The boy swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Effie who nodded before he looked back at Jamie. “Lady Barclay paid me to bring you a letter.”
“A letter? When was this?”
“This morning, a little before noon.” Seth’s voice trembled, and he took a step backward. “A man took it from me before I could fight him. I am sorry, sir.”
Jamie wondered if the lad was afraid of him. He squatted down to be on the boy’s level. “’Tis nae yer fault if ye were accosted. What happened?” Seth looked up at him doubtfully. Jamie forced himself to smile. “Go on. Tell me all of it.”
When the lad finished, Jamie stood, the cold, calm concentration that took over in battle manifesting. Someone had hired two killers to attack him earlier, and apparently the townhouse had been watched if someone had followed the boy here to the boardinghouse and then seen fit to try and kill the young lad to silence him. Jamie’s every instinct told him the Frenchman was involved, although now that Mari had made her choice, there would be no reason for him to be. Mari had probably written the letter to let Jamie know of her betrothal, so why was it so important he not get it?
“Have you notified Algernon yet?” Jamie asked Agnes.
She shook her head. “Marissa told me this morning she had declined Mr. Algernon’s offer to marry her last night.”
“What?” Jamie’s heart stuttered, and he was sure he had not heard correctly. Mari had turned the French bastard down?
“She came home early from the ball and said she was not feeling well. Since I had a horrible headache, she waited until this morning to tell me.” Agnes’s eyes widened. “You do not think Mr. Algernon had something to do with this?”
“I think the damn—excuse me—Frenchman has everything to do with it,” Jamie said as he checked the two dirks in his belt and thesgian dubhin his boot. Taking the huge claymore from a hook on the wall, he strapped the scabbard to his back while Seth’s eyes grew big and round. “I think I’ll pay him a visit.”
He strode out, feeling more elated than he had been since their return to London. Mari had made her choice. Now Jamie was free to pursue any method of persuasion to convince her of his love. He could think of one beginning with finishing what they’d started that snowy morning in Scotland. Jamie touched the weapons on his belt. Come hell-fire or high water, he would find her.
Mari washis.
