The Beloved Scoundrel (9 page)

He rose and moved naked toward the window and threw it open, letting the night wind rush in and cool him. Lord knows, he needed cooling.

Marianna.

M
arianna glanced up from the board. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How was I looking at you?”

She frowned. “Peculiarly. Are you irritated because I’m beating you today?”

“I don’t like to lose,” he said noncommittally.

She lifted her hand to her cheek. “Do I have a smudge?”

He had been searching for a smudge, an imperfection, and had found many. Her features were fine but
not classic; her eyes were too bold; her lips were well shaped but seldom smiled at him.

And she was scarcely more than a child, dammit.

He didn’t want to have this passion for a young girl who had no experience and thought life should be seen through a stained-glass window. He didn’t want to set out to bed a girl who had beaten him at chess and made him smile at his defeat.

“We all have smudges.” He looked down at the hand toying with her queen. “What is that on your palm?”

“What? Oh, a scar. You must have seen it before.”

“Not that one.” He took her hand and turned it over. Her palm was nicked with a number of scars. He touched the long white one running across the center of her palm. “This must have cut deep.”

“I work in glass. Sometimes I pay the price. I was clumsy and let a sheet slide off the table. I had to catch it before it hit the floor and broke.”

Sudden anger surged through him. This was an old scar, so the accident must have happened when she’d been a very young child. Why hadn’t they watched her, taken care of her? “It could have cut your hand in two.”

“I work in glass,” she said again. “I was never that clumsy again.”

Her pulse was leaping beneath his finger as he gently rubbed back and forth on the scar.

She swallowed. “I wish you would not do that. It feels … most strange.”

“Pain?”

“Not precisely.”

It felt like pain to him, and the discomfort was growing by the second. A child would not have answered
him as she had done. She was a woman and fair game in the sport he knew so well.

Christ, he was looking for excuses to seduce her.

He dropped her hand and stood up. “It’s warm in here. We’ll finish the game tomorrow.”

She looked at him, startled. “I’m not warm.”

“I’m not only warm, I’m hot. I need a stroll on deck.” He strode toward the door. “I’ll see you at supper.”

If he distanced himself from her, then his need would go away. He had always been a self-indulgent bastard, and he was instinctively searching out qualities in Marianna that would give him an excuse to bed her.

“You look a trifle discomposed,” Gregor said as he fell into step with him on deck. “How is Marianna?”

“Not lying naked and weeping on my bunk.”

“Then it is good we had our talk.” Gregor’s brows lifted. “You must be behaving very well. It always puts you in vicious temper.”

“Did you think that bringing all of this to the surface would solve the problem?”

“No, I knew you would be pulled back and forth once you recognized what you felt for her. There was a danger, but the threat was greater the other way.”

He smiled crookedly. “Because you know my instincts are naturally to destroy?”

“No, your instincts are sound, but your habit was always to take. It’s hard to break such habits.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “But you grow better all the time.”

“Thank you,” he said with irony. “But this time don’t be surprised if habit wins out.”

“I will be surprised,” Gregor said soberly. “And disappointed.”

Jordan gazed at him with a wide mixture of emotions, foremost of which were exasperation, frustration, and affection. Gregor knew that last word from him would move Jordan when nothing else would. From the time he was a lad, when he wasn’t fighting the reins Gregor tried to put on him, he had been fighting for his approval. He loved the son of a bitch. He smiled. “You bastard.”

“Ah, you’re in better temper.” Gregor grinned. “Let us go and watch the dolphins. No one could be bad-tempered while the dolphins are jumping.”

H
e was watching her.

All through dinner Jordan had teased Alex, chatted idly with Gregor, but had watched her. It was most unsettling.

It was not as if Marianna was not accustomed to him looking at her. During these past two weeks over the chessboard she was sure he had memorized every feature, every nuance of expression, as she had his.

But tonight there was something … different.

At the end of the meal Jordan pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “There’s a full moon tonight, and the sky is bright. Gregor, why don’t you take Alex to the bridge and tell him about the stars?” He turned to Alex. “Gregor has a tale for every constellation in the sky. When I was a boy, he used to take me into the woods and weave his stories, but the sea is a much better tapestry.”

“Oh, could we, Gregor?” Alex asked eagerly.

Gregor stared at Jordan an instant before he nodded.
“For a little while.” He turned to Marianna. “Would you like to come with us?”

“I’m sure Marianna is tired. I’ll take her to her cabin,” Jordan said. “There are things we have to discuss.”

Marianna stared at him in bewilderment. He had left her only a few hours before. If there was anything important to discuss, why had he not done it then?

Jordan turned to Marianna. “Will you come with me?”

He had said almost those same words in the church in Talenka.

He must have read her mind, because he smiled and said softly, “It hasn’t turned out too badly so far, has it?”

The persuasiveness with which he was smiling at her was irresistible. He was compelling her, willing her to agree with him.

“Has it?” he asked again.

She slowly shook her head.

“You can talk later,” Gregor said. “It would not—” He broke off as he saw Marianna’s expression. He shrugged and rose to his feet. “You have her. One of the things I will tell Alex is that what is written in the stars will be.”

“But you do everything in your power to change it,” Jordan muttered.

“As do you. Put on your cloak, Alex.”

“I don’t need it,” Alex said mutinously.

Gregor put Alex’s cloak around him with almost maternal care. “The night wind is cool. You don’t want to get that cough again.”

Marianna shook her head as Gregor led Alex from
the cabin. “He can do anything with Alex. It’s magical.”

