The Beloved Scoundrel

  “Excellent.” Marianna smiled. “Then the work is good. Let’s hope the guests tonight will think my dome of flowers is equally realistic.” Her smile faded and became wistful. “I almost wish I could be there to see it.”

  “You see it every day. You’ve been working on the dome for almost three years.”

  “It’s not the same. I’ve been imagining how it would be with all the dancers … they’d look like flowers themselves swaying beneath it.” She knew the dream was impossible. Young girls still in the schoolroom did not attend balls, and she had become resigned to the idea that she remain the eternal child, if Alex was to remain safe from the hurtful gibes. She had been kept away from society as much as possible during these last three years, but she had found Dorothy’s and Gregor’s assessment of the shallow cruelty of the ton more than accurate. Only Dorothy’s position and bold intervention had kept the poison from touching them. She tried to smile. “Oh well, you can tell me about it tomorrow.” She held up the panel to the light and shook her head. “This won’t do. It’s not good enough.”

  “It’s very pretty,” he protested.

  “It’s common. I’ll use the one I did last month.” She raised her voice. “Robert!”

  When the young footman came running, she handed him the panel. “Put it in the storeroom in the stable and fetch me the jasmine panel from the tower.”

  “Jasmine?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “The white flowers.”

  He nodded and set off on the errand at a fast trot.

  “You have enough discarded panels in that storeroom to grace every window at Prinny’s palace at Brighton,” Gregor commented.

  She shrugged. “I may use them someday. Are the torches ready?”

  “Of course.”

  “What if it rains?” she asked in sudden panic. “Or snows? It snowed yesterday. Why couldn’t it be an afternoon party? The dome would be much lovelier in sunlight.”

  “Because Jordan invited everyone for a ball tonight,” Gregor said patiently.

  “And then doesn’t even bother to come until the last minute.”

  “He’s been in Sweden for the past two months. He returned to London only two days ago.”

  Marianna knew that but she did not feel like being reasonable. “I’m surprised he didn’t bring the crown prince with him if he found him so entertaining. Or perhaps it was that crown princess Desiree. Dorothy says she’s very charming.”

  “It was the crown prince.” His eyes twinkled. “And I don’t believe even Aphrodite would keep Jordan in that cold country if he didn’t think it necessary.”

  “If he doesn’t like the cold, why tell Dorothy he wants a ball in the middle of winter?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “How do I know what he is thinking? He comes, he goes. He does exactly what he pleases. He has no—”

  “I told him your dome was finished. He wished to honor your work.”

  She felt the heat in her cheeks as her gaze flew to Gregor’s face. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “He has great pride in your work.”

  “He never told me,” she whispered.

  “Haven’t you noticed he has difficulty talking about anything he feels deeply about? Does he not let you have your way in all things to do with Cambaron?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat of the sudden tightness. He was proud of her. She had pleased him. The thought meant too much, and she had to make light of it. “But he came close to missing this fine ball he’s giving to honor my work.”

  “I know you regard it as only a small matter, but he was trying to convince Sweden to repudiate Napoleon and join in the Alliance.”

  Then it would probably come to pass, she thought. During the past three years she had caught brief glimpses of a Jordan Draken who was entirely different from the man she had met in Montavia and the man who came so rarely to Cambaron. The brilliant, complex man who hopscotched over Europe and manipulated events to suit himself was an enigma to her. Gregor had told her it had been Jordan who had convinced Napoleon’s trusted General Barvoir to betray the emperor and come over to the Alliance. He had also hinted that the failure of the banks of Lyons that had almost caused France’s economic collapse last year could also be laid at the duke’s door. She suppressed a shiver as she thought of the single-minded obsessiveness that would engineer such destruction.

  “Why does he hate Napoleon so much?”

  Gregor shrugged. “Many people in England hate Napoleon.”

  He was evading her. “Why does he hate him?” she repeated.

  Gregor hesitated and then said, “You are right. Jordan’s hatred is entirely personal. He is threatening Jordan’s possessions, and that is not permitted.”

