The Beloved Scoundrel

Chapter 7

C HAPTER 7

June 30, 1809 Cambaron, England

I t’s just like you to give us so little notice, Jordan. A house party of seventy-five? Do you expect miracles?” Dorothy asked as she stood on the castle steps and watched Jordan get out of the phaeton. “Didn’t it occur to you that not everyone in the world is waiting to rush to do your bidding?”

“No, I’ve found if you expect miracles, they have a tendency to occur.” He smiled. “Particularly if you’re here to provide them, Dorothy. I was at a masked ball last night, and I suddenly decided it was time to come home. Since you forbid me to come without a bevy of chaperons, I invited the entire party.”

“Your sudden wish to come home is a bit surprising considering you were supposed to be home in the spring, and it’s summer already.”

“Did you miss me?” he teased.

“When have I had time to miss you? I’m far too busy with my own concerns to bother with thoughts of you.” She searched his face. “You look tired.”

“Dissipation.”

“Do you think I don’t know the difference? Have you been ill?”

“Of course not. Perhaps I’m a little tired. I just got back from France yesterday afternoon.”

“That Corsican again.” She waved a hand. “I don’t want to hear about him. When are we to expect these guests?”

“They should be arriving today and tomorrow. The first are probably a few hours behind me.” He started up the steps toward her. “And how have you been, dear cousin?”

“You mean how have I survived that obstinate young miss you set me to watch over? We’re comfortable with each other now.”

“I thought you’d approve of her. She has many of the same ideas you expound in your books.”

“I’ve noticed that she has exceptional good sense.” She added, “And a truly remarkable talent at her craft.”

“Has she?” He felt a leap of excitement that dispelled the lethargy and discouragement he felt after two futile months of trying to undermine Napoleon’s power in his homeland. The bastard had a stranglehold on half of Europe and was already looking to the East. “I’ve never seen her work.”

“She’s more artist than craftsman. She’s done a tiger about to pounce from a tree for the window at the landing. It’s magnificent.” She shivered. “And chilling.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

“It’s still in her workroom. I believe she’s been working on something else lately.”

The Jedalar? No, it was too early to hope. “And where is this magnificent artist?”

“She’s at the stable with Alex. The lad taught his pony a trick he wanted to show her.” She looked beyond his shoulder. “No, here she comes.”

He deliberately kept his manner casual and unhurried as he turned around. “I’m sure she will be as eager as you to bid me— Good God, what have you done to her?”

Dorothy stared approvingly at Marianna, who had just left the stable and was talking over her shoulder to someone inside. “What you sent for me to do.” She smiled with satisfaction. “She looks very young, doesn’t she? The dressmaker did very well indeed.”

Marianna was wearing a loose high-necked white gown with a blue sash beneath the bodice that hid any hint of curves. Tiny embroidered white slippers peeped from beneath the hem of her skirt with every step. Her hair, divided into two loose braids tied with matching blue ribbons, shone in the sunlight. Even her skin appeared to glow with the shimmer that only children possessed.

“Christ, she looks as if she belongs in the nursery.”

“Don’t blaspheme. She looks exactly as she should look. She’ll make a few appearances so that the guests can get a glimpse of her and appease their curiosity and then disappear. It would be better if she were less comely, but there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“No, there’s nothing we can do.” He hadn’t allowed himself to recognize the intensity of his desire to see Marianna again. Now, he felt outraged, as if he had been robbed, as if she had been stolen from him. She was no longer half woman, half child. To touch this…this…infant would be unthinkable. Yet he knew with maddening certainty that the woman was still there, hidden, taunting him. He tore his gaze from her. “Where’s Gregor?”

“I haven’t seen him all morning.” She raised her voice. “Marianna!”

Marianna’s head turned, and she tensed as she saw Jordan. “Coming.” She flew across the courtyard, looking more like a child than ever. She skidded to a halt before him and dropped a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

He glared at her in astonishment. “What is this about?”

She looked up and smiled innocently. “Dorothy says it’s improper to address you informally and that a curtsy is an entirely appropriate gesture for a young girl to show respect to a man of your years and august estate. Don’t you approve?”

She knew very well he did not approve. She herself hated to be curtsied to. The little chit was teasing him, and in his present mood, he was definitely not amused. “I do not. Stop it.”

“As you like.” She stood staring at him. “You look terrible.”

Dorothy’s chuckle held a hint of malice.

