Jonathan must have seen it, too, for he stepped forward as if to come between them, but Marjorie could have told him that playing the overprotective guardian was pointless.
This is what I’ve longed for, she thought, basking in the count’s admiration like a plant in a sunlit window. I will never go back to living in seclusion.
Chapter 7
Jonathan had lived on the American frontier for a long time, a place where a woman’s romantic interest—the kind that wasn’t paid for, anyway—was hard to come by. Nonetheless, he’d been the recipient of such interest often enough to recognize it when he saw it. And he saw it now, on Marjorie’s face as she looked at the Count de la Rosa.
He stared at the innocent beauty he’d sworn to look after, and as she bestowed a dazzling smile on the other man, Jonathan’s hackles rose and warning prickled along his spine. When her cheeks flushed pink and her gloved hand lifted to touch the side of her neck in a fluttering, feminine gesture, he knew damn well what it meant, though he could not for the life of him understand how the count could inspire her attraction.
He glanced at the count, baffled that any girl with sense would be attracted to this blackguard. De la Rosa was staring at Marjorie, his full-lipped, too-red mouth curved in an answering smile that told Jonathan at once what the fellow was thinking.
His own lip curled in instinctive response, and from his throat came a sound that he’d never made in his life before, a low, deep, almost primal snarl.
Unfortunately, Marjorie and her pestilential admirer didn’t seem to hear it, though he wasn’t sure if that was because of the noise of the crowd eddying around them or because they were too fascinated with each other to notice anything else. Either way, he knew this little tête-à-tête had to be cut off before it could blossom into a romance.
The baroness introduced Jonathan, forcing de la Rosa’s attention away from Marjorie, at least for the moment. After bowing to the contessa, Jonathan turned toward her son, his body tensing, and as they faced each other, he felt rather as if they were duelists en garde.
“Comte,” he said, inclining his head a fraction, the briefest acknowledgement civility allowed, his gaze locked with the other man’s. “Delighted.”
His voice made it clear he was anything but, and much to his satisfaction, the count’s dark gaze faltered and slid away. Just then, the notes of a bugle sounded, indicating that dinner was about to be served, thereby saving them both from any pretense of civil conversation.
“Ah, dinner,” Jonathan said, injecting a joviality into his voice he didn’t feel in the least. “We’d best go in. A pleasure to meet you both.” He gave another slight bow, then turned to the woman beside him. “Marjorie?”
He offered his arm, and she took it, though the wry look she gave him made it clear she was aware of the undercurrent of tension, a tension Jonathan soon learned was not destined to be relieved by the evening meal, at least not as far as he was concerned.
As they took their places at the long center table reserved for the captain and his guests, he discovered, much to his chagrin, that Marjorie was seated beside the count, the baroness on her other side, while his own seat was across the table and several places farther down, making it impossible for him to hear their conversation or intervene in it should the need arise. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, he could see the count’s smarmy face every time he looked up from his plate.
The man was a jackal, ready to pounce on Marjorie the moment Jonathan’s back was turned. It would be well within his character to attempt to get her alone, to tempt her to secret assignations, perhaps even to compromise her. There would soon be other jackals circling as well, and his ward seemed to have no inclination whatsoever to keep any of them at bay. Making things worse, his ability to watch over her was limited, and the baroness could not be relied upon to assist him.
Really, he thought in aggravation, if Marjorie was going to hire herself a chaperone, couldn’t she have at least hired a competent and trustworthy one?
But that sort of chaperone, he supposed grimly, might get in her way.
I am going to laugh and dance and enjoy myself . . . and I don’t give a damn if any of that breaks rules of propriety, offends society, or inconveniences you.
As her words of earlier came back to him, he looked past the baroness, scanning the remaining faces along that side of the table in a desperate search for help, but it was a useless effort, for of course he recognized no one. He needed allies aboard ship, but where was he going to find any?
“Mr. Deverill? Jonathan Deverill?”
