The Beloved Scoundrel (6 page)

Her lids flicked open. “I prefer reality to pretense.”

“Pity,” he murmured. “When pretense offers so many attractive faces. I suppose you’ll just have to live with mine instead.”

A
breeze, wet, salty, striking her face.

Voices, loud, strident, but not threatening.

“Take her, Gregor. She’s probably too stiff to stand.”

She slowly opened her lids. Green eyes looking into her own, those beautifully shaped lips. She wished he would smile.…

The hands that lifted her from the horse were enormous. Gregor’s hands, Gregor smiling down at her when Jordan would not. She shouldn’t have worried about Alex waking to that scarred face, she realized sleepily. You noticed only the warmth of his smile. “We’re there?” she whispered.

He nodded. “It was a hard trip. You stood it well.”

Gray-white sails shimmering in the darkness.…

Gregor was striding toward a ship.

“Alex?”

“He stood it even better. The scamp is running all over the dock.”

“He’ll fall in the water!” She was immediately awake and struggling in Gregor’s arms. “Let me down.”

“When we get to your cabin. Jordan is right, you need time to ease the stiffness.” He strode up the gangplank. “Don’t worry about the boy. Niko is watching him.”

She felt like a helpless child herself, being carried like this. “I’m perfectly able to walk.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Alex climbing on a huge box with Niko standing beside him.

“Niko has children of his own. He won’t let anything happen to him.”

As if to prove Gregor’s words, Niko laughed, plucked Alex from the box, and set him safely onto the dock. “I still want you to let me down, Gregor.”

Gregor studied her face and then set her down, but steadied her with a hand around her waist. “It makes you uneasy to feel helpless. Why did you not tell me? Most women like to feel cosseted.”

“I’m not accustomed to it.” She felt better on her feet but was glad of Gregor’s support. Her legs were numb, and her back felt as if she had been on the rack. “Where is Mr. Draken?”

“Jordan?” He nodded at a small building down the dock. “He had business with Janus. He will be here soon. He wants to sail on the midnight tide.”

“Janus?”

“Janus Wiczkows, Jordan’s cousin.” He turned as he saw a man approaching and hailed him. “Captain Braithwaite, what a pleasure to see your smiling face. Did you think we weren’t coming?”

The small man who stopped before them was not smiling; his long, deeply furrowed face seemed incapable of the act. He gave Gregor a dour look. “It took you long enough. I’ve been sitting in this port so long, I have barnacles on my own bott—”

“Permit me to introduce you to your passenger,” Gregor interrupted quickly. “Captain John Braithwaite, may I present Miss Marianna Sanders.”

The captain’s sour gaze raked over her, taking in the ragged garments with disapproval. “I told His Grace I would take none of his harlots on board my ship.”

Gregor’s smile faded. “It is Jordan’s ship, and I think he would be most upset if he heard you insult his … his …” He hesitated and then finished with a beaming smile. “His ward.”

“His ward?” Braithwaite echoed suspiciously.

Gregor nodded. “She is the daughter of Justin Sanders, Jordan’s close friend, who was killed in this terrible land a few weeks ago. Poor child. What trials and tribulations she has endured to escape death and dishonor. When we heard of Justin’s death, we searched ceaselessly until we found her and her small brother.”

Marianna stared at him in astonishment.

Gregor’s eyes were misting. “Do you know where we found them? In a church, praying for rescue. I cannot tell you how … touched and full of pain Jordan was when he found this poor girl.”

Touched. Pain. She remembered Jordan doubled
over when she had struck him between the legs with the candelabra. Gregor slanted her a look from beneath his lashes, but his mournful expression didn’t change. “What could he do?” he continued. “The only thing any Christian soul would do. Take her back to England where she can be educated and given the chance to marry a man who will make her forget these tragic woes.”

“I believe not a tenth of this balderdash,” the captain said bluntly. “I’ve heard your tales before, Gregor.” He turned to Marianna. “What is your name, girl?”

“Marianna Sanders.” She met his gaze. “And my father
is
dead, and I am
not
a harlot.”

