The Jedalar.

He met her gaze and nodded. “You could agree to give it to me,” he said softly. “We could work together. It would be a good deal easier for you.”

“No, it wouldn’t. That would be true only if our goals were the same.” She started up the steps. “Good journey.”

“Your chaperon will arrive this afternoon,” he called after her.

She turned to look at him. “Chaperon?”

“Gregor suggested we hire a maid to act as your abigail, but I decided we need a more intimidating barrier between us.” He grimaced. “As I find no one more intimidating than Cousin Dorothy, I sent for her.”

“I will not have a chaperon. Merciful heavens, aren’t there enough people at Cambaron?”

“You will think there are when Cousin Dorothy arrives.” He snapped the reins, and the horses sprang forward. “Good luck.”

“Cousin Dorothy?” Gregor was coming down the steps toward her. “What is this about Cousin Dorothy?”

She watched Jordan drive through the gates. “She is coming here to be my chaperon. He sent for her. Who is Cousin Dorothy?”

“Lady Dorothy Kinmar of Dorchester. Jordan’s second cousin.” A sudden smile lit his face. “This is good. Jordan has always found her a very difficult woman.”

“It is not good. I don’t need a chaperon. Why won’t anyone listen to me? All I want to do is work.”

“No one needs a chaperon as much as you, and Cousin Dorothy will do splendidly.” He patted her shoulder. “Do not worry. I think you will like her. She has a tongue like an asp but a kind heart. She also has great learning for a woman. They call her a…” He frowned, searching for the word. “Bluestocking.”

“I don’t care what they call her. When she gets here, send her home.”

He shook his head. “If you want it done, do it yourself.” He grinned. “But be sure I’m here to see it. It should be very interesting.”

CHAPTER 6

Where is she?” The words, boomed out by a voice that was a feminine counterpart of Gregor’s, bounced off the arched ceiling of the hall. “I want to take a look at her.”

“Cousin Dorothy,” Gregor murmured. He gestured for Marianna to precede him out of the study. “Let us hasten and send her on her way.”

The strapping woman standing in the hall must be near her thirtieth year, towered over six feet and exuded a tremendously forceful air. She was dressed in a fashionable purple silk gown that flattered her pale complexion and rich brown-red hair. A small hat decorated with purple flowers perched over her broad forehead and accented rather than concealed the mass of hair caught back in a sleek bun. She was not a comely woman, but her brown eyes sparkled with vitality, and her spine was rod straight, her carriage magnificent. She wheeled to face Gregor and Marianna as they came into the hall. “Good day, Gregor.” Her gaze shifted to Marianna. “This is the girl?”

“I am Marianna Sanders, my lady.”

“Gadzooks, no wonder Jordan risked sending for me.” Her glance ran over Marianna from head to toe. “Exquisite. How old is she?”

“Sixteen,” Gregor said.

“And how long has she been under his roof?”

“A week at Cambaron.”

“And before that?”

“We brought her from Montavia.”

Dorothy Kinmar groaned. “And he expects me to set this aright? There is bound to be gossip.”

“He has supreme confidence in you.”

Marianna was tired of them talking over her head. “I do not need a chaperon. It is kind of you to come, but I think you must go back to-”

“Be quiet, girl.” Dorothy nibbled at her lower lip. “It is possible, but it will take all my considerable intellect.”

“I will not be quiet,” Marianna said. She had enough of this. She drew up herself to her full height, but she was still pitifully little in comparison with this giantess. “And I think you rude to suggest it. I do not need you, I will not have you, and there’s the end of it.” She turned on her heel and quickly climbed the staircase. She heard Gregor’s chuckle and was aware of the woman’s startled gaze on the middle of her back until she passed from view.

A few moments later she slammed the door of the tower room and hurried over to the table. A feeling of peace immediately surged through her, quieting the anger. This was her world. She was safe here, and she would not let them take her away from it. First, Gregor with his dratted lessons, and now this female dragon who looked at her as if she was a clump of dirt left by the chimney sweep.

“You do need me, you know.”

She stiffened, her gaze flying to the doorway. Dorothy Kinmar came into the room and closed the door. She glanced around the barren tower. “This is quite nice.”

Marianna stared at her in disbelief.

“Well, don’t you think it is?”

“Yes,” she said. “But everyone else thinks it’s a desolate place.”

“You do not wish comfort when you’re bidding the muse to come to you. I have a room that is similar to this in my house in Dorchester where I do my writing.” She smiled. “Though I confess I do pamper myself with a fire.”

Her smile was surprisingly sweet, illuminating her bold features with warmth. Marianna’s lips reluctantly curved in response. “I do dress warmly. You write?”

“I’ve written several books dealing with the shameful lack of freedom given women in our society.” She added proudly, “And Mary Wollstonecraft herself did me the honor of writing me a letter of praise on one of my earlier volumes.”

She was obviously supposed to know the identity of this Mary Wollstonecraft. “How pleasant.”