Rogue of the Isles

by Cynthia Breeding

“I am worried,” Mari told Maddie two days later as they sat in front of a blazing hearth in the wood-paneled library having hot chocolate. The day had turned blustery, and the library with its shelves filled with leather-bound books had a cozy feel. “Lady Tindale’s soiree is two days away, and I have not received an invitation.”

  “I am sure it will come,” Maddie said reassuringly. “You only arrived in Town late last week.”

  Mari frowned. “I sent Dobbs ’round with my card on Sunday. That should have given Lady Tindale enough time to deliver an invite. Besides, we were seen shopping on Bond Street…” She let her voice trail off, not wanting to think what a fiasco that turned out to be. She put her head in her hands. “What if someone saw that scandalous spectacle? Maybe I am being given the cut direct.”

  Maddie reached over and patted her hand. “We were the only ones in the shop. I am sure Madam Dubois will not spread rumors.”

  “What rumors?” Mari asked desolately. “I was actually slung over that rakehell’s shoulder like some hoyden. The body contact was totally improper and disgraceful.”

  Even as she spoke, she felt her face warm as she recalled just where all those body parts had touched. Did the man have to be all hard, solid muscle?

  “I would not call Mr. MacLeod a rake, Mari. I thought it was rather romantic—after I got over my shock, of course.”

  Mari raised her head and stared at her friend. “Romantic? How in the world could you think such a thing? His behavior was outlandish, barbaric, inappropriate—”

  “And rather gallant,” Maddie interrupted. “Oh, I am not saying he perhaps could have used more restraint—”

  “Restraint?” Mari squeaked. “I was quite thoroughly restrained. The cad actually had hold of my legs and backside.”

  Maddie blushed. “Well, yes, er…um, what I meant was Mr. MacLeod perhaps could have acted less boisterously—”

  “Indeed. How many London gentlemen do you know would dare take the liberty of touching a lady’s leg? Maybe such behavior is condoned on some god-forsaken isle in the Highlands, but here, Society has rules.”

  “Of course we do,” Maddie soothed, “but I still think Mr. MacLeod was acting out of concern for you. He promised Jillian he would protect you. I call that honorable, even if his method was somewhat unconventional.”

  Mari gave an exasperated sigh. “I really wish Jillian had consulted me before she took it upon herself to foist a barbaric rogue on me. Jamie actually expects me to follow his orders. That is what he said. Orders. He’s not my father.”

  Maddie’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I doubt any one would mistake Mr. MacLeod for your father. It seems to me he takes his promises quite seriously. That cannot be all bad.”

  “I do not need protection. What can possibly happen to me? The ton’s parties include only civilized gentlemen. I will not even be leaving Mayfair, unless it is to go to the theatre. Aunt Agnes will act as chaperone. Effie accompanies me shopping. I hardly require a nursemaid.”

  Maddie giggled. “I doubt anyone would mistake Mr. MacLeod for a nursemaid either.”

  The image of the tall, rugged Highlander dressed as a nursemaid complete with headcap, dress and frilled apron made Mari twitch her lips. There would be no place for that great sword of his or the several knives he kept about his person.

  “I am glad you are smiling,” Maddie said.

  “I am not—” As if she had conjured him with her thoughts, Jamie appeared in the doorway, dressed in Hessian boots, tight doeskin pants that hugged his muscular thighs and a linen shirt, scandalously open at the throat, exposing a faint dusting of hair on his broad chest. A far cry from a nursemaid indeed.

  “Might I join you ladies?” Jamie asked.

  “You are not properly dressed, sirrah,” Mari replied, trying not to notice his strong, tanned forearms where the shirt sleeves were rolled up.

  Jamie looked down at his clothes and then at Mari, lifting his palms in question. “What is wrong with what I am wearing? I was just giving Dobbs and Givens a beginning lesson in sword fighting—ah, fencing.”

  She could just imagine the shock both men were probably in, considering neither of them was all that young. The household would be lucky if dinner were properly served tonight.

  “Where is your waistcoat and top coat? Your cravat?”

