The Beloved Scoundrel

Chapter 3

C HAPTER 3

T he sun shone on the water, turning it a silvery blue so brilliant, it hurt Marianna’s eyes to view it.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

Marianna turned to see Jordan Draken walking toward her. He was dressed in severe black and white, a stark contrast against the blue of the sea. “Well enough.” She paused before adding deliberately, “Your Grace.”

He smiled. “There’s little enough grace in the way you say that. I think you must call me Jordan instead.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, Your Grace.”

He studied her. “You’re more annoyed with me than usual. I didn’t think it possible.” He leaned one elbow on the rail. “Why?”

“I have no liking for dukes.”

“A natural enough reason. In your place I would feel the same. But I assure you I am no Duke of Nebrov.”

“You are not in my place. You cannot know how I feel.” She added fiercely, “And how do I know you’re not the same? You want what he wants.”

“What is that?”

“Power. Do you deny it?”

“Yes, I already have more than enough power to suit me.” He saw the flicker of expression on her face. “That’s what you fear, isn’t it? You think I’ll use my power to make you give me the Jedalar.”

“I’m not afraid.” She met his skeptical gaze and said, “And of course you will use any weapon you have. Mama told me there would come a time when everyone would do whatever they had to do to claim it. She said that unless I—”

“What?” he asked after she broke off.

“Never mind. It’s of no consequence.”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “I believe it may be of the utmost consequence.”

She tried to distract him from that slip of the tongue. “She was right, wasn’t she? There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to get it.”

He nodded wearily. “Yes, she was right.” He changed the subject. “Where’s Alex?”

“Gregor took him to meet the captain.”

“Have you both had your breakfast?”

“Yes.”

He smiled mockingly. “You see how concerned I’m being? The perfect guardian of innocent children.”

“I told Gregor it was a ridiculous idea. You have none of the qualities of a guardian.”

“I agree, but Gregor is adamant. So it seems we must all comply.”

“Why?” she asked with sudden curiosity. “What is Gregor to you?”

“My friend.”

“He says he takes care of you.”

“He did at one time. But then, Gregor takes care of everyone. It’s his nature.” He looked out to sea and asked suddenly, “Do you play chess?”

She looked at him in bewilderment. “Yes, I used to play with my father.”

“And are you adequate at the game?”

“No, I’m not adequate. I’m very good.”

He laughed, his face alight with amusement. “My apologies. I meant no insult. It’s my curse that I cannot bear to play with novices.”

“I’m not a novice. After the first year of play I bested Papa all the time.”

“Let us hope I’m better than Papa.”

“You wish me to play chess with you?”

“It will while away the time. It will take us weeks to get to England, and sea voyages can be stultifying.”

“Then play with Gregor.”

“Gregor refuses to learn the game. He gets too restless.”

“I’d think you would suffer the same malady.”

“On the contrary, I can be very patient—if the prize is worth the game.” He said softly, “And I think you would be an excellent opponent. You have a single-mindedness that bodes well for the match.”

“I have no time for games. I have to take care of Alex.”

“Ah, yes, your duty to the men of your family. I believe Gregor would be willing to watch over the child.” He shifted his gaze to her face. “Doesn’t the idea appeal to you? Think of it. You have a chance of humiliating me over the board and seeking out every weakness.”

In her present state of dependency that prospect was very tempting. “And give you an opportunity to do the same to me.”

“True, but I don’t think you’d be afraid to meet that challenge.” He smiled. “And it will keep you from going mad with boredom. I judge you’re not one who can stand being without a task to do. Will you join me in the master cabin in an hour?”

He was right. She was accustomed to working from dawn to dusk, and this journey would become excruciatingly tedious if she had nothing to do but look out at that blue sea.

“Continuing to be so wary of me will be both exhausting and uncomfortable for you,” Jordan said, sensing her wavering. “Propinquity brings a certain…acceptance.”

“Tolerance,” she substituted.

“If you wish to be blunt.”

“I wish to be blunt.” She frowned. “If I come, I won’t answer any of your questions.”

“Then how can we become acquainted?”

“I’ll ask you questions.”

“A very one-sided arrangement.”

“Or we will not talk at all.”

“But I’m a shallow fellow who cannot bear long silences.”

She snorted. He was as shallow as this sea around them.

“That was very unladylike. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard one of the females of my acquaintance make such a monstrous sound.”

