The Beloved Scoundrel Read Free Page B

her head, her gaze clinging to his.
    He could see she wanted desperately to be convinced. All he had to do was say the words she wanted to hear. He tried to decide the best way to proceed. Persuading women to do as he wanted them to do had never been a problem for him. He had learned to charm and beguile before he left the nursery. Yet he was curiously reluctant to lie to this big-eyed waif. “You’re quite right. I’ve never been known to follow the path of duty. I’ve always found it an abysmal bore.” He continued crisply. “Very well, I do have a reason for wanting to help you, but I have no intention of divulging it at present. If you want to come with me, then you’ll do so on my terms. You’ll agree to obey me without question, and in return I’ll promise that there will be food and shelter and protection for both of you as long as you’re under my care. If you choose not to come, then you can stay here in these ruins and let your brother starve to death.”
    He turned and started back up the aisle. It was a gamble. He had no intention of leaving her here even if it meant abducting her, but it would be simpler if she made the decision.
    “Wait.”
    He stopped but didn’t turn around. “You’re coming with me?”
    “Yes.” She moved brusquely forward ahead of him. “I’ll go with you.” She added quickly, “Fornow. But Alex stays in the garden until I’m sure it’s safe. I’ll take food and blankets to him.”
    “As you like. But you’d better make up your mind quickly. I intend to leave this town by sunrise.”
    “That’s too soon,” she said, panic-stricken.
    “Sunrise,” he repeated. “What did the boy call you? Marianna?”
    “Marianna Sanders.”
    “Sanders.” He opened the heavy door for her. “That’s not a Montavian name.”
    “My father was English.” She slanted him a glance. “Like you.”
    He recalled his outburst of profanity when he had seen the broken window. “And your mother?”
    She looked away from him. “Montavian.” She asked quickly, “Why is an Englishman in Montavia?”
    “Because he wants to be,” he said mockingly. “You’ve not asked me my name. I’m hurt you have so little interest when we’re to be fast companions.”
    “Well, what is it?” she said impatiently.
    He bowed. “Jordan Draken. At your service.”
    A sharp gust of wind struck them as they started down the steps, and she frowned. “It’s getting colder. I need that blanket for Alex. I can’t leave him out there without—”
    “Ah, Jordan, you were in the church so long, I thought you were taking holy vows,” a voice boomed.
    M arianna stopped short on the steps as she saw the huge man coming toward them. She had thought Jordan Draken was tall, but this was a bear of man, towering almost seven feet.
    The giant threw back his head, and his laugh again boomed out. “I should have known you would have found a woman to amuse you even in this deserted hovel.” As he drew closer, the moonlight revealed a face as intimidating as his great bulk. He must be near his fortieth year, and his face reflected evidence that those years had been spent in violence. His nose had been broken, and his gray-streaked black hair was a wild, tousled tangle framing cheekbones that looked as if they had been chipped from a mountain. A jagged white scar curved from his left eye, across his cheek to the corner of his mouth.
    “Easy,” Draken said quietly. “It’s only Gregor. He won’t hurt you.”
    How did she know that? she wondered wildly. She looked beyond the giant to the men who sat astride their horses at the foot of the steps. There were at least fifteen of them, several bearing flaming torches, and they all looked as wild as this Gregor. They wore black fur hats and strange, quilted bulky tunics trimmed with fox fur and sheepskin, their wide trousers tucked into high leather boots that reached their knees. Rifles were holstered on their saddles, and each man wore a huge sword at his hip.