The Beloved Scoundrel

sensation he was entering her, pervading her. She hurriedly took a step back and asked, “Where am I to sleep?”

He smiled. “Wherever you wish to sleep.” A burgundy-rich sensuality colored his voice.

“Then I wish to sleep in Dorothy’s house in Dorchester.”

He shook his head. “Not possible.” He indicated the staircase. “There are four bedchambers. Choose which one you like. I usually occupy the one at the end of the hall.”

She stared at him uncertainly.

“Did you think I was going to force you? I’m sorry to rob you of your first battle, but I have no taste for rape. I’m only furnishing a setting where we’ll be close, very close. I’ll let Fate and Nature do the rest.” He nodded to a door leading off the parlor. “Your workroom. I’ve furnished it with tools and glass and paint.”

“So that I can make you a Window to Heaven?” She smiled scornfully. “What are you going to do? Stand over me with a whip?”

“Whips aren’t the thing either. I wanted you to have something to amuse you. I knew you were accustomed to working, and I thought it would please you.”

She crossed the parlor and threw open the door to reveal a low-ceilinged room with exposed oak beams. She assumed the dark green velvet drapes covered a window. The room was not at all like her workroom in the tower.

But a long table occupied the center of the room and on that table were glass and tools and paints.

Relief soared through her, alleviating a little of the tension that had plagued her since they had left Cambaron.

Salvation. She could work.

“And you, in turn, will amuse me.” He gestured to the large, thronelike high-backed chair in the far corner. “I know you were reluctant three years ago to let me watch you at your craft, but circumstances have changed.”

“Nothing has changed.” She strode over to the window and jerked back the curtains to let light pour into the room, then went to the table and examined the tools. “I’ll ignore you now, as I would have then.”

“You wouldn’t have ignored me,” he said softly. “If I hadn’t been a soft fool, you would have been in my bed before a week had passed. Perhaps that very night.”

She whirled on him. “No!”

“Yes.”

“You would have forced me?”

“No force would have been necessary.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m not Lady Carlisle or that- I’m not like them.”

“No, you’re not like them. You’re far more alive, and that’s where both temptation and pleasure lie. From the beginning you’ve known what’s between us as well as I have.” He looked into her eyes. “You want me as much as I want you.”

His tone was without a hint of doubt, and his certainty sent a jab of sharp uneasiness through her. “It’s not true,” she whispered.

“It is true.” His tone roughened. “Every time I was with another woman, I wanted it to be you. Sometimes I pretended it was you. Wasn’t it the same with you? Didn’t you ever wonder what it would be like to-”

“No!”

“I think you did. Perhaps you didn’t admit it to yourself, but weren’t there moments when you woke in the middle of the night, and you would catch yourself-”

“I told you, no.” She moistened her lips. “And I suppose you think if you seduce me, I’ll be as weak as those other women and give you the Jedalar.”

“It would simplify matters enormously. Perhaps I even told myself seduction might be a tool of persuasion. Gregor would say I have a tendency to lie to myself to justify taking what I want.” He smiled crookedly. “But you would have come to my bed whether or not there was a chance of convincing you to give me the Jedalar. I couldn’t have waited any longer. It was like kindling a fire and deliberately keeping it too low to warm you. I’ve grown damned cold in the last three years.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

It was a lie. She didn’t want him in the way those other women did. It was true he had always exerted a fascination for her, but that didn’t mean she was-

She would not think about it.

She crossed to the window and stared out at the stable yard. Jordan was undoing the saddlebags on the packhorse, and as she watched, he turned and spoke to one of the men standing in the deep shadow of the stable. The man hurried forward to help, but Jordan waved him away. His dark hair shone in the cold winter sunlight, and his face was lit by the faint smile that was so familiar. She knew his body as well as his face, the lean, loose-limbed grace, the deceptively lazy way he moved.

But she did not know it the way Catherine Carlisle did.

She did not want to know it in that way, she thought desperately. Yet why had there been those times when she had awakened in the middle of the night with those shockingly sensual visions? How terrible that he had guessed that sinful weakness. It made her feel as if she had no place to hide.

Well, she must be stronger than she’d been in the past and distance herself from him. If she did not show him weakness, then he would see that bringing her here would gain him nothing.

You’ve been in that bedchamber all afternoon,” Jordan called through the bedroom door. “Come out and have your supper.”

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to go to bed.”

“You will eat,” he said pleasantly. “If you prefer, I’d be delighted to bring in your meal and serve it to you in bed.”

She opened the door.

She had seldom seen him garbed so informally. He was without a coat or cravat, dressed only in Hessian boots, a loose white shirt, and black buckskin breeches that clung to his hips, thighs, and calves.

“What a disappointment. I thought I was to receive an unexpected gift.” He gestured for her to proceed him. “Instead, I suppose we’ll have supper before the fire while we talk.”

“We’ve already talked. I see no reason for further discussion.”

“No, that was merely a breaking of the proverbial ice.” He followed her down the steps. “I find seduction is impossible without speech. Now, I realize what a handsome rascal I am, but it’s my eloquence that always carries the day.” He seated her at the table and sat down across from her. “I cooked this delicious repast myself. I know you’ll want to sample the results of my labors. Eat.”

She picked up the spoon, dipped it into the venison stew and tasted it. It was very good.

He was looking at her expectantly.

“It has too much salt.”

“Zounds!” He clutched his chest with both hands as if he had received a mortal blow. “An arrow in the heart.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps only in my self-love.”

Incredibly, a smile tugged at her lips before she could stifle it. She had seen that playful mockery in a hundred different situations over the years and had responded without thinking. It was clear habit was going to be an insidious enemy.

“Ah, you see.” He smiled at her. “Your situation is not so frightening. I’m still the same man. You’re merely seeing another side of me.”

“I’m not frightened.”

He ignored her protest. “You were frightened when you came to Cambaron, but now I think you have a fondness for it. To conquer fear, it’s only necessary to become familiar with the beast.”

“What an apt description,” she said coolly.

He chuckled with genuine amusement. “It is, isn’t it? Gregor claims my soul is part beast, part angel, and has been trying to shift the balance for years.” His smile faded. “He’s wrong about the angel, but I guarantee you’ll find the beast quite interesting. You have only to stroke him, and he’ll come and lay his head on your lap.”

Her gaze instinctively went to his thick dark hair, which was tied back in a queue. She had seen his hair loose about his shoulders but had never touched it. She quickly looked down at her stew. “That reminds me of a tale my