Chapter Four
“Nae quite so fast, lass,” Jamie said as Givens closed the front door behind them and Effie took off like a freed hare out of a trap. Mari had almost made it to the stairs. She turned to glare at him.
“I believe you have had enough sport with me for one day,” she said icily.
Jamie smothered his grin. The lass was in a fine mettle already—no need to push her further, although he rather enjoyed setting sparks to the flame of her temper.
He had been in a fine fury himself when she went off on her own and when he’d caught up to her meandering along the street oblivious to everything but the shop windows.
His own temper had eased considerably once he had Mari over his shoulder.
The softness of her breasts pressed against his back might have had something to do with it, or the feel of her thighs through the silkiness of her stockings.
She had a finely rounded arse too, which he’d discovered, much to his delight, when he massaged the area he had smacked.
A very nice arse, although too many layers of clothing had been between his hand and her bottom.
Jamie sobered. The lass had put herself in danger because she did not heed him.
“In here,” he said, gesturing to the parlor.
For a moment, he thought she would defy him again—he almost looked forward to it, so he could physically carry her in there—but she seemed to read his thoughts and reluctantly turned and proceeded him into the room.
Mari seated herself primly on one of those fancy chairs with the carved legs that looked not strong enough to support a man.
“Say what you must,” she said. “I should like to retire to my room.”
He took a seat on the sofa. “Ye didnae follow my orders.”
Icy blue flames shot from her eyes. “Your orders?”
“Aye. I told ye nae to wander about without my protection.” He could have sworn the room chilled considerably as she lifted her wee nose and sniffed.
“I will repeat, sirrah, that I do not need, nor do I welcome, your protection. The streets of Mayfair are quite safe.”
Jamie rubbed his temples. The lass was even more stubborn than his sister Bridget. “Ye can nae be sure of that. My duty is to keep ye safe. I gave my oath to yer sister and Ian.”
Mari threw up her hands in exasperation. “Jillian had no right to ask that of you, nor did Ian. In any case, I release you from that oath.”
“Ye canna.”
“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.