Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“There was a great deal of on-dit when you left,” Maddie replied. “Mr. Algernon spent a good amount of time assuring the patronesses that he meant to do the honorable thing upon your return. I am sure your aunt was only acting in your best interest.”
Mari sighed. She hadn’t liked it when Ian decided she and Jamie should be hand-fasted either. Jamie had obviously only gone along with the idea because it was expected. If Jamie did not want her, how could she be sure Nicholas did?
What a knotty ball of yarn she’d been left to unwind.
Jamie had managed to stay away from the townhouse for an entire two days, and it had taken every ounce of his willpower to do it. He was too angry and too confused to make a good decision.
Not that anyone had asked him to make a decision.
Jamie stomped along the quay leading to the warehouses that held goods waiting for shipment to the Continent. Before he left Scotland, Ian had given him a bill of lading that needed to be filed with Shane’s shipping line.
The wharf was as dismal looking as Jamie felt. Heavy fog hung over the muddied water of the Thames, making the air damp, dark and cold. Since no ships were tied to the piers, the docks were nearly deserted.
Most of the time, Jamie avoided this area because it brought back memories of the abduction he had been unable to stop, but today the atmosphere suited his mood.
Hellfire and damnation. He’d known Mari did not want to be hand-fasted to him, but he had not expected her to be betrothed to another when they returned to London—and to a damn French dandy painter.
Jamie muttered a curse as he turned the corner to the shipping office.
He knew many marriages were arranged and English Society was damn snooty about proper behavior, as he had already found out regarding the incident in the modiste shop.
But a woman should have a choice in the matter, which is why he did not press the issue of hand-fasting.
Even though Jamie had first broached the issue with Ian as a matter of honor and protecting the lass’s reputation, the more he thought about it, the more attractive the idea became.
Even though the lass drove him barmy at times, he had come to admire her spunk—usually—and sometimes even her independent thinking.
And he had experienced first-hand how passionate Mari could be.
His groin tightened at the thought of waking up to her each morning, and then jealousy sliced through him like a sharp blade at the thought another man might actually have the privilege.
Jamie slapped the paperwork on the desk, startling the short, bald-headed bookkeeper who quickly closed a ledger he’d been working on.
“Sorry,” Jamie said as the little man approached the counter cautiously. “My mood matches the weather today.” He slid the sheaf more gently toward the accountant. “’Tis my cousin, Shane MacLeod, who needed these filed.”
“Of course. Captain MacLeod’s last trip down was quite quick. I will attend to this immediately.”
“Thank you,” Jamie said courteously and managed not to slam the door on his way out.
His anger returned as he reached the wharf.
He did not trust the Frenchman. The man was slick as spilled lantern oil, and there was something about his eyes that disturbed Jamie.
Even when the man smiled and lavished flowery compliments on the women, his eyes were cold and calculating.
Did Mari actually want to marry someone like that?
If she did, Jamie would not stop her. He clinched his fists, wishing he had something to hit.
He would be willing to fight for her, even though he knew she did not approve of fighting, but what if the lass really did not want him?
She had made no attempt to discuss the hand-fasting matter.
Jamie sighed. He would have to swallow his pride and risk rejection, but he would have to ask Mari—not order her—to make a decision.
A fist smashed the back of Jamie’s skull, and he heard the whish of a knife past his ear as his instincts kicked in.
He crouched low and spun around, throwing his shoulder into his attacker’s side, knocking the man off-balance.
Jamie straightened, using the momentum to crash his fist into the second man’s face.
It made a satisfying crunch, and blood streamed from the man’s nose.
Jamie whipped his dirk from his belt and slipped the sgian dubh from his boot, cursing the fact that he did not have his claymore.
He splayed his feet in a warrior stance, one blade in each hand, slashing at the first man who attempted to attack again.
The men were not dressed as dock workers. They looked more like cutthroats who roamed the dark allies of London’s seedier side, which meant they would fight dirty.
The second man bellowed, his eyes nearly as red with rage as the blood running down his mouth and chin.
Jamie shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, the dead calm he always felt before a battle settling over him.
Rage got men killed. Jamie waited, aware the first man was trying to come around him. He would give him two steps more…
The second man lunged clumsily and Jamie side-stepped, allowing the man to charge like a bull past him. The first man’s eyes grew wide as his partner’s body smashed into his, the outstretched knife sinking deep into his gut. He staggered a few steps before he slumped to the ground.
The bloodied man took a split-second to stare at his comrade, but it was all the time Jamie needed to grab his arm and twist it behind his back until it made a loud crack. Ignoring the man’s screams, Jamie held his knife to the man’s neck.
“Who hired you?”
“Some bloke.”
Jamie pressed the knife closer. “Nae a good answer.”
The man snuffled. “He didn’t give a name.”
“What did he look like?”
“Didn’t see his face.”
Jamie knicked the man’s skin. “Do ye want to die?”
The man started to shake his head, but must have thought better of it, given where the knife was. “N-no,” he stammered. “I swear it’s the truth. He had his collar pulled up, his hat down, spectacles and a beard, gov’r.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“Two guineas each. One now, one after, gov’r”
“Where were ye to meet him to collect?”
“By London Bridge, gov’r.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, gov’r.”
Jamie gave the man a shove and he lurched away, clutching his disjointed shoulder. “You ain’t gonna kill me?”
Jamie shook his head and the man turned, running away before Jamie could change his mind.
Jamie knelt by the second man and felt for a pulse.
There was none. Slowly, he stood. He doubted the cutthroat would try to collect the second half of his payment.
It would be too risky, knowing he’d failed.
One gold guinea would sustain the man for a while, anyway.
But someone had tried to get Jamie killed. He had a sneaking suspicion that Nicholas Algeron was somehow involved, although the description did not match. If Nicholas were involved, then Mari might be in danger.
Jamie had not intended to go to Lady Jersey’s soiree, but this incident changed his mind. He wanted to see Nicholas’s face when Nicholas found out Jamie was very much alive.
But first, he would be at London Bridge tomorrow afternoon.