Free The Beloved Scoundrel by Iris Johansen Page A

times she still has flashes of childhood.”
    Jordan had a vision of Marianna sitting across from him, her gaze on the chessboard as she asked him about Cambaron. She hadn’t wanted him to see her uncertainty and fear of the unknown but had been unable to keep herself from questioning him. She was so strong that when she did exhibit moments of weakness, it was all the more poignant and surprising.
    “She is looking very well, don’t you think?” Gregor took another long drink. “There’s a fine color in her cheeks, and she’s putting on weight. She’s going to be a beautiful woman one day.”
    “Yes.” It had been warm in the cabin, and she had rolled up the sleeves of the white gown to reveal arms that were sweetly rounded. Of late, her figure had taken on a certain fragile maturity, and her fair hair, though bound in the severe long braid, had shone with vitality.
    “She’s beginning to look like a woman, not the waif you found in Talenka,” Gregor said.
    Yet the fire that had illuminated that waif’s every movement was still present. Jordan became aware of Gregor’s intent study of his face and instantly made his expression impassive.
    “What the devil is this about?” Jordan looked him directly in the eyes. “It sounds remarkably like you want me to bed her.”
    “On the contrary, my friend, it is what I am most trying to avoid. It would be the worst possible thing for both of you.”
    “Then why are you extolling her attributes as if she were a slave on an auction block?”
    “Because you’ve already noticed them but refuse to think of them. That is dangerous.” Gregor smiled gently. “You are drawn to her, and if you do not admit it and put up barriers, a moment will come when you will reach out and take. You drift closer to it every day.”
    “Nonsense.”
    “Have you not been restless when you go to your bed each night?”
    “My dear Gregor, I’ve been without a woman since we left Kazan, and you know that’s not usual for me.”
    “When your dreams come, who is the woman beneath you?”
    “I don’t know. She has no face. It’s not her face that has my interest. For Lord’s sake, Gregor, simply because I’m full of lust doesn’t mean I’m going to leap on the first available female.”
    “It would be a mistake to do so. You would regret it.” Gregor’s expression was serious. “I have seen you kill men without a qualm, but to hurt her would eat at your soul.”
    “Not if she wanted it.” The quick words had tumbled out of nowhere, and he instantly wished he had bitten his tongue when he saw how quickly Gregor leaped on them.
    “Ah, you see?” Gregor nodded sadly. “You may not have realized it, but the desire is there. I know you can make women want you, but you must not make the attempt this time. These hours spent in your cabin are no longer wise.”
    “I disagree.” He stood up and moved toward thesideboard and poured himself a whiskey. “She’s growing more at ease with me every day. She’s gaining confidence.”
    “Which she will lose if you—”
    “I will
not
bed her,” Jordan said through his teeth.
    “And you do not wish to give up these hours with her. Have you considered that portends something even more dangerous for you?”
    “Good God, another alternative?”
    “Affection,” Gregor said softly. “You admire her, and where there is admiration, liking soon follows.”
    “I admire Napoleon’s intelligence and military capability, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to cut out his heart.”
    “It is not the same.”
    “I assure you, Gregor.” He turned and lifted his glass with a reckless smile. “Of the two alternatives, I would make sure I chose the first.”
    “Choose neither, and you will be better off.” He rose to his feet and lumbered toward the door. “I will see you at dinner. Think on what I’ve said.”
    “If I don’t, I’m sure you’ll repeat it,” he said dryly.
    “I’m sure also.” Gregor grinned over his shoulder.