“Yes,” Gregor said. “A part of you, the part that was the decadent boy you were when I first came to Cambaron.”

“That boy is still very much a part of me.”

“But he is controlled by the man you are.”

“Is he?” He looked back at the stable. Control had little to do with what he wanted to do to and with Marianna. The more he held back, the more intense the lust, the more erotic the imagining. “Don’t count on it, Gregor.”

“I do count on it,” Gregor said serenely.

“Suppose I decide that it would be easier to make Marianna do what I want in regard to the Window if she’s trained to please me in other ways?”

“It would not be a fair decision, and you are a fair man.” Gregor started across the courtyard. “But I think it would be best if you visit Madam Carruthers as soon as possible. You have been without a woman too long.”

God knows, that was true. He had fully intended to slake that lust as soon as he reached Cambaron. He would go visit- Dammit, he did not want to visit Laura Carruthers with her lush body and the insatiable appetites he usually found amusing. The thought was not at all appealing.

And neither was the task he must perform now, he thought grimly. He must talk to the servants and pave the way for Marianna with Gregor’s lie, put her in a position where seduction was impossible.

No, not impossible, just more difficult. If he chose to circumvent the barriers, he could do it.

If he chose…

This is Mrs. Jenson.” Gregor smiled at the plump gray-haired woman. “She is most kind and will be glad to serve you in any way you wish. How are you, Jenny?”

“Very well, Mr. Damek.” She smiled. “Welcome to Cambaron, miss. We are all saddened to hear about your loss in that heathen country.”

The woman was curtsying to her.

Heat flooded Marianna’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said weakly.

“And where is the poor bereaved lad?”

She must mean Alex. “In… in the stable.”

“We couldn’t get him to leave the horses. William will care for him and bring him a little later,” Gregor said.

“Yes, William Stoneham’s a good man.” She curtsied again to Marianna. “His Grace has instructed me to take you straight to your chamber. Will you come with me?” She did not wait for an answer but moved brusquely across the hall toward the wide stone staircase that appeared to stretch to heaven.

The housekeeper’s words echoed hollowly off the high arched ceiling of the hall. Marianna carefully avoided looking around her as she followed the housekeeper up the steps. She had already had too much to absorb in the two hours she had been here. Cambaron was more a kingdom than an estate with its magnificent stables and carriage barns and now this dark cavern of a castle. There were more men and women here to serve one man than there had been in the entire village of Samda.

Mrs. Jenson said, “I’ve assigned Mary as your maid. She’s young but very willing.”

Maid? She cast Gregor a wild glance, and he smiled reassuringly. “Perhaps we will let Miss Sanders serve herself for a time. She is shy of strangers.”

“But she must have-” Mrs. Jenson’s glance encountered Marianna’s, and she smiled gently. “Of course, it will take time to overcome the memories of such a terrible ordeal.” She proceeded up the stairs. “In the meantime you must only give a tug to the bellpull, and someone will come.”

She would rather jump from the top of this gigantic staircase than pull that bell, Marianna thought fervently. She wanted only to hide in her chamber and close everyone out until she could become used to the vastness of this huge place.

They were now going down a long, dim hall lined on either side with portraits of all sizes and descriptions. “These pictures are of His Grace’s family,” Mrs. Jenson said as she noticed Marianna’s interest. She pointed to one large painting of a bearded man in hip boots and a jerkin that was puffed at his hips. “That was Randolph Percival Draken, the fifth Duke of Cambaron. He was a great favorite of Queen Elizabeth. She stayed here several times, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” But she wasn’t surprised. Elizabeth and her entire court would probably have scarcely been noticed in a castle of this size.

“And that is his lady.” She pointed to a small, daintily formed woman in a gold-encrusted gown and a wide pleated ruff encircling her neck. “The duchess was considered one of the most beautiful woman of her day.”

The woman she had indicated was pleasant-looking, with a pouty mouth, wide blue eyes, and tightly curled golden hair. “She’s very- Who is that?”

The housekeeper’s gaze followed Marianna’s to the portrait a few feet down the hall. “Oh, that’s His Grace’s mother. It was painted a year after she came to Cambaron.”

