She was so confused.
Mari watched Jamie eyeing the fourteen-year-olds at Miss Berry’s dance studio warily and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Truthfully, she had thought he would come up with some excuse not to take a dancing lesson, but he had only sighed and nodded when she reminded him of their agreement.
At least he’d left his weapons at home. She narrowed her eyes as she caught the tip of something black and shiny protruding from the top of his boot. Well, he’d left most of his weapons at home anyway.
The girls were studying him curiously, no doubt wondering why he wore no waistcoat or cravat. The boys simply seemed to be in awe at his sheer size.
Miss Berry clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “We shall begin with the quadrille de contredanses. Please form your squares.” She glanced at Jamie. “Perhaps you would like to observe the first set, monsieur?”
Relief flooded Jamie’s face and Mari bit her lip again. The Highlander was always so sure of himself. It really was amusing to see him somewhat disconcerted.
“Aye, that I would,” he said to the instructor, although he gave Mari a dark look.
“Very well,” Miss Berry replied and turned back to the class. “We shall begin with the la pantalon figure and progress to l’été. Remember, each is two-quarter time, so do not go rushing about.”
“’Tis a wonder to me why ye English speak so much French when ye were at war with Napoleon,” Jamie said as Miss Berry called the steps.
Mari giggled. “The quadrille originated in France, so of course the movements will be in French.”
“Umph.” Jamie watched the young dancers for a few moments. “’Tis a lot of fancy steps,” he finally said. “A mon could have his side gashed open prancing about with nae care to leaving himself open.”
“They are not fencing, sirrah. They are dancing. Civilized gentlemen do not need to worry about being attacked at a ball.”
Jamie looked skeptical. “Ye have nae heard of the Black Dinner then.”
“The Black Dinner?”
“Aye. The Black Douglas and his brother were invited to dine with young King James at Edinburgh Castle. Whilst they were guests, the governor, holding the reins of power, accused them of treason to young James.”
“King James? There has not been a James on the throne in over a hundred years. When was this?”
“In 1440.”
“That’s over three hundred years ago.”
“Scots have long memories, lass.”
Mari shook her head, wondering if perhaps Jamie’s brains had been addled during his last stint at the pugilist place. “And what, pray tell, does something that happened so long ago have to do with Society balls?”
He looked at her like she was the one discombobulated. “The Black Douglas was unarmed as courtesy demanded. He had nae chance to defend himself or escape.”
“Well, Society has changed since then. We have become much more civilized.”
Jamie raised a brow. “Ye might want to discuss that with the families who had their lands taken with the Clearances, lass.”
Miss Berry approached before Mari could ask him what he meant. She had only a smattering of historical knowledge—it had seemed rather boring when the schoolmaster presented the lessons.
“Your turn, monsieur,” Miss Berry said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “The students are waiting.”
Mari caught the briefest of hesitation in Jamie’s eyes, and then he nodded and held out his hand to her.
“You will be joining me.”
It was a command, not a request. For a tiny second, Mari contemplated making him dance with the youngsters by himself. But then, she loved to dance. She put her hand in his and let him lead her to the group.
Surprisingly, he acquitted himself rather well, even if he did falter on the first few steps. Maddie had been right. All that grace he used in fencing displayed itself in the dance movements as well. The girls were soon giggling and trying to exchange places to partner with him. Mari stifled a groan. Jamie’s charm apparently knew no boundaries, young or old, although she had to admit he treated the young girls with the utmost decorum.
When the session was over and the governesses had come to collect their charges, Miss Berry motioned for Jamie and Mari to stay.
“Were you here for the spring Season last year?” she asked Mari.
“No, this year will be my first.”
“Ah, I did not think I remembered seeing you. I thought perhaps you might want to try the very latest dance from Paris called the waltz. Lady Jersey introduced it just last season.” She tilted her head slightly to look up at Jamie. “I must warn you, it is a bit scandalous.”
