The Beloved Scoundrel (12 page)

“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.

C
HAPTER
5

A
n 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 …

T
here 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.

T
he 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.”

She drew a deep breath and turned back to the table. “There’s no point in arguing with you when you’re too arrogant to pay attention to anyone’s needs but your own. I’d appreciate it if you would either leave or be silent.”

She could feel his gaze on her as she picked up her pen. Please God, let him leave.

He didn’t leave. She heard him move across the room but not in the direction of the door.

She ignored him, staring fixedly on the paper.

“Your hair is shining in the candlelight.”

She started a rosette in the upper corner of the design.

“But not as much as it did this afternoon. I’m not sure you were telling me the truth when you said you weren’t a pagan. When you stood in that pool of sunlight, you looked like an Egyptian priestess worshiping the sun god. You were almost in a trance. I remembered what you said about color serving the sunlight.” He paused. “You serve the sunlight, Marianna.”

His voice came from the darkness across the room, rich, disembodied, like a warm breath reaching out to her.

“I wanted to touch you. Do you know why I didn’t?”

Her hand was shaking. She steadied it and completed the rosette.

“Because I didn’t want you in a trance.” He laughed harshly. “No, that’s a lie. I don’t give a damn if you’re in a trance as long as I’m the one who cast the spell. I want to
be
that sun. I want to heat you and make you open to me.”

Heat was moving through her now, she realized helplessly.

“One should never neglect an opportunity because it’s not exactly what one wants. I should have taken what you offered and gathered up the rest later. I regretted it as soon as I left you. I regret it now.”

Her head lifted swiftly. “I made no offer.”

“No?” He was sitting on the floor beneath one of the windows, his legs crossed, as perfectly at ease as he had been in the forest and at the table tonight. His face was in the shadows beyond the pool of light cast by the candles, and she could see only a shimmer of green as he looked at her. “Think back on it.”

She didn’t want to remember that scene in this room this afternoon. She had been trying to forget that moment of bewildering weakness. She
would
forget it. “You’re disturbing me.”

“That’s my intention.”

She tried again. “I don’t want you to come here anymore. And I want a lock on the door.”

“I shall come here every day.” He paused. “And there will be no locks between us. Not ever.”

“Then I’ll ignore you,” she said desperately. “You’ll become very bored sitting there talking to yourself.”

“I won’t be bored. I enjoy looking at you. I promise I won’t bother you. I’ll sit here meekly absorbed in my own thoughts.” He smiled. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I share one with you on occasion?”

“I do mind,” she said fiercely.

“How unfortunate. But I really think you must tolerate my small demands when I’m showing such restraint and consideration in the larger ones. I never wanted this, but it’s here, and we must both admit it.”

“I will not admit to something I do not feel.”

“You will … in time.”

She turned back to the table and began to trace in the border. Ignore him. He is not here. The work is the only thing of importance. He is not here.

He was there. Silent. Tense. Compelling.

She could not bear it.

The border was blurring before her eyes.

“For God’s sake stop weeping,” he said harshly. “I won’t have it!”

Tears were running down her cheeks. “It’s the smoke from the candles.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands. “And you have nothing to say about it.” She dipped her pen in the inkwell again. “If you don’t like it, go away.”

“I don’t like it.” He was suddenly kneeling before her on the floor. He took the pen from her hand and jammed it into the inkwell. “And I won’t go away, and I won’t have you—” He pulled her from the chair, to kneel in front of him. He shook her. “Stop it!”

The tears wouldn’t stop; they were only coming faster. “Do you think I wish to—” She broke off as a sob choked her. “I hate this place! It’s huge and it’s dark and there are too many people.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He jerked her into his arms, his hand cupping the back of her head as he held her face against his shoulder.

“Let me go.”

“Be quiet.”

“I want to leave here. They … they
curtsy
to me.”

“A terrible sin. I shall have it stopped at once.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

His voice was hoarse. “Believe me, I see nothing at all funny about this.”

She discovered she was clinging to him as Alex did to her when he woke from a bad dream. She tried to push him away, but his arms tightened around her. “Stop fighting me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yes, you will. You want to hurt me like those men hurt Mama.”

“It would be nothing like that. You’d like it. I promise you’d like it.” He stroked her hair for a moment before adding resignedly, “Or rather, you would have liked it.”

“I wouldn’t have liked it. You make me feel … strange and hot … and …”

“Shh, it’s better if we don’t discuss how I make you feel at the moment.” He took a lace-trimmed handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks. “And absolutely imperative that we don’t discuss how I feel.”

She drew a deep, shaky breath and pushed away from him. “I will not do … what you … that.”