“You will be more comfortable if you recline,” he said and took his seat beside Mari.
Effie made an effort to speak. “But you should be sitting on this side.”
“Do not concern yourself about that,” Nicholas replied. “The ride is not that long.” He motioned the driver to go. “We will be home in no time.”
As the barouche left the inner circle of the gardens and passed by the playground area, Mari saw the two mothers who had been at the pond. They glanced up as they were assisting their children into a waiting carriage. Mari wished she could stop and explain—although she was really not sure what she would say—but at least to tell them the earlier incident was not what it appeared. With Effie lying flat in the seat across from her and looking as though she were going to cast up her accounts any minute, there really was not time to delay. The explanation would have to wait.
The short ride seemed to take an eternity, and Mari couldn’t remember when she had seen the streets so busy and bustling with other buggies. It seemed half of Mayfair was out enjoying the unusually sunny autumn day, but finally the barouche halted before the townhouse and they were home.
Mari hopped down, not waiting for assistance, and bounded up the steps to summon Givens and Dobbs to help Effie inside. The door swung open before she could use the knocker.
Jamie stood there, feet apart, muscular arms folded across his broad chest, his face as thunderous as a winter storm rolling in from the Thames.
“I have been waiting for ye, lass,” he said.
Mari swept by him as if she hadn’t heard, calling for Dobbs. Jamie was of a mind to sling her over his shoulder once more and carry her off to his chamber, but he was not sure what he would do once he got there. Putting the lass across his knee for a sound spanking warred with wanting to place her on his bed and claim his spot on top of her. She had ignored his orders once again, when his only concern was for her safety. Jamie grimaced. In truth, safety was no longer his only concern. Mari had too many lush curves and too much spirit—even if she showed it by acting like a petulant child—for him not to desire her as a woman as well. He rubbed his temples. Hell and damnation. Even his sister, Fiona, had not been this much trouble.
Behind him, Ian chuckled.
Jamie ignored him, although his brother was close to being invited outside for a good round of fisticuffs. He turned to find Mari pulling Dobbs by the hand, Givens following closely behind.
“Did ye nae hear me, lass?”
“Not now, Jamie. Effie is ill.”
Frowning, he hurried down the steps after her, for the first time seeing the maid lying prone on the carriage seat. “What happened?” he asked as Nicholas tugged the woman to a seated position so Dobbs and Givens could help her out of the carriage.
“I think she had too much chocolate,” Mari answered distractedly as she dabbed her handkerchief along the maid’s brow.
“Chocolate?” Jamie leveled a cold look at Nicholas. “I want an explanation, Algernon.”
The man just shrugged in the maddening way the French did. “I bought truffles for all of us.”
“Do not blame Nicholas,” Mari said. “I ate them too.”
She followed Dobbs and Givens, who were half lifting, half dragging Effie between them. The maid looked as green as one of Shane’s newly apprenticed sailors on board a vessel pitching between stormy swells and deep troughs.
Jamie had his suspensions about chocolate causing her illness, but he felt Ian’s warning hand on his shoulder. He would let it go for now, but he wasn’t finished with the Frenchman.
Not by a long shot.
Wesley Alton scratched his scraggly beard and shoved his fake spectacles farther up his nose as he sat down beside Nicholas on a worn bench not far from Tower Bridge the next afternoon. “Please tell me you are making progress with that little bitch. I am getting quite tired of assuming this disguise.”
Nicholas handed him a bottle of French cognac wrapped in newspaper. “This should help you cope with your predicament,” he said and then added, “Actually, I am doing quite well. I have completed two portraits and am commissioned for another three—”
“I do not give a ship’s rat’s arse about yourpainting.”
“You should.” Nicholas smiled coldly. “Those fees are what is keeping you supplied with the cognac you are so fond of.”
“Merci.”
Nicholas ignored the thank you since it was probably said in sarcasm anyway. “Those fees are also allowing me to make quite an impression on the little chit.”
“So things are progressing?” Wesley asked. “Is the Highlander still a problem?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I managed to lure the Barclay girl out without his presence. Things went quite well.” Actually, things had gone even better than Nicholas had hoped. He’d made sure a good amount of laudanum had been put in the maid’s truffles—all he’d had to do was lie about giving them to his ailing mother—so he’d have time to get Marissa into a compromising position. He’d deliberately chosen the gardens, knowing they would be crowded with matrons of theton. That one of the women actually knew the little bitch was luck, but even more so as they were seen leaving. He had made sure there was enough of the opiate in the chocolate that the maid would be passed out, and it would appear he and the Barclay girl were alone. All had gone according to plan.
“How did you manage to distract the bastard?”
