The Beloved Scoundrel

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.”

***

The 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?”

Marianna’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