Rogue of the Isles (7 page)

She shook her head mulishly.

Jamie sighed again, resisting the urge to rub his temples. Mari was as stubborn as a bairn, but he hadn’t been around Shane’s younger sisters for nothing. He grasped her jaw with his free hand, holding it lightly in place with his palm, putting his thumb beneath an ear lobe and his ring finger beneath the other one. Very gently, he pressed.

Mari’s jaw dropped, probably more in surprise than by his effort, but Jamie took the opportunity to empty the spoon into her mouth. Some of the broth dribbled, and he used his thumb pad to wipe it away. Dipping the spoon back in the soup, he held it up.

“Again.”

She glared at him and took the spoon. “I can feed myself.”

“I am glad to hear it. I will be eating my own soup then.”

Mari continued to glower at him, but she scraped her bowl clean. “There. Are you satisfied?”

“’Tis a start. Now will ye please get dressed and come downstairs? I have a wish to discuss this cutting business.”

“There is nothing you can do.”

“I will see about that,” Jamie said as he moved toward the door. If Mari was treated badly last night because of his behavior in that shop, then it was up to him to make things right—even if he had to obey stupid rules and act like a damn Englishmon to do it.

“Mr. MacLeod actually
fed
you?” Maddie asked incredulously later that afternoon as she curled up on the window seat with Mari.

“Like a
child
,” Mari answered with as much indignation as she could muster. Niggling at the back of her mind was the thought that maybe she
had
acted rather childishly. Still. Jamie had threatened to pick her up again. Did he have no respect for her person? Hanging halfway across his back with unmentionable parts of her body in full contact with his was the reason she’d been cut at Lady Tindale’s party.

The other thing stuck in her head was how gentle those big, calloused hands had felt cradling her face. Jamie had leaned so close she could actually see tiny flecks of brown in his golden eyes. They had darkened to a brandy color when he’d used his thumb to wipe the droplets from her mouth. That mere brush had coursed straight to her belly, causing her newly discovered pet butterflies to flutter again.

“I think it was rather romantic,” Maddie said with a sigh.

“What has gotten into you lately?” Mari asked. “How can you think someone who just does as he pleases without thought to convention romantic? I am beginning to wonder if all Highlanders are half barbarians.”

Maddie giggled. “You exaggerate.”

“You think so? Then look. He’s down there in the yard making poor Dobbs attempt to wield a sword. A
household
footman. I am sure the stable boys are sniggering at Dobbs’s expense, but it does not matter to Jamie. He thinks all men should know how to fight. What can be more barbaric than that?” She watched as Jamie lunged and thrust, forcing a white-faced Dobbs to attempt a parry. At least Jamie kept his shirt on for these practices, unlike at Newburn.

Maddie leaned on the sill, looking down. “Mr. MacLeod makes it look so easy. Almost graceful. I wonder if he dances as well?”

“I have no idea. Jillian provided lessons for his brother.”

“You could teach him.”

“I—” Mari stopped, pushing away the thought of Jamie’s strong arms around her in a waltz. The butterflies took wing again. What was wrong with her? “I cannot see him hopping about to a quadrille. Can you?”

Maddie kept her eyes on the practice going on down below. “He needs to learn. From what I overheard last night, half the matrons present were planning on inviting him to balls.”

Mari felt tears sting her eyes again. Had she been worried the
ton
would not accept Jamie? She was the one who was rejected. How ironic.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” Maddie leaned over to hug Mari. “I know you had a difficult time last night.”

“Difficult? I was given the cut direct.” Mari stifled a sob. She’d done enough crying. “I doubt I will be receiving any more invitations.”

“Phooey. You know how fickle the
ton
is. As soon as someone else does something scandalous, they will forget all about your incident.”

Mari shook her head. “I might as well be ruined. I am sure those two gossips standing outside the shop embellished the whole story tremendously.”

Maddie smiled suddenly. “Perhaps I could spread a different sort of story then. I was there, after all.”

“What could you say? I was slung over Jamie’s shoulder, for goodness’ sake.”

“Were you?” Maddie tapped her finger to her mouth thoughtfully. “I think maybe what I saw was you tripping and Mr. MacLeod assisting you until you were able to walk.”

“But that is not what happened.”

“Who is to say? I am sure Mr. MacLeod is gallant enough to go along with my version.”

“Gallant? I really do not know where you are getting all these romantic notions, Maddie, but even if he agreed, Madam Dubois also witnessed what happened.”

Maddie shrugged. “I suspect if Madam Dubois received gown orders from both of us, her perspective might change.”

Mari looked at her friend in shock. “That is bribery.”

“Is it? I doubt Madam Dubois wishes to lose you as a customer.”

Oh, Lord. Was it wrong? Mari felt a slight ray of hope. Perhaps if Society were given two versions of what happened, it would create enough doubt that she would not be totally ostracized. Maddie was right. The
ton
was fickle. If she could just weather the storm for now…

Would Jamie go along with it? Mari looked down into the yard, but it was empty. Did she dare ask him?

Maddie had just gathered her reticule and gloves from Givens when Jamie appeared in the foyer.

“If ye have a minute, I would like to talk,” he said.

“Of course.” Maddie followed him into the parlor, noticing that he left the door ajar. He behaved perfectly properly, choosing a seat across from the sofa where she sat. She really did not understand how Mari could think the handsome Mr. MacLeod a barbarian. “What is on your mind?”

He paused as though thinking carefully what to say. “I dinnae understand all the rules of yer
ton
, and I dinnae understand why anyone would blame Mari for my actions in the shop, but I need to make this right.”

Maddie smiled at him. “I have an idea.” When she finished telling him of her plan, he shook his head.

“’Twas nae what happened.”

