The Beloved Scoundrel

by Iris Johansen

  In her present state of dependency that prospect was very tempting. “And give you an opportunity to do the same to me.”

  “True, but I don’t think you’d be afraid to meet that challenge.” He smiled. “And it will keep you from going mad with boredom. I judge you’re not one who can stand being without a task to do. Will you join me in the master cabin in an hour?”

  He was right. She was accustomed to working from dawn to dusk, and this journey would become excruciatingly tedious if she had nothing to do but look out at that blue sea.

  “Continuing to be so wary of me will be both exhausting and uncomfortable for you,” Jordan said, sensing her wavering. “Propinquity brings a certain … acceptance.”

  “Tolerance,” she substituted.

  “If you wish to be blunt.”

  “I wish to be blunt.” She frowned. “If I come, I won’t answer any of your questions.”

  “Then how can we become acquainted?”

  “I’ll ask you questions.”

  “A very one-sided arrangement.”

  “Or we will not talk at all.”

  “But I’m a shallow fellow who cannot bear long silences.”

  She snorted. He was as shallow as this sea around them.

  “That was very unladylike. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard one of the females of my acquaintance make such a monstrous sound.”

  She stared at him uncertainly. His eyes were glinting with mischief. “You’re … teasing me.”

  “How clever of you to recognize, if not respond. Don’t you ever smile?” He held up his hand. “Never mind, I’ll regard it as another challenge.”

  “I’ve had little to smile about of late, Your Grace.”

  An undefinable expression flickered on his face. “I realize that, but perhaps it’s time to start again. Now, you seem determined to address me with the respect due me. Is it that you think I’m your superior because of my birth?”

  “You’re not my superior. Respect should be earned, not given. What have you done to deserve my respect? Have you created a beautiful panel of glass? Have you painted a wonderful picture?”

  “Not lately,” he said mildly. “Since I’m so low on your scale of worthiness, don’t you think it’s absurd to address me by any but my given name?”

  It was a small concession that would put them on a more equal footing, a status she desperately needed. “Jordan,” she said tentatively.

  “Much better. By the way, you’re quite charming in that gown, Marianna.”

  Charming? Was he teasing again? She looked down at the high-waisted white gown she wore. Probably. The garment was a little large and, even if it had fit better, she still wouldn’t have been able to fill out the bodice. “You’re going to see a good deal of it. It’s the only ready-made gown Gregor was able to find in Domajo.”

  “I won’t get tired of it. I’ve always been fond of white.”

  “My father liked white too,” she said absently.

  “Did he? Then my taste is undoubtedly validated.” He turned and sauntered away from her. “Though I take umbrage at being compared in any way to your father. Being a guardian is bad enough.”

  She gazed after him thoughtfully. A steely edge shimmered beneath the lightness of his tone, and she realized he disliked the position Gregor’s lie had put them in as much as she did. She would have to remember that tiny break in his armor. It was a weapon she couldn’t ignore, when she had so few.

  The design on the panel of glass was very simple, the daffodils painstakingly executed. Yet it clearly lacked the skillful touch of a mature artisan.

  “You found this in the cottage?” Zarek Nebrov held the small panel up to the light and then tossed it on the table. “It’s nothing. This crudeness has nothing to do with the Window to Heaven. You’ve brought me nothing.”

  Marcus Costain protested, “I’ve brought you the information about the girl and her brother.”

  “They could be dead now.” Nebrov strode over to the window and looked down into the courtyard. “You should have found out sooner about the children. We could have used them to make the woman talk.”

  “You were in a great hurry that night,” Costain said impassively.

  And in a fury of frustration about that stupid shattering of the Window at Talenka. He had almost lost everything, and the stupid woman had refused to reveal what he needed to know. If he hadn’t been so angry, he would have brought the woman with him and wrested the information at his leisure. He would never have permitted the bitch to taunt his sergeant into killing her before he had what he wanted. Blunder after blunder. That fool had paid, but it had not given Nebrov the Jedalar.

  “The farmer who lives next door to their cottage said this design was done years ago by a child of four. She brought it to them to show the farmer’s daughter. The girl could be much more skilled now.”

  “Could she be hiding with this farmer?”

  Costain shook his head. “She’s not with them. He’s too frightened to lie.”

  “Then she could be anywhere in Montavia. Do we know what she looks like?”

  Costain nodded.

  “Then find her.”

  “It will not be easy.”

  “Will she desert the boy?”

  “The farmer says no.”

  “Try the stews first. It’s the easiest way for a girl to keep from starving. A whore caring for a young brother should be fairly easy to find.”

  “I can no longer move freely about Montavia. King Josef is beginning to reassert his power in the west.”

  While Nebrov was forced to stay on his lands for fear Josef would send his army after him. The anger began to rise again, and he forced it down. It was lack of control and overconfidence that had caused him to be here licking his wounds when he should be on the throne of Montavia. He must never make that mistake again.

  “Then go slowly, but find her. Even if the girl doesn’t have the skill for the work, if she knows the secret of the Jedalar, it may be enough. I’ll find another craftsman to give me what I need.”

