“Jamie should nae have allowed it,” Ian grumbled.
Jillian suppressed a laugh that certainly would not be understood by any of the three men, whose faces looked like thunderclouds. Ian’s brother and her sister argued about everything. If one of them were to remark the day was pleasant, the other would find something to fault.
“I doubt Mari would have taken kindly to an order,” Jillian said with as straight a face as she could muster.
“Aye, ye are right.” Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I can only think how that conversation went.”
Broc snorted. “English women need to know their place. Jamie should have seen to it.”
“Jamie swore to protect Mari while we are in Scotland,” Ian replied. “He couldna do so if he did nae go with her.”
“Cowardly Englishmen may let their women rule them, but Jamie is a Scot. He should nae let a wee female lead him about by his nose,” Duncan muttered.
“I will nae have my brother or my sister by marriage insulted by ye two,” Ian said, his voice low but with an unmistakable menace. “Ye are guests in my home.”
He picked up the letter again. “’Tis a pity Shane sailed to Ireland. I could have sent him down to see to the estates.”
“We can go,” Duncan said.
“Neither of ye can keep a civil tongue about England. Do ye think I would risk the redcoats marching north again?”
“They would nae get far,” Broc boasted.
“Do ye nae remember the Irish Ascendancy when the English took over the lands? Or the bannin’ of our kilts after Culloden?” Ian shook his head. “The two of ye would incite war.”
“You could go,” Jillian told Ian.
“I will nae leave ye here.”
“I will be fine. The babe is not due for two months.”
“For once, yer English wife makes sense,” Duncan said. “’Tis nothing wrong with her health. Women bear babes all the time.”
“My wife—”
“Please, Ian.” Jillian reached across the table to pat his hand. “The snows have not yet begun. You can ride down, find out if there is any word on Wesley, talk with our seneschals, hire some guards if necessary and be home well before the babe comes.”
He looked unconvinced, and Jillian loved him for wanting to be with her, but her practical side asserted itself. Jamie was as protective as Ian, and she was sure Mari would be safe. Ian, as laird, even though the English had banished the term, would feel an obligation to protect his clan. The workers at Newburn and Cantford were no different. “If Wesley is still in England, the people on our estates could be vulnerable. You know what he tried to do before.”
Looking grim, he finally nodded.
Jamie had his doubts whether Givens or Dobbs would ever make good swordsmen, but at least they weren’t fumbling—and dropping—the blades anymore. He shook his head as he walked toward the house from the courtyard, leaving the two men somewhat short of breath. By the saints! They used thin French rapiers. He shuddered to think what would happen if he attempted to use his claymore. How could grown men not know how to fight, even if they were house servants—as they’d tried to explain to him on every occasion he had them outside? Highland lads began training with sticks as soon as they could toddle and not tumble over.
He entered through the back kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. “What fine treat do ye have for a hungry mon this afternoon, Una?”
The plump cook gave him a big smile. The first time he had called her by name, she had looked startled, telling him everyone just referred to her as Cook.
“Ye were given a name,” he had said, “and I will be using it if ye dinnae mind.” That seemed to please her immensely. In any event, Una always made sure she had something tucked away for him.
“Scones, fresh from the oven,” she said as she placed one on a plate and dolloped clotted cream over it.
“My favorite,” Jamie said as he took the plate from her.
“You say that about everything.”
Jamie grinned. “’Tis because ye are such a good cook. I can nae decide.”
She blushed. “Be off with you then.”
He eyed the silver platter with the little fancy sandwiches that were hardly more than a bite. “Are there callers?”
“Just Miss Winslow. She and Miss Barclay are in the front parlor.”
“I will take the plate in.”
Her eyes widened. “Mr. Givens will not like it.”
Jamie laughed. “I left him a wee bit disheveled in the courtyard. I’m thinking the mon will nae want to put in an appearance at the moment.”
