“How gallant of you for offering for her at all,” Wesley said wryly. “Were you quite contrite when you spoke with the aunt?”
“Of course. I apologized profusely for the poor judgment I used that day in the gardens.”
“I am sure you managed to sound sincere?” Wesley asked with a trace of sarcasm.
“Certainement.All the aunt was concerned about was her dear niece’s reputation.” Nicholas assumed an apologetic expression and bowed elaborately. “I assured the old biddy I would be honored to have the girl for my wife.” He straightened and smiled thinly. “For a considerable dowry, of course.”
Wesley snorted. “I was hoping you would not forget that.”
“Hardly. Since the girl has been disgraced—I arranged that rather cleverly, did I not?—I was able to request a substantial amount. Maybe even more once the portrait is revealed and those pompous women think the Barclay girl really exposed herself.”
“You will have to go through with the wedding to get your hands on the money. Are you willing to do that?”
Nicholas shrugged. “It would afford me the opportunity to plunder unfurrowed fields. I find it quite enjoyable listening to virgins scream with pain.”
“Unless she is no longer a virgin,” Wesley said. “Those damn MacLeods seem to have a way—”
“Then she will pay,” Nicholas interrupted. “Shoving my cock into her ass will be equally pleasurable for me and equally painful for her.” He narrowed his eyes as rage began to build inside him. “If MacLeod took what is nowrightfullymine, I can make itextremelypainful for the little bitch, and the Highlander will pay as well.”
“You are finally beginning to sound like my son,” Wesley said and poured brandy for both of them. “I was wondering if you had it in you.”
Nicholas took the cup, a memory flashing of one of his mother’s prostitutes trying to cheat his mother on money—and what he’d been allowed to do to the whore in retribution. He had learned much that evening about inflicting pain. He gave his father a brittle smile. “The bitch will not walk for days.”
Wesley nodded. “And what about MacLeod?”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes again. “I will do what I should have done before. Get rid of him.” He tossed the rest of his brandy down. “You did say you knew some men for hire?”
“That I do,” Wesley said, an odd gleam appearing in his eyes. “How many do you want and when?”
Mari looked at the note Nicholas had sent the morning after she returned home and then at Maddie and Abigail seated across from her in the parlor the next afternoon.
“Nicholas is going to escort me to Lady Jersey’ssoireetomorrow night.”
“Is that not what you wanted?” Maddie asked.
“I…I do not know.” Mari had expected Jamie to show up at the townhouse yesterday, but he had not put in an appearance nor had he sent a message. Did he think because her aunt asked him to reside at the boarding house she meant for Jamie to stay away? “It…it is just that I have not talked to Jamie about any of this.”
Maddie drew her brows together. “I do not understand. When you left here, you wanted nothing more than to have Mr. Algernon pay you court. He has even offered for you. Why are you not thrilled?” She paused. “Did something happen between you and Mr. MacLeod while you were in Scotland?”
Mari hoped her face did not look as hot as it felt. She could hardly admit—even to her best friends—what had nearly occurred that wintery morning. The memories of Jamie lying over her, both of them half-naked, lingered in her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hands and mouth on her body, inflaming her. She pushed the thought forcefully from her head. If Jamie hadreallywanted her, why had he never tried opening the door between their two rooms? She had made sure it was unlocked.
“No, of course not.”
“Well, if you ask me, Jamie MacLeod is much better-looking than the French painter,” Abigail interjected, “and he has a body anyone—any sculptor that is—would love to study.”
“Abby!” Mari exclaimed while Maddie gasped. “Where do you get such ideas?”
“Books.” Abigail adjusted her spectacles and blinked at them. “Jamie is a fine specimen. In fact,allthe MacLeod men are excellent specimens.” She hesitated. “By any chance, did Shane bring you back?”
“No. He sailed to France.” Mari eyed her friend. “Do you fancy him?” Abigail’s ears turned pink, a brighter shade than Jamie’s did. Mari had never noticed that before. “You do!”
“I am only curious if real, human men look like the statues in the art books,” Abigail said quickly. “The MacLeods are all so tall and large—”
“Yes, well,” Maddie interrupted. “Let us return to Mari’s dilemma. If you really like Jamie, you should tell him so.”
As if she had not tried. But again, Mari could hardly blurt out she’d gladly have given her virginity to Jamie. He knew that. He had also told her, in no uncertain terms, she would be free and not obligated once they were in London—and here they were.
Where was he?
