Rogue of the Isles (10 page)

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.”

Maddie gave her a skeptical look. “Did he tell you this?”

“No. Lady Jersey did. Nicholas is going to do her portrait too and, I think, the other patronesses’ as well.”

“If he so well known, how much is he going to charge?” Maddie asked and then bit her lip when Mari looked hurt. She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp.

“Nicholas told me it would be a gift.”

“Why would—I mean, do you think your aunt will let you accept something worth a considerable amount?” Maddie asked. “A portrait is quite personal. You would have to sit for hours.”

Mari giggled. “I know. Just Nicholas and me—”

“Marissa Barclay. You know very well you would have to be chaperoned.” Maddie glanced out the window to see Jamie crossing the yard to the stables. “I do not think Mr. MacLeod will be pleased with the idea either.”

“Phooey. What does he have to do with anything?”

“He told Jillian he would protect you. Remember how upset he was with you last night when you went out on the veranda?”

“I was just taking the air.”

“With Mr. Algernon.”

Mari frowned. “We were doing nothing wrong. You were with us. Jamie had no right to come stomping over like that. He practically pushed me back into the room.”

“I just think he wants to prevent you from being scandalized again.” Maddie hoped she kept the wistful tone out of her voice.
She
would not have minded if Mr. MacLeod had taken her arm and guided her back to the party. She rather liked the way he took charge of things.

“Jamie MacLeod is an arrogant, bossy, over-bearing and
annoying
man. At least Nicholas had the insight not to provoke him to fisticuffs.”

“I do not think Jamie—Mr. MacLeod—would be uncivilized enough to brawl in Lady Jersey’s home.”

Mari stared at her. “I do not think Jamie would even have hesitated had Nicholas put up any resistance to my returning to the party. Luckily for all of us, Nicholas is a
gentleman
and obviously well-bred.”

“Mr. MacLeod comes from a good family too. His brother is an earl, after all—and Ian did marry your sister. She seems happy.”

Mari drew her brows together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I think you should give Jamie—Mr. MacLeod—a chance, that is all.” There. Maddie had said it. She might be infatuated with the Highlander, but she sensed he was attracted to Mari and not just as her guardian.

“A chance for what? The man delights in getting me to lose my temper.”

“I think he teases you because he likes you.”

“He teases me because he wants to torment me. I pity his poor sisters once he goes home.” Mari shook her head. “I want someone courtly and genteel, not someone who constantly wants to spar. What I really liked about Nicholas is that he is charming.”

“Nicholas is French. They are born that way.”

Mari laughed. “Perhaps so, but I find I quite like his cultivated attention.” She tilted her head to study Maddie. “Are you interested in Jamie?”

Maddie hoped no tell-tale blush was creeping over her cheeks, although she felt her face warm. “Of course not. I am simply saying you should remember Mr. MacLeod has his good points too.”

“I suppose he does, but I would be grateful if you could distract him at the next party so I can spend more time with Nicholas. Would you do that?”

Slowly, Maddie nodded and then wondered if Mari really knew what she was asking.

Jamie scowled as Givens appeared in the doorway to the breakfast room carrying a vase of pink roses. Across the table from him, Mari clasped her hands in delight.

“Are those for me?”

“Indeed.” Givens gave her a brief smile—or what passed for a smile from a butler—did the English have to be so damn proper? “From a Mr. Algernon. Shall I put them in the parlor, Miss Barclay?”

Christ. That lace-wearing dandy was sending Mari flowers?

“Oooh!” she exclaimed and jumped up, nearly upsetting her tea. “No. Place them right here where I can see them while I eat.” Mari leaned down to inhale their fragrance and took the card Givens handed her, blushing when she read its contents. “How kind of Mr. Algernon,” was all she said as she sat back and turned shining eyes to Jamie. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Jamie found the smell overwhelmingly sweet, but the happy expression on her face stayed him from making the comment. Instead, he pushed his half-eaten bowl of porridge away. The cloying scent diminished his appetite. “I suppose they are, if ye like flowers.”

“Every girl likes flowers. Do you Scots not give them to your ladies?”

A sudden memory of his father presenting his stepmother with handpicked heather and primroses flashed through his mind. She had looked at the wildflowers in disgust, asking where his father expected her to put
those
and suggested they build a hothouse to grow…
roses.
Jamie had found the bouquet in the trash later. He had hated the smell of roses ever since.