He picked up the platter before Una could protest further and headed toward the parlor. Mari would probably make some remark about being improperly dressed again, since he wore only his shirt, trews and boots. His mouth twitched at the thought of showing Mari what undressed really meant. He was half tempted to remove his shirt just to catch her reaction, but Miss Winslow was present. While it might be fun to rile Mari’s temper—he enjoyed the heated looks she probably didn’t know she was sending when she was angry—there was no point in having her friend swoon from shock.
Both girls looked up from the sofa as he entered, stopping their chatter abruptly. Mari’s mouth opened and then snapped shut.
Miss Winslow giggled. “Are you playing butler, Mr. MacLeod?”
He set the sandwiches down and took a seat across from them. “Givens is…indisposed.”
“Have you made the poor man practice swordplay again?” Mari asked, apparently having found her voice.
“He is getting better. He dinnae drop his sword this time.”
Miss Winslow giggled once more, but Mari shot him an annoyed look. “As I have explained before, Givens is not only a house servant, but as butler, he is in charge of the household staff. It is demeaning to expect him to engage in physical combat.”
Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “Mayhap I should take him to Gentleman Jack’s—”
“The pugilism place?” Mari stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”
“Why not? A mon should ken how to fight.”
“Really.” Mari’s eyes flashed blue flames. “Why do you think men must always fight? There are civilized ways to deal with problems. Violence is not the answer.”
Jamie shrugged, trying not to smile at Mari’s fiery reaction. He wondered if she’d have as much passion if he kissed her. The thought made his cock stir and he shifted in his chair. “Men are civilized only when they ken they will land on their arses—or worse.”
Maddie gasped. “Did you just say—”
“He did,” Mari interrupted. “There is no need for a repeat. Perhaps we could get back to a more civilized discussion without resorting to fisticuffs?”
Jamie grinned at her and stood. “I will leave you ladies to it then.” He turned as Mrs. Fields appeared in the doorway, the salver in her hand.
“Givens is freshening up,” she said to Mari, “but this just came in the post. I thought you might want it right away.”
Maddie clapped her hands. “Oooh. An invitation. Who sent it?”
Mari took the silver letter opener from the tray, slit the seal on the ivory envelope and then gave a shriek.
Jamie moved forward. “What is wrong, lass?”
She shook her head numbly as Maddie reached for the invitation. Jamie watched her eyes grew large. “Oh, my goodness. It is from Lady Jersey. She is hosting a rout this Friday and requests your presence.”
“Yes!” Mari reached out to hug her friend and they both screamed.
Jamie backed out of the room, covering his ears. For the love of St. Michael, why on earth would a lass scream about an invitation?
Even though the invitation had come directly from Lady Jersey, Mari was apprehensive about the party, but this time around, the atmosphere turned much more friendly. Several of Almack’s patronesses made a point to greet Mari at Lady Jersey’s rout, thus ensuring that other matrons of the ton would not dare shun her—or do so at the risk of t
heir daughters not receiving vouchers for the spring Season.
Even Violetta and Amelia engaged her in idle talk, although from the way their fans fluttered along with their eyelashes, Mari was pretty sure the chatter was more for Jamie’s benefit than hers since he was standing next to her.
She had to admit he cut a handsome figure, even if he refused to wear a cravat. The tartan sash seemed to intrigue the small bevy of girls clustered around him, or perhaps it was his Scottish burr. The soothing deepness of his voice did have a pronounced effect even on the matrons. The debutantes blushed and giggled when he called them lass. Mari frowned slightly. Really. Jamie called her lass too. Did the girls have to act so silly over something that simple?
A short time later, she and Maddie had been pushed aside as more young ladies wandered over. Jamie seemed not to notice.
Maddie rolled her eyes at Mari when Violetta and Amelia tried to block the rest of the girls from Jamie. “Those two are going to kill each other someday,” she whispered.
“If their beaus do not murder them first,” Mari whispered back, gesturing toward two young men across the room. “Yancy and Nevin do not look happy.”
“Neither do several of the others,” Maddie replied. “Do you think there will be a brawl?”
