The Beloved Scoundrel (17 page)

“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.”

•   •   •

T
he 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?”

M
arianna’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 glance. “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.”

He shook his head. “Promised Dorothy I’d have you back in two days. Have to hurry.”

“Two days!”

“George can do it.” Jordan settled himself in the corner of the seat and leaned his head against the wall of the carriage. “Fine hand with horses …”

“Take me back to the castle. I don’t want to—”

He was asleep. She couldn’t believe it. The drunken idiot was asleep!

She reached over and shook him.

No response.

“Jordan!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

He sighed gently.

She stuck her head out the window. By what name had he called the coachman? “George, take me back to the castle.”

The man didn’t answer. It shouldn’t have surprised her, she thought angrily. She was a stranger here at Cambaron, and he was no doubt accustomed to Jordan abducting women. It was probably a weekly occurrence.

There was nothing to do but wait until Jordan woke up and sobriety made him see reason. She leaned back on the squabs of the seat. How could he sleep when they were being jounced so hard, her teeth were rattling?

She shivered as a gust of wind blew in the window, piercing the fabric of her thin cotton nightgown. She quickly put on her blue wool robe. Good heavens, she was barefoot, she realized with exasperation. The fool hadn’t even let her grab her shoes. Somehow this small inconvenience was the last straw.

She could not wait until he woke.

J
ordan did not stir until midafternoon the next day, and by that time she was ready to throttle him.

He took one look at her expression and closed his eyes again. “Oh my God.”

“Take me back to Cambaron,” she said, enunciating every word through her teeth. “At once.”

“Soon,” he murmured.

“Soon!” she repeated. “You take me from my bed in the middle of the night. You drag me barefoot and unclothed into this monstrously uncomfortable carriage and then fall into a drunken stupor. I don’t have
an unbruised portion on my body because you gave orders to the coachman that he must—”

“Be still.” His eyes had opened again, and he was glaring at her. “My head aches abominably, and your voice is pecking at it like a vulture.”

“Good.” She smiled viciously. “And I will continue to peck and rend you until you tell the coachman to turn around and go back.”

He shook his head.

“You can’t do this. I won’t be subject to your drunken whims.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushions.

He was paying no attention to her, she realized. She wanted to push him out of the carriage. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer directly. “Soon.”

“Why?”

“It seemed a good idea at the time.” He opened one eye and regarded her balefully. “Christ, that nightgown is even worse than that other hideous garment Dorothy draped you in.”

“Then you should have let me dress.”

“I was in a hurry.” The eye closed again. “I think.”

“
Don’t
close your eyes again.”

“You will not tell me what to do.” His lids opened, and suddenly there was no hint of drunkenness about him. “I have a raging headache, my mouth feels as if I’d slept with my boot in it, and I’m in extreme bad temper. We have a destination, and we aren’t turning back until we reach it.” His eyes closed. “Now I’m going to go to sleep again. I suggest you do the same.”

She stared at him, fuming.

In an incredibly short time she realized he was asleep again.

T
hey stopped twice at posting houses to change horses and refresh themselves but were back on the road in less than an hour each time.

Day became evening.

Evening became night.

Marianna dozed but could not sleep deeply due to the bouncing of the fast-moving carriage along the rutted road.

Jordan appeared to have no such problem. He slept as easily and deeply as a babe in a cradle. She would kill him, she decided. Or at least find a way to punish him horribly at the earliest opportunity.

It was near dawn when she became aware that the carriage was now traveling over cobblestones. She glanced out the window and saw the shadowy form of houses. As the light grew stronger, she could see this was a goodly sized town. “Where are we? London?”