He turned at the sound of his name. Standing by his chair was the elderly countess Marjorie and the baroness had been discussing earlier, and he rose to his feet at once.
“I am Lady Stansbury,” she said as she waved him back down and settled herself into the seat beside him. “It isn’t quite the thing to introduce oneself, I know, but . . .” She paused, gesturing to her place card. “It seems we are to be dinner companions this evening, so I hope you won’t mind.”
“Not at all, Countess,” he answered, rather glad of the distraction.
“I’m more familiar with your family than you might realize. I know the duchess, your sister, quite well. We’re neighbors.” She smiled in the face of his surprise. “Chalton, the Earl of Stansbury’s estate, is not far from Ravenwood, the Duke of Torquil’s ducal seat.”
“Indeed?” Jonathan studied the countess, noting her firm mouth and imperious eyes, and he realized the solution to his problem might very well be sitting right here beside him.
The count, Marjorie was delighted to discover, was every bit as charming as the baroness had claimed. He made a point of signaling for the waiter whenever her wineglass was empty, even blotting wine from her fingertips with his own napkin when several drops of the claret being poured spilled over her hand.
Having been cut off from any sort of male company for most of her existence, Marjorie couldn’t help being both flattered and thrilled by the count’s assiduous attentions, especially since he proved a most entertaining dinner companion.
One mention of his family vineyards in Spain, which were not near Cádiz at all but Córdoba, and she was captivated. As he told stories of his Continental lifestyle, so different and so much more exciting than her own life had been, she couldn’t help hanging on every word.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was such a treat to look at. Jonathan thought the man a “bounder,” and though she wasn’t certain just what that British term meant, it was clear her guardian hadn’t intended it to be a compliment. But regardless of what Jonathan thought of it, Marjorie was as happy as the next girl to bask in the attentions of a man with flashing dark eyes, a dazzling smile, and impeccable manners.
Sadly, such delights never lasted as long as one might wish. The dessert course had just been cleared away when the men began rising to depart for the smoking room, and Marjorie found her guardian at her elbow, hovering like a black cloud about to dump rain on a picnic. Even worse, he had company.
“Miss McGann,” he said, gesturing to the gray-haired Englishwoman by his side as Marjorie and her companions stood up. “The Countess of Stansbury has expressed the desire to make your acquaintance.”
“Lady Stansbury,” she murmured, glancing at Jonathan as she offered a curtsy. “You two know each other?”
“We didn’t, but then we found ourselves seated side by side at dinner,” the countess explained, “and discovered we have acquaintances in common. The Duke and Duchess of Torquil are my neighbors in Hampshire. I also know Mr. Deverill’s other sister, Lady Galbraith, and their grandmother, too. So, Mr. Deverill and I were able to have a most pleasant chat over dinner. Baroness,” she added coolly, giving the woman beside Marjorie a brief nod before turning to the count. “De la Rosa,” she greeted him, her manner growing even colder. “I thought you were still on the Riviera.”
He bowed. “I had a fancy to see New York, Lady Stansbury. Now, I go to London.”
“Indeed? How lovely.” With that polite, dismissive remark, she returned her attention to Marjorie. “Miss McGann, please allow me to offer you my sympathies on the death of your father.”
Without warning, a lump formed in Marjorie’s throat, a reaction she didn’t understand at all, and she forced herself to say something. “Thank you, Lady Stansbury.”
“I was devastated to learn of your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Why, yes. Losing your only relation, going into mourning . . .” She paused, one gray eyebrow lifting in well-bred censure as she glanced over Marjorie’s gown. “This must be such a difficult time for you. Not, I fear, a good time to be without help and guidance.”
The one difficulty with her situation as far as she could see was her interfering guardian, but Marjorie didn’t say so. “Thank you, ma’am,” she murmured, “but I’m managing well enough.”
“Of course you are. But Miss McGann, let me reassure you that you are not alone in this awful time.”
“That is true,” Baroness Vasiliev put in. “Dear Marjorie has me to look out for her.”