She stared at him uncertainly. His eyes were glinting with mischief. “You’re…teasing me.”

“How clever of you to recognize, if not respond. Don’t you ever smile?” He held up his hand. “Never mind, I’ll regard it as another challenge.”

“I’ve had little to smile about of late, Your Grace.”

An undefinable expression flickered on his face. “I realize that, but perhaps it’s time to start again. Now, you seem determined to address me with the respect due me. Is it that you think I’m your superior because of my birth?”

“You’re not my superior. Respect should be earned, not given. What have you done to deserve my respect? Have you created a beautiful panel of glass? Have you painted a wonderful picture?”

“Not lately,” he said mildly. “Since I’m so low on your scale of worthiness, don’t you think it’s absurd to address me by any but my given name?”

It was a small concession that would put them on a more equal footing, a status she desperately needed. “Jordan,” she said tentatively.

“Much better. By the way, you’re quite charming in that gown, Marianna.”

Charming? Was he teasing again? She looked down at the high-waisted white gown she wore. Probably. The garment was a little large and, even if it had fit better, she still wouldn’t have been able to fill out the bodice. “You’re going to see a good deal of it. It’s the only ready-made gown Gregor was able to find in Domajo.”

“I won’t get tired of it. I’ve always been fond of white.”

“My father liked white too,” she said absently.

“Did he? Then my taste is undoubtedly validated.” He turned and sauntered away from her. “Though I take umbrage at being compared in any way to your father. Being a guardian is bad enough.”

She gazed after him thoughtfully. A steely edge shimmered beneath the lightness of his tone, and she realized he disliked the position Gregor’s lie had put them in as much as she did. She would have to remember that tiny break in his armor. It was a weapon she couldn’t ignore, when she had so few.

T he design on the panel of glass was very simple, the daffodils painstakingly executed. Yet it clearly lacked the skillful touch of a mature artisan.

“You found this in the cottage?” Zarek Nebrov held the small panel up to the light and then tossed it on the table. “It’s nothing. This crudeness has nothing to do with the Window to Heaven. You’ve brought me nothing .”

Marcus Costain protested, “I’ve brought you the information about the girl and her brother.”

“They could be dead now.” Nebrov strode over to the window and looked down into the courtyard. “You should have found out sooner about the children. We could have used them to make the woman talk.”

“You were in a great hurry that night,” Costain said impassively.

And in a fury of frustration about that stupid shattering of the Window at Talenka. He had almost lost everything, and the stupid woman had refused to reveal what he needed to know. If he hadn’t been so angry, he would have brought the woman with him and wrested the information at his leisure. He would never have permitted the bitch to taunt his sergeant into killing her before he had what he wanted. Blunder after blunder. That fool had paid, but it had not given Nebrov the Jedalar.

“The farmer who lives next door to their cottage said this design was done years ago by a child of four. She brought it to them to show the farmer’s daughter. The girl could be much more skilled now.”

“Could she be hiding with this farmer?”

Costain shook his head. “She’s not with them. He’s too frightened to lie.”

“Then she could be anywhere in Montavia. Do we know what she looks like?”

Costain nodded.

“Then find her.”

“It will not be easy.”

“Will she desert the boy?”

“The farmer says no.”

“Try the stews first. It’s the easiest way for a girl to keep from starving. A whore caring for a young brother should be fairly easy to find.”

“I can no longer move freely about Montavia. King Josef is beginning to reassert his power in the west.”

While Nebrov was forced to stay on his lands for fear Josef would send his army after him. The anger began to rise again, and he forced it down. It was lack of control and overconfidence that had caused him to be here licking his wounds when he should be on the throne of Montavia. He must never make that mistake again.

“Then go slowly, but find her. Even if the girl doesn’t have the skill for the work, if she knows the secret of the Jedalar, it may be enough. I’ll find another craftsman to give me what I need.”

Costain hesitated. “It seems a great effort for—”

“Do it,” Nebrov said softly. He gestured to the panel of daffodils on the table. “And don’t bring me any more of this rubbish. I want the girl herself.”

Costain shrugged. “As you wish, Your Grace.” He turned and left the room.

As he wished? Nothing was going as he wished.

Very well, then that circumstance must be corrected. First, he must rebuild his army to make sure he was safe from that fool, Josef, and then he must set out in another direction. Josef would never be caught by surprise again, so he must discard Montavia from his plans.