“They would have to be nodcocks to try,” Mari said. “Jamie stands nearly a head taller than any of them and has more muscle too.”
“Yes, he does.” Maddie’s glance slid over to Jamie and she sighed. “You are so lucky to watch him practice swordplay.”
Mari looked at her friend in surprise. Was Maddie interested in Jamie? “You had better not let your mother hear you say that.”
“I suppose not. She would swoon, and I daresay Papa would keep me sequestered in my room. Still,” she added with a giggle, “it does not hurt to look.”
She should be shocked at Maddie’s revelation, but Mari really couldn’t be a hypocrite. She liked watching Jamie practice too—when he was not aware, of course. Something about all those magnificent muscles flexing and bulging as he lunged and thrust and parried with a slight sheen of sweat on his golden skin did warm and mushy things to her insides.
Mari turned and met the intense green gaze of a young man standing not far from them. His blond hair was cropped in the manner of French fashion and, while slender and not as tall as Jamie, he displayed a kind of feline gracefulness in his stance.
She looked down quickly, bringing her fan up to whisper to Maddie. “Do you know who that is?”
Maddie brought her fan up also. “No, but I saw him talking to Ladies Pembroke and Molyneux and several of the other patronesses earlier. They crowded around him, so he must be someone important.”
With a sideways glance through her lashes, Mari could see the blond man looked amused. He must know they were talking about him. How embarrassing. She studied her closed fan nonchalantly.
“He is coming this way,” Maddie whispered excitedly.
“Shhh! We do not want him to think—” She stopped. The young man was close enough to hear them.
“Mademoiselles. Pardon moi. Est-ce tolerable… Is it permissible to introduce myself to such beautiful ladies?”
Maddie gaped at him while Mari took a deep breath. Up close, his eyes slanted slightly like a cat’s. His look was intense, penetrating. She really should not allow a conversation without a proper introduction, having already faced scandal with Jamie.
Lady Molyneux bustled over, saving Mari from the decision. “I see our newly arrived portrait painter has expressed an interest in you,” she gushed. “Allow me to introduce Nicholas Algernon.”
He bowed gracefully from his waist, his gaze not leaving Mari’s.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said.
Chapter Eight
“I have nae been to Hyde Park,” Jamie answered one of the twittering girls who surrounded him at Lady Jersey’s rout. He looked over the girl’s head to watch a blond man with frilly lace—lace—at his cuffs approach Mari. What kind of a man wore lace?
Jamie nearly gaped when Mari blushed, lowered her lashes and then gazed back at the fop. Was she flirting with the man? Jamie drew himself up to his full height. The dandy looked like someone he could put on his arse with a single blow.
“Would you?”
Frowning, Jamie turned his attention back to the petite brunette, who was giving him a wide-eyed stare. He couldn’t remember her name. “Would I what?”
The girl next to him with the violet eyes giggled. “I knew he was not listening to you, Olivia.”
“Because Mr. MacLeod was giving my request consideration,” the red-haired one on his other side said.
Those two girls he remembered. Violetta Billingsly and Amelia Tansworth. Practically every time he turned around they were there, vying for his attention. They were beauties, but they were both vain and snappish, reminding him of his stepmother. He had no idea what request the lass had made, but the short brunette—Olivia?—was red with embarrassment. She didn’t deserve that. His father had instilled chivalry in him.
“I am sorry. Would you repeat the question?”
“It was not a question exactly.” She looked at him with big brown eyes. “I…I offered…that is…I thought…you might like to go for a stroll at the park and see how beautiful it is. With my chaperone,” she added hastily, her face still a bright pink.
Och, now he had done it. Set himself right up. He swore silently for letting Mari distract him. Right now, she was laughing at something the dandy had said. What could someone who wore lace and had pointy-toed shoes so shiny a man could see his face in them possibly have to say that would interest Mari? His frown deepened, and the brunette took a step back.
“It…it is all right if you do not want to go,” she said as Violetta and Amelia snickered.