  Costain hesitated. “It seems a great effort for—”

  “Do it,” Nebrov said softly. He gestured to the panel of daffodils on the table. “And don’t bring me any more of this rubbish. I want the girl herself.”

  Costain shrugged. “As you wish, Your Grace.” He turned and left the room.

  As he wished? Nothing was going as he wished.

  Very well, then that circumstance must be corrected. First, he must rebuild his army to make sure he was safe from that fool, Josef, and then he must set out in another direction. Josef would never be caught by surprise again, so he must discard Montavia from his plans.

  Kazan? No, it was even stronger than Montavia.

  He must have help if he was to gain dominance over either country.

  Napoleon. He had been considering an alliance for some time, but he knew the emperor would never give Nebrov either Kazan or Montavia unless he was given something of equal value in return.

  The Jedalar.

  She moved her knight. “Why were you in Kazan?”

  Jordan looked up and smiled. “Because I wanted to be there.”

  “You said that about Montavia.”

  “Forgive me for being repetitive. Truth has a habit of lacking originality. Gregor would tell you lies require much more creativity.”

  “What is it like?”

  “Kazan?”

  “That’s what we were talking about,” she said impatiently.

  “As I recall, we weren’t talking. You were asking questions.” He moved his queen. “Why are you suddenly so interested in Kazan?”

  “Everyone in Montavia is curious about Kazan.” She studied the board. She might be in trouble. “Because no one knows anything about it.”

  “Which suits the denizens of Kazan extremely well. They prefer to shut the world out and live in isolation.”

  “I can’t believe that’s true. Not if they resemble Gregor.”

  “But n
o one resembles Gregor. He’s unique.”

  And so was the man facing her across the board, she thought. For the past two weeks she had studied him and found him to be as complicated as the pattern in the Window to Heaven. One moment he was guarded and faintly menacing and the next completely charming and witty, ignoring her distrust as airily as if it didn’t exist. The quicksilver changes in his nature were as fascinating as they were unsettling. She had lived a secluded life in Samda and her acquaintance was not large, but she did not believe another Jordan Draken could be found on the face of the earth.

  “You’re truly fond of Gregor, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. I love him,” he said simply. “You should know by now that he won’t tolerate anything less. God knows, I tried to keep him at a distance, but he wouldn’t accept it.”

  “Why would you want to keep him at a distance?”

  “Because you and I are a great deal alike.” He looked up and met her gaze. “Neither of us wants to give too much for fear it will be taken away from us.”

  “I’m not like you.” At least she had not been like that before she had lost everything she loved, she thought with sudden pain. She had been as open and free as Alex before that horrible night.

  “Are you going to make a move, or do you intend to sit there until we get to Southwick?”

  His expression was impassive, but she had the uncanny feeling he had somehow sensed that agonizing memory and was guiding her away from it. “Don’t rush me.” Her glance returned to the board. Yes, she was definitely in trouble. “Where is Southwick? I thought we were going to London.”

  “I said England. It does comprise more than one city, you know. Southwick is the port nearest Cambaron, only a half day’s ride.”

  “Ride?” she asked cautiously. She had no desire for another experience as intimate as the ride to Domajo.

  From the look in his eyes, she knew he had again interpreted her qualms with exasperating accuracy. If the purpose of these hours together was to enable them to better read each other, then they had benefited Jordan more than her. At times she felt as if he could sense her every thought.

  He said, “We’ll get two very gentle horses for you and Alex and take the journey slowly.”

  “Very slowly,” she said with emphasis.

  “You should know by now I can be patient.” His eyes twinkled. “For instance, I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to wriggle out of the box I’ve put you in for the past ten minutes.”

  “I’m not necessarily in a box.” She looked down at the board. “And if I am, there’s usually a way out.”

  “Then find it.”

  That’s what she was trying to do, but she feared it was futile. “Gregor says Kazan’s monarch is called a ravin.”

  “That’s true.” He leaned back in his chair. “Why are you more interested in Kazan than your future home? You haven’t asked one question in the last two weeks about Cambaron.”

  “I’ll find out about it soon enough.”

  “And Kazan is far, far away, while Cambaron is on the horizon and a bit intimidating.”

  It was true, but she didn’t know she had been so transparent. She tried to shrug carelessly. “I’m sure I will become accustomed to it.”

  “I’m sure you will too,” he said quietly. “I told you when you came with me that I would protect you and Alex. Do you think I’m going to throw you into the dungeon?”

  “Does it have a dungeon?”

  His lips quirked. “A very small one and hardly ever used.”

  “A dungeon … That means it’s a castle, doesn’t it?”

  “That appears to be what it means.”

  “I’ve never been in a castle. There was one on the outskirts of Samda, but I’ve …” She said haltingly, “I’ve never known anything but our cottage.”

  “A castle is merely a cottage with more rooms.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You don’t have to comfort me with falsehoods.” She moved her queen. “Just because I’m not familiar with your grand castle is no reason to think that—”

  “Checkmate.”

