Rogue of the Isles (5 page)

“I can!” Mari jumped up and began pacing. “None of you owns me. In England, women ceased to be chattel some time ago. Whatever medieval customs you practice in the Highlands do not apply here.”

Jamie frowned, his own temper beginning to stir. “Medieval? Our lairds—a title your English king stripped from us—are still responsible for the protection of their people. When a mon marries, it is with the understanding he will lay down his life to protect his wife.”

“You are not my husband, and we are not talking marriage!”

A fleeting thought of being married to the lass passed through Jamie’s mind. What would it be like if she were his? Would she be as passionate in bed as she was when she argued with him? His cock stirred in anticipation. Having Mari in his bed where his hands could knead the bare, plump mounds of her breasts or massage the naked flesh of her arse…

Jamie shook his head, refocusing on the present. He had no intentions of marrying anybody for several more years, if at all. He didn’t want to make the mistake his father had. A pretty face could be deceiving. He could not recall his stepmother even once giving tiny Fiona a hug—or touching his father for that matter. In any event, there were still too many pleasures to be had to consider something like marriage. “Agreed. My point is ye are nae married so ye dinnae have a mon to look after ye.”

“Oooh! You have not heard a word I said!” Mari moved toward the door. “Unless you intend to sleep outside my door, I will come and go as I please.” She lifted her chin defiantly and spun on her heel, her skirts billowing as she left the room.

Jamie let her go. The lass was
more
stubborn than Bridget. His mouth suddenly twitched. Maybe sleeping outside her door would nae be such a bad idea after all—just in case the lass suffered from nightmares, of course.

“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 besotted 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.”