Rogue of the Isles (20 page)

“That would be far too much.”

He tilted his head. “Why? I assure you, in France, many aristocratic ladies have their portraits done like that.”

“This is not France. Besides, that would expose my birthmark.”

“You have a birthmark? How intriguing.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “What does it look like?”

Mari shrugged and looked away, embarrassed. “It is small and pink. Jillian always said it looked like a
fleur-de-lis
.”

“How fitting,
chère
. The flower of France. Please do not think me indelicate, but where might this delightful feature be precisely?”

Her face felt on fire. “We should not be discussing this.”

“A thousand pardons, but there is no reason to be embarrassed,
chère
. To a man, the idea of such a beautiful little mark is enticing. Do not keep me in suspense,
s’il vous plait
.”

Still looking at the ground, Mari indicated the top of her right breast. Nicholas caught her hand and squeezed it briefly.

“
Merci
for trusting me
.
We will not speak about this again, but I shall dream of it.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Mari closed her eyes and turned her face upward toward the sun peeking out from fluffy white clouds. Perhaps its warmth would steady her nerves…and then she gasped as Nicholas’s mouth came down on hers.

It was not a long kiss, nor a particularly tender one as Nicholas took advantage of her open lips to thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Mari pushed at his shoulders instinctively and he slowly withdrew, smiling as he straightened. “I have wanted to do that for a long time.”

Mari felt flustered, but not in the way she had when Jamie kissed her. That had made her insides go all mushy and warm. This kiss merely shocked her and, looking over Nicholas’ shoulder, she could see it had the same effect on the two mothers who grabbed their children and hurried off.

“That was most improper.”

“Forgive me. Did I offend you?”

“Yes. No. I mean—” Merciful heavens, what should she say? “I think we had better go back.”

“
Certainement
.” He stood and extended his hand. Mari put hers into his, not sure if she should.

He bowed gravely, although he looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I promise not to bite,
mademoiselle
.”

Oh, dear. Nicholas must think her a complete twiddlepoop to let a kiss bother her so much. He was probably used to sophisticated French women who would take such a thing as a casual endearment and nothing more. And he was calling her
mademoiselle
rather than
chérie.
Had he suddenly lost interest because she was so naïve? Resolutely, she tucked her hand inside his arm and managed a smile. “I did not think you would bite, Mr. Algernon.”

He smiled. “Call me Nicholas, please.”

“Nicholas.” Ah. Well, if he wanted her to call him by his Christian name, perhaps all was not lost. Mari wished suddenly that Jillian were here for her to talk to about keeping a man interested but within bounds. “I hope you do not think—”

He placed a finger lightly on her lips. “I do not think anything. It is time we got back since I asked the driver to return within the hour.”

The carriage had just arrived as they reached their picnic spot. Effie was asleep, propped against a tree. Mari frowned. It was not like Effie to fall asleep during the day, much less while she was acting as a chaperone, even given the fact she had let Mari and Nicholas walk alone. Perhaps it would have been wise to have had Effie along, at that. Mari leaned down to shake the maid’s shoulder. “We are ready to go home.”

Effie’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and she struggled to sit only to fall back against the tree. “I feel ill.”

Alarmed, Mari knelt down and felt the maid’s cheek. “You do not seem feverish.” She couldn’t remember when—if ever—Effie had been sick. “Perhaps it was too much rich food and all that chocolate.”

The maid groaned and clutched her stomach. “You may well be right. I was a glutton.”

“Let me help you,” Nicholas said as he took the maid’s arm to help her stand. She moaned again, turning pale. “I feel quite dizzy.”

Nicholas beckoned the driver to help him lead Effie to the carriage. Mari climbed in first to aid her, although the maid nearly slipped from her grasp as she fell onto the squab. Nicholas climbed in behind her, pushing Effie’s shoulders down when she attempted to sit.

“You will be more comfortable if you recline,” he said and took his seat beside Mari.

Effie made an effort to speak. “But you should be sitting on this side.”

“Do not concern yourself about that,” Nicholas replied. “The ride is not that long.” He motioned the driver to go. “We will be home in no time.”

As the barouche left the inner circle of the gardens and passed by the playground area, Mari saw the two mothers who had been at the pond. They glanced up as they were assisting their children into a waiting carriage. Mari wished she could stop and explain—although she was really not sure what she would say—but at least to tell them the earlier incident was not what it appeared. With Effie lying flat in the seat across from her and looking as though she were going to cast up her accounts any minute, there really was not time to delay. The explanation would have to wait.

The short ride seemed to take an eternity, and Mari couldn’t remember when she had seen the streets so busy and bustling with other buggies. It seemed half of Mayfair was out enjoying the unusually sunny autumn day, but finally the barouche halted before the townhouse and they were home.

Mari hopped down, not waiting for assistance, and bounded up the steps to summon Givens and Dobbs to help Effie inside. The door swung open before she could use the knocker.

Jamie stood there, feet apart, muscular arms folded across his broad chest, his face as thunderous as a winter storm rolling in from the Thames.

“I have been waiting for ye, lass,” he said.

Mari swept by him as if she hadn’t heard, calling for Dobbs. Jamie was of a mind to sling her over his shoulder once more and carry her off to his chamber, but he was not sure what he would do once he got there. Putting the lass across his knee for a sound spanking warred with wanting to place her on his bed and claim his spot on top of her. She had ignored his orders once again, when his only concern was for her safety. Jamie grimaced. In truth, safety was no longer his only concern. Mari had too many lush curves and too much spirit—even if she showed it by acting like a petulant child—for him not to desire her as a woman as well. He rubbed his temples. Hell and damnation. Even his sister, Fiona, had not been this much trouble.

Behind him, Ian chuckled.

