The Beloved Scoundrel

by Iris Johansen

  “Your sudden wish to come home is a bit surprising considering you were supposed to be home in the spring, and it’s summer already.”

  “Did you miss me?” he teased.

  “When have I had time to miss you? I’m far too busy with my own concerns to bother with thoughts of you.” She searched his face. “You look tired.”

  “Dissipation.”

  “Do you think I don’t know the difference? Have you been ill?”

  “Of course not. Perhaps I’m a little tired. I just got back from France yesterday afternoon.”

  “That Corsican again.” She waved a hand. “I don’t want to hear about him. When are we to expect these guests?”

  “They should be arriving today and tomorrow. The first are probably a few hours behind me.” He started up the steps toward her. “And how have you been, dear cousin?”

  “You mean how have I survived that obstinate young miss you set me to watch over? We’re comfortable with each other now.”

  “I thought you’d approve of her. She has many of the same ideas you expound in your books.”

  “I’ve noticed that she has exceptional good sense.” She added, “And a truly remarkable talent at her craft.”

  “Has she?” He felt a leap of excitement that dispelled the lethargy and discouragement he felt after two futile months of trying to undermine Napoleon’s power in his homeland. The bastard had a stranglehold on half of Europe and was already looking to the East. “I’ve never seen her work.”

  “She’s more artist than craftsman. She’s done a tiger about to pounce from a tree for the window at the landing. It’s magnificent.” She shivered. “And chilling.”

  “I look forward to seeing it.”

  “It’s still in her workroom. I believe she’s been working on something else lately.”

  The Jedalar? No, it was too early to hope. “And where is this magnificent artist?”

  “She’s at the stable with Alex. The lad taught his pony a trick he wanted to show her.” She looked beyond his shoulder. “No, here she comes.”

  He deliberately kept his manner casual and unhurried as he turned around. “I’m sure she will be as eager as you to bid me— Good God, what have you done to her?”

  Dorothy stared approvingly at Marianna, who had just left the stable and was talking over her shoulder to someone inside. “What you sent for me to do.” She smiled with satisfaction. “She looks very young, doesn’t she? The dressmaker did very well indeed.”

  Marianna was wearing a loose high-necked white gown with a blue sash beneath the bodice that hid any hint of curves. Tiny embroidered white slippers peeped from beneath the hem of her skirt with every step. Her hair, divided into two loose braids tied with matching blue ribbons, shone in the sunlight. Even her skin appeared to glow with the shimmer that only children possessed.

  “Christ, she looks as if she belongs in the nursery.”

  “Don’t blaspheme. She looks exactly as she should look. She’ll make a few appearances so that the guests can get a glimpse of her and appease their curiosity and then disappear. It would be better if she were less comely, but there’s nothing we can do about that.”

  “No, there’s nothing we can do.” He hadn’t allowed himself to recognize the intensity of his desire to see Marianna again. Now, he felt outraged, as if he had been robbed, as if she had been stolen from him. She was no longer half woman, half child. To touch this … this … infant would be unthinkable. Yet he knew with maddening certainty that the woman was still there, hidden, taunting him. He tore his gaze from her. “Where’s Gregor?”

  “I haven’t seen him all morning.” She raised her voice. “Marianna!”

  Marianna’s head turned, and she tensed as she saw Jordan. “Coming.” She flew across the courtyard, looking more like a child than ever. She skidded to a halt before him and dropped a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

  He glared at her in astonishment. “What is this about?”

  She looked up and smiled innocently. “Dorothy says it’s improper to address you informally and that a curtsy is an entirely appropriate gesture for a young girl to show respect to a man of your years and august estate. Don’t you approve?”

  She knew very well he did not approve. She herself hated to be curtsied to. The little chit was teasing him, and in his present mood, he was definitely not amused. “I do not. Stop it.”

  “As you like.” She stood staring at him. “You look terrible.”

  Dorothy’s chuckle held a hint of malice.

