The Beloved Scoundrel

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.”

She 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?”