  She frowned, puzzled. “Possessions in Kazan?”

  “And here at Cambaron.”

  “He cares nothing for Cambaron.”

  “Because he denies any affection? I thought you saw more clearly than to believe him.”

  Who could see deeply into Jordan when he was always armored? “You are saying he lies.”

  “I am saying he hates above all things the idea of being chained by affection and so will not admit it even to himself. To Jordan such an admission has always been linked to possession, and he has always regarded that as a danger.”

  “Why?”

  “What he has is his forever. It becomes a passion, an obsession. Jordan knows he must protect Kazan and Cambaron to the death because his nature will let him do nothing less. Napoleon is a threat that will be removed.” He turned away. “I must ask Dorothy if she needs my help. She is crazed by all these preparations.”

  She did not want him to leave when she was receiving answers to questions that had tantalized her for years. “Gregor, how is—”

  He had already left the room. He always walked away either physically or mentally if he did not wish to answer questions. In truth, perhaps he had told her more this time than she wanted to hear.

  The picture he had drawn of Jordan’s relentless obsession for protecting his own was chilling. A man who would attempt to topple an empire to bring down one man would not cavil over doing anything to gain his ends.

  Gregor had not really told her why Jordan had chosen dead winter for this ball, she remembered with a sense of foreboding, and there had been that odd instant of hesitation in him when she had asked. Gregor may have spoken truth regarding Jordan’s pride in her work, but this ball could also mean something else entirely. She had been growing increasingly uneasy this past year. Events were moving too quickly; everyone knew Napoleon was preparing to attack Russia. The clock may have run out for her, and this ball was the final chiming of their period of tranquillity.

  Well, she had known this time would come. She had even prepared for it. She should begin to think of leaving Cambaron.

  No, not yet. Perhaps there was no need to hurry. Jordan was evidently having extraordinary success in his attempts to undermine Napoleon, and he might not even need the Jedalar to accomplish his purpose. Her work was going well. Alex was happy here.

  She was happy here.

  She did not want to leave Gregor and Dorothy. She had grown accustomed to this place. Jordan might not have any sentiment for Cambaron, but to her it was now as much home as the cottage where she had been born.

  Besides, the stained-glass dome was an accomplishment she wanted to share. She wanted to see Jordan’s face when he saw what she had given to Cambaron. After the ball, after Jordan came, she would think about leaving.

  After Jordan came.

  Come upstairs with me, Gregor.” Jordan tossed his hat and riding gloves to a footman and strode toward the steps. “I must dress. If I’m late for this ball, Dorothy will throw me out in the snow.”

  “Yes, she will.” Gregor followed him. “And I will help her. The guests are already arriving. You could have come earlier. It’s not kind to—”

  “Nebrov is in Poland meeting in secret with Napoleon.”

  Gregor stopped
on the stairs. “You’re sure?”

  “Janus sent me a message in Stockholm.”

  “Does he know the content of the meetings?”

  “We can guess, can’t we? He wants Napoleon to throw him Montavia and Kazan when he marches on Russia. The question being what prize has he got with which to bargain?”

  Gregor started up the stairs again. “You think he’s found another way to get the Jedalar?”

  “I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I was told that the only one who knew the Jedalar was the craftsman who created it. I don’t even know how Nebrov found out about its existence. Maybe he knows something else we don’t.”

  “Or maybe he’s merely trying to convince Napoleon what a trusted ally he’d be.”

  “I told Janus to watch Nebrov and send me word if he learned anything else. I don’t want you to let Alex out of your sight for the next few months.”

  Gregor shook his head. “We’ve kept close watch. No stranger has come near Cambaron in the past three years without us knowing about it. Nebrov could not know they are here.”

  “I hope not.” He shrugged. “There may be no danger. I just want to be sure we’re not taken by surprise.”

  “We won’t be.” Gregor opened the door and strode into the bedchamber. “How was Sweden?”

  “Cold.” He took off his riding coat and threw it on the bed. “And successful. Napoleon will find he no longer has an ally in Sweden. Bernadotte will ally with Russia in case of invasion.”