  “That appears to be the consensus of opinion. It must be my years and august estate. Why don’t you run along and play with your toys?” He started up the steps. “I’m going to find Gregor.”

  To his surprise Marianna followed him. “I’ll go with you.”

  Dorothy instantly shook her head. “You should not do—”

  Marianna said impatiently, “Mercy, Dorothy, there’s no danger of gossip. There’s no one here yet.” She hurried after Jordan into the hall. “All of this is nonsense anyway.”

  “I’m pleased you’re so desirous of my company.”

  She ignored the mockery. “If you’re looking for Gregor, he’s in your bedchamber.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s doing something for me.”

  “Snakes in my bed?”

  “No.” She looked straight ahead. “Something else. A surprise.”

  “I’m intrigued. The last time Gregor arranged a surprise in my bedchamber, it was exceptionally interesting.”

  “This is my surprise.” She frowned. “And I wish you would not say things that make me feel uncomfortable. You’ve been very kind to me, and I’m trying to think well of you.”

  “A great strain, I’m sure.”

  “Not while you’re far away in London.”

  He burst out laughing. Dammit, he wished he could have stayed annoyed with her. “I accept the qualification.” His smile lingered. “What kind things have I been doing for you?”

  “You know.” Her manner was suddenly awkward. “Alex. The windows. You allowed the workmen to make the new windows and cut the roof of the ballroom for the glass dome. It’s all going to cost you a great deal of money.”

  “I have a great deal of money.”

  She lifted her chin. “That’s true, and Dorothy says we can put it to better use than your doxies.”

  “That sounds like Dorothy. Have you forgiven me for unleashing her on you?”

  “Of course, I like her very much.”

  “When she’s not trying to tell you what to do.”

  “Sometimes even that’s comforting. I know she only means everything for the good.” Her tone was wistful. “It seems a long time since anyone truly cared what was best for me.”

  She looked like a woeful little girl. He wanted to reach out and tug her braid, then tweak her cheek to make her smile. Good God, at this rate he would soon be patting her on the head and telling her bedtime stories. No, he would stay far away from anything to do with beds. “I’m glad you find her companionable.”

  She darted him a glance. “But you do not?”

  “Dorothy has always wanted to change the world, and she thinks I’m the best place to start. She’s tried to reform me since we were children.”

  “She likes you.”

  “I’m an eminently likable fellow.” Then he added, “When it suits me. You’d be surprised at the number of people who hold me in affection.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I’m sure I would,” she murmured.

  “Wretch. You’re not supposed to agree with me. A polite protest was in order.” He stopped before the door of his bedchamber. “Do I call out before I go in? I don’t want to ruin your surprise.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Gregor was just supervising two of the servants. He may not even still be here. Besides, the room belongs to you.” She shivered. “Though how you can stand it … It’s even bigger and darker than mine was before I moved to another room.”

  �
��I’m accustomed to it.” He opened the door. “It’s the master’s bedchamber, and I do obey some traditions. Dorothy will tell you that it’s not a frequent habit, but I— My God.” He stood in the doorway, his astonished gaze on the window directly across the room.

  The five-foot panel of intricately cut stained glass shone like a radiant candle in the dark room. It portrayed a dark-haired woman riding a black stallion. She wore a rich purple gown, a silver breast armor, and carried a pennant. Mist-shrouded gray-purple mountains formed the background, but they were barely noticeable. The woman commanded all attention, with her hair whipping behind her and her green eyes shimmering with life.

  “My mother,” he murmured.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quickly. “I used the portrait in the hall to try to get the likeness. In glass, portraiture is terribly difficult. Most of the time you can give only a suggestion of a resemblance, but her features were so distinctive that I think I did a decent piece of work. Do you think it looks like her?”

  “Yes, it looks like her.”

  “The ball gown was wrong,” Marianna said. “She looked … it was wrong.”

  “And armor is right?”

