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.”
Gregor 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
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.
Nebrov 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.
CHAPTER 8
Don’t put it there!” Marianna rushed across the hall and took the narrow panel away from Gregor, who was striding toward the dining room. “I want it for a wall decoration to complement the flower dome in the ballroom.”
“You did not tell me,” Gregor said mildly. “You have these panels all over Cambaron.” He looked at the panel. “It is very pretty, but I thought you were tired of doing flowers.”
She shrugged. “Flowers are fine for a ballroom. They don’t mean anything but beauty, and people like to look at them.”
“Not like the tiger you did for the window in the hall.” Gregor grinned. “I caught a glimpse of it with the sunset behind it the other evening, and I would swear it was going to pounce on me.”
“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
“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
