Nicholas did not waste time in watching the man drag the boy off, turning to walk more quickly now lest MacLeod should come out. Nicholas did not want to test his disguise at close quarters.
Several blocks later, when he was a safe distance away, Nicholas paused to read the message. He could feel his fury building, and rage nearly blinded him when he read the last line. The twit has asked the Highlander to marry her.
Nicholas crumpled the note and stashed it in his pocket. If it were a marriage proposal she wanted an answer to, she would have it.
It just wouldn’t be the right groom.
Near noon, Jamie set out for Gentleman Jackson’s. He thought about going across the street to get a bite to eat, but he was not in the mood for casual conversation. The street was nearly deserted, save for an elderly man who carried a walking cane despite the fact he was moving quite briskly. Jamie wondered if he should have gone on foot to the pugilism building. A good run might have helped, although several rounds of boxing were what he really needed. He hoped there would be some worthy opponents because he really did not want to hold back. Not today.
Mari had left the ball early with the damn Frenchman last night.
When Jamie returned from getting punch for Maddie, they were gone. His first urge had been to follow them, but he’d only look like a fool. He didn’t need Mari telling him one more time she did not need his protection. He had given Mari a choice—had told her she needed to decide which man she wanted—and she evidently had.
He had hoped, though, to have a chance to talk with Mari at the ball—perhaps even to dance, but the only time Algernon left her side, those two harpies had been with Mari, and Jamie had not felt like being particularly polite to either of them.
Damn this polite English Society and its rules.
Gentleman Jackson’s was closed. A sign attached to the door only said it would reopen on the morrow, which did little to improve Jamie’s attitude. He almost wished some other cutthroat were lying in wait for him, although the person he really wanted to pummel was Algernon. He was half tempted to seek the man out, but it would not solve his real problem.
The real problem was that Mari had made a choice—and it was not Jamie she’d chosen.
Resigned, Jamie returned to the boarding house and began packing his things. There was no point in remaining in London, although returning to Scotland would lead to nosy questions about the hand-fasting. Duncan and Broc would only see the split as another reason to hate the English and create even more problems for Jillian, who would probably be mortified to learn the hand-fasting had not lasted.
Jamie had no desire to hear about upcoming nuptials, nor did he wish to allow Maddie to think he was interested in anything more than mere friendship.
Better to go to Cantford and oversee the estates as Ian had requested him to do.
Jamie closed his satchel and stored it by the bed. He would leave tomorrow.
“You are acting as jittery as a cat with a long tail in a roomful of rocking chairs,” Aunt Agnes said as Mari fidgeted with the embroidery she was supposed to be doing. She frowned as Mari muttered something. “What?”
“Ouch!” Mari sucked the blood from her fingertip. That made four times she’d pricked her finger this afternoon, and the few stitches she’d managed to put in were uneven. She laid the loop down and looked toward the window where early afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains. It had been nearly two hours since she’d sent Seth, the stable boy, to deliver her message to Jamie. Why wasn’t he back?
“Is something wrong, Marissa?”
What should she say? Her aunt had had a horrible migraine the day before that had prevented her from attending Almack’s ball. Upon returning early last night, Mari had only poked her head inside her aunt’s chamber to say she’d not felt well herself. Aunt Agnes did not know what had transpired.
“Marissa?”
Mari sighed. “I told Nicholas last night that I did not want to marry him.”
Her aunt frowned. “I thought we had discussed this.”
“We…we did.” Mari got up and walked to the window, looking out into the empty street. “But last night I realized I just could not go through with it, regardless of the scandal.”
A long moment of silence followed her statement. “I see,” her aunt finally said.
Mari turned away from the window. “You do?”
“I suppose I do. I know Jillian wants you to have a choice. We will just have to live with theon-ditsuntil the gossips find something else to talk about.” Aunt Agnes levied a stern look at Mari. “Did you speak with Mr. MacLeod last night as well?”
“No. I…I thought it better that I leave. Abigail’s father kindly lent me his carriage to come home.”
“Well, I am glad you did not make a spectacle of yourself. I will not allow you to chase after Mr. MacLeod like some street hussy. Is that understood?”
Mari nodded, unable to tell an outright lie. If Aunt Agnes even had an inkling she’d already sent a note to Jamie—let alone one that actually asked if he still wished to marry her—her aunt would have a conniption.
“Mr. MacLeod will hear about the situation soon enough. If he wishes to pay you court, he will announce it himself. A lady must not make herself too available, after all.”