Jamie forced himself to refocus. “My apologies, Miss Olivia. I am somewhat distracted this evening. Perhaps I could join ye—and yer chaperone—sometime when things have slowed down a bit for me. I am currently trying to manage my brother’s accounts.”
“Oh. Yes. Certainly. I…I will look forward to it.” She managed a smile before excusing herself and practically scampering away.
His conscience tweaked him. The girl seemed nice enough, but he wasn’t about to do anything that could be taken as courting—and definitely nothing that would put the parson’s noose around his neck. If his needs grew strong, he could always pay a visit to Covent Gardens where ladies preferred coin to promises.
“I swear, Olivia is almost as mousy as Abigail,” Amelia commented to Violetta.
“You would think Abigail, being an earl’s daughter, would dress more fashionably,” Violetta answered. “Her father has enough wealth.”
“Well,” a blonde whose name Jamie didn’t remember either, cut in, “you know what Lady Sherrington was like. Perhaps the earl does not want his daughter following in her mother’s footsteps.”
“That was rather a delicious scandal with Lady Sherrington and Wesley Alton, was it not?” Amelia replied.
Jamie’s ears perked up. “The same Wesley Alton who escaped from Bedlam?”
The group turned wide-eyed looks at him. “He escaped?” Violetta asked in a hushed tone.
“Yes. The story was in The Times.”
“We do not read the news. How common,” Amelia said.
That sounded like something his stepmother would have said. Jamie wished he could assure Sir Newell, who was glowering at him from across the room, that the man was more than welcome to Amelia. Right now, though, Jamie needed to learn more about whatever had taken place. Mari and Jillian might be in danger.
He gave the ladies his most disarming smile. “What scandal?”
They all started speaking at once. Luckily, he’d long ago learned to decipher his sisters talking at the same time. Jamie learned that the Earl of Sherrington’s wife, Delia, had been quite loose with her morals, having had several lovers, including Alton, and that she’d died unexpectedly at Newburn while a guest of
Wesley Alton’s. There were suspicions regarding her death—and here Violetta slanted a look at Jamie—just before the prince regent announced Jillian’s betrothal to the old marquess’s son.
“Oh, my goodness,” Violetta interrupted herself. “I nearly forgot how that ended. Your brother created quite the stir dashing in and abducting the bride as he did.”
“Jillian dinnae have a wish to marry Alton.”
“Actually, the whole thing sounded quite romantic,” the blonde said with a sigh. “I wish I could have been there.”
“Romantic was nae the way I recall it,” Jamie said wryly. “The miserable cur forced—” He stopped abruptly as the ladies’ mouths all hung open with no sound coming out.
“Do tell. A cur?” Amelia purred.
Jamie shook his head. Ian would box his ears for talking about what had happened. Listening to further gossip about Alton would not likely turn up new information. ’Twas a pity the slimy snake had slithered away that day. “The mon is dangerous. If he is still lurking about, you ladies must be careful.”
“We will be safe with a big, strong man like you,” Violetta asserted, brushing his arm with the top of her fan.
Jamie managed to keep from groaning aloud. The girl would do well on the stage. He’d had quite enough idle, mindless chatter. He much preferred listening to Mari, even when she was riled with him.
He looked over to where she had been standing. The man in his fancy clothes was gone, and Mari was nowhere to be seen either.
“Mr. Algernon actually said he wanted to do your portrait?” Maddie asked the next afternoon as she curled up again in the alcove seat of Mari’s room.
“Yes.” Mari hugged herself and spun around the room. “I cannot believe it. Nicholas—he asked me to call him by his Christian name—said I had an air of English sunshine, whatever that means.” She pirouetted once more and then sank onto her bed. “I think I am in love.”
“You only just met him.”
Mari pouted at her friend. “He is everything I have been looking for—refined, cultured, a true gentleman. Not once did he mention fighting or even the war.” She sighed dramatically. “And he is an artiste—quite well known in France, even though he is young.”
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