He studied her and then nodded slowly. “I believe you.” He turned and walked toward the gangplank. “In future let the girl tell the tale. She knows the value of brevity.”

Gregor looked after him, outraged. “It was a very good story. One of my best. Just enough truth to make it sound true.” He took her arm and propelled her along the deck. “And on the spur of the moment too.”

“Did you have to lie to him?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t let him insult you. He has a mind as narrow as his body, but he’s a good seaman. England rules the Mediterranean, but when we reach the Atlantic, we’ll need a good captain to avoid Napoleon’s navy. I thought it was better than crushing his head.”

She found herself smiling. “Much better.”

“But I should know more about you the next time. What was your father’s given name?”

“Certainly not Justin. His name was Lawrence.”

“We’ll make that his middle name. Justin Lawrence Sanders. It goes well together. What was his occupation?”

“He was a poet.”

“Jordan does not run with the literary set.” He frowned. “We will say they knew each other as boys at Oxford.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “Why is all this necessary?”

“Things in England are not as they are here. There are many people who are like the captain. It would not be … pleasant for you.” He smiled. “So we will make sure that there is nothing at which they can raise their brows or sneer.”

She felt a surge of warmth toward him even as she shook her head. “I’m not concerned with these English or what they think. I intend to work. Nothing else matters to me.”

“Then we will make sure you work in comfort and not be disturbed when the world brushes by you,” he said soberly. “But it will brush Alex more than you. You would not want him to be distressed by name-calling. It is clear you want only what is best for him.”

“He’s an innocent child,” she protested. “What names could they possibly call him?”

“If they cover you with their tar, then he will also be smeared. You do not wish this.”

“No.” She was beginning to dislike the thought of this England more each passing minute. She made an impatient gesture. “Very well, tell whatever story you wish.”

He smiled. “I promise you I will make it most interesting. There are many possibilities. Would you like to be the daughter of a princess?”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“Unfortunately, Jordan’s position makes that unlikely. There are always people at Cambaron.”

Jordan’s position. She suddenly remembered how the captain had referred to him. His Grace. She asked warily, “And what is his position?”

“Did he not tell you?” he asked, surprised. “Jordan is the Duke of Cambaron.”

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

Power. Jordan Draken might hold as much power in his country as the Duke of Nebrov did in Montavia. The thought sent fear through her and made this journey to England appear even more threatening. “None of the men addressed him as Your Grace.”

“That’s because no one in Kazan recognizes any title but the ones granted by our own ravin.”

“Ravin?”

“Our leader. Our ravin is like your king Josef.”

She wasn’t interested in the intricacies of the Kazan monarchy. “What was an English duke doing in Kazan?”

For the first time he hesitated. “I cannot tell you.”

“It has something to do with the Window to Heaven.”

“Not entirely,” he said evasively. “Jordan has visited us many times.”

“Why does Kazan want—”

His big paw of a hand gently covered her lips. “Do not ask me. I know you feel uneasy and afraid and think knowledge will help you. I cannot tell you about Kazan. It is not my right.”

His expression was sympathetic, but she could see he would not be moved. She moved her head to escape his hand. “Then tell me about Cambaron.”

“Ah, it is a fine place. One of the richest estates in all England.” He again began to stroll down the deck. “You will like it.”

“Rich?” Bad fortune if Draken was not only titled but wealthy as well. His arsenal of weapons was growing by leaps and bounds.

“Very rich.” He beamed. “His father died when Jordan was only a lad of twelve, and he inherited vast mining and shipping interests.”

“How pleasant for him,” she said faintly.

“Pleasant but not good. Too much money tends to lead to debauchery, and Jordan was ever one to do things with more intensity than others. We became most concerned about him.”

“You knew him as a child?”

“Not exactly.” He paused before a polished oak door. “This is your cabin. Alex will be next door. Are you hungry?”

She was starved, she realized ruefully, just as Jordan had predicted. “Yes.”

“I will go to the galley and see if I can find something for you and Alex.” His gaze went over her. “You are very thin.…”

She smiled. “You intend to fatten me up?”

He chuckled. “No, after I bring you food, I intend to go ashore and purchase you clothing to cover that skinny body. Jordan said you and Alex must have something to wear on the journey besides those rags.”