“That is what Mari said too, but it really is the best way—”

“If Mari daesna agree, than neither do I.”

She was beginning to see what Mari meant about Mr. MacLeod’s stubbornness. “If we can show those two gossips exaggerated, this will all become of little interest, and the
ton
will move on to more juicy
on-dits
.” She leaned forward. “Mari simply must get an invitation to Almack’s next month.”

“What is Almack’s? And why is it so important?”

Maddie widened her eyes in surprise and then remembered he probably had no idea. “During the spring Season, the patronesses of Almack’s issue vouchers to the most desirable debutantes to attend the weekly Wednesday night dances. If one does not receive a voucher, one might as well resign oneself to being on the shelf—either spinsterhood or marriage to the working class.”

Jamie raised a brow. “’Tis nae dishonor in working for a living.”

Maddie sighed. How to explain? “Perhaps not, but daughters of the aristocracy—and certainly daughters of nobility—are expected to marry within their ranks. All of the parties and balls are opportunities for eligible bachelors and debutantes to get to know each other, but Almack’s is the ultimate place where most choices are made.” She paused. “Jillian stayed married to that old, nasty marquess so Mari would have this opportunity.”

Jamie frowned. “Who are these patronesses that decide?”

“There are several. Mrs. Cowper, daughter of Lady Melbourne, Countess Lieven, Lady Castlereagh, Lady Sefton—”

“Who is the most important?”

“Which one? They all yield extreme influence.”

“I didnae have time to talk to all of them. Which one leads them?”

Maddie blinked. “You intend to approach them?”

“Aye. Unless they are sainted by the kirk, they are approachable, are they nae?”

“I suppose so.” She thought for a moment. “I would suggest Lady Jersey then. She has overcome the scandal of her mother-in-law, so she might be more sympathetic.”

“’Tis her I will talk to then.”

“What in the world will you say to her?”

“I intend to ask she put a stop to this nonsense. ’Twas me who picked Mari up without her permission. She should nae suffer from it.”

Oooh, how romantic. Maddie felt slightly giddy. Mr. MacLeod truly was like a gallant knight of old. If Mari could not see that, she must be blind. If only Mr. MacLeod would show an interest in herself
…
Maddie sighed again. She should not be entertaining such thoughts. Mari was her best friend, after all.

Chapter Six

Nicholas Algernon looked around the small, crowded flat just two blocks from the river’s wharf with obvious distaste. Brushing a spot on the threadbare sofa, he sat before the splintered coffee table with its uneven legs and grimaced. “
Je suis
. I am surprised, Monsieur.
Pourquoi
such squalid conditions?”

Wesley looked at the boy with barely concealed contempt. The little bastard had no idea how truly squalid his living conditions had become because that damn Highlander had stolen Jillian from him along with the Newburn lands. He clenched his fists. The
bãtard
would pay, and pay very well.

Wesley studied his offspring. The boy had grown in the two or three years since he had last seen him, making him slightly taller than Wesley. Although slender, his once lanky frame had filled out. Dressed in French fashion, his blond hair cropped close, the boy could pass as an English dandy.

“Unfortunately, dire circumstances have forced me to withdraw from Society for a time. Where are you staying?”

“I have taken rooms near Covent Garden,” Nicholas answered. “Close enough to Mayfair, but also convenient for other purposes, if you understand my meaning.”

“I do. Keep your nose clean though. I want nothing to interfere with my plans.”

Nicholas looked around again skeptically. “What happened?
Maman
said you came to England to reclaim the family estate.”

The
family
estate? Had the whore-mother hoped Wesley would send for her? The other bitch—Richard’s mother—probably would think the same thing. Well, let them eat cake, as Marie Antoinette once said. Wesley assumed a martyr’s face.

“The fates have conspired against me. I offered to give my father’s widow luxurious living accommodations and a very generous allowance, but the bitter woman was greedy and wanted more. She fabricated a story of me attempting to rape her—although why I would have wanted to is unfathomable. By law, she was my step-mother. The barbaric Highlander who inherited the earldom of Cantford collaborated her story. Complete lies. Unfortunately, about the same time, false accusations were made against me by two ex-patriots who claimed I aided Napoleon instead of actually helping Wellington at Vitoria. Again, complete lies, but alas, I was stripped of my title and now have a price on my head. I am using the name Walter Avery as an alias.”

Nicholas was watching him, his green eyes calculating. Perhaps the boy was shrewder than Wesley had given him credit for. The trait would be advantageous as long as he believed Wesley’s lies.

“If you have no title or lands, why did you send for me?”

Wesley smiled. At least Nicholas went straight to the point. “I have no desire to remain in England, but I do require a nice sum of money to establish myself comfortably in France.”

“I am to help you achieve this?”

“Yes. I believe you have developed some talent as a portrait painter?” Nicholas’s mother had sent frequent missives over the past several years expounding her son’s talents. Those letters always ended in a request for funds so Nicholas could study with the masters. Wesley ignored them, but word had gotten to him that de Steuben had taken Nicholas under his tutelage.

“
Oui. J’ai talent.”

And little modesty. Another good trait. Wesley smiled again. “The ladies of the
haute ton
are very vain. I am sure they would be willing to pay well for you to paint them.”

Both of Nicholas’s brows lifted. “They would pay well enough to provide you—and myself—a comfortable lifestyle in France?”

“Of course not.” Was the boy an idiot? “The pretentious creatures not only want their portraits done, they would compete to have your attendance at their silly social parties.
Artistes
are quite in mode these days.”

“You want me to act a personal
cavalier
?”

“Not quite. While a great number of the matrons would no doubt find it tempting to take you to their beds, I have only one female in mind.”

“She would have to be
très belle
if you want me to refrain from visiting the beds of willing women.”