, and she would swear the blood drained from her cheeks. Somewhere she found the strength to pull her fingers from Papa’s safe clasp.

‘Jenna,’ Papa said, ‘I would like to present Captain Lord Seller. He is here in command of a garrison.’

She made the other man a shallow curtsy. ‘My lord.’

He bowed to her, his fashionable bag wig, so popular with military men, and well-fitted red uniform lending him an air of distinction. ‘Miss de Warre, my pleasure to finally meet you in person.’

She kept the smile on her face, wondering when he would denounce her and demand to know what she had been doing at the Whore’s Eye last night. When he continued to gaze at her, one dark brow raised as though he wondered at her perusal, she turned away and sank into a chair that was thankfully close enough so she did not have to move. Her legs would not hold her long enough to go elsewhere.

‘How delightful to have the English army here, Captain Lord Seller.’ She finally managed the words, glad she had not had her stays laced tightly. The room seemed closed and tight enough without having the added difficulty of breathing.

It was all she could do to keep her fingers from shaking. If he suspected her of anything, he would demand to search the house. She was not sure the priest hole would go undetected. Nor did she want Papa implicated in the treason she perpetrated with Gavin.

Seller waited until Papa sat back down before sitting himself. His manners were impeccable.’ Twas too bad he was the enemy.

His bearing was much like Papa’s, which was to be expected, both having a career in the military. From there they diverged. Seller was shorter and slighter, yet with an air of wiry strength that she felt sure stood him in good stead when using a sword. His eyes were a piercing blue and his brows black as night. His mouth was thin and his jaw straight. He was the epitome of an English soldier.

‘No one can be more delighted than I am, Miss de Warre, now that I see what the country has to offer,’ he murmured, his tenor voice smooth and pleasant.

And still he did not denounce her. Perhaps he had not seen her clearly last night. Perhaps she was safe.

Jenna narrowed her eyes at his comment, which could be taken many ways. She chose to take it literally.’ Twas easier. ‘Ah, then you must have been here for some time and had the opportunity to see how beautiful Cumbria can be even as winter closes in on us.’

‘Unfortunately, no. I only returned yesterday.’ A sly smile tugged at his well-shaped lips.

She tensed, but when he said nothing more she focused on his lips, which she thought too thin. Not like The Ferguson’s sensual mouth. She blinked at her erratic thought. Never in her life had she thought of a man’s lips before. What was happening to her?

Papa drew her attention back to the moment. ‘Captain Lord Seller is here because rumours have reached London that Jacobites are fleeing here before seeking transport to France. He is not here for pleasure, Jenna.’

She concentrated on keeping her hands relaxed in her lap even though her tendency was to twist the fringe of the shawl around her shoulders. Did Seller know about Gavin? Was that why he was visiting them? Surely not, or he would not be here on what appeared to be a social visit, but would be scouring the countryside or turning their home inside out.

It was an effort to act as though she cared nothing about the man’s mission. A woman of her position would only be concerned if she felt threatened, and there was no reason for her to feel that.

So she played the social role. ‘That is too bad, my lord. You will be too busy to participate in the round of festivities the winter season brings. With Christmas just past, we must find other divertissements.’

Seller looked at her papa before returning his attention to her. ‘I will be occupied, but not to the point that I won’t be able to accept invitations. Just not as many as I might like.’

Burke entered with a silver platter that held a cream-coloured card. He gave it to Papa, who read it quickly.

‘It seems we have more company. I had not expected them today, but no matter.’ Papa turned to the butler. ‘Please show them in.’

Burke bowed and left. Jenna raised a brow, wondering who was here. They rarely had guests this early in the day and now more visitors within an hour of each other.

The butler returned and announced, ‘Mrs McNabb and Lord Byrne.’

A lady glided into the room followed by a gentleman. Jenna’s gaze passed over the woman to stare at Lord Byrne.

Even though it was early in the day and in the country where clothing was casual and practical, he wore a peacock-blue velvet coat over a silver silk waistcoat that was embroidered with metallic threads in the shape and colours of the bird he resembled. Black pantaloons and silk stockings completed his toilette. Diamanté buckles secured his shoes. He would fit perfectly into a crowded London ballroom.

Were it a sunny day, he would have blinded her—and she was used to dandies. One of their neighbours had a son who thought himself the epitome of the London man about town. But Lord Byrne had an air about him that argued against the effete stance of one well-shod foot in front of the other as he made his bow, an elaborate fan flicking as though the room were too hot when it was really very cool.

Instead of a wig, his hair was curled and powdered until it was the colour of storm clouds. A black ribbon held the queue and wrapped back around and tied over the stock and ruffle at his neck.

A heart patch, perched on the corner of his full, well-shaped mouth, drew her attention to that attractive attribute. It was disconcerting to find that Lord Byrne’s lips reminded her of The Ferguson’s.

Once again, she remembered last night’s second kiss. Just the thought made her flush; the room suddenly too warm for comfort. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop this foolishness. It had been a kiss. Nothing more.

When she looked again, Lord Byrne was studying her with an intensity that belied his costume. Thick sable-coloured brows and lashes gave him a sultry look in keeping with his full sensual mouth. His eyes were hazel.

Except for the colour of his hair and his clothing, he reminded her of The Ferguson. She frowned.

‘Viscount Ayre,’ a woman’s low voice said, interrupting Jenna’s thought.

Jenna forced herself to look away from the man who she was sure was much more than the dandy he played and looked at the woman who accompanied him. She had forgotten Mrs McNabb in her reaction to Lord Byrne.

The woman was older, yet still beautiful. Tall and willowy, she carried herself with grace. Her skin was porcelain fair with a small tracing of lines around her eyes and lips.

She was very similar to Lord Byrne in colouring and features, likely his mother. There the similarity ended. Her dress was more conservative. Her clothing was much like Jenna’s, only in golds and browns. Her blond hair was not powdered under the muslin cap.

She was a distinguished woman, who also looked tired and worn. Jenna wondered what tragedy had aged her early, but doubted she would ever know. Jenna rose to meet Mrs McNabb, mindful of her manners.

Papa stood. ‘Mrs McNabb, welcome to de Warre Castle.’

She nodded regally. ‘Thank you for receiving us on such short notice.’

Papa smiled. ‘My pleasure, madam. May I introduce you to Captain Lord Seller? The Captain is here to protect us.’

Jenna started at what she thought was a hint of sarcasm in Papa’s voice. Surely not. He of all people would believe that Captain Seller truly would protect them.

‘Seller, I had not thought to find you this far away from London.’ Lord Byrne’s melodious baritone seemed to float across the room as he made his languid way to the soldier. ‘The last time I saw you, you were in his Majesty’s private guard.’

‘Ah, Byrne.’ Seller’s tone was a sneer. ‘I see you have not changed.’

Lord Byrne stopped and drew himself up. ‘Of course not. Why should I?’ He snapped his fan shut, but the look in his eyes was cold. ‘I am happy with the person I am.’