  She had made a mistake, and he had pounced. She frowned. “You distracted me.”

  He chuckled. “You knew you were going to lose two moves ago.”

  Her jaw squared. “I had a chance.”

  “Only if you changed the rules of the game.”

  “That’s not true. I could have—” She could think of nothing and finally smiled reluctantly. “I hate to lose.”

  “That’s come to my attention on a number of occasions.”

  “Not that many. We’re equally matched, and I’ve won as— Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You’re smiling at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen you smile at anyone besides Gregor or Alex.” He watched her smile instantly vanish and shook his head regretfully. “Ah, it’s gone. Too bad.”

  She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I have to go find Alex.”

  “By all means run away.” He stood up and bowed courteously. “There are signs of softening. If you stayed, you might even smile at me again.”

  “It’s not likely.” She moved toward the door. “It was obviously caused by the shock of losing, and I have no intention of doing that again.”

  She could never bear to let him have the last word, Jordan thought.

  A smile lingered on his lips as he picked up the pieces and returned them to the leather box. That final verbal thrust was part and parcel of her dislike of losing. Lately he had found himself watching and anticipating it, rather like a fencing instructor waiting for a favorite pupil’s lunge.

  “Marianna tells me you won today,” Gregor said as he strolled into the cabin. “That should put you in good humor. Victory hasn’t come that often to you of late.”

  “How kind of you to remind me.” Jordan leaned back in his chair. “Have you had a pleasant afternoon?”

  “Oh yes, our dour captain is teaching Alex how to sail the ship.” He grinned. “Braithwaite is soft as mush in the boy’s hands. It is most rewarding to see, when he’s so difficult with everyone else.” He went to the sideboard, poured a glass of whiskey, and drained it in one swallow. “Ah, that was good.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You do realize you’ve seriously depleted my stock on this trip?” Gregor took infinite enjoyment in all physical pleasures including liquor, but Jordan had never seen him drunk. He seemed to store the alcohol in some mysterious section of that huge body until the effects dissipated.

  “It’s the dampness.” He refilled his glass. “I don’t mind cold, but I hate damp and cold together.” He refilled his glass.

  “Since we’ve reached the Mediterranean, it’s no longer cold,” Jordan pointed out.

  “Well, I don’t like damp and heat together either.” Gregor sat down and stretched his legs out before him. “Alex is very excited about going to Cambaron. He’s been plaguing me with questions.”

  “His sister doesn’t share his eagerness.”

  “She is afraid?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  “You denied that as swiftly as she would have done.” Gregor smiled slyly. “You’re beginning to sound like a proud father.”

  “What a sickening thought. And completely in error. You’re the one with whom she’s at ease.”

  “Does that bother you? You told me you wanted her to feel uncertain and vulnerable. You cannot have it all ways.”

  “It does not bother me.”

  Gregor took a deep drink. “Besides, if you wish to make her fear you, then you should not let her win so often.”

  “You know very well I don’t let her win. She’s a fine player.”

  “Oh, I thought it was some clever ploy to make her feel safe with you before you turned and rended her.” He beamed. “It is just as well. The effect is the same. How can the girl be frightened by a man who not only loses to her with regularity but is actually proud of it?”

  “I’m not proud of losing. I disl
ike it intensely.”

  “But you’re proud of her,” Gregor said softly. “I’ve watched the two of you, and I find it very curious. It’s almost as if she were your own.”

  “Balderdash,” Jordan enunciated precisely. “I told you, I don’t feel in the least fatherly toward the girl.”

  “Then there is an alternative to consider.”

  “There is no alternative either.”

  “Unless you’ve considered it, how can you be so positive?”

  “I assume you’re intimating I have a passion for her?” He opened the drawer of the table, shoved the chess box into it, and slammed it with a little more force than necessary. “I told you I don’t bed children, Gregor.”

  “But in Kazan a female of sixteen is a woman.”

  “This particular female has far to go before she reaches that state.”

  “I agree. She is somewhere in between. At times she still has flashes of childhood.”

  Jordan had a vision of Marianna sitting across from him, her gaze on the chessboard as she asked him about Cambaron. She hadn’t wanted him to see her uncertainty and fear of the unknown but had been unable to keep herself from questioning him. She was so strong that when she did exhibit moments of weakness, it was all the more poignant and surprising.

  “She is looking very well, don’t you think?” Gregor took another long drink. “There’s a fine color in her cheeks, and she’s putting on weight. She’s going to be a beautiful woman one day.”

  “Yes.” It had been warm in the cabin, and she had rolled up the sleeves of the white gown to reveal arms that were sweetly rounded. Of late, her figure had taken on a certain fragile maturity, and her fair hair, though bound in the severe long braid, had shone with vitality.

  “She’s beginning to look like a woman, not the waif you found in Talenka,” Gregor said.

  Yet the fire that had illuminated that waif’s every movement was still present. Jordan became aware of Gregor’s intent study of his face and instantly made his expression impassive.

  “What the devil is this about?” Jordan looked him directly in the eyes. “It sounds remarkably like you want me to bed her.”