“He can do anything with anyone.” Jordan added sourly, “except keep his mouth shut.” He grabbed Marianna’s cloak and put it over her shoulders. “Come along.”

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked as he propelled her from the cabin and along the deck. The breeze from the south was gentle on her face, but there was nothing gentle about Jordan. Now that he had gotten what he wanted, he was suddenly different. That mesmerizing charm had vanished, and there was an aura of suppressed violence about him. She tensed as a thought occurred to her. “I told you I wouldn’t talk about the Window.”

“For God’s sake I’m not fool enough to waste my time in that fashion.”

“Then I don’t know why you—”

“What did you do when you were a child?”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“What did you do? You must have done more than work at your precious glass.”

“Of course I did.”

“Then tell me about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to
see
you as a child, dammit.”

The answer made no more sense than his interest in the first place. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“All children play. What did you play at?”

“Working in the glass was play for me.”

“You don’t ride. Did you go for walks?”

“Sometimes we would go on picnics and take long walks in the hills.”

“Ah, at last a sign of childhood. I thought you’d sprung full grown from a stained-glass window.”

He was clearly in a temper for some reason, and she was growing tired of bearing the brunt of it. “Don’t be foolish.

“You’ve barely mentioned your father, only that he died a few years ago. Tell me about him.”

“Papa? He was very handsome. He had beautiful golden hair and fine features and he laughed a lot.” She was silent a moment, remembering. “He was always laughing.”

“Then he’s different from the poets I know. They seem to thrive on tears and woe.”

She shook her head. “Papa loved to laugh. He said life was meant for laughter.”

“And not for work?” he asked caustically.

“He worked,” she protested. “He wrote beautiful poems. He would sit under the tree in the garden and write for hours.”

“While your mother labored to put bread on the table.”

“She didn’t mind. It suited them both very well.”

“And I’m sure you can’t wait to find your own handsome poet to lavish care and sustenance on.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if he was like Papa,” she said defiantly.

That answer didn’t seem to please him either. “What else did Papa do besides sit under the trees and write poems?”

“He gave me lessons. He taught me French and English and mathematics. He even tried to teach me to write poems like him, but I was never good at it. I didn’t have the gift.”

“But that didn’t matter because you had a gift for the glass and could support him in his old age.”

“You refuse to understand,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about Papa anymore.”

“Neither do I. It’s not succeeding anyway.”

“Succeeding in what?” she asked in exasperation.

He ignored the question and was silent a moment before he said abruptly, “I believe we’ll dispense with our chess games from now on.”

“Why?”

“I’m growing bored with them.” He smiled cynically. “Gregor will tell you that I grow bored with exceptional ease.”

She felt a queer pang she refused to admit was hurt. He had been a little strange, but she was sure he hadn’t been bored this afternoon. Yet how did she know? She couldn’t read him nearly as well as he did her. Perhaps he had been bored during their entire time together. She lifted her chin. “I certainly don’t wish to continue. I was growing bored with them also. I’ll be glad to spend more time with Alex.”

They had reached her cabin, and he opened the door and flung it open. He stood there looking into the darkness, his stance tense. It was almost as if he saw something waiting for him in the shadows.

“Jordan?”

He turned to look at her. She inhaled sharply as she saw his expression.

She moistened her lips. “Is … something wrong?”

“It could be.” His pale green eyes were glittering recklessly, his lips sensual. “But wrong is always the most wicked of delights, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I could teach you. It would be my—” He broke off as he saw her take an instinctive step back. He took a deep breath and whirled on his heel. “Good night.”

She watched him stride away. His dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his long stride was faintly animallike in its grace. She had thought she had begun to know him, but tonight he had been everything that was strange and bewildering and hurtful. She should be angry but instead felt bruised and a little afraid.

She was more fearful of Cambaron than she would admit to herself. She knew nothing of castles and dukes and this England her father had hated. Her world had been small and tight and loving, and now it seemed to be growing, yawning like a beast ready to swallow her.

Yet she would rather face a hundred Cambarons than the man who had turned on her tonight. She had thought she had armored herself against him. How had she let him come close enough to hurt her?

C
HAPTER
4

T
he four towers of Cambaron could be seen in the distance, the pennants flying over a massive gray stone castle that was far grander than the one Marianna had seen in Montavia. The place looked strong and cold and alien. The sun was shining brightly, but Marianna involuntarily drew her cloak closer about her.

“Do you see it?” Alex, who had been riding ahead with Gregor, came trotting back and reined in before her. “A castle, Marianna!”

She quickly hid her first reaction and said dryly, “It would be hard for me not to see it. Castles have a habit of being rather prominent.”

“Is it all right if I ride on ahead? Gregor is going to show me the stable.”

She nodded. “But be careful and keep that pony to a walk.”

“If that pony moved any slower, we’d have to bring Cambaron to her,” Jordan said. “We’ll have to get Alex something with a little more spirit once he’s had a few lessons.”

“I like this one.” Alex patted the pony’s neck. “What do you think I should name her?”

“It’s a great decision to make. Why don’t you think about it?”

“I will.” He turned the pony and trotted back to Gregor. “Hurry, Marianna!”

She didn’t look at Jordan as she said, “Go on ahead with them. I’m as awkward a rider as Alex. It’s foolish for you to let me keep you back.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. I’m not as eager to reach my ancestral home as your brother. I’ve never had any special fondness for it.” He smiled. “And besides, such an abandonment wouldn’t be in keeping with my duties as your guardian.”