  Gregor took his favorite seat in the corner facing the stained-glass window portraying Jordan’s mother. “There’s no doubt of the invasion, it’s only a matter of when, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He rang for his valet as he pulled at the folds of his cravat. “And it will be soon.” He met Gregor’s gaze in the mirror. “We’ve run out of time. I don’t know how long it will take her to create the Jedalar. I can’t wait any longer.”

  Gregor stiffened. “The Alliance could defeat Napoleon without the Jedalar. You said everything was going well.”

  “Napoleon has the greatest army of his career ready to march on Russia. If Russia falls, then there’s a good chance Kazan will also fall. I won’t take that chance.” He jerked open his shirt. “I’ll use any means at my disposal to prevent that from happening. I’ll give her one more chance, but I can’t afford to be patient any longer.”

  Gregor was silent and then said quietly, “Do you expect me to argue with you? Kazan must not fall.” He stood up and moved toward the door. “But do not hurt her tonight. She has worked for three long years making that dome of flowers, and I’ve persuaded Dorothy to let her come to the ball to see it. Let her be happy.”

  The door closed silently behind him, but his words echoed in Jordan’s mind.

  Do not hurt her tonight.

  A picture of Marianna came back to him as he had last seen her four months ago: childlike, innocent, eager.

  His fist crashed down on the dressing table.

  Goddammit!

  Sit still,” Dorothy said sternly. “I have to tie this ribbon in your hair.”

  “Why bother? No one is going to look at me when they can look at my dome.” Marianna laughed excitedly. She felt so light and full of joy that she could have floated to the ceiling. “No one is going to look at anyone else. They’re just going to dance and stare up at my beautiful windows.”

  “Then they’ll have the most horrendous cricks in their necks. There!” Dorothy took a step back and appraised the white ribbon binding up the silky golden fall of Marianna’s hair. “That looks properly Grecian. Now for the gown.” She went to the armoire. “White, as is proper for a pure young lady of fashion.”

  “White, again?” Marianna made a face. “I’ve worn nothing but white for the past three years.”

  “This is a different white.” She pulled out a simple high-waisted gown with a low, round décolletage. The material was of shimmering beaded silk that appeared more silver than white in the glow of the candles.

  “It’s beautiful,” Marianna breathed. She reached out and tentatively touched the fabric and found it smooth and cool as window glass in winter. “But I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Because Madam Bradshaw just finished it yesterday.”

  Marianna turned to look at Dorothy. “You expected me to attend the ball?”

  “Of course,” Dorothy said gruffly. “Gregor and I decided it would not be just to keep you from seeing your triumph. Besides, you could not remain fifteen forever. I’ve already heard a few suspicious comments. It was time you made a few discreet appearances as a young lady.” She unbuttoned Marianna’s loose gown and let it drop to the floor. “Though I fear we’ll have to whisk you away to London or Dorchester after tonight.”

  “No!” The instinctive rejection revealed just how irresolute had been Marianna’s decision to leave Cambaron.

  “We’ll talk of it tomorrow.” Dorothy dropped the beaded gown over Marianna’s head. “If you’d consent to use Mary’s services, I wouldn’t need to play the abigail.” She buttoned the back of the gown. “It’s most damaging to my consequence.”

  “I can do it myself. I need no—” She stopped as she caught sight of herself in the cheval mirror. Her eyes widened. “I look …”

  “Yes, you do.” Dorothy sighed. “And I will definitely have to take you to Dorchester tomorrow. No one in their senses would believe Jordan would live in the same house as that woman and not seduce her.”

  That woman.

  She was so accustomed to seeing the image of childhood projected by the loose gowns and braids that when she looked in the mirror, she was surprised to notice how her body had changed, rounded over the years. Her breasts, brimming over the fashionably low neckline, appeared almost voluptuous.

  She shied away from the word. Titian’s ladies were voluptuous, she was merely a trifle … full. “Is the neckline too low?”