  “Yes.” She moistened her lips. “As I studied the painting, I kept thinking of Galahad and Arthur and—”

  “Joan of Arc?”

  She shook her head. “Not Joan of Arc.”

  He turned to look at her. “Why did you do this?”

  “I told you. You’ve been kind to Alex. You gave me Dorothy and Gregor.” She shrugged. “I thought I could take and not give back, but I found I couldn’t.”

  He nodded at the window. “And why did you choose her?”

  “I thought … You never really knew your mother, and that’s a terrible thing. It was a—” She stopped and then whispered, “I miss my mother. I would want more than a dark, cold painting to remember her by. I hope the sun will make her come alive for you.”

  He turned back to the window. “I don’t think there’s any question of that.”

  She was silent a moment and then burst out, “Well, why don’t you say something? Do you hate it? Did I insult her? If you don’t like it, I’ll ask Gregor to take it out of here, but I won’t have it destroyed. It’s too good. I couldn’t let—”

  “I would kill the man who destroyed that window.”

  “You do like it?” she asked eagerly.

  His voice was uneven as he tried to say lightly, “I’m so moved, I can think of nothing appropriately inane and trivial to cover the emotion. It’s most disconcerting.” He turned to look at her. “I thank you.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and then nodded brusquely. “I’m glad you like it.” She turned and walked quickly out of the room.

  He stood there for a full ten minutes, bathed in the radiant hues, contemplating the woman in the window. Then he turned and left the room.

  It was another quarter of an hour before Gregor stirred from his chair in the deepest shadows at the corner of the room. He strode forward to stand before the window.

  “She’s a wise child, isn’t she, Ana?” He chuckled. “Definitely not Saint Joan.”

  • • •

  The lady’s hair was a shining pale acorn brown and her eyes the color of violets. She was one of the most beautiful women Marianna had ever seen.

  Jordan lifted the woman from the carriage and said something to her in a low tone that caused the woman to giggle and glance flirtatiously at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Who is she?” Marianna whispered to Dorothy.

  “Diana Marchmount, the countess of Ralbon.”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  “She’s very ambitious,” Dorothy said dryly. “She’s seeking a permanent connection with Jordan.”

  A permanent connection. Dorothy must be speaking of marriage. Marianna felt an odd sense of shock. Somehow she had never connected the marital state with Jordan. Of course, it was foolish of her not to have done so. He must be considered a superb catch, and a man in his position must wish to carry on his line. “She wishes to marry him?”

  “Heavens, no.” Dorothy grimaced. “Well, perhaps, if she was not already wed. But then Jordan would have had nothing to do with her. He’s always had an aversion to marriage.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose because his cynicism is too great and his need too small. Why marry, when ladies such as the countess are willing to pander to him?”

  “Doesn’t her husband object?”

  “Her husband is only too willing to share her. He has little money, and Jordan is known to be very generous to his light of loves,” Dorothy said. “I notice the earl isn’t with her this time. He usually accompanies her when she comes to Cambaron. It lends her liaison an air of respectability.”

  Marianna shook her head. She did not understand these people and their dual codes. According to Dorothy, Marianna would be condemned and crucified at a hint of impropriety, and yet a woman could go to another man’s bed with full consent of her husband as long as it was done discreetly.

  Dorothy added in a low voice, “Keep your door locked this weekend. There are always improper goings-on in the hallways and bedchambers when this lot is here. Someone might stumble into your room by mistake.”

  “If she’s already his mistress, what else does she wish from him?” Marianna asked, her eyes on the countess.

  “He has no mistress. He amuses himself with her when it suits him.” She watched Jordan’s head bend attentively toward the beauty. “But it appears she’s to be the choice for his stay this time.” She took Marianna’s elbow and gave a little nudge to start her down the steps. “Run along and have Jordan introduce you to her. He has her so dazzled, she’ll scarcely notice you, and that’s what we want.”