“That appears to be the consensus of opinion. It must be my years and august estate. Why don’t you run along and play with your toys?” He started up the steps. “I’m going to find Gregor.”

To his surprise Marianna followed him. “I’ll go with you.”

Dorothy instantly shook her head. “You should not do—”

Marianna said impatiently, “Mercy, Dorothy, there’s no danger of gossip. There’s no one here yet.” She hurried after Jordan into the hall. “All of this is nonsense anyway.”

“I’m pleased you’re so desirous of my company.”

She ignored the mockery. “If you’re looking for Gregor, he’s in your bedchamber.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s doing something for me.”

“Snakes in my bed?”

“No.” She looked straight ahead. “Something else. A surprise.”

“I’m intrigued. The last time Gregor arranged a surprise in my bedchamber, it was exceptionally interesting.”

“This is my surprise.” She frowned. “And I wish you would not say things that make me feel uncomfortable. You’ve been very kind to me, and I’m trying to think well of you.”

“A great strain, I’m sure.”

“Not while you’re far away in London.”

He burst out laughing. Dammit, he wished he could have stayed annoyed with her. “I accept the qualification.” His smile lingered. “What kind things have I been doing for you?”

“You know.” Her manner was suddenly awkward. “Alex. The windows. You allowed the workmen to make the new windows and cut the roof of the ballroom for the glass dome. It’s all going to cost you a great deal of money.”

“I have a great deal of money.”

She lifted her chin. “That’s true, and Dorothy says we can put it to better use than your doxies.”

“That sounds like Dorothy. Have you forgiven me for unleashing her on you?”

“Of course, I like her very much.”

“When she’s not trying to tell you what to do.”

“Sometimes even that’s comforting. I know she only means everything for the good.” Her tone was wistful. “It seems a long time since anyone truly cared what was best for me.”

She looked like a woeful little girl. He wanted to reach out and tug her braid, then tweak her cheek to make her smile. Good God, at this rate he would soon be patting her on the head and telling her bedtime stories. No, he would stay far away from anything to do with beds. “I’m glad you find her companionable.”

She darted him a glance. “But you do not?”

“Dorothy has always wanted to change the world, and she thinks I’m the best place to start. She’s tried to reform me since we were children.”

“She likes you.”

“I’m an eminently likable fellow.” Then he added, “When it suits me. You’d be surprised at the number of people who hold me in affection.”

She lowered her eyes. “I’m sure I would,” she murmured.

“Wretch. You’re not supposed to agree with me. A polite protest was in order.” He stopped before the door of his bedchamber. “Do I call out before I go in? I don’t want to ruin your surprise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Gregor was just supervising two of the servants. He may not even still be here. Besides, the room belongs to you.” She shivered. “Though how you can stand it…It’s even bigger and darker than mine was before I moved to another room.”

“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?”

Jordan roused and glanced out the window. “No, but we’re right on time.” He stretched. “Good man, George.”

“Where are we?”

“Soon.”

If he said that one more time, she would not wait until they returned to Cambaron to murder him.

The carriage stopped, and George jumped down and opened the door.

Jordan got out and lifted Marianna to the street. The stones felt damp and cool beneath her bare feet. “Now will you—” Her gaze traveled up the cathedral spire. There could be no mistake. She knew where she was.

“The Minster,” she whispered. “Sweet Mary, we’re in York.”

He nodded. “The Lady Chapel of York Minster, to be exact.” He looked at the now fully risen sun. “Come along. It’s time.”

She took an eager step forward and then looked down at her robe and bare feet. “I’m not dressed. They won’t let me in.”

“They’ll let you in.” His lips set grimly. “I’ll see to it.”

Dazedly, she let him lead her into the dim chapel. She knew what she was going to see. Papa had seen it once, and her mother and grandmother had often talked of making a pilgrimage to view it.

Glory.

She stopped before the Great East Window.

Bold blues and reds and greens.

Sunlight wedded to brilliant color and superb artistry.

The arched window towered seventy-six feet high by thirty-two feet wide. Below the tracery panels of angels, patriarchs, prophets, and saints were twenty-seven panels, each three feet square, of Old Testament scenes, beginning with the first day of Creation and ending with the death of Absalom. Nine rows of panels followed, illustrating eighty-one scenes of dire prophecy from the Apocalypse. In the two bottom rows was the kneeling donor, Bishop Skirlaw of Durham, flanked by English kings, saints, and archbishops.