“I wouldn’t want to offend His Grace,” she said ironically.

“You would not.” He opened the door for her. “I’ve seen him more ragged than you on occasion. He only wants your comfort.”

“That’s not all he wants.”

His smile faded. “No, that is true. He wants the Window. Can you give it to him?”

“I will
never
give it to him,” she said passionately.

“Can and will are different words. You’re saying it is possible.” He shook his head. “I was hoping you would say no.”

“I don’t lie.”

“It would be safer for you if you did. Jordan will not stop until he gets it, you know.” He moved his big shoulders as if shrugging off a burden. “But we need not think about that now. We will enjoy what we have and worry tomorrow.”

“I do not intend to worry about it at all.” She suddenly smiled and said gently, “But I thank you for your concern, Gregor.”

“So much for warnings.” He sighed and turned away. “I will have Niko bring Alex to you.”

“Are Niko and the other men going with us to England?”

“No, they return with Janus to Kazan.” He smiled. “So you will have only Jordan and me with whom to contend. Does not that make you happy?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but sauntered away immediately.

She lit the candle on the small table by the door and surveyed the tiny cabin. Its furnishings consisted only of a chest, a small bunk, and a washstand, but it was pristine. She was the only dirty object in the room, she thought wearily. She smelled of horse and was so grimy she doubted if she would be able to do more than remove the surface layer at that washstand.

Well, she would do what she could and ask about the possibility of a tub for a bath later. Cleansing herself would at least give her something else to think
about besides the disturbing information Gregor had imparted.

J
ordan watched Gregor as he strode down the dock toward him. The man could barely see over the stack of boxes and cloth wrapped bundles in his arms.

“Did you buy out all of Domajo?” Jordan asked dryly.

“How could I? Most of the shops were closed. I even had to persuade a few of the merchants to open their doors for me.”

Jordan had seen Gregor’s arts of persuasion. He started with a smile, but it usually ended with him knocking the door down. “I told you I wanted only enough for the journey. Domajo is hardly a center of fashion.”

“Marianna will not know that, and perhaps a pretty gown will raise her spirits. I wish I could have found more for her.” He balanced carefully as he strode up the gangplank. “What did Janus say?”

“What you would expect him to say. He wasn’t pleased.”

“The ravin will be even less so.”

“Unfortunate. I’m doing all that I can.”

“They know that,” Gregor said quietly. “It will just be a disappointment. They worry about Napoleon. They’re afraid he will make his move too soon.”

“The whole world worries about Napoleon.”

“Do not bite at me when you want to bite at him.” He grinned. “Or I will knock you off this gangplank into the water as I would have done when you were a boy.”

Jordan smiled reluctantly. “No, you won’t. You
wouldn’t wish to drop all those gauds you bought for your dove.”

“True. I would wait.” He shifted the packages. “There is the captain on the bridge. You should know I told him Marianna and Alex are your wards. You went to school with their father, who was killed in the war. His name was Justin Lawrence Sanders, and he was a poet.”

“Wards?” Jordan said, stunned.

“I could think of nothing else on the spur of the moment.” He frowned. “Though I admit casting you in the staid role of guardian is not very plausible.”

“Nor in the least realistic.”

“It will have to do.” Gregor’s jaw set stubbornly. “You may have to rob them of the Jedalar, but you must cause them no further hurt.”

Jordan’s lips thinned. “I have no intention of hurting them.”

“You could hurt them just by being who you are.”

“The Devil incarnate?” Jordan asked caustically.

“No, nothing so omnipotent. Merely the Duke of Diamonds.” Gregor grimaced. “But it is still enough to ruin any innocent who is seen with you.”

The Duke of Diamonds. The ridiculous title left a sour taste in his month. Christ, he could remember when the sobriquet had amused him, when he had even encouraged its use. But that had been at a time when he had embraced every pleasure and sexual excess with a recklessness that had made him a legend even at a court notorious for its debauchery. “I have no intention of being seen in company with this particular innocent.”

“You intend to shut her in a dungeon and let her out only when she can give you what you want?”