The Beloved Scoundrel (11 page)

She would rather jump from the top of this gigantic staircase than pull that bell, Marianna thought fervently. She wanted only to hide in her chamber and close everyone out until she could become used to the
vastness
of this huge place.

They were now going down a long, dim hall lined on either side with portraits of all sizes and descriptions. “These pictures are of His Grace’s family,” Mrs. Jenson said as she noticed Marianna’s interest. She pointed to one large painting of a bearded man in hip boots and a jerkin that was puffed at his hips. “That was Randolph Percival Draken, the fifth Duke of Cambaron. He was a great favorite of Queen Elizabeth. She stayed here several times, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” But she wasn’t surprised. Elizabeth and her entire court would probably have scarcely been noticed in a castle of this size.

“And that is his lady.” She pointed to a small, daintily formed woman in a gold-encrusted gown and a wide pleated ruff encircling her neck. “The duchess was considered one of the most beautiful woman of her day.”

The woman she had indicated was pleasant-looking, with a pouty mouth, wide blue eyes, and tightly curled golden hair. “She’s very— Who is that?”

The housekeeper’s gaze followed Marianna’s to the portrait a few feet down the hall. “Oh, that’s His Grace’s mother. It was painted a year after she came to Cambaron.”

Marianna stepped closer to the portrait, searching for a likeness to Jordan. Even in the dim light, the full-bodied woman in the picture seemed to glow with life. Her shining black hair was darker and curlier than her son’s and pulled back from her face by
two emerald clips. Her eyes were the same green and tilted slightly at the corners. Tartar blood, Marianna remembered, Jordan had said his mother had Tartar blood. She wore a full-skirted green velvet gown that flattered her tall, strong figure, but the garment somehow seemed wrong. The woman should have been wearing something else.…

“She was a foreign lady, a very foreign lady,” Mrs. Jenson said reservedly, then looked at Gregor apologetically. “I beg pardon, sir, I know she was one of your people, but she was not like you. She was more like His Grace when he was a bit younger.”

“She was only seventeen herself when this was painted.” A faint smile curved Gregor’s lips as he stood looking at the portrait. “And you are right, she was just as wild as Jordan and just as compelling of affection.”

“Some found her so.” It was clear the housekeeper had not.

“She was from Kazan?” Marianna asked.

Mrs. Jenson nodded. “None of us had ever heard of the place. She was attending a school in Paris, and His Grace’s father brought her back to England with him when he came home from his grand tour. There was a good deal of talk about the duke marrying beneath him.”

“Everyone in Kazan thought the same thing,” Gregor said. “She was a noblewoman of Kazan and therefore higher in estate than any Englishman. I assure you, that if she hadn’t eloped, she would never have been permitted to marry Draken.”

Mrs. Jenson looked faintly shocked. “Not permitted to wed His Grace? I can’t believe that, sir.”

“You were here when she came?” Marianna asked. “You remember her?”

“Oh yes, she’s not a woman one forgets,” Mrs. Jenson said without inflection. “In the three years she was here before her death things were most unsettled.”

“She means Ana liked her own way and would move heaven or earth to get it,” Gregor said with a grin. “She probably turned the castle upside down.”

“Most unsettled,” Mrs. Jenson murmured as she moved down the hall. “But His Grace’s father was heartbroken when she died.” She threw open a door at the far end of the corridor. “This is the Blue Room. The little lad’s room is just down the hall. I hope this will be suitable?”

The large room was as dark and overpowering as the rest of the castle. All the furniture, from the enormous four-poster bed, draped in dark blue velvet, to the armoire against the wall, were crafted of gleaming ebony mahogany. A large desk with massive curving legs occupied the space directly in front of a long, narrow window that permitted only a weak strip of light.

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.

A
fter 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.”

“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.”