“It took Robert Coventry three years to create this window over four hundred years ago.” Jordan said. “He was paid the princely sum of fifty-six pounds. Do you think it’s worth it?” When she didn’t answer, he glanced at her expression and nodded slowly. “I can see you do. So do I.”

“It’s magnificent,” she whispered. “It’s everything.…”

“I thought you might like it.” He smiled. “I can give you until noon to worship at Coventry’s altar if I’m to keep my promise to Dorothy.”

“Noon?” She shook her head. “I need longer. This is only one window. The Minster has one hundred and thirty.”

“I promised Dorothy that—” He stopped as he saw her desperate expression. “Oh, what the devil. Sunset.”

She nodded eagerly. “Then I can see the Great West Window properly.” She turned back to the East Window and said dreamily, “Do you see how he combined color and grisaille? Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” he said, smiling indulgently. “I’ll speak to the archbishop and see that you’re not disturbed.”

“I won’t be disturbed.”

“No, I doubt if anything could disturb you at the moment. I’ll go to the nearest inn and see if I can find you shoes and a gown to wear on the journey back to Cambaron.”

Coventry had added touches of humor to a few of the panels. Papa had not told her.… What had Jordan said? “That would be pleasant.”

“Or perhaps you’d prefer to wear sackcloth and ashes?”

The blues were magnificent but, dear heaven, those reds.… “Whatever you like.”

She was vaguely aware of him shaking his head and then the sound of his receding footsteps.

How had Coventry attained that astonishing shade of red?

J ordan came to the West Window to fetch her when the last light had faded from the sky. He took one look at her feverishly bright eyes and dazed face and led her quietly from the Minster to a nearby inn. She was scarcely aware of him thrusting a bundle of clothes at her.

Blues and reds.

Opaque and clear.

Light.

Above all. Light.

He lifted her into the carriage a short time later and settled himself onto the seat next to her. “I take it you had a successful day?”

“They’ll last forever, you know,” she said softly.

“They’ve lasted a long time already.”

“You can burn a great painting. You can topple a statue, but those windows were meant to last forever.”

“If fools like Nebrov don’t meddle with them.” He frowned. “Your cheeks are flushed. How do you feel?”

“The light…”

“I had George bring a basket of fruit. Can you eat?”

She felt as if she would never eat again. She was full, brimming with hues. “I feel like a pane of glass, as if you can see through me, and yet I have textures.…” She shook her head. “I feel…most peculiar. Is there something wrong with me?”

He chuckled. “I believe you’re drunk.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t be. I’ve had no wine.”

“There are more dangerous forms of drunkenness than those derived from the grape.” He pulled her against his shoulder. “Rest. I’ll be kinder to you in your infirmity than you were to me in mine.”

She stiffened against him. She vaguely remembered that there was a reason she must resist this intimacy, but it was hard to recall. She relaxed against him.

He had given her the Minster. He had given her that wonder.

“Try to go to sleep. I doubt if you did more than doze on the way here.”

“I was very angry with you.”

“I know.”

“Why did you do this?”

“There’s no accounting for the whims of fools or drunkards.”

“It was not a whim.”

“If you don’t wish to believe it, I certainly won’t insist. I need all available credit for good works to balance the other side of the scales.”

“It…was very kind of you.”

“You must tell that to Gregor. It might save me from severe physical punishment.”

He would not be serious. Had he done it because of the window she had crafted of his mother? She had known he had been moved by it.

Oh, she did not know why he had done such a wonderful thing for her. It did not matter. He had given her the Minster.

“Did you see the blues?”

“Yes.” He stroked her hair. “Though I admit I saw the entire picture and failed to take each facet apart.”

“It’s hard to do in a work of that detail.”

“Was it better than your grandmother’s Window to Heaven?”

“No. Grandmother’s work is better, but she was never permitted to work on so grand a scale. Seventy-six feet…”

“I think you’d better stop thinking about the Minster, or you’ll never get to sleep. What happens after the cutline?”

“What?”

“You once told me how you prepared the final sketch for cutting. What comes next?”

She had not thought he had paid any heed to her words that night in the tower. All she could remember was shimmering sensuality and his soft voice in the darkness. There was darkness now also, and his voice was just as soft, but now there was comfort, not danger.

“I cut the pieces of glass with either a grozing iron or a wheel cutter. After that I grind the top colored layer from the glass with powdered stone.”

“And then?”

“You don’t wish to hear this,” she said impatiently. “It can be of no possible interest to you.”