Kazan? No, it was even stronger than Montavia.

He must have help if he was to gain dominance over either country.

Napoleon. He had been considering an alliance for some time, but he knew the emperor would never give Nebrov either Kazan or Montavia unless he was given something of equal value in return.

The Jedalar.

S he moved her knight. “Why were you in Kazan?”

Jordan looked up and smiled. “Because I wanted to be there.”

“You said that about Montavia.”

“Forgive me for being repetitive. Truth has a habit of lacking originality. Gregor would tell you lies require much more creativity.”

“What is it like?”

“Kazan?”

“That’s what we were talking about,” she said impatiently.

“As I recall, we weren’t talking. You were asking questions.” He moved his queen. “Why are you suddenly so interested in Kazan?”

“Everyone in Montavia is curious about Kazan.” She studied the board. She might be in trouble. “Because no one knows anything about it.”

“Which suits the denizens of Kazan extremely well. They prefer to shut the world out and live in isolation.”

“I can’t believe that’s true. Not if they resemble Gregor.”

“But no one resembles Gregor. He’s unique.”

And so was the man facing her across the board, she thought. For the past two weeks she had studied him and found him to be as complicated as the pattern in the Window to Heaven. One moment he was guarded and faintly menacing and the next completely charming and witty, ignoring her distrust as airily as if it didn’t exist. The quicksilver changes in his nature were as fascinating as they were unsettling. She had lived a secluded life in Samda and her acquaintance was not large, but she did not believe another Jordan Draken could be found on the face of the earth.

“You’re truly fond of Gregor, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I love him,” he said simply. “You should know by now that he won’t tolerate anything less. God knows, I tried to keep him at a distance, but he wouldn’t accept it.”

“Why would you want to keep him at a distance?”

“Because you and I are a great deal alike.” He looked up and met her gaze. “Neither of us wants to give too much for fear it will be taken away from us.”

“I’m not like you.” At least she had not been like that before she had lost everything she loved, she thought with sudden pain. She had been as open and free as Alex before that horrible night.

“Are you going to make a move, or do you intend to sit there until we get to Southwick?”

His expression was impassive, but she had the uncanny feeling he had somehow sensed that agonizing memory and was guiding her away from it. “Don’t rush me.” Her glance returned to the board. Yes, she was definitely in trouble. “Where is Southwick? I thought we were going to London.”

“I said England. It does comprise more than one city, you know. Southwick is the port nearest Cambaron, only a half day’s ride.”

“Ride?” she asked cautiously. She had no desire for another experience as intimate as the ride to Domajo.

From the look in his eyes, she knew he had again interpreted her qualms with exasperating accuracy. If the purpose of these hours together was to enable them to better read each other, then they had benefited Jordan more than her. At times she felt as if he could sense her every thought.

He said, “We’ll get two very gentle horses for you and Alex and take the journey slowly.”

“Very slowly,” she said with emphasis.

“You should know by now I can be patient.” His eyes twinkled. “For instance, I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to wriggle out of the box I’ve put you in for the past ten minutes.”

“I’m not necessarily in a box.” She looked down at the board. “And if I am, there’s usually a way out.”

“Then find it.”

That’s what she was trying to do, but she feared it was futile. “Gregor says Kazan’s monarch is called a ravin.”

“That’s true.” He leaned back in his chair. “Why are you more interested in Kazan than your future home? You haven’t asked one question in the last two weeks about Cambaron.”

“I’ll find out about it soon enough.”

“And Kazan is far, far away, while Cambaron is on the horizon and a bit intimidating.”

It was true, but she didn’t know she had been so transparent. She tried to shrug carelessly. “I’m sure I will become accustomed to it.”

“I’m sure you will too,” he said quietly. “I told you when you came with me that I would protect you and Alex. Do you think I’m going to throw you into the dungeon?”

“Does it have a dungeon?”

His lips quirked. “A very small one and hardly ever used.”

“A dungeon…That means it’s a castle, doesn’t it?”

“That appears to be what it means.”

“I’ve never been in a castle. There was one on the outskirts of Samda, but I’ve…” She said haltingly, “I’ve never known anything but our cottage.”

“A castle is merely a cottage with more rooms.”

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t have to comfort me with falsehoods.” She moved her queen. “Just because I’m not familiar with your grand castle is no reason to think that—”

“Checkmate.”

She had made a mistake, and he had pounced. She frowned. “You distracted me.”