  Jamie looked confused. “I was teaching swordplay, lass. The fewer clothes a mon wears, the faster he is able to move.”

  Maddie gave a soft gasp and Mari felt her cheeks heat, recalling a shirtless Jamie training the men at Newburn. The sheen of sweat on his muscled, golden-skinned body had all the maids atwitter and remiss at their duties. How many times had she had to go out into the courtyard while he was practicing to return the maids to their chores?

  A somewhat disheveled Givens cleared his throat in the doorway. Mari didn’t think she’d ever seen the butler with a hair out of place, let alone his jacket only partially buttoned and part of his collar loose. “What is it?”

  “You asked me to let you know when the post arrived,” he said, entering with the salver upon which rested two letters.

  “Oooh, the invitation,” Maddie exclaimed.

  Mari breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up the two letters from the tray. And then disappointment came crashing down. They were both addressed to Aunt Agnes and neither was from Lady Tindale. With a muffled sob, she rose and rushed from the library and up the stairs.

  “What ails the lass?” Jamie asked as he picked the letters from the floor and replaced them on the silver tray.

  “She was expecting an invitation to Lady Tindale’s soiree Friday evening,” Maddie replied.

  Why do the English insist on using French names for things when they’ve been at war with Napoleon? he wondered. “A soiree is important?”

  Maddie looked at him like he’d suddenly grown an extra nose. Had he mispronounced the word? Leave it to the French to come up with extra letters they didnae use.

  “It is an evening social event for the members of the ton who are either in Town for the Little Season or because Parliament is still in session,” Maddie explained. “What makes it important is that it is the first event this autumn. Everyone of the first stare will be there.”

  “That does nae make sense. Why would people stand around to stare at each other?”

  Maddie’s eyes widened, and it looked very much like she was trying not to laugh. What had he said?

  “It is an expression,” she said in a somewhat strangled tone. “What it means is anyone worth looking at—that is, the ladies will all be dressed in the most fashionable gowns—and the lords of Parliament will be in attendance as well. It is also an opportunity to see who will be in the Marriage Mart.”

  “Marriage Mart?” What in the world was the lass blethering on about?

  Maddie smiled. “Perhaps I should not have spoken so bluntly, although it is no secret that the mothers of the debutantes will be scrutinizing the eligible bachelors.”

  “Why? Can a lass nae decide for herself what mon attracts her?”

  Maddie looked shocked. “That would be considered bold and totally improper. Matches are carefully negotiated according to title, if possible. The first sons are sought after since they will be heirs, but second and third sons are acceptable depending on what businesses they may be in.”

  It sounded like an auction for stud horses to him, but Jamie held his tongue. Miss Winslow would probably swoon if he used the word. “And the lasses? Do the men choose the ones with the best dowries?”

  “Sometimes,” Maddie said seriously, “if the gentleman has a title but his land is entailed and he is in debt, yes. But often, location is equally important. A good example would be Newburn and Cantford. They border each other. A marriage between Jillian and your brother was most wise.”

  Wisdom had little to do with it, although Jamie could understand the concept. For centuries Highland clans had made marriages for similar reasons, but Ian had married Jillian because he was besotte
d with her, a fact that secretly relieved Jamie. As laird, Ian had little choice but to marry and produce heirs. Not that Jamie ever wanted to be as barmy-headed as his brother was, but it seemed there should be some liking between a husband and wife—not to mention a lass who enjoyed a good romp in bed.

  His cock immediately sprang to attention at that thought. Jamie would wager a gold coin that a lass as fiery as Mari would—

  “So it is very important that Mari gets an invitation,” Maddie was saying, “since this is the first event. The gentlemen need to know she is available.”

  Available? Somehow that thought did not sit well with Jamie. The whole thing sounded too much like picking brood mares for stock. The reason he was here was to make sure Mari would come to no harm. If some English dandy tried to take advantage of her, the mon would have to answer to him.

  “Why has this invitation nae arrived then?”

  Maddie hesitated, studying a spot on the carpet.

  “What is it, lass?”

  She looked up reluctantly. “Mari thinks it is because of what happened yesterday at the modiste shop. One simply does not toss a lady over one’s shoulder. It is quite improper.”

