Iris Johansen - The Beloved Scoundrel

She shook her head. “Papa loved to laugh. He said life was meant for laughter.”

“And not for work?” he asked caustically.

“He worked,” she protested. “He wrote beautiful poems. He would sit under the tree in the garden and write for hours.”

“While your mother labored to put bread on the table.”

“She didn’t mind. It suited them both very well.”

“And I’m sure you can’t wait to find your own handsome poet to lavish care and sustenance on.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if he was like Papa,” she said defiantly.

That answer didn’t seem to please him either. “What else did Papa do besides sit under the trees and write poems?”

“He gave me lessons. He taught me French and English and mathematics. He even tried to teach me to write poems like him, but I was never good at it. I didn’t have the gift.”

“But that didn’t matter because you had a gift for the glass and could support him in his old age.”

“You refuse to understand,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about Papa anymore.”

“Neither do I. It’s not succeeding anyway.”

“Succeeding in what?” she asked in exasperation.

He ignored the question and was silent a moment before he said abruptly, “I believe we’ll dispense with our chess games from now on.”

“Why?”

“I’m growing bored with them.” He smiled cynically. “Gregor will tell you that I grow bored with exceptional ease.”

She felt a queer pang she refused to admit was hurt. He had been a little strange, but she was sure he hadn’t been bored this afternoon. Yet how did she know? She couldn’t read him nearly as well as he did her. Perhaps he had been bored during their entire time together. She lifted her chin. “I certainly don’t wish to continue. I was growing bored with them also. I’ll be glad to spend more time with Alex.”

They had reached her cabin, and he opened the door and flung it open. He stood there looking into the darkness, his stance tense. It was almost as if he saw something waiting for him in the shadows.

“Jordan?”

He turned to look at her. She inhaled sharply as she saw his expression.

She moistened her lips. “Is… something wrong?”

“It could be.” His pale green eyes were glittering recklessly, his lips sensual. “But wrong is always the most wicked of delights, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I could teach you. It would be my-” He broke off as he saw her take an instinctive step back. He took a deep breath and whirled on his heel. “Good night.”

She watched him stride away. His dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his long stride was faintly animallike in its grace. She had thought she had begun to know him, but tonight he had been everything that was strange and bewildering and hurtful. She should be angry but instead felt bruised and a little afraid.

She was more fearful of Cambaron than she would admit to herself. She knew nothing of castles and dukes and this England her father had hated. Her world had been small and tight and loving, and now it seemed to be growing, yawning like a beast ready to swallow her.

Yet she would rather face a hundred Cambarons than the man who had turned on her tonight. She had thought she had armored herself against him. How had she let him come close enough to hurt her?

The four towers of Cambaron could be seen in the distance, the pennants flying over a massive gray stone castle that was far grander than the one Marianna had seen in Montavia. The place looked strong and cold and alien. The sun was shining brightly, but Marianna involuntarily drew her cloak closer about her.

“Do you see it?” Alex, who had been riding ahead with Gregor, came trotting back and reined in before her. “A castle, Marianna!”

She quickly hid her first reaction and said dryly, “It would be hard for me not to see it. Castles have a habit of being rather prominent.”

“Is it all right if I ride on ahead? Gregor is going to show me the stable.”

She nodded. “But be careful and keep that pony to a walk.”

“If that pony moved any slower, we’d have to bring Cambaron to her,” Jordan said. “We’ll have to get Alex something with a little more spirit once he’s had a few lessons.”

“I like this one.” Alex patted the pony’s neck. “What do you think I should name her?”

“It’s a great decision to make. Why don’t you think about it?”

“I will.” He turned the pony and trotted back to Gregor. “Hurry, Marianna!”

She didn’t look at Jordan as she said, “Go on ahead with them. I’m as awkward a rider as Alex. It’s foolish for you to let me keep you back.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. I’m not as eager to reach my ancestral home as your brother. I’ve never had any special fondness for it.” He smiled. “And besides, such an abandonment wouldn’t be in keeping with my duties as your guardian.”

“We both know that’s all nonsense.”

“Perhaps I’m clinging to that nonsense to keep me from indulging even greater foolishness.”

She didn’t even attempt to decipher the cryptic statement. She only wanted to rid herself of him. She was nervous enough about that castle in the distance, and since they had left the ship at Southwick this morning he had been a silent, provocative presence by her side. “Go on ahead,” she repeated. “You’ve made it quite clear my company bores you.” After that night of several days ago she had scarcely seen him except at meals. He had been courteous but totally withdrawn and spent his time with Gregor and the captain. Even Alex had received his share of attention.