The Beloved Scoundrel Read online

  Marianna felt a burst of homesickness as she remembered her small room at home. It had been filled with light that had streamed radiantly through the stained-glass rainbow panel Grandmama had created for her tenth birthday. Everyone should have a rainbow, Grandmama had said, so they would remember the storms of life do not last. Every morning Marianna would wake on her narrow cot and open her eyes to color and light and beauty.

  Suitable? She could feel her chest tighten until she could scarcely breathe. She would smother in this room.

  “Marianna?” Gregor prompted gently.

  She swallowed. “Quite suitable.” She tried to think of something appealing about the room. Clean. The chamber was as spotless as her cabin on the Seastorm. “I wonder, could I possibly have a bath, Mrs. Jenson?”

  “Certainly.” Mrs. Jenson beamed. “I’ll have a tub brought up at once. Are you sure that you don’t want Mary to come and—”

  “Jenny, why don’t you go downstairs and wait for William to bring the boy?” Gregor asked quickly.

  Mrs. Jenson nodded, curtsied again, and left the room.

  “Is she always going to do that?” Marianna asked as she unfastened her cloak.

  “Curtsy? Probably. Jenny was trained from childhood to show respect and obedience to all and sundry.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “She would be unhappy if you asked her to stop. You’ll become accustomed to it.” Gregor added gently, “You’ll become accustomed to everything, Marianna.”

  “I know.… It’s just that it …” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s very warm in here, isn’t it?”

  “Your cheeks are certainly flushed.” He entered the chamber and stepped aside for her to enter. “I think you’ll find this room comfortable. If you need anything else, you have only to ask Jordan. His wish is for you to be happy here.” He nodded at the oak armoire across the room. “Perhaps you’ll find a few gowns in there that will serve you until a dressmaker comes down from London.”

  “Dressmaker?” She turned to look at him. “Can’t we find someone in the village to furnish me with a few gowns?”

  “I told you, Jordan wishes you to be happy. In his experience ladies require a certain standard of elegance to be happy.”

  “Because if I’m happy, I’ll work harder?” She strode over to the armoire and threw it open. It was filled to overflowing with a colorful array of gowns of practically every fabric and description. “Who do these belong to?”

  Gregor shrugged. “I doubt if Jordan remembers. The ladies in Jordan’s set are not overly careful of their belongings. There’s always something left behind after a house party.”

  His words evoked a mental picture of fashionable ladies drifting about these halls and over the carefully tended lawns, their soft bodies scented, their hair shiny and intricately curled, their only desire to please and charm.

  To please and charm Jordan Draken, the Duke of Cambaron.

  “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll leave you now,” Gregor said as he turned away. “I must go and talk to Jordan. I’ll send a servant with a tub and hot water.”

  She experienced an instant of panic as the door closed behind him. She did not want to be alone in this cell of a room.

  She was being foolish. This was not a dungeon, and Gregor had said she would grow accustomed to it. She took off her cloak and hung it in the armoire. She wrinkled her nose as the sweet scent of perfume wafted to her from the gowns. She would be glad to rid herself of the rumpled, stained gown she wore, but she had a sudden repugnance at the thought of smelling like one of those women whom Gregor said Jordan had forgotten. She rifled through the garments, grabbed a plain blue silk gown, and took it over to the casement window. She threw open the window and laid the gown on the window seat for airing.

  A little scent should not matter. She didn’t usually let inessentials bother her.

  It did bother her.

  Why was she so unsettled? She was becoming as vaporish as the woman who had worn this gown. She must put an end to it and set things back in their proper place.

  Work.

  She would be fine once she immersed herself in the world she knew and loved. She could close herself away from all this disquiet. Yes, work was the answer.

  After her bath she dressed in the blue gown and went in search of Jordan. After getting lost once and having to ask directions of two liveried servants, she finally found him in the library talking to Gregor. They broke off their conversation when she came into the room.

  “Enchanting,” Jordan murmured as his gaze ran over her. “I’ve never seen you in anything but white. Blue is quite delightful on you.”

  She snorted. “That was not my intention. It was the only gown I could find that didn’t have a hundred bows. I have no desire to be enchanting, only busy.”

  “Do I detect a hint of displeasure?” Jordan asked.

  “My workroom,” she said brusquely. “I need to see my workroom.”

  “How remiss of me.” Jordan snapped his fingers. “You’ve been in my home for at least half an afternoon, and I haven’t given you what you value most.” He moved toward the door. “Permit me to rectify the error at once.” He said over his shoulder to Gregor, “I’ll see you at supper, Gregor.”

  Gregor hesitated. “I could come along.”

  Jordan slanted him a glance. “It’s quite safe. Her workroom lacks the piece of furniture necessary to the subject we were discussing.”

  “I can remember many times in villages on the steppes that you didn’t find furniture necessary.”

  Marianna impatiently looked from Gregor to Jordan. “I don’t care about this … this … furniture. I’ll tell you what I need later. I want to see my workroom.”

  “How can I resist such eagerness?” Jordan strode out of the study. “Make sure Alex is settled, Gregor. I’ll take care of Marianna.”