He chuckled. “You knew you were going to lose two moves ago.”

Her jaw squared. “I had a chance.”

“Only if you changed the rules of the game.”

“That’s not true. I could have—” She could think of nothing and finally smiled reluctantly. “I hate to lose.”

“That’s come to my attention on a number of occasions.”

“Not that many. We’re equally matched, and I’ve won as— Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re smiling at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen you smile at anyone besides Gregor or Alex.” He watched her smile instantly vanish and shook his head regretfully. “Ah, it’s gone. Too bad.”

She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I have to go find Alex.”

“By all means run away.” He stood up and bowed courteously. “There are signs of softening. If you stayed, you might even smile at me again.”

“It’s not likely.” She moved toward the door. “It was obviously caused by the shock of losing, and I have no intention of doing that again.”

S he could never bear to let him have the last word, Jordan thought.

A smile lingered on his lips as he picked up the pieces and returned them to the leather box. That final verbal thrust was part and parcel of her dislike of losing. Lately he had found himself watching and anticipating it, rather like a fencing instructor waiting for a favorite pupil’s lunge.

“Marianna tells me you won today,” Gregor said as he strolled into the cabin. “That should put you in good humor. Victory hasn’t come that often to you of late.”

“How kind of you to remind me.” Jordan leaned back in his chair. “Have you had a pleasant afternoon?”

“Oh yes, our dour captain is teaching Alex how to sail the ship.” He grinned. “Braithwaite is soft as mush in the boy’s hands. It is most rewarding to see, when he’s so difficult with everyone else.” He went to the sideboard, poured a glass of whiskey, and drained it in one swallow. “Ah, that was good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. You do realize you’ve seriously depleted my stock on this trip?” Gregor took infinite enjoyment in all physical pleasures including liquor, but Jordan had never seen him drunk. He seemed to store the alcohol in some mysterious section of that huge body until the effects dissipated.

“It’s the dampness.” He refilled his glass. “I don’t mind cold, but I hate damp and cold together.” He refilled his glass.

“Since we’ve reached the Mediterranean, it’s no longer cold,” Jordan pointed out.

“Well, I don’t like damp and heat together either.” Gregor sat down and stretched his legs out before him. “Alex is very excited about going to Cambaron. He’s been plaguing me with questions.”

“His sister doesn’t share his eagerness.”

“She is afraid?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“You denied that as swiftly as she would have done.” Gregor smiled slyly. “You’re beginning to sound like a proud father.”

“What a sickening thought. And completely in error. You’re the one with whom she’s at ease.”

“Does that bother you? You told me you wanted her to feel uncertain and vulnerable. You cannot have it all ways.”

“It does not bother me.”

Gregor took a deep drink. “Besides, if you wish to make her fear you, then you should not let her win so often.”

“You know very well I don’t let her win. She’s a fine player.”

“Oh, I thought it was some clever ploy to make her feel safe with you before you turned and rended her.” He beamed. “It is just as well. The effect is the same. How can the girl be frightened by a man who not only loses to her with regularity but is actually proud of it?”

“I’m not proud of losing. I dislike it intensely.”

“But you’re proud of her,” Gregor said softly. “I’ve watched the two of you, and I find it very curious. It’s almost as if she were your own.”

“Balderdash,” Jordan enunciated precisely. “I told you, I don’t feel in the least fatherly toward the girl.”

“Then there is an alternative to consider.”

“There is no alternative either.”

“Unless you’ve considered it, how can you be so positive?”

“I assume you’re intimating I have a passion for her?” He opened the drawer of the table, shoved the chess box into it, and slammed it with a little more force than necessary. “I told you I don’t bed children, Gregor.”

“But in Kazan a female of sixteen is a woman.”

“This particular female has far to go before she reaches that state.”

“I agree. She is somewhere in between. At times she still has flashes of childhood.”

Jordan had a vision of Marianna sitting across from him, her gaze on the chessboard as she asked him about Cambaron. She hadn’t wanted him to see her uncertainty and fear of the unknown but had been unable to keep herself from questioning him. She was so strong that when she did exhibit moments of weakness, it was all the more poignant and surprising.

“She is looking very well, don’t you think?” Gregor took another long drink. “There’s a fine color in her cheeks, and she’s putting on weight. She’s going to be a beautiful woman one day.”