  Jamie raised a brow. “We were the only ones in the shop. Do ye think the owner gossiped about it?”

  “I doubt it. As juicy a bit of on-dit as it was, Madam Dubois is a business woman. She would want to keep Mari—and myself—as clients.” Maddie shook her head. “Perhaps a passerby saw what was happening and spread the rumor. It would be enough to keep Lady Tindale from issuing an invitation.” She stood. “I had better go talk with Mari.”

  Jamie frowned after she left, remembering the two ladies who were so interested in whatever was in the window of the next shop. Even though he had set Mari on her feet instead of carrying her out into the street, he’d done so in the doorway. Those two biddies could have seen it.

  Damn English Society for being so snobbish. He might not have used the best judgment—the lass did try his patience—but Mari should not have to pay for his behavior. He would try to make it right.

  It seemed he would have to pay a personal call to Lady Tindale.

  “I told you the invitation would come,” Maddie said Friday evening as she looked over Mari’s shoulder in the mirror of the bed chamber. She loosened a few tendrils of Mari’s hair to fall softly on an exposed shoulder. “There. That looks much better. Effie had your hair piled too tightly.”

  Mari tilted her head, enjoying the feel of the soft curls against her skin. She was wearing a gown of pale peach silk with short, puffy sleeves and a square-necked design showing just a hint of cleavage, but not enough to reveal the small fleur-de-lis-shaped birthmark above her right nipple. The pastel color of her gown gave a natural blush to her cheeks, although she pinched them a tad to make them brighter. She would have liked to rouge her lips, but Aunt Agnes had forbidden it.

  She looked up at Maddie. Her friend’s coloring was so different from hers—chestnut hair and eyes more greenish than blue—but the saffron-colored gown set off the auburn glints in her hair. “I was so afraid I had been snubbed.”

  “Nonsense. Lady Tindale’s butler explained all that when he delivered your invitation yesterday. With your late arrival to Town, she had simply forgotten she had not sent it out. Quite understandable, given all the supervising of preparations Lady Tindale had to do.”

  Mari picked up her reticule and stood, smoothing the soft lines of the gown. “I was a little surprised that she had specifically issued an invitation to Jamie too.”

  “Why would she not? He is the Earl of Cantford’s brother, after all.”

  “Well, I hope he behaves himself and does not hover over me the entire night.”

  Maddie smiled. “I suspect when the other girls see him, it will not be a problem. You will probably have to fight through the crush just to get near him.”

  “I hope that happens. My plan for this Season is to find at least one debutante who will distract him enough to leave me alone. I will never find a beau—let alone a husband—if Jamie lurks behind me with a scowl on his face.

  “Are you sure that is what you want?”

  “Of course it is. Actually, it will be rather amusing to see those ninnyhammers, Violetta and Amelia, bat their eyelashes at him. Jamie is far too much of a rake to fall into the parson’s trap.”

  Maddie gave her a strange look. “I do not think he is a rake at all.”

  Mari laughed and hugged her friend. “He has not tormented you on a daily basis. The man is insufferably arrogant, so do not go falling for those good looks of his.”

  She strode into the hall, not seeing the thoughtful expression on Maddie’s face.

  Guests crowded every room of Lord Tindale’s upper floor when Mari and Maddie arrived with Aunt Agnes and Jamie in tow. The debutantes were a swirl of pastel colors while the matrons wore darker hues of burgundy, navy and grey. The gentlemen contrasted nicely in black superfine topcoats, snowy cravats and colorful waistcoats. Mari nearly clapped her hands in excitement at the swirl of activity.

  The din of noise diminished as the butler announced them. An actual hush fell as Jamie stepped forward. He wore black trousers and topcoat, but the cravat and waistcoat had been replaced by a linen shirt and the MacLeod sash crossing his chest.

  Mari held her breath. They’d had quite a row over what Jamie was to wear. He’d wanted to wear his kilt—Mari could just imagine the matrons swooning at exposed calves—and very muscular ones at that. She had finally convinced him it would be better to accept more conventional dress, but Jamie adamantly refused to wear a cravat—a cloth he referred to as a neck-strangler—and been equally stubborn about the sash.