  “It is my earnest hope you will,” Gregor called after them.

  Jordan had moved so quickly, Marianna found herself having to hurry after him across the foyer and up the wide stone staircase. “Where are we going?”

  “I thought perhaps one of the tower rooms would be best. It’s isolated, and you receive light from all directions.” He had reached the second landing, opened a door, and led her up another twisting staircase. “I trust that will be satisfactory?”

  “I’ll have to see it. I’ll need tools.”

  “My agent tells me there are four craftsmen who are completing the windows at the cathedral at Medoran. I’ve sent a servant to purchase whatever instruments you might need from them. It’s only an hour’s ride from here, so he should be back by nightfall.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’ve done that already?”

  “You said you needed it.”

  “I’ll also need a kiln to bake in the colors and a blowpipe and kettle for making the glass.”

  “You make the glass yourself?”

  “Of course, every true craftsman has her own formula for the making of the glass. Different thicknesses and compositions take the color differently.”

  “Forgive my ignorance. It will take a little longer to produce those particular items of your trade. Will tomorrow do?”

  She nodded. “I can use other glass as long as the work has little importance.”

  “I’m greatly relieved. I feared I’d have to post to Medoran in the dead of night myself.” He threw open the door and stepped aside. “I hope this will be adequate.”

  Light!

  The small circular chamber was without furniture, but that didn’t matter. Brilliant sunlight poured into the room from six long windows. Dear God, the light …

  Marianna slowly moved to the center of the room, closing her eyes and lifting her face so that the glorious warmth struck her face. The cold knot that had begun to tighten within her since she had arrived at Cambaron began to dissolve. She was dazzled, entranced. “Oh yes,” she murmured, imagining the hues, the effulgence that would flood the room. “It’s splendid.�
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  “Splendid.”

  His voice sounded so strange, she turned to see him staring at her.

  “You look as if I’ve just given you a rope of diamonds,” he said thickly.

  She shook her head. “Sunlight,” she said softly. “There’s nothing more beautiful on earth, and it cannot be given.”

  “But I just gave it to you, didn’t I?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he walked toward her. “The sun shone all the way on our ride from Southwick, and you weren’t like this. Why is this different?”

  “The windows. I can make this come alive.”

  His eyes narrowed intently on her face. “As it’s made you come alive.”

  She was alive. She could feel the blood coursing through her veins, and she felt more alive than ever before in her life. He was only a few feet away, and the strong sunlight surrounded him, stark, unforgiving. She could see the lines around his eyes, the tiny indentation in his chin, the curve of lip and jaw. His eyes were shimmering pale green, and there was something behind them.… She stared up at him, caught, fascinated. She had a vague memory of planning on using him as a model for Lucifer in her Window to Heaven. Why had she thought he was the dark one? He wasn’t afraid of the light. He belonged to it. She had the sudden impulse to reach out and warm her hands against him as she had lifted her face to the sun.

  He was going to touch her.

  She held her breath. She couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. She felt a tingling in her palms, in the soles of her feet, in the tips of her breasts.

  He stepped back. “What else will you need?” he asked hoarsely.

  He had let her go. She swallowed, and it was a moment before she could speak. “Candles. Many, many candles, a long, sturdy table, and an inkwell and several large sheets of paper.”

  “I’ll have them brought up tomorrow morning.”

  She shook her head. “Today. You said the tools would be here later this afternoon. I could start work this evening.”

  He studied her face, and then a smile lit his face. “Today.” He moved toward the door. “I hope you won’t object to delaying your labors until after supper?”

  She didn’t want to sit with him at a table, she thought desperately. She didn’t feel as if she could bear to be in the same room with him. “I’m not hungry.”

  “But I’m sure Alex will be, and he’ll be more comfortable if you’re at the table. After all, this is his first night at Cambaron. You mustn’t disappoint Alex.”

  She realized with relief that whatever she had seen in the fierce clarity of the sunlight had vanished, replaced by his usual mockery. She could deal better with this Jordan Draken who tried to manipulate the world to suit himself. “I’ll consider it.”

  The chamber seemed darker after he had gone, as if the sun had hidden behind a cloud.

  Imagination. It was still as bright as ever.

  She was aware of a sweet, sickening fragrance in the room. It was the gown she wore. She could have sworn there was no lingering odor when she left her chamber, but it was suddenly back.

  Imagination again, because for a moment she had felt as that woman had probably felt when she had been close to Jordan. Weak and womanly and … wanting.

  She closed her eyes as a shiver ran through her.

  Not wanting. That could not be true.

  Imagination.

  CHAPTER 5

  An army of servants moved about the oak-paneled dining room, deftly serving a meal that would have fed Marianna’s family for a year.

  Jordan sat at the head of the long, gleaming table, dressed in pale gray and white, an elegant figure against the muted richness of the ancient tapestry on the wall behind him.

  He casually spoke to Gregor.

  He patiently listened to Alex’s excited chattering.

  He was fastidiously courteous to Marianna.

  And every time he glanced at her, she could think of nothing but that moment in the tower room.

