Chapter Eleven
The waltz lesson certainly had some benefits.
Jamie grinned as he remembered Mari’s flushed face having little to do with the amount of exertion at Miss Berry’s studio two days ago.
Mari’s soft curves melded perfectly against the harder edges of his shoulders and chest. He had held her as close as he dared, given one part of his anatomy was definitely hard.
The warm, pleasant memory of having Mari in his arms caused him a split-second delayed reaction to the lunge Joseph just executed, the tip of the blunted sword actually making contact with Jamie’s thigh. The footman gaped in surprise, nearly dropping his sword.
Jamie cursed. The lass was going to be the death of him.
“Touché!” Robin called from the sidelines.
Scowling, Jamie cursed again under his breath.
Did the whole damn English Society have to speak French?
It was bad enough another dozen roses had arrived for Mari this morning from the dandy, or that a smile played on Mari’s luscious mouth when she’d read the note attached.
A note which Jamie unabashedly returned to the room later to read.
Some fluffy nonsense comparing Mari to roses. Jamie’s scowl deepened.
“I…I am sorry,” Joseph stammered, backing away from him.
Jamie sighed. No need to take his bad humor out on the lad. “Dinnae apologize. Ye did well. I was wool-gathering, and ye did just what I taught ye.”
Joseph’s eyes widened, and a mottled-red swept over his face. Robin also stared at Jamie in surprise. “What? I am so hard a task master that I cannae appreciate a good thrust when I see it?”
The unfortunate use of that word caused a whole different picture in his mind—one that included a very naked Mari lying beneath him thrusting her hips forward to meet his own thrusts. Damnation. He needed to rein in these lustful thoughts. ’Twas a sorry day when a MacLeod could not control himself.
Not to mention Ian would serve Jamie’s head on a platter to Jillian for breaking his vow to protect Mari from danger.
Danger that lately had included his wayward thinking as well.
The lass was alluring with her wee lush body, silky soft hair and the way her eyes shot blue flames when he goaded her.
He could only imagine incensing such passion in bed and using it in other ways.
Fantasizing about the lass was the last thing he needed to do if he valued keeping his head attached to his shoulders.
Jamie raised his sword and assumed the first-position stance, motioning for both Robin and Joseph to advance. This time, he would pay attention. From the corner of his eye, he saw the curtain on Mari’s window flutter and knew she had been watching. For how long?
He barely managed to parry Robin’s cut and feint left to avoid Joseph. He shook his head to clear it.
The lass was going to be the death of him.
“Mr. Algernon sent you flowers again?” Maddie asked as she eyed the arrangement on the parlor table and settled on the satin-brocaded chaise. “And roses. How romantic.”
Mari dipped her nose to take in the sweet scent.
The blossoms were lovely—perfect round buds of pink and white.
She smiled as she remembered the words Nicholas had written, comparing her complexion to those delicate colors, saying they were but a poor substitute for her beauty.
He exaggerated, of course, but it was just the thing a courtly gentleman would do.
“Yes, it is, is it not?” she replied with a satisfied sigh. “And did you see Violetta staring at us across the boxes at the theatre the other night?”
Maddie giggled. “Amelia too, even though Yancy and Nevin were doing their best to keep their attentions diverted.”
“I dare say Violetta and Amelia were envious I landed such an invitation with Nicholas. He is making quite the stir with the patronesses. Lady Sefton sang his praises about her portrait, and Lady Cowper waxed nostalgic about how Nicholas’s paintings remind her of the Rococo movement—whatever that is. ”
“I do not know either,” Maddie answered, “but I think Amelia and Violetta might have been watching Mr. MacLeod instead.”
“Really? I will admit, Jamie did behave quite civily. Perhaps because your parents were there. Did you enjoy yourself?” When her friend’s face brightened, Mari’s hands flew to her mouth. “Why, Madeline Winslow. Do you have a fondness for Jamie?”
“Of course not. Do not be a ninnyhammer. He was kind to extend an invitation to my family. Papa and Mr. MacLeod talked about hunting and fishing most of the evening.” Maddie’s hands fluttered as she smoothed her skirts.
“How did the dance lesson go with Mr. MacLeod?” she asked, changing the subject.