Apparently, fourteen-year-old girls were not the only ones mesmerized by Jamie, Mari thought. Miss Berry had a reputation for being a no-nonsense type of woman, yet she certainly was looking at Jamie with interest.
“Scandalous?” Mari asked.
“Indeed. The movement is actually quite simple—step, step, glide and close,” Miss Berry replied as she demonstrated. “The scandalous part is that the couple actually embraces.”
Jamie’s head snapped up, an alert expression on his face. Mari could have sworn his ears pricked forward like a wolf scenting a meal. Certainly, his golden eyes looked wolfish enough as he settled his gaze on her. Mari forced herself not to squirm beneath his look.
Miss Berry must have noticed, for she smiled at him. “Allow me to show you.”
Mari nearly gaped as the dance teacher put Jamie’s hand on Mari’s waist and placed her hand on his shoulder. She didn’t know which sensation was more intense—Jamie’s actual touch on a part of her anatomy which should be off-limits or the feel of the hard muscles of his chest under her palm. When Miss Berry brought their other hands together, heat rippled through her veins like dry tinder ignited.
A corner of Jamie’s mouth lifted, and he drew her fractionally closer. “I might like this dance.”
His closeness enveloped Mari like a warm cocoon, overwhelming her senses—the clean, slightly spicy scent, his eyes darkening to aged brandy, his full, sensual mouth just inches from hers and the sheer size of him towering over her. Mari hardly heard Miss Berry calling the three-quarter time, her feet simply following the boxed steps as Jamie’s shoulder flexed beneath her hand and his hand slid along her back, bringing her in close. He turned, causing her breasts to brush against his coat. Her nipples tightened, the friction of the fabric’s gown causing sensation to shoot deep to her belly. Mari’s breath hitched, her fingers crawling to touch the hair at Jamie’s neck. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sway in time to Jamie’s body… And then realized she really was swaying.
Both Jamie’s hands came to her waist, holding her upright as she opened her eyes. Had she nearly swooned? She never swooned.
Miss Berry was looking at her with a shocked expression on her face. It was then that Mari realized she had fisted Jamie’s hair in her hand and practically pushed herself against him. She felt her face flood with heat and tried to step back, but Jamie held her in place.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
“I am fine.” Goodness gracious, all she needed was Miss Berry spreading a juicy on-dit about her rather precarious position far too close to the hard, front ridges of Jamie’s body. She would never live down two totally improper incidents. “Please release me.” He did so immediately, as though he realized the predicament as well. Mari smoothed the sides of her gown. “I can certainly see why this dance is scandalous,” she said.
“But interesting, non?” Miss Berry replied.
Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. “Verra interesting,” he said.
Wesley pulled his coat collar up and tugged his cap down as he joined Nicholas on the park bench at Russell Square. “I do not know why you insist we meet in a public place,” he said, adjusting his fake spectacles.
“Your place is too dreary. I cannot abide such rubble.”
“Do you think I have a choice? I cannot ta
ke a chance of being caught.”
Nicholas looked around. “I doubt that any of the fair elite of Mayfair would roam all the way over here.”
“It could happen. We are not that far away from the market.” Wesley grumbled, fingering the knife he had in his right coat pocket. What he wouldn’t give to place it at Nicholas’s throat and put some fear into the cocky little bastard. Wesley itched to beat the boy bloody, but that would not gain him what he needed from the whelp. Perhaps tonight, he might pick a harlot up from the docks to satisfy his urges. Watching a woman’s eyes bulge and her face turn blue as he cut off her air while buried deep inside her always gave him a great climax. The Thames made a watery grave—not that anyone took notice of missing doxies—and he could lift her coin as well. Wesley chuckled. Yes, it was time for another evening stroll.
“What do you find so funny?” Nicholas asked.
“Nothing you would understand,” Wesley replied. “Tell me how things are proceeding.”
“Women are gullible. I have appointments to paint five of the patronesses, plus—”
“I do not give a shite about those pompous Almack’s whores. What about the Barclay bitch?”
“What an ingénue. Credulous as an enfant. She fancies herself in love with me.”