  Would the ton accept him?

  Apparently, Society would if the interested looks of the mamas were any clue, although Mari noticed most of those gazes were centered on Jamie’s bare, bronzed neck and the top of his collarbones where the shirt’s top button was open. The younger girls edged toward him, slipping away from their spellbound chaperones.

  “I told you,” Maddie whispered as a group of giggling girls invaded the space around Jamie. Mari found herself crowded out and practically pushed aside.

  “Do let’s find the punch,” Maddie said, grasping her arm.

  Mari let herself be led across the room, looking back once to find Jamie engaged in conversation with Violetta and Amelia. Both of them were fluttering their fans so quickly, Mari was surprised they did not squelch the candle flames on nearby tables. Jamie was grinning at whatever those two were saying. Good heavens. Could he actually be interested in those little gossips?

  Well, wasn’t this what she wanted? Mari tossed her head slightly so her curls would float gently about her face and smiled at the young man near the punch bowl. He gave her a slight bow and moved away. Someone called Maddie’s name, and she excused herself.

  Mari helped herself to punch and stood to the side, surveying the room. Yancy Newell and Nevin Faulkner were not far away, but both of them were glowering in Jamie’s general direction. Probably not surprising, since Yancy had escorted Amelia to some daytime events last spring and Nevin had done the same with Violetta.

  “Excuse me.”

  Mari turned to find Abigail Townsend, the Earl of Sherrington’s daughter, standing beside her. The girl was several years older and seemed resigned to spinsterhood with the drab-colored gowns she wore and her brown hair pulled severely back, but she had always been friendly if a little shy.

  “Isn’t this soiree the perfect start for the Little Season?” Mari asked.

  Abigail pushed her spectacles up on the bridge of her nose and surveyed the room with a serious expression. “I suppose,” she said without much conviction. “I do not care for crowds, but Papa makes me attend.”

  How could anyone not enjoy all this activity? Mari wanted to open her arms wide and embrace the noise, hustle and bustle. Parties were the very heart of Society. “But you must be interested in who is available for the Marriage Mart?”


  Abigail shrugged. “I am a bit long in the tooth. I doubt a man would be interested in me.”

  Mari was shocked at her candor. Abigail might be close to being put on the shelf, but did she believe the stories of her mother’s numerous liaisons—before she mysteriously died—would be laid on her daughter’s head?

  “Do not be a ninnyhammer, Abigail. I am sure any number of bachelors would be glad to marry you.” Perhaps Maddie and she could help Abigail pick somewhat more fashionable clothes and arrange her hair more attractively. She was not truly unattractive. She just looked like a bluestocking.

  “You are kind,” Abigail said and then noticed her father waving at her. “Excuse me. I must see what Papa wants.”

  “Certainly.”

  Several of the girls who had initially surrounded Jamie approached the punch table, apparently having given up temporary hope of besting either Amelia or Violetta. Mari greeted them warmly only to receive polite responses from two or three while the rest said nothing at all. All of them moved off once they’d filled their cups and soon mingled with the other eligible gentlemen.

  No one else approached her, although Lady Tindale did stop to inquire if she were having a good time. She stammered that she was, thanking her for the invitation.

  Mari slowly made her way through the throngs in search of Maddie. The matrons to whom she said hello only politely nodded. She spotted Maddie then but stopped abruptly since her friend was talking to Jamie. Mari noted the poutish looks on the other two girls’ faces. Maddie was no doubt rescuing Jamie from them.

  Mari turned back to the crush of people. The glamorous glitter of the evening had worn off. She had expected to be gaily laughing and flirting with several—or at least one—young man, but no one seemed to notice her. The debutantes looked away as Mari passed by. A matron actually turned her back as Mari neared the French doors leading to the veranda.

  She suddenly felt as though she had swallowed a lead brick. Embarrassment flooded through her as her stomach twisted and nausea hit her. She stepped quickly through the door, gulping as the cool night air embraced her flaming face.