  Marianna didn’t move. She didn’t want to be here, she thought with sudden desperation. She didn’t like the sensual curve of Jordan’s mouth as he stared at the woman. She certainly didn’t want to watch him dazzle her. The two were entering into a mysterious game with rules of which Marianna had no knowledge. She wanted to return to this morning, she wanted the Jordan back who had told her he would kill the man who destroyed her window.

  “Marianna,” Dorothy prompted.

  She drew a deep breath and then started down the steps. She should not be upset. She and Jordan had started to forge an entirely different relationship. None of this had anything to do with her. He had told her he would go to these women. She had resolved to become at ease at Cambaron, and Jordan Draken was Cambaron. This careless lust was a part of the texture of his life, and she must become accustomed to it.

  She would never become accustomed to it.

  She reached the carriage. They didn’t even know she was there. The knowledge filled her with unreasoning anger. To the devil with harmony. She searched wildly for a way to annoy him without endangering the elaborate lie Dorothy had concocted.

  She reached out and tugged at the sleeve of his coat like an impatient child. When he looked at her in surprise, she smiled with openmouthed girlish delight and dropped him a low, low curtsy. “Oh, Your Grace, may I please be presented to the pretty lady?”

  Marianna’s door flew open, snatching her from sleep.

  “Come along.” Jordan strode into her bedchamber. “Hurry!”

  She had never seen him like this. He was without a coat, his eyes blazed recklessly, his hair was tousled.

  Marianna sat up in bed, her eyes wide with apprehension. “What is—”

  He tore the covers off her and jerked her out of bed. “Hush! Do you wish to wake the household?” He grabbed her robe from the chair and shoved it at her. He pulled her across the room toward the door. “It’s the middle of the night, for God’s sake.”

  “I know it’s the middle of the night. What— Let me go.” She tried to free her wrist from his grasp. “Are you mad?”

  “I don’t think so.” He considered the question and then shot her a gleaming g
lance. “No, only very, very drunk.”

  The smell of brandy and perfume that drifted to her confirmed his words and did not make her any more kindly disposed to him. “Then go to your room and go to sleep.”

  He didn’t answer. He started down the stairs.

  “Or go to the countess of Ralbon. No doubt she will be pleased to tolerate this—”

  “Bored … All the same. Bored …”

  “You weren’t bored with her this afternoon,” she said tartly. “Or tonight at supper.”

  “Knew it annoyed you.”

  It had annoyed her exceedingly, and she had done her best to annoy him in return. She had never expected her action to garner this violent a response. “Let me go back to my room.”

  “Can’t do it. Journey. Have to go on a journey.”

  “Journey?” She stumbled as he started down the second flight of stairs. “The only journey we’ll be going on is to the graveyard. You’re going to kill us both.”

  “Nonsense. I’m very surefooted when I’m foxed.” His words were slightly slurred. “Ask Gregor.”

  “Yes, let’s do ask Gregor. I’m sure—”

  He was shaking his head. “Gregor interferes.” He threw open the front door. “So I locked him in his room. Not that it will keep him for long.”

  “Then let’s go talk to Dorothy.”

  “I’ve already talked to Dorothy. She wasn’t pleased, but she knows where we’re going. Had to tell her. Not fitting for a guardian— You’re confined to your room by a fever.” He jerked her down the front steps toward a waiting carriage. “And I need no excuse. Everyone knows I have no sense of what is proper in a host.”

  “If I’m going on a journey, I need to get dressed,” she said. Perhaps if he permitted her to go back to her chamber, she could lock herself in the room. “Let me go back to my room. It will only take—”

  He shook his head. “No time.” He put his finger to his lips. “Have to leave in the dead of night so no one knows. Not fitting …” He threw open the door of the carriage and half lifted, half pushed her onto the seat and then followed and settled himself opposite her. “Go, George,” he shouted.

  The carriage started with a lurch, and the next moment they were careening down the road at a breakneck pace. “Tell him to slow down.”