“Good. What are your plans?”
“I will toy with her. It should not be hard to convince her to marry me.”
Wesley peered over the rims of his spectacles at Nicholas. “I thought you did not favor the prospect of marriage.”
Nicholas shrugged. “I do not, but then what is to stop me from taking a mistress or maybe two? I find London’s haute ton delightfully immoral in that regard. Receiving a sizable dowry plus offering to help my dear, new sister-in-law—you said her name was Jillian?—run Newburn estate would allow me to siphon money—with less risk—than an abduction and one-time ransom.”
“I am beginning to think you are a worthy son after all,” Wesley said. “How long do you think this will take? I would like to get across the channel as soon as possible.”
Frowning, Nicholas cursed. “The damn Highlander sticks to the chit’s skirts like a starving mongrel. Every time I get near her, he is there.”
“Then perhaps he needs to meet with an untimely end.”
“You want me to challenge him to a duel? I would have to have a reason—”
Wesley shook his head. “Why dirty your hands? If there is any advantage to my squalid living conditions, it is knowing the area is rife with desperate men willing to do anything—anything—for a gold coin or two. Just let me know when and where.”
Nicholas smiled, his eyes cold—and then he nodded.
Chapter Eleven
The waltz lesson certainly had some benefits. Jamie grinned as he remembered Mari’s flushed face having little to do with the amount of exertion at Miss Berry’s studio two days ago. Mari’s soft curves melded perfectly against the harder edges of his shoulders and chest. He had held her as close as he dared, given one part of his anatomy was definitely hard.
The warm, pleasant memory of having Mari in his arms caused him a split-second delayed reaction to the lunge Joseph just executed, the tip of the blunted sword actually making contact with Jamie’s thigh. The footman gaped in surprise, nearly dropping his sword.
Jamie cursed. The lass was going to be the death of him.
“Touché!” Robin called from the sidelines.
Scowling, Jamie cursed again under his breath. Did the whole damn English Society have to speak French? It was bad enough another dozen roses had arrived for Mari this morning from the dandy, or that a smile played on Mari’s luscious mouth when she’d read the note attached. A note which Jamie unabashedly returned to the room later to read. Some fluffy nonsense comparing Mari to roses. Jamie’s scowl deepened.
“I…I am sorry,” Joseph stammered, backing away from him.
Jamie sighed. No need to take his bad humor out on the lad. “Dinnae apologize. Ye did well. I was wool-gathering, and ye did just what I taught ye.”
Joseph’s eyes widened, and a mottled-red swept over his face. Robin also stared at Jamie in surprise. “What? I am so hard a task master that I cannae appreciate a good thrust when I see it?”
The unfortunate use of that word caused a whole different picture in his mind—one that included a very naked Mari lying beneath him thrusting her hips forward to meet his own thrusts. Damnation. He needed to rein in these lustful thoughts. ’Twas a sorry day when a MacLeod could not control himself.
Not to mention Ian would serve Jamie’s head on a platter to Jillian for breaking his vow to protect Mari from danger. Danger that lately had included his wayward thinking as well. The lass was alluring with her wee lush body, silky soft hair and the way her eyes shot blue flames when he goaded her. He could only imagine incensing such passion in bed and using it in other ways.
Fantasizing about the lass was the last thing he needed to do if he valued keeping his head attached to his shoulders.
Jamie raised his sword and assumed the first-position stance, motioning for both Robin and Joseph to advance. This time, he would pay attention. From the corner of his eye, he saw the curtain on Mari’s window flutter and knew she had been watching. For how long?
He barely managed to parry Robin’s cut and feint left to avoid Joseph. He shook his head to clear it.
The lass was going to be the death of him.
“Mr. Algernon sent you flowers again?” Maddie asked as she eyed the arrangement on the parlor table and settled on the satin-brocaded chaise. “And roses. How romantic.”