“Yes,” Lady Stansbury drawled, managing to insert a wealth of skepticism into the word. “Quite so. But Mr. Deverill has asked for my assistance as well.”
Marjorie stiffened in alarm. “He has?”
“Yes, indeed. I have many friends aboard, and we shall see to it that you are chaperoned at all times.” She beamed complacently at Marjorie. “By the time our voyage is over, we shall be the best of friends, I’m sure.”
Oh, that impossible man.
“How nice,” she said, forcing a happy note into her voice even as she turned to give Jonathan a scathing glance over her shoulder.
It was wasted on him, however, for he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Lady Stansbury, but there was a tiny smile curving the edges of his mouth that told her he knew quite well how she felt at this moment.
“Forgive me, ladies,” he said with a bow, “but with Marjorie in your capable hands, I shall adjourn with the other gentlemen to the smoking room for a glass of port. Count? Shall you join me?”
De la Rosa shook his head. “No, thank you. I do not care for port. I prefer to remain with the ladies.”
“Of course you do,” Jonathan murmured, and it struck Marjorie with force just how accomplished the British were at making the most innocuous words sound like an insult.
A provoking smile still hovering on his lips, Jonathan bowed and turned away to join the other men filing up the grand staircase to head for the smoking room.
Marjorie watched him go through narrowed eyes, hoping he could feel the daggerlike stare she was giving his back, but somehow, she doubted it. Daggers couldn’t penetrate granite rock.
All in all, Jonathan was satisfied with his arrangements. Lady Stansbury had been sympathetic over his partner’s death, appalled that the girl had no one but Baroness Vasiliev to chaperone her until they reached London, and happy to tell him just how inappropriate the other woman was as chaperone for an impressionable young woman.
“Charity ball, my eye,” the countess had said with a disdainful sniff. “She and her friends intended to pocket most of that money for themselves, Mr. Deverill, don’t tell me otherwise.”
Jonathan, who’d already formed a similar theory about the incident the baroness had related, had possessed no desire to contradict her. Instead, he’d expressed the proper amount of astonishment at the countess’s information, concluded with sad resignation that the baroness’s connection to his sister the duchess must have been exaggerated, and expressed his abject shame at having been deceived.
Lady Stansbury had forgiven him for his lapse as a guardian. As a mere man, he’d been told, he couldn’t be expected to watch over a young lady, especially not one who’d been subjected to American notions of good society. Their dinner together had concluded quite satisfactorily, and now, with Marjorie in the care of the right sort of chaperone and a glass of excellent vintage port at his elbow, Jonathan began to feel his worries were at bay.
That thought had barely floated across his mind before a flash of scarlet caught his eye, and Jonathan looked up to find Baroness Vasiliev passing the open doorway of the smoking room, her steps hurried as she walked along the promenade deck.
Jonathan frowned as she passed out of his line of vision. It didn’t matter to him that she was neglecting her duty, since he knew Lady Stansbury was sticking to Marjorie like glue, but he was curious. Where was the baroness going?
As if in answer to his unspoken question, the Count de la Rosa walked by, his steps every bit as quick and furtive as the baroness’s had been.
Jonathan’s brows rose as de la Rosa passed the doorway and vanished from view. The baroness and the count engaged in a romantic rendezvous? Or perhaps, he thought, staring at the open doorway, something far more devious was in the wind, something that might involve his ward.
I’m such a suspicious devil, he thought as he downed the last of his port and stood up. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” he murmured to the other men at the table, “but I feel the need for some air.”
Bowing, he left the smoking room and slipped out to follow the count. De la Rosa was nowhere in sight, but Jonathan turned in the direction the other man had been heading, glancing into the various rooms that opened onto the promenade as he walked. He spied neither the count nor the baroness in the billiard room, the reading room, or the observation saloon, but when he rounded the bow, familiar voices came to his ear, and he paused, straining to listen.
