“So much for warnings.” He sighed and turned away. “I will have Niko bring Alex to you.”
“Are Niko and the other men going with us to England?”
“No, they return with Janus to Kazan.” He smiled. “So you will have only Jordan and me with whom to contend. Does not that make you happy?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but sauntered away immediately.
She lit the candle on the small table by the door and surveyed the tiny cabin. Its furnishings consisted only of a chest, a small bunk, and a washstand, but it was pristine. She was the only dirty object in the room, she thought wearily. She smelled of horse and was so grimy she doubted if she would be able to do more than remove the surface layer at that washstand.
Well, she would do what she could and ask about the possibility of a tub for a bath later. Cleansing herself would at least give her something else to think about besides the disturbing information Gregor had imparted.
Jordan watched Gregor as he strode down the dock toward him. The man could barely see over the stack of boxes and cloth wrapped bundles in his arms.
“Did you buy out all of Domajo?” Jordan asked dryly.
“How could I? Most of the shops were closed. I even had to persuade a few of the merchants to open their doors for me.”
Jordan had seen Gregor’s arts of persuasion. He started with a smile, but it usually ended with him knocking the door down. “I told you I wanted only enough for the journey. Domajo is hardly a center of fashion.”
“Marianna will not know that, and perhaps a pretty gown will raise her spirits. I wish I could have found more for her.” He balanced carefully as he strode up the gangplank. “What did Janus say?”
“What you would expect him to say. He wasn’t pleased.”
“The ravin will be even less so.”
“Unfortunate. I’m doing all that I can.”
“They know that,” Gregor said quietly. “It will just be a disappointment. They worry about Napoleon. They’re afraid he will make his move too soon.”
“The whole world worries about Napoleon.”
“Do not bite at me when you want to bite at him.” He grinned. “Or I will knock you off this gangplank into the water as I would have done when you were a boy.”
Jordan smiled reluctantly. “No, you won’t. You wouldn’t wish to drop all those gauds you bought for your dove.”
“True. I would wait.” He shifted the packages. “There is the captain on the bridge. You should know I told him Marianna and Alex are your wards. You went to school with their father, who was killed in the war. His name was Justin Lawrence Sanders, and he was a poet.”
“Wards?” Jordan said, stunned.
“I could think of nothing else on the spur of the moment.” He frowned. “Though I admit casting you in the staid role of guardian is not very plausible.”
“Nor in the least realistic.”
“It will have to do.” Gregor’s jaw set stubbornly. “You may have to rob them of the Jedalar, but you must cause them no further hurt.”
Jordan’s lips thinned. “I have no intention of hurting them.”
“You could hurt them just by being who you are.”
“The Devil incarnate?” Jordan asked caustically.
“No, nothing so omnipotent. Merely the Duke of Diamonds.” Gregor grimaced. “But it is still enough to ruin any innocent who is seen with you.”
The Duke of Diamonds. The ridiculous title left a sour taste in his month. Christ, he could remember when the sobriquet had amused him, when he had even encouraged its use. But that had been at a time when he had embraced every pleasure and sexual excess with a recklessness that had made him a legend even at a court notorious for its debauchery. “I have no intention of being seen in company with this particular innocent.”
“You intend to shut her in a dungeon and let her out only when she can give you what you want?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said testily.
“Or you could leave her here. We could tell Niko to find her a place of safety. You said yourself that it is a gamble. She may never be capable of giving you the Jedalar.”
“It’s a gamble I intend to take.”
“Then we must do what is necessary for her well-being.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“I have already thought about it. She is your ward, and when we arrive at Cambaron, we will get her a maid to accompany her and…” He paused. “What do they call them… an abigail?”
“Good God, a chaperon?”
“Of course, and then we can all live in peace and tranquillity.” He shot him a sly look. “And your sudden virtue will redeem you in the eyes of the dowagers at Bath.”
“I would have to become a monk to accomplish that feat.”
“It is true they consider you lost to sin, but anything is possible.” The captain was coming down the steps from the bridge, and Gregor said quickly, “It is only a small thing. It will do you no harm to protect the girl.”
“What if she doesn’t want to be protected?”
“She will accede to anything for the sake of the boy.”
That was true enough. The girl had demonstrated she would walk through fire to safeguard Alex. “I still don’t like it.”
“I know,” Gregor said. “And I think it is not because it will make you a favorite among the dowagers. You do not want her protected. Why?”
“She’s a hostage of war.” He smiled cynically. “It’s going to be difficult enough winning what I want from her. Why should I let you strengthen her position when I prefer her vulnerable?”
Gregor’s gaze searched his face, and then he slowly shook his head. “I do not think that is the complete reason. You may want her weak and vulnerable, but-”
“I didn’t say weak,” Jordan said sharply.
“No, that would be a blasphemy in one so strong and bold,” Gregor murmured. “Ah, and you admire strength. It attracts you like a glowing fire. Perhaps you want to-”
“I want you to stop making surmises that have no basis in fact.” Jordan turned and walked toward the captain.
“I will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast,” Gregor called after him, and then added even more loudly, “I must take these packages to your poor wards.”
He had made sure the captain heard his words, Jordan thought with annoyance. Whether he liked it or not, Gregor was trying to make sure his dove was settled safely in the niche he had placed her.
CHAPTER 3
The 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
