Aunt Agnes made a strangled sound and reached for her salts again.
Whatever possessed me to blurt that out, Mari thought as Jamie left the parlor in search of Givens. Her dear aunt’s face had turned an unlovely shade of near purple. It would not do to give her an apoplexy because Mari’s tongue ran ahead of her brain. How many times had her aunt—and Jillian—warned her the gentlemen of thetonexpected charm and decorum from young ladies? Never mind the snippy, snide remarks married women were allowed to make.
She would simply have to stop being so outspoken.
Somehow, though, Jamie MacLeod managed to provoke her at every turn.
What in the world had he meant by staying at her side day and night? She should have realized Jamie had been baiting her—again. Not even a semi-wild rogue from some far north isle inhabited mostly by sheep would presume to bed a virginal innocent—would he? Not that Mari was exactly an innocent. She had allowed a distant cousin to kiss her at a house party last year. That kiss had landed somewhat clumsily only halfway on her lips. Truth be told though, it had left her wondering what all the excitement was about.
Mari felt her face heat as she recalled how her body had reacted to Jamie’s touch in the carriage. And when he’d mentioned kissing her, why had her insides gone all soft, mushy and warm?
Pushing the thought from her mind, Mari refocused on what Jamie had just said. Did he intend to be her escort to every invitation she received? That would not do. Mari’s intent was to find a suitable husband—someone genteel and sophisticated who could smoothly host asoireein Town or a weekend house party in the country. Someone not given to solving problems with his fists or other violence. Certainly not someone who carried a knife in his boot and another on his belt and preferred to have a huge claymore strapped to his back. Would the man sleep with those weapons on his wedding night?
Good heavens. Where had that thought come from? Jamie MacLeod was the most unsuitable man she could ever consider—unpredictable, opinionated, obstinate—
“Your houseguest seems to be somewhat presumptive,” Aunt Agnes said, interrupting Mari’s thoughts.
An understatement if she’d ever heard one. “Auntie, I do not think it wise to allow Mr. MacLeod to stay under our roof. I would not want to create a scandal.”
“Ordinarily, I would agree with you, Marissa. However, we do not know the whereabouts of Mr. Alton nor the state of his mind. Given the circumstances, it would be better to be safe than sorry. I doubt either Givens or Dobbs has ever handled a gun, let alone used one.”
Just give Jamie a little time, Mari thought grimly. He’d probably have both of them in the courtyard sparring with the footmen. This was probably not the best idea to share right now. “Mr. MacLeod fights with a huge sword,” she said. “We can hardly allow him to wander about London’s streets brandishingthat.”
Her aunt smiled for the first time since Mari had arrived. “My dear, I have a feeling Mr. MacLeod is just as adroit with a pistol or his hands, for that matter.”
A host of butterflies Mari hadn’t known to be roosting in her stomach suddenly fluttered to life as she recalled Jamie’s hands—around her waist, on her shoulders, holding her tight against him in the carriage… Merciful heavens. What was wrong with her? She needed to stop thinking about Jamie MacLeod.
“Besides,” her aunt continued, “he is the brother of the Earl of Cantfordandthe brother-in-law of the Marchioness of Newburn. I doubt thetonwould dare look down their collective noses, considering the relationships.”
Her aunt was probably right. Thetonrevered titles above all else. The bright side was all the matrons would know Jamie’s ties too, which meant they would practically hurl their eligible daughters at him.
Mari smiled. Jamie would be too busy dealing with determined mamas at the balls and parties to pay much attention to her.
Which was exactly the way she wanted it.
“I am so glad to see you.” Madeline Winslow threw her arms around Mari in the foyer two mornings later, dancing a happy jig with her.
“I am glad you are here, Maddie,” Mari replied, dragging her friend into the drawing room. “I want to hear all the news.”
“Of course, but first tell me who was that devilishly handsome man leaving your house as I was coming up the stairs? At this early hour, his departure really could be quite scandalous if any of the gossips saw him—your aunt is here to chaperone, I presume? I would not—”
“Stop, Maddie.” Mari held up her hand, smiling at her friend’s non-stop questions. “He is Ian’s brother. And devil is a good description. He enjoys tormenting me.”
“Ooooh. You are so lucky, having someone like that in the family.” Maddie’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “He does have a dangerous look with those golden, wolfish eyes and that long, dark hair, but it is quite alluring. Violetta and Amelia will be so jealous of you at the first party Friday.”
“This Friday?”
“Yes, Lady Tindale is having asoireeas a sort of ice-breaker for the Little Season. The invitation came a few days ago.”
“I have not received one.”
“Oh, I am sure you will, once Lady Tindale knows you are in Town. Have you left calling cards yet?”
“I wanted to, but Jamie insisted on accompanying me. I tried to explain that was not how it is done. I told him a lady makes morning rounds simply to leave her card with the butler, not actually expecting to see the person in question. He snorted at that, calling it a waste of good time. I tried telling him—withextremepatience—the card was merely a way of letting friends know I would be receiving.” Jamie had given her a strange look and asked what she expected to receive, if she wanted something he could go get it for her. Mari had summoned a last shred of patience from somewhere and told himreceivingwas a custom to which one must strictly adhere, and that she would be perfectly safe with the driver and Effie.
Jamie’s jaw had squared in a way Mari was finding all too familiar. Either he accompanied her, or she did not go.
“So I sent Dobbs around in my place,” Mari finished.