“Since I’m to live indefinitely with a hole in my roof, I think I’m entitled to test your knowledge.”

He would not know whether she was correct or not. She indulged him anyway. He had given her the Minster. “I attach the pieces of glass to an easel with melted beeswax and paint the lead lines. Then I check for light and flow through the glass.” She yawned and realized she was growing drowsy. The excitement of Coventry’s work was gradually being dampened by the details of the process itself. “I paint the glass and then apply silver stain to the white glass. I fire the glass in a kiln to set the color and then link the pieces and hold them in place with lead strips and cement.”

“And that’s what Coventry did?”

“It’s what we all do.”

“And much more besides.” She realized he had guessed she had simplified and left out the more complicated problems and processes. “Will you let me watch you someday?”

A ripple of unease went through her. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s mine.”

“That’s why I want to watch you.”

She shook her head and then burrowed against his shoulder. “I wish to go to sleep now.”

“You wish to run away now,” he corrected. He hesitated and then said ruefully, “Go to sleep. My halo’s shining so brightly, I choose not to tarnish it at the moment.”

G regor was waiting with a closed carriage four miles from Cambaron.

He stepped into the road, stopped George with a wave of his huge arms, and opened the carriage door. His gaze raked Marianna’s face. “Are you well?”

She nodded, smiling luminously. “I’ve been to the Minster.”

His expression softened. “Dorothy told me. She was most upset, but at least Jordan had the courtesy to inform someone.”

“Did you break down the door?” Jordan asked.

“Of course.” He grinned. “As quietly as possible.” He lifted Marianna down to the ground. “And that is how we must get Marianna back into the castle. I’ll take her ahead and slip her in through the scullery and up the backstairs to her room. You wait here for an hour and then show yourself.”

“You’ve concocted a story for me, no doubt?”

“Southwick. It was unbearably hot, you were drunk, and you decided you wanted to go for a sail on the Seastorm. When you woke up, you found yourself halfway up the coast.” He shrugged. “Considering your comparative tameness in latter years, it’s not entirely believable. But the people who remember you as the Duke of Diamonds will not doubt it.”

The Duke of Diamonds. Dorothy had told Marianna something regarding that title.… She had no time to think about it; Gregor was propelling her toward the closed carriage.

“You will make sure George keeps silent in the servant hall,” he called over his shoulder to Jordan.

“He’ll be silent.”

“Wait.” Marianna stopped and turned to face Jordan. “I thank you.”

He shrugged. “There’s nothing for which to thank me. I told you it was only a drunken whim.” He climbed back into the carriage. “Get her to her room, Gregor. It’s going to be very boring waiting here.”

She didn’t speak for a few minutes after Gregor’s carriage had whisked them away. “It wasn’t a whim, Gregor.”

“Probably not.”

“He was very kind to me.”

“Yes, he can be kind.”

She made a helpless motion with one hand. “I don’t understand him.”

He didn’t answer; he merely reached across and gently patted her hand.

He thought she needed comfort. Well, perhaps she did. She had come closer to Jordan during this journey than she had deemed possible. She had seen him drunk and angry, indulgent and protective.

And he had given her the Minster.

How could she fight him when he did things of that nature?

Yet she must fight him.

She must perfect her craft and make plans on how to accomplish the task her mother had given her. Every day that she gave to Cambaron, she must give an hour to the Jedalar.

It would be the only way that she could keep her feet planted firmly on the ground in this bewildering world ruled by Jordan Draken.

September 6, 1811 Lost Coin Inn Southwick, England

N ebrov would be pleased.

Marcus Costain tossed the note he had received from Cambaron into the flames of the fireplace and watched as the paper curled and blackened. Of course, the information regarding the girl’s growing skill could be faulty. His spy at Cambaron was no judge of such things. Still, she might now be good enough to suit His Grace’s purpose, and that was all that was important. Nebrov’s correspondence had grown increasingly caustic and impatient of late. Napoleon was looking eastward, and he wanted a bargaining tool.

What did the man expect of him? he thought sourly. These years of waiting had not been pleasant for him either. Nebrov had not wanted him to take any chance of Draken knowing Costain was watching the girl, and he had been forced to rely on reports from a paid informant while sitting in this boring hovel of a seaport. These English had no liking for foreigners and had made his stay as difficult as possible. He would make someone pay for all the indignities he had suffered here.

Thank God, this exile might finally be coming to a close.

He sat down at the table, picked up his pen, and began to write what might be his final report to Nebrov.