  “It’s quite modest.” Dorothy frowned. “I thought.” She handed her a pair of long gloves. “Perhaps these will help.”

  Marianna made a face as she drew on the gloves. “I feel smothered.”

  Dorothy’s gaze was still on the low décolletage. “You don’t look smothered.” She turned away. “And gloves are entirely de rigueur. You will no longer be permitted out of Cambaron’s walls without them.”

  “Then I shall never leave the castle. I’m much happier in my workroom anyway.” She whirled away from the mirror and hugged Dorothy. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You and Gregor are so kind. It’s such a lovely surprise.”

  “But you still prefer workrooms to balls.”

  “Not this ball. This is … different.”

  Dorothy kissed her on the forehead and cleared her throat before proceeding to give her instructions. “You will not dance that shocking new waltz. Even at a country ball that would not be permitted without sanction. You must be all that’s shy and retiring. I’ll stay by your side all evening, but the way you look tonight even a formidable bear leader like myself may not be sufficient to lend you countenance.”

  “Bear leader?”

  “A spinster without a prayer,” Dorothy said ruefully. “Or so I’ve heard myself described.”

  A surge of anger tore through Marianna. “If you’re a spinster, it’s because you choose to be. You’re fine and beautiful, and you have a mind that half those men in the ballroom tonight would envy. They should not—”

  “Hush.” Dorothy’s hand covered Marianna’s lips. “I’m not embittered. I accept that men do not find me attractive. It’s partially my own fault. I could have made a fine marriage. I have a respectable competence, and it would be considered a great coup for any man to be connected with the duke of Cambaron. I chose the path of strength, and gentlemen prefer women to be weak and accommodating. I could not bear it.” She took a vial of perfume and dabbed a few drops on the pulse in Marianna’s throat. “Roses. Isn’t the scent fitting for your flower dome?”

  “Very fitting.”

  “
Now, smile, or I shall not let you go down and see their faces as they view your work.”

  Marianna’s spirits rose as she thought of that wonderful prospect. She whirled toward the door. “I’ll meet you on the landing. I have to show Alex how fine I look.” She smiled over her shoulder. “He won’t believe it’s me!”

  Men and women in elegant apparel crowded the hall, and Marianna could hear the strains of music from the ballroom.

  “Slowly,” Dorothy said as they started down the steps. “Let them see you.”

  “I don’t want them to see me. I want them to see the windows.”

  “And I want them to see you. You’re my handiwork and should be properly appreciated.”

  Marianna caught sight of Jordan just inside the open doors of the study across the hall. He was smiling down at Lady Carlisle. Now, she was as voluptuous as even Titian could have desired, Marianna thought with a familiar flicker of annoyance. The well-endowed Catherine Carlisle was only the latest in a seemingly endless parade of women in Jordan’s life. Marianna could not remember how many had succeeded the beautiful countess of Ralbon in Jordan’s bed.

  Yes, she could. She could remember every one. There was that enchanting red-haired Carolyn Dumark and then Helen Jakbar and then Elizabeth Van—

  Jordan closed the doors of the study.

  “Stop frowning,” Dorothy admonished.

  “Is that also forbidden by the ton?” But Dorothy was right. What did she care if Jordan chose to indulge his carnal appetites with that woman? This was a night for joy, and she would not allow anything or anyone to spoil it. “I don’t see Gregor.”

  “He was going to supervise the lighting of the torches.”

  “I should be doing that.”

  “Not in that gown. Climbing around rooftops is definitely not acceptable behavior.”

  Marianna frowned uneasily. “They’re looking at me.”

  “They certainly are. Perhaps a bit too much.” Dorothy paused at the bottom of the steps before taking Marianna’s elbow and nudging her toward the ballroom. “Come along. You’re better off lost in the crush.” She searched the throng and finally made a selection. “There’s Sir Timothy Sheridan. You might find him companionable. He dabbles in poetry like your father, and he’s certainly a safe partner for the dance. He’ll only want to write a poem about your eyes and hair.”