The voices were low, coming from behind the stairway leading to the deck above, but though he could not hear what they were saying, he could discern that the voices did in fact belong to the people he was looking for.
Certain something devious was afoot, he had no compunction about eavesdropping on the pair, and he eased closer, moving softly so as not to be detected.
“I’ve introduced you to an heiress, just as you asked,” the baroness was saying as Jonathan paused again. “I even got you placed beside her at dinner.”
“An amazing accomplishment, Katya. I wonder how you managed it?”
“I sneaked into the dining room earlier when no one was there and rearranged the place cards,” the baroness answered and laughed. “Did you notice how I put that guardian of hers far, far down the table?”
“You are a woman in a thousand.”
“Flattery is all very well,” she murmured, “but it is not what you promised me.”
“Indeed.”
There was a brief silence, during which money no doubt changed hands, then the baroness said, “I hope you made the most of your opportunity?”
“These things always take time to arrange,” de la Rosa answered. “But yes, I believe the young lady is amenable to my company.”
Those words and the complacency in the man’s voice as he said them made Jonathan want to grind his teeth, but he refrained. Instead, he leaned closer.
“If your intent is to win the girl’s hand in marriage, you’ve got a long way to go,” she replied. “She may be innocent, but she is not a fool.”
“My dear Katya,” de la Rosa said, sounding amused, “you do not have to tell me how to deal with women.”
“Perhaps not, but in any case, she is not your greatest problem,” the baroness said, her voice suddenly sharp. “It is her guardian and Lady Stansbury about whom you should worry.”
“Bah.” The count made a dismissive sound. “They can’t watch her every minute. I can easily persuade the girl to slip free if I choose.”
Not while I breathe air, Jonathan vowed.
“You are far too arrogant,” the baroness complained. “The girl is more intelligent than you give her credit for. As for her guardian, you underestimate him at your peril.”
Jonathan decided he’d heard enough and stepped around the staircase. “Indeed, he does, baroness,” he said, smiling with satisfaction as he watched the other man’s eyes widen in alarm. “Indeed, he does.”
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br /> Chapter 8
The nefarious pair stared at him for several seconds, clearly nonplussed. The Count de la Rosa recovered first.
“I believe eavesdropping on conversations is not considered comme il faut,” he said. “Even among the English.”
“Bad form, I agree,” Jonathan said with an air of cheer he didn’t feel in the least. “On the other hand, I’ve never been a man to be hampered by the niceties of etiquette.”
“That,” the count said coldly, “does not surprise me.”
“No?” Jonathan smiled. “Then we are both tediously predictable, it seems.”
The man had the gall to seem bewildered. “I do not take your meaning.”
“Comte de la Rosa, your dishonorable intentions toward my ward are clear as glass.”
“I?” de la Rosa gasped, pressing a hand to his breast, staring at Jonathan as if astonished. “Have dishonorable intentions toward a young lady? You misjudge me, sir.”
“Do I?”
The count assumed a pretense of haughty dignity. “I am willing to send my seconds to you, Monsieur Deverill, if that is what you desire.”
Jonathan laughed. “My dear count, there’s no need for such theatrics. Duels are quite passé nowadays. But I’m sure your tales of such exploits impress the ladies at dinner parties.”
“I am in earnest, sir.”
“I doubt it. But either way,” he went on before the other man could argue, “you aren’t worth the trouble of a duel. I must confess, however, that the idea of giving you a sound thrashing tempts me enormously.” He moved closer, grinning as the other man took a step back. “If I see you anywhere near Miss McGann again, I’ll do it, too, by God. Now go, before I forget I’m a gentleman.”
“The English are savages,” the count complained, but when Jonathan took another step toward him, he seemed to decide retreat was in order. “Baroness, I fear I must leave you.”
The count gave her a hasty bow, whirled around, and fled, almost running in his haste to be away. Laughing, Jonathan watched him go, but when he returned his attention to the baroness, his amusement faded, for she was attempting to follow the count’s example by escaping in the opposite direction.
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