“Yes.” It had been warm in the cabin, and she had rolled up the sleeves of the white gown to reveal arms that were sweetly rounded. Of late, her figure had taken on a certain fragile maturity, and her fair hair, though bound in the severe long braid, had shone with vitality.

“She’s beginning to look like a woman, not the waif you found in Talenka,” Gregor said.

Yet the fire that had illuminated that waif’s every movement was still present. Jordan became aware of Gregor’s intent study of his face and instantly made his expression impassive.

“What the devil is this about?” Jordan looked him directly in the eyes. “It sounds remarkably like you want me to bed her.”

“On the contrary, my friend, it is what I am most trying to avoid. It would be the worst possible thing for both of you.”

“Then why are you extolling her attributes as if she were a slave on an auction block?”

“Because you’ve already noticed them but refuse to think of them. That is dangerous.” Gregor smiled gently. “You are drawn to her, and if you do not admit it and put up barriers, a moment will come when you will reach out and take. You drift closer to it every day.”

“Nonsense.”

“Have you not been restless when you go to your bed each night?”

“My dear Gregor, I’ve been without a woman since we left Kazan, and you know that’s not usual for me.”

“When your dreams come, who is the woman beneath you?”

“I don’t know. She has no face. It’s not her face that has my interest. For Lord’s sake, Gregor, simply because I’m full of lust doesn’t mean I’m going to leap on the first available female.”

“It would be a mistake to do so. You would regret it.” Gregor’s expression was serious. “I have seen you kill men without a qualm, but to hurt her would eat at your soul.”

“Not if she wanted it.” The quick words had tumbled out of nowhere, and he instantly wished he had bitten his tongue when he saw how quickly Gregor leaped on them.

“Ah, you see?” Gregor nodded sadly. “You may not have realized it, but the desire is there. I know you can make women want you, but you must not make the attempt this time. These hours spent in your cabin are no longer wise.”

“I disagree.” He stood up and moved toward the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey. “She’s growing more at ease with me every day. She’s gaining confidence.”

“Which she will lose if you—”

“I will not bed her,” Jordan said through his teeth.

“And you do not wish to give up these hours with her. Have you considered that portends something even more dangerous for you?”

“Good God, another alternative?”

“Affection,” Gregor said softly. “You admire her, and where there is admiration, liking soon follows.”

“I admire Napoleon’s intelligence and military capability, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to cut out his heart.”

“It is not the same.”

“I assure you, Gregor.” He turned and lifted his glass with a reckless smile. “Of the two alternatives, I would make sure I chose the first.”

“Choose neither, and you will be better off.” He rose to his feet and lumbered toward the door. “I will see you at dinner. Think on what I’ve said.”

“If I don’t, I’m sure you’ll repeat it,” he said dryly.

“I’m sure also.” Gregor grinned over his shoulder. “But I don’t believe it will be necessary. You are a hard man, but you do not intentionally hurt the helpless. It was only needful that I point out in what direction you were wandering.”

As the door closed behind him, Jordan drained the glass and set it on the table. It was all nonsense. He would continue on the same course he had started with Marianna.

He did not lust after the chit.

He did not hold her in affection.

He was most certainly not going to let her sway him in his purpose.

To hell with Gregor’s alternatives.

H e poised, ready to plunge deep.

In just a moment he would be inside, closed in her warm tightness, and this agony of need would be over.

Her blue eyes looked up at him, bold, shining, eager.

Strange, the other times he hadn’t noticed her eyes.…

My God.

He woke, hard and heavy and aching, and lay there in the dark, his chest moving in and out with his labored breathing.

He rose and moved naked toward the window and threw it open, letting the night wind rush in and cool him. Lord knows, he needed cooling.

Marianna.

M arianna glanced up from the board. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How was I looking at you?”

She frowned. “Peculiarly. Are you irritated because I’m beating you today?”

“I don’t like to lose,” he said noncommittally.

She lifted her hand to her cheek. “Do I have a smudge?”

He had been searching for a smudge, an imperfection, and had found many. Her features were fine but not classic; her eyes were too bold; her lips were well shaped but seldom smiled at him.

And she was scarcely more than a child, dammit.

He didn’t want to have this passion for a young girl who had no experience and thought life should be seen through a stained-glass window. He didn’t want to set out to bed a girl who had beaten him at chess and made him smile at his defeat.

“We all have smudges.” He looked down at the hand toying with her queen. “What is that on your palm?”