Jamie ignored him, although his brother was close to being invited outside for a good round of fisticuffs. He turned to find Mari pulling Dobbs by the hand, Givens following closely behind.

“Did ye nae hear me, lass?”

“Not now, Jamie. Effie is ill.”

Frowning, he hurried down the steps after her, for the first time seeing the maid lying prone on the carriage seat. “What happened?” he asked as Nicholas tugged the woman to a seated position so Dobbs and Givens could help her out of the carriage.

“I think she had too much chocolate,” Mari answered distractedly as she dabbed her handkerchief along the maid’s brow.

“Chocolate?” Jamie leveled a cold look at Nicholas. “I want an explanation, Algernon.”

The man just shrugged in the maddening way the French did. “I bought truffles for all of us.”

“Do not blame Nicholas,” Mari said. “I ate them too.”

She followed Dobbs and Givens, who were half lifting, half dragging Effie between them. The maid looked as green as one of Shane’s newly apprenticed sailors on board a vessel pitching between stormy swells and deep troughs.

Jamie had his suspensions about chocolate causing her illness, but he felt Ian’s warning hand on his shoulder. He would let it go for now, but he wasn’t finished with the Frenchman.

Not by a long shot.

Wesley Alton scratched his scraggly beard and shoved his fake spectacles farther up his nose as he sat down beside Nicholas on a worn bench not far from Tower Bridge the next afternoon. “Please tell me you are making progress with that little bitch. I am getting quite tired of assuming this disguise.”

Nicholas handed him a bottle of French cognac wrapped in newspaper. “This should help you cope with your predicament,” he said and then added, “Actually, I am doing quite well. I have completed two portraits and am commissioned for another three—”

“I do not give a ship’s rat’s arse about your
painting.”

“You should
.
” Nicholas smiled coldly. “Those fees are what is keeping you supplied with the cognac you are so fond of.”

“
Merci
.”

Nicholas ignored the thank you since it was probably said in sarcasm anyway. “Those fees are also allowing me to make quite an impression on the little chit.”

“So things are progressing?” Wesley asked. “Is the Highlander still a problem?”

Nicholas shrugged. “I managed to lure the Barclay girl out without his presence. Things went quite well.” Actually, things had gone even better than Nicholas had hoped. He’d made sure a good amount of laudanum had been put in the maid’s truffles—all he’d had to do was lie about giving them to his ailing mother—so he’d have time to get Marissa into a compromising position. He’d deliberately chosen the gardens, knowing they would be crowded with matrons of the
ton
. That one of the women actually knew the little bitch was luck, but even more so as they were seen leaving. He had made sure there was enough of the opiate in the chocolate that the maid would be passed out, and it would appear he and the Barclay girl were alone. All had gone according to plan.

“How did you manage to distract the bastard?”

“It was not hard. Marissa informed me his brother would be arriving yesterday. I had a street urchin waiting in the street to let me know when he arrived.”

Wesley stared at him. “The earl is back in London? Did he bring his wife?”

Nicholas gave him a sharp look. “No. I believe the chit said her sister was
enceinte
.”

Wesley’s face darkened. “I hate that son-of-a-dog.”

“So I gathered.”

“I can hire a couple of men off the wharves to dispose of both of them,” Wesley said.

“Getting rid of an earl would raise a lot of questions. This is hardly the time to arouse suspicions of your whereabouts.”

“I suppose you are right,” Wesley muttered, “although I would love to make Jillian a widow once more.” He sighed. “We can wait until Ian leaves to get rid of the brother.”

“If he continues to get in my way, we will do it,” Nicholas agreed. “However, I learned a tidbit of information today that may just solidify my grounds for marrying the little bitch and collecting a very nice dowry.”

Wesley’s ears practically perked up. “What would that be?”

“For now, my secret.” Nicholas nearly laughed as his father narrowed his eyes and looked about to argue, but at the moment, the old man was dependent on him. A point Nicholas might need to remind him of soon.

The Barclay girl blurting that she had a unique birthmark in a very private place had been a stroke of luck Nicholas had not anticipated. Once he painted her with that mark exposed, the gossip would be rampant. Marissa Barclay would be ruined.

And Nicholas would play the gallant knight who would rescue her.

But it would be costly.

Chapter Sixteen

Jillian groaned and opened her eyes slowly to pitch blackness. For a moment, she thought she was blind, but then the sliver of moon peeped out from behind a cloud, allowing for a dim light. As she gradually became aware of her surroundings, pain jabbed through her abdomen like a sharp knife. She gasped at the intensity and clutched her stomach. The baby.

She lay perfectly still, wondering how long she had been in the ravine. It was still night, so maybe she had lost consciousness for only a short time. The place was eerily quiet. There was no sound of men’s voices or tramping of feet. Thankfully, there was no sound of animals rustling nearby either.

The jagged edge of a rotted tree branch poked her side. Gingerly, she shifted a little, and then inhaled sharply, grasping her stomach at the stabbing pain. An odd heat seared through her hand and she remembered cutting it on the edge of something sharp. Once she was aware of it, the throbbing began. Resolutely, she steeled herself to ignore it. The baby was more important. Had she killed it in her fall?

Dear God. Ian would never forgive her. She grimaced as a contraction began. She had to get out of here. Very slowly, she moved her ankles and then her legs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but when she tried to sit, she collapsed back on the ground. The stomach pain was too intense. Perhaps if she rested for a few minutes, she’d gain enough strength to sit and then stand. Jillian closed her eyes. Just a few minutes…

She drifted in and out of consciousness, barely cognizant when the sky began to lighten into the first glimpse of dawn. It seemed to her that an old lady appeared before her, but she wasn’t sure if it was a dream. When she opened her eyes—or at least she thought she did—no one was there. Yet when she closed them, the old woman was back. The ancient picked up Jillian’s hand, and the pain subsided.