The Beloved Scoundrel

“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 decolletage. 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 decolletage. “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.”