“What? Oh, a scar. You must have seen it before.”

“Not that one.” He took her hand and turned it over. Her palm was nicked with a number of scars. He touched the long white one running across the center of her palm. “This must have cut deep.”

“I work in glass. Sometimes I pay the price. I was clumsy and let a sheet slide off the table. I had to catch it before it hit the floor and broke.”

Sudden anger surged through him. This was an old scar, so the accident must have happened when she’d been a very young child. Why hadn’t they watched her, taken care of her? “It could have cut your hand in two.”

“I work in glass,” she said again. “I was never that clumsy again.”

Her pulse was leaping beneath his finger as he gently rubbed back and forth on the scar.

She swallowed. “I wish you would not do that. It feels…most strange.”

“Pain?”

“Not precisely.”

It felt like pain to him, and the discomfort was growing by the second. A child would not have answered him as she had done. She was a woman and fair game in the sport he knew so well.

Christ, he was looking for excuses to seduce her.

He dropped her hand and stood up. “It’s warm in here. We’ll finish the game tomorrow.”

She looked at him, startled. “I’m not warm.”

“I’m not only warm, I’m hot. I need a stroll on deck.” He strode toward the door. “I’ll see you at supper.”

If he distanced himself from her, then his need would go away. He had always been a self-indulgent bastard, and he was instinctively searching out qualities in Marianna that would give him an excuse to bed her.

“You look a trifle discomposed,” Gregor said as he fell into step with him on deck. “How is Marianna?”

“Not lying naked and weeping on my bunk.”

“Then it is good we had our talk.” Gregor’s brows lifted. “You must be behaving very well. It always puts you in vicious temper.”

“Did you think that bringing all of this to the surface would solve the problem?”

“No, I knew you would be pulled back and forth once you recognized what you felt for her. There was a danger, but the threat was greater the other way.”

He smiled crookedly. “Because you know my instincts are naturally to destroy?”

“No, your instincts are sound, but your habit was always to take. It’s hard to break such habits.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “But you grow better all the time.”

“Thank you,” he said with irony. “But this time don’t be surprised if habit wins out.”

“I will be surprised,” Gregor said soberly. “And disappointed.”

Jordan gazed at him with a wide mixture of emotions, foremost of which were exasperation, frustration, and affection. Gregor knew that last word from him would move Jordan when nothing else would. From the time he was a lad, when he wasn’t fighting the reins Gregor tried to put on him, he had been fighting for his approval. He loved the son of a bitch. He smiled. “You bastard.”

“Ah, you’re in better temper.” Gregor grinned. “Let us go and watch the dolphins. No one could be bad-tempered while the dolphins are jumping.”

H e was watching her.

All through dinner Jordan had teased Alex, chatted idly with Gregor, but had watched her. It was most unsettling.

It was not as if Marianna was not accustomed to him looking at her. During these past two weeks over the chessboard she was sure he had memorized every feature, every nuance of expression, as she had his.

But tonight there was something…different.

At the end of the meal Jordan pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “There’s a full moon tonight, and the sky is bright. Gregor, why don’t you take Alex to the bridge and tell him about the stars?” He turned to Alex. “Gregor has a tale for every constellation in the sky. When I was a boy, he used to take me into the woods and weave his stories, but the sea is a much better tapestry.”

“Oh, could we, Gregor?” Alex asked eagerly.

Gregor stared at Jordan an instant before he nodded. “For a little while.” He turned to Marianna. “Would you like to come with us?”

“I’m sure Marianna is tired. I’ll take her to her cabin,” Jordan said. “There are things we have to discuss.”

Marianna stared at him in bewilderment. He had left her only a few hours before. If there was anything important to discuss, why had he not done it then?

Jordan turned to Marianna. “Will you come with me?”

He had said almost those same words in the church in Talenka.

He must have read her mind, because he smiled and said softly, “It hasn’t turned out too badly so far, has it?”

The persuasiveness with which he was smiling at her was irresistible. He was compelling her, willing her to agree with him.

“Has it?” he asked again.

She slowly shook her head.

“You can talk later,” Gregor said. “It would not—” He broke off as he saw Marianna’s expression. He shrugged and rose to his feet. “You have her. One of the things I will tell Alex is that what is written in the stars will be.”

“But you do everything in your power to change it,” Jordan muttered.

“As do you. Put on your cloak, Alex.”

