Chapter Nine #2
The lass was going to drive him completely barmy, he had no doubt.
Never had Jamie met a female as full of contradictions as Mari Barclay.
One minute she was vulnerable, clinging to her mare for dear life, and the next she was telling him she needed no protection.
Faugh. If that were not bad enough, one minute he understood how young and innocent the lass was, and the next he wanted to lie down with her in the nearest patch of grass and pleasure her senseless.
Did she have any idea how enticing she looked with loose curls blowing around her face as her eyes grew big and dark when he’d told her to decide if she needed protection from him?
Luckily, they were both atop horses, or he might have proven his point right there by kissing those alluring lips.
His own good sense seemed to have left him. What was he thinking? He had promised to protect Mari, not compromise her.
Jamie sighed as he turned his horse about to head home.
The little mare followed obediently, although the look on her rider’s face was just short of mutinous.
He shook his head. It would do no good to explain—once more—why a young lass needed protection, especially from the likes of smooth-talking dandies like that frill-wearing Frenchman.
Nicholas Algernon set Jamie’s teeth on edge, although he wasn’t exactly sure why.
The English lads at these gatherings wore fancy clothing too—starched shirts, waistcoats, frockcoats and stiff collars with those ridiculous strangle-cloths called cravats—and they curled their hair as well.
They engaged in mindless conversation with the lasses, given to flattery and flowery statements like they were poets.
Jamie hoped Mari had more sense than to be gullible about such blethering nonsense.
But she had liked those damn roses.
The Frenchman was as slippery as wet moss in a rocky burn.
Jamie had watched him ingratiating himself with the wealthy matrons and patronesses, no doubt flattering all of them into doing likenesses.
While Jamie had no liking for insincere fawning, the women were all old enough to understand the game the Frenchman played.
Jamie had expected the man to do much the same with the young lasses, but Algernon had not.
Instead, he had set his eyes on Mari, ignoring the rest of the girls, and honed in like a hawk on an innocent lamb.
Even now, as Jamie and Mari headed home, the hair at his nape prickled.
He glanced at Mari who gave him a wary look. He wanted to tell her she needed to take care around the Frenchman, but he doubted she would heed his words. The tenacious lass would probably think him jealous.
Faugh.
But what he could do? By the lass’s own admission she should be chaperoned—so chaperone her he would.
Jamie smiled, quite pleased with himself. Mari could hardly argue with him about something that was her own idea.
“What do you mean, chaperone me?” Mari demanded on Saturday afternoon as she prepared to meet Maddie at Gunter’s for ices.
The fall day had turned out exceptionally warm, and Maddie’s maid had arrived with a note from Maddie a little over an hour ago.
“Berkeley Square is only a few blocks away, and Effie will be with me.”
Jamie’s jaw set in the way Mari was becoming all too familiar with.
It meant he was going to ignore what she’d just said.
Again. He had taken perverse delight in accompanying her to the orphanage where she’d taken clothing on Thursday—even though the young footmen had been in attendance—and made sure she did not sit in the common area at her aunt’s boarding house yesterday when she’d met Aunt Agnes for lunch.
Jamie had invited himself along for that too.
Her aunt acted like she actually enjoyed his company.
Mari was beginning to feel she had a permanent shadow—no small feat since the sun rarely shone in London.
“Ye said yerself ye needed a chaperone. Do ye nae remember?”
She would forever rue making that statement. Of course, the arrogant man had taken it out of context. “An appropriate chaperone. Someone like Effie or my aunt.”
“Neither of them carries weapons.”
“Arrgh! Do you really think I will be attacked in the middle of the afternoon in a fashionable spot like Gunter’s? This is the West End of London, not the wild isles of Scotland!”
Jame’s jaw squared even more. “London ’tis a lot worse. The place is crawling with ruffians and misfits.”
“Not in Mayfair.”
Jamie fixed his golden gaze on her. “Mayhap the villains here hide the fact they are blackguards behind their flowery talk.”
Mary opened her mouth to retort and then snapped it shut, held by his penetrating look.
When his eyes turned whisky-colored, it did funny things to her insides.
The now-familiar butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and parts of her tingled that she hadn’t even known could tingle.
Unmentionable parts. Mari sensed it was attraction, although for the life of her she didn’t know why she’d be attracted to someone who carried a dozen weapons and thought arguments should be solved with fisticuffs instead of dialogue.
The Highlander had all the refinement of one of Jillian’s unbroken stallions.
Mari just wished her sister had been a little more forthcoming with the talk they’d had about men.
Before she could deal with her confusion, Effie appeared with her wrap and reticule. “It is warm enough. I will not need the wrap,” Mari said.
Her maid’s lips pursed. “A lady does not appear in her day gown on the street without a wrap.”
“But—”
“I agree,” Jamie said and took the shawl from Effie to drape it over Mari’s shoulders. He brushed his fingers lightly over her nape as he did so, causing an involuntary quiver to slide across her back like soft silk. Thankfully, Jamie did not appear to notice.
He extended an elbow to each of them. “May I escort both ye ladies?”
Her normally grumpy maid actually smiled at him. “You may,” Effie said.
Mari nearly gaped at her. First her aunt enjoying lunch, and now Effie smiling?
When had that ever happened? Jamie tucked her hand into his other arm, and she sighed as she followed him out the door and down the steps.
She may have lost yet another battle, but even if she were the last holdout against Jamie’s charms, she was determined to win the war.