Marianna stepped closer to the portrait, searching for a likeness to Jordan. Even in the dim light, the full-bodied woman in the picture seemed to glow with life. Her shining black hair was darker and curlier than her son’s and pulled back from her face by two emerald clips. Her eyes were the same green and tilted slightly at the corners. Tartar blood, Marianna remembered, Jordan had said his mother had Tartar blood. She wore a full-skirted green velvet gown that flattered her tall, strong figure, but the garment somehow seemed wrong. The woman should have been wearing something else…

“She was a foreign lady, a very foreign lady,” Mrs. Jenson said reservedly, then looked at Gregor apologetically. “I beg pardon, sir, I know she was one of your people, but she was not like you. She was more like His Grace when he was a bit younger.”

“She was only seventeen herself when this was painted.” A faint smile curved Gregor’s lips as he stood looking at the portrait. “And you are right, she was just as wild as Jordan and just as compelling of affection.”

“Some found her so.” It was clear the housekeeper had not.

“She was from Kazan?” Marianna asked.

Mrs. Jenson nodded. “None of us had ever heard of the place. She was attending a school in Paris, and His Grace’s father brought her back to England with him when he came home from his grand tour. There was a good deal of talk about the duke marrying beneath him.”

“Everyone in Kazan thought the same thing,” Gregor said. “She was a noblewoman of Kazan and therefore higher in estate than any Englishman. I assure you, that if she hadn’t eloped, she would never have been permitted to marry Draken.”

Mrs. Jenson looked faintly shocked. “Not permitted to wed His Grace? I can’t believe that, sir.”

“You were here when she came?” Marianna asked. “You remember her?”

“Oh yes, she’s not a woman one forgets,” Mrs. Jenson said without inflection. “In the three years she was here before her death things were most unsettled.”

“She means Ana liked her own way and would move heaven or earth to get it,” Gregor said with a grin. “She probably turned the castle upside down.”

“Most unsettled,” Mrs. Jenson murmured as she moved down the hall. “But His Grace’s father was heartbroken when she died.” She threw open a door at the far end of the corridor. “This is the Blue Room. The little lad’s room is just down the hall. I hope this will be suitable?”

The large room was as dark and overpowering as the rest of the castle. All the furniture, from the enormous four-poster bed, draped in dark blue velvet, to the armoire against the wall, were crafted of gleaming ebony mahogany. A large desk with massive curving legs occupied the space directly in front of a long, narrow window that permitted only a weak strip of light.

Marianna felt a burst of homesickness as she remembered her small room at home. It had been filled with light that had streamed radiantly through the stained-glass rainbow panel Grandmama had created for her tenth birthday. Everyone should have a rainbow, Grandmama had said, so they would remember the storms of life do not last. Every morning Marianna would wake on her narrow cot and open her eyes to color and light and beauty.

Suitable? She could feel her chest tighten until she could scarcely breathe. She would smother in this room.

“Marianna?” Gregor prompted gently.

She swallowed. “Quite suitable.” She tried to think of something appealing about the room. Clean. The chamber was as spotless as her cabin on the Seastorm. “I wonder, could I possibly have a bath, Mrs. Jenson?”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Jenson beamed. “I’ll have a tub brought up at once. Are you sure that you don’t want Mary to come and-”

“Jenny, why don’t you go downstairs and wait for William to bring the boy?” Gregor asked quickly.

Mrs. Jenson nodded, curtsied again, and left the room.

“Is she always going to do that?” Marianna asked as she unfastened her cloak.

“Curtsy? Probably. Jenny was trained from childhood to show respect and obedience to all and sundry.”

“I don’t like it.”

“She would be unhappy if you asked her to stop. You’ll become accustomed to it.” Gregor added gently, “You’ll become accustomed to everything, Marianna.”

“I know… It’s just that it…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s very warm in here, isn’t it?”

“Your cheeks are certainly flushed.” He entered the chamber and stepped aside for her to enter. “I think you’ll find this room comfortable. If you need anything else, you have only to ask Jordan. His wish is for you to be happy here.” He nodded at the oak armoire across the room. “Perhaps you’ll find a few gowns in there that will serve you until a dressmaker comes down from London.”

“Dressmaker?” She turned to look at him. “Can’t we find someone in the village to furnish me with a few gowns?”

“I told you, Jordan wishes you to be happy. In his experience ladies require a certain standard of elegance to be happy.”