“I don’t need it,” Alex said mutinously.

Gregor put Alex’s cloak around him with almost maternal care. “The night wind is cool. You don’t want to get that cough again.”

Marianna shook her head as Gregor led Alex from the cabin. “He can do anything with Alex. It’s magical.”

“He can do anything with anyone.” Jordan added sourly, “except keep his mouth shut.” He grabbed Marianna’s cloak and put it over her shoulders. “Come along.”

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked as he propelled her from the cabin and along the deck. The breeze from the south was gentle on her face, but there was nothing gentle about Jordan. Now that he had gotten what he wanted, he was suddenly different. That mesmerizing charm had vanished, and there was an aura of suppressed violence about him. She tensed as a thought occurred to her. “I told you I wouldn’t talk about the Window.”

“For God’s sake I’m not fool enough to waste my time in that fashion.”

“Then I don’t know why you—”

“What did you do when you were a child?”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“What did you do? You must have done more than work at your precious glass.”

“Of course I did.”

“Then tell me about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see you as a child, dammit.”

The answer made no more sense than his interest in the first place. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“All children play. What did you play at?”

“Working in the glass was play for me.”

“You don’t ride. Did you go for walks?”

“Sometimes we would go on picnics and take long walks in the hills.”

“Ah, at last a sign of childhood. I thought you’d sprung full grown from a stained-glass window.”

He was clearly in a temper for some reason, and she was growing tired of bearing the brunt of it. “Don’t be foolish.

“You’ve barely mentioned your father, only that he died a few years ago. Tell me about him.”

“Papa? He was very handsome. He had beautiful golden hair and fine features and he laughed a lot.” She was silent a moment, remembering. “He was always laughing.”

“Then he’s different from the poets I know. They seem to thrive on tears and woe.”

She shook her head. “Papa loved to laugh. He said life was meant for laughter.”

“And not for work?” he asked caustically.

“He worked,” she protested. “He wrote beautiful poems. He would sit under the tree in the garden and write for hours.”

“While your mother labored to put bread on the table.”

“She didn’t mind. It suited them both very well.”

“And I’m sure you can’t wait to find your own handsome poet to lavish care and sustenance on.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if he was like Papa,” she said defiantly.

That answer didn’t seem to please him either. “What else did Papa do besides sit under the trees and write poems?”

“He gave me lessons. He taught me French and English and mathematics. He even tried to teach me to write poems like him, but I was never good at it. I didn’t have the gift.”

“But that didn’t matter because you had a gift for the glass and could support him in his old age.”

“You refuse to understand,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about Papa anymore.”

“Neither do I. It’s not succeeding anyway.”

“Succeeding in what?” she asked in exasperation.

He ignored the question and was silent a moment before he said abruptly, “I believe we’ll dispense with our chess games from now on.”

“Why?”

“I’m growing bored with them.” He smiled cynically. “Gregor will tell you that I grow bored with exceptional ease.”

She felt a queer pang she refused to admit was hurt. He had been a little strange, but she was sure he hadn’t been bored this afternoon. Yet how did she know? She couldn’t read him nearly as well as he did her. Perhaps he had been bored during their entire time together. She lifted her chin. “I certainly don’t wish to continue. I was growing bored with them also. I’ll be glad to spend more time with Alex.”

They had reached her cabin, and he opened the door and flung it open. He stood there looking into the darkness, his stance tense. It was almost as if he saw something waiting for him in the shadows.

“Jordan?”

He turned to look at her. She inhaled sharply as she saw his expression.

She moistened her lips. “Is…something wrong?”

“It could be.” His pale green eyes were glittering recklessly, his lips sensual. “But wrong is always the most wicked of delights, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I could teach you. It would be my—” He broke off as he saw her take an instinctive step back. He took a deep breath and whirled on his heel. “Good night.”

She watched him stride away. His dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his long stride was faintly animallike in its grace. She had thought she had begun to know him, but tonight he had been everything that was strange and bewildering and hurtful. She should be angry but instead felt bruised and a little afraid.

She was more fearful of Cambaron than she would admit to herself. She knew nothing of castles and dukes and this England her father had hated. Her world had been small and tight and loving, and now it seemed to be growing, yawning like a beast ready to swallow her.

Yet she would rather face a hundred Cambarons than the man who had turned on her tonight. She had thought she had armored herself against him. How had she let him come close enough to hurt her?