  She couldn’t wait to mutter her excuses and escape. She put Alex to bed, kissed him good night, and then fled up to the tower room as if she were being pursued.

  She slammed the heavy door behind her.

  Safe.

  And cold. The wind whistled around the tower, rushing into the room through the open windows.

  It didn’t matter. The cool air felt good against her hot cheeks. Perhaps she had a fever. Nonsense. She was never ill.

  She looked around the now-furnished room. She lit the candles in the three tall black iron candelabras on the long table and drew out a large piece of paper from the stack also on the table.

  She sat down on the stool and quickly began to sketch.

  This panel must be nothing elaborate. Nothing that she would be unhappy to leave behind …

  There was a light in the tower room.

  She was there.

  The leap of excitement Jordan felt was like a jolt of lightning. Christ, he hadn’t felt like this since his first time with a woman.

  “You didn’t visit Madam Carruthers,” Gregor observed from behind him.

  “No, I didn’t.” As he turned away from the study window, he added deliberately, “Nor do I intend to do so.” He waited for a reply.

  There was none.

  “No argument?”

  “I have done all I can. You want Marianna? Take her. She is only a woman … well, not quite a woman. But what is that to you?”

  Jordan turned back and looked again at the tower. “My mother gave birth to me when she was only a year older than Marianna.”

  “Oh, you wish to get her with child?”

  “No, I don’t wish to get her with child,” he said through his teeth. “I was just—”

  “Defending your position. Why? When you will do what you wish anyway. At the dinner table you were sending out waves like a stallion after a mare in season. Only the mare is not in season.”

  “The hell she’s not.” He whirled on him, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You’re wrong, Gregor. She’s ready for it.”

  “Because she’s feeling the first stirrings of womanhood? Is that any reason to ruin her?”

  “I would not—” He muttered a curse, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the study. It was ridiculous of Gregor to say that he would ruin the girl if he took her to his bed. She had no money or connections. What better life could she expect than the one he offered her? He could give her anything she needed. After she was persuaded to give him the Jedalar, he would set her up as his mistress. He would buy her a house of her own and lavish presents and attention on her. She would be well cared for in every way. She might be young, but he was experienced enough to know when a woman wanted him.

  She had wanted him this afternoon in the tower room.

  The knock on the door of the tower room was perfunctory. Jordan immediately opened the door. “May I come in?”

  Marianna tensed. “No, I want to be alone, Your Grace.”

  “Jordan.” He closed the door with a resounding click. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t turn back the clock because you wish it so.” He strolled toward her, his gaze on the large sheet of paper on which she’d been drawing. “What are you doing?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” She paused before adding deliberately, “Your Grace.”

  “You said that once before.”

  She remembered that first night when he had given her back the gift of her childhood when she had needed it most. She quickly banished the memory. She could expect no such gift tonight.

  “I have a reasonable intelligence.” His smile lit his features with that curiously elusive charm. “If you explain slowly and clearly, I might possibly be able to comprehend, Marianna.”

  Her name always sounded strange on his lips, dark and smooth and rippling as sun-warmed glass. She put her pen back in the holder. “I have to have a design before I can execute it in glass.”

  “I can see that. You must be planning a very small panel.”

>   “It’s only the first sketch. My grandmother always said the first sketch was to let the heart run free. The second is done on an exact scale and dimension, and then thin pieces of card are pressed into each aperture on the sketch and then cut to shape. Then the cutline is added.”

  “Cutline?”

  “The tracing of the lead lines that forms the pattern from which the glass will be cut. I can see the design in the abstract and get a feel for the rhythm of the piece.”

  “I agree rhythm is very important,” he said solemnly. “It’s one of my—”

  “You said I’d be free to work,” she interrupted. “I can’t have you underfoot asking questions.”

  “I’m not under your feet, I’m merely here.” He turned and walked to the window nearest him. “It’s cold as Hades in here. I’ll close the shutters.”

  “No.”

  He glanced inquiringly over his shoulder.

  “I like the cold, it keeps me alert.”

  “You mean awake.” He noted the circles under her eyes. “You’ve had a long day, and you’ve been up here for hours. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  “I’m not tired,” she said. “Will you please go?”

  He glanced around the room. “There are no comforts here. I’ll have a big chair and cushions brought up tomorrow.”

  “I don’t need them. I come here to work. I had less than this in my workroom in Samda. I wouldn’t use your ‘comforts.’ ”

  “But I will.” He prowled around the room, stopping now and then to glance out one of the eight windows. His tone became self-mocking. “I’m not accustomed to such Spartan surroundings. You can’t expect me to suffer both cold and discomfort. I couldn’t endure it. I’ve told you how spoiled and indulged I am.”

  She had a sudden vision of him above her, holding her captive on the floor of the church, strong, primitive, completely different from the beautifully civilized man in this room. Then she felt the muscles of her stomach clench as she realized he was speaking as if this was not to be an isolated visit. “I expect nothing from you. Except that you leave me alone.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “But I can’t do that,” he said softly. “I suddenly find myself utterly fascinated by the craft of making stained glass. Since you won’t explain the process, then I must watch and learn for myself.”