Mari dipped her nose to take in the sweet scent. The blossoms were lovely—perfect round buds of pink and white. She smiled as she remembered the words Nicholas had written, comparing her complexion to those delicate colors, saying they were but a poor substitute for her beauty. He exaggerated, of course, but it was just the thing a courtly gentleman would do.
“Yes, it is, is it not?” she replied with a satisfied sigh. “And did you see Violetta staring at us across the boxes at the theatre the other night?”
Maddie giggled. “Amelia too, even though Yancy and Nevin were doing their best to keep their attentions diverted.”
“I dare say Violetta and Amelia were envious I landed such an invitation with Nicholas. He is making quite the stir with the patronesses. Lady Sefton sang his praises about her portrait, and Lady Cowper waxed nostalgic about how Nicholas’s paintings remind her of the Rococo movement—whatever that is.”
“I do not know either,” Maddie answered, “but I think Amelia and Violetta might have been watching Mr. MacLeod instead.”
“Really? I will admit, Jamie did behave quite civily. Perhaps because your parents were there. Did you enjoy yourself?” When her friend’s face brightened, Mari’s hands flew to her mouth. “Why, Madeline Winslow. Do you have a fondness for Jamie?”
“Of course not. Do not be a ninnyhammer. He was kind to extend an invitation to my family. Papa and Mr. MacLeod talked about hunting and fishing most of the evening.” Maddie’s hands fluttered as she smoothed her skirts. “How did the dance lesson go with Mr. MacLeod?” she asked, changing the subject.
Heat suffused Mari as she recalled the close intimacy of Jamie’s embrace as they moved to the decadent waltz. Lady Jersey may have introduced the dance, but Mari was quite sure Almack’s ladies would not condone a man holding a girl so close that her breasts actually brushed against his chest. Lud! Even now her nipples pebbled at the thought of the delightful sensation that slight friction had caused. Her thoughts confused her, equal parts intriguing and frightening at the same time. Did other girls have such reactions? Mari had placed her hand on Jamie’s marble-hard shoulder in a feeble attempt to push herself away, but the action was futile. His muscular arm had only tightened around her waist, drawing her closer. The clean, spicy scent of him invaded her mind, overcoming the sweet smell of the roses.
“It went better than expected,” she managed to say. “Apparently, all that swo
rdplay he does improves balance and agility.”
“I knew it.” Maddie clapped her hands excitedly. “Just wait until everyone sees him at Countess Lieven’s ball this Saturday. I will wager Violetta and Amelia will all but shove the rest of the girls out of the way to get him to sign their dance cards.”
Mari frowned. For some reason, the idea of either of those two hoydens waltzing with Jamie did not sit well. She would have to make sure Jamie understood to ask the wallflowers like Abigail and Olivia to dance. And, of course, Maddie. Her friend could keep Jamie occupied while she concentrated on Nicholas’s attention—and waltzing with him.
Jamie heartily wished he had taken a wee dram of uisge-beatha before attending this event. Countess Lieven’s ball had to be the biggest congestion of humans he’d seen outside a battlefield—and the huge ballroom did remind him of a battleground of sorts. People milled about, the young bucks bumping into one another in their quests to sign the dance cards of the more desirable lasses and the girls’ chaperones keeping harsh eyes on how many times a lad put his name on the card. Apparently, there was some kind of rule about how many times was proper for a lad to ask for a dance, and another rule for how quickly in succession those dances could be, and still a third rule about what kind of dance the lads could ask for twice.
“’Tis enough to drive a mon barmy,” he muttered.
“What?” Mari asked as she stood beside him, trying not to jiggle as she contemplated the crowd. Her aunt frowned at her.
“Nothing,” he replied darkly as Nicholas approached.
“My dear Marissa,” the Frenchman said as he bowed and swept a kiss over Mari’s gloved hand, ignoring Jamie totally. “You look radiant. That shade of pink makes your face absolutely glow. I cannot wait to paint you.”
Jamie managed to keep from snarling, although the hair rose at the nape of his neck. The man set his teeth on edge, and it didn’t help to see Mari smiling at the dandy like some moonstruck bairn.
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