Heat suffused Mari as she recalled the close intimacy of Jamie’s embrace as they moved to the decadent waltz.
Lady Jersey may have introduced the dance, but Mari was quite sure Almack’s ladies would not condone a man holding a girl so close that her breasts actually brushed against his chest. Lud!
Even now her nipples pebbled at the thought of the delightful sensation that slight friction had caused.
Her thoughts confused her, equal parts intriguing and frightening at the same time.
Did other girls have such reactions? Mari had placed her hand on Jamie’s marble-hard shoulder in a feeble attempt to push herself away, but the action was futile.
His muscular arm had only tightened around her waist, drawing her closer.
The clean, spicy scent of him invaded her mind, overcoming the sweet smell of the roses.
“It went better than expected,” she managed to say. “Apparently, all that swordplay he does improves balance and agility.”
“I knew it.” Maddie clapped her hands excitedly. “Just wait until everyone sees him at Countess Lieven’s ball this Saturday. I will wager Violetta and Amelia will all but shove the rest of the girls out of the way to get him to sign their dance cards.”
Mari frowned. For some reason, the idea of either of those two hoydens waltzing with Jamie did not sit well.
She would have to make sure Jamie understood to ask the wallflowers like Abigail and Olivia to dance.
And, of course, Maddie. Her friend could keep Jamie occupied while she concentrated on Nicholas’s attention—and waltzing with him.
Jamie heartily wished he had taken a wee dram of uisge-beatha before attending this event.
Countess Lieven’s ball had to be the biggest congestion of humans he’d seen outside a battlefield—and the huge ballroom did remind him of a battleground of sorts.
People milled about, the young bucks bumping into one another in their quests to sign the dance cards of the more desirable lasses and the girls’ chaperones keeping harsh eyes on how many times a lad put his name on the card.
Apparently, there was some kind of rule about how many times was proper for a lad to ask for a dance, and another rule for how quickly in succession those dances could be, and still a third rule about what kind of dance the lads could ask for twice.
“’Tis enough to drive a mon barmy,” he muttered.
“What?” Mari asked as she stood beside him, trying not to jiggle as she contemplated the crowd. Her aunt frowned at her.
“Nothing,” he replied darkly as Nicholas approached.
“My dear Marissa,” the Frenchman said as he bowed and swept a kiss over Mari’s gloved hand, ignoring Jamie totally. “You look radiant. That shade of pink makes your face absolutely glow. I cannot wait to paint you.”
Jamie managed to keep from snarling, although the hair rose at the nape of his neck. The man set his teeth on edge, and it didn’t help to see Mari smiling at the dandy like some moonstruck bairn.
“I know it is horribly selfish of me,” Nicholas said as he reluctantly let go of her hand and straightened, “but I wish to claim every dance with you.”
“You may have one dance per set,” Aunt Agnes cut in before Jamie could. “My niece needs to make the acquaintance of other gentlemen as well.”
Nicholas put a hand over his heart. “Of course, as much as it pains me to part from her company. I should like to claim the last dance then.”
“The last dance is mine,” Jamie said as he picked up Mari’s hand, the dance card dangling from her wrist. He saw a flash of anger flare in Nicholas’s eyes and hoped the cur would call him out.
He itched to give the Frenchman a good thrashing, but the man hesitated only briefly, then signed Mari’s card on the appropriate lines.
“I dinnae see why ye allowed me only one dance,” Jamie grumbled after Nicholas had departed.
“I told you balls are for mingling,” Mari answered. “Do you not have a full schedule? I can get Maddie—”
“’Tis nae the point.” He didn’t even want to look at the list he held.
Those two trollops, Violetta and Amelia, had led the bevy of giggling, silly lasses that besieged him moments after he entered the room, all vying for his signature on their cards.
He had made sure to ask Olivia for a dance to make up for not accepting her invitation to the park, which only made other girls gape at him.
Under other circumstances, he might have appreciated the attention, but with all the rules that had to be followed, he’d not dare do more than smile lest one of the hawk-eyed mamas try to put the parson’s noose around his neck.
Thank God, Maddie and her mother had intervened, the baroness efficiently dispatching the disappointed girls with one dance each.
Even so, he doubted he’d have time to find his way to the game room where the husbands enjoyed cheroots and brandy.