The Lion's Daughter (Scoundrels 1)

“Ah, yes. Without you.” He turned around. “Seduced and abandoned, that’s what you thought—along with heaven knows what else. I don’t especially want to know what else. The morning after, as I said. It’s tomorrow, Esme.”

The ominous tone in his voice sent a chill through her. Instinctively, she pulled the bedclothes up to her chest.

“Of course it is tomorrow. There is no need to make it sound like Judgment Day.”

“Is that what it sounds like to you? How interesting. Because it is, in a way. For you, that is.”

Varian leaned back against the window frame and folded his arms across his chest. His face was expressionless as stone, his voice cool and clipped. “I woke early this morning. Among other concerns, I wondered where Percival had got to. I found him downstairs with Qeriba and learned it was he who saved our lives.”

Qeriba. In this house. Esme gazed at the bedclothes in despair.

“Your loyal friends were determined I should have no assistance whatsoever, not even that of my own escort,” Varian went on. “They were convinced I was Beelzebub, apparently. Luckily, Percival disobeyed my orders and was on the spot to reassure them. Unluckily, they refused to trust a translator. Your cousin was obliged to explain our situation in Albanian.”

Imagining her poor cousin struggling with an unfamiliar language while surrounded by a crowd of hostile strangers, Esme winced. “He is a very brave boy. He saved not only us but all my friends as well. All would have punished them cruelly if you had drowned.”

“Percival didn’t know,” Varian continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “that in Albanian, the word for ‘friend’ can also mean ‘spouse,’ just as the word for ‘man’ can mean ‘husband.’ He thought he was telling them I was a good man, a friend, and that you’d run away because of a misunderstanding. What your friends heard was that you’d run away from your husband. That’s why, after rescuing us, they left us to sort out our differences in the time-honored fashion of wedded couples.”

Esme tried to read his expression, but he gave her nothing. She raised her chin. “It was a simple mistake. Everyone will understand when it is explained, besides, it can be no secret that I shared your tent many times. If you are worried that my cousin will be shamed by such a thing,” she went on stiffly, “then you can leave me here. I never wished to go to Corfu, as I have told you countless times.”

Varian’s expression chilled. “I hoped that is not why you ordered me to ruin you, Esme.”

“I did not order you!” But that was a lie. She had insisted. Demanded. Her entire body burned with shame.

“I told you no didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“But you wouldn’t listen.” He approached the bed. “I’ve warned you repeatedly. I begged you last night. You had only to say “no.” But you wouldn’t. You know the sort of man I am. A girl as clever as you must have known the instant you clapped eyes on me. You were clever enough, certainly, to manipulate me in other ways. And you’d sense enough to encourage me to believe you were a child. Regrettably, that is about all the sense of self-preservation you’ve demonstrated.”

He heaved a great sigh and sat down upon the bed.

Esme knew well enough how badly she’d behaved. All the same, she did feel it was unkind of him to add his sarcastic reproaches to what was rapidly becoming the most humiliating morning of her life. But as she surreptitiously studied him, her conscience gave a painful jab.

Now that he was near, she saw he was not nearly so composed as he’d appeared. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his skin was unusually pale. He looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink.

“You are upset about last night,” she said. It was a stupid, awkward thing to say, but it was out as soon as she thought it. “I am—I am sorry it was—it is not pleasant for you to think about.”

Varian turned his gaze full upon her, his face still blank. “Not pleasant?”

Esme looked away. “I didn’t realize—oh, I wasn’t thinking, or maybe I would have realized that—that it could not be pleasurable with an ignorant girl. I could not understand why you kept wanting to stop. I was not thinking how wearisome it must be for you. Worse after swimming across the harbor and nearly drowning, too. But it is all of a piece, isn’t it?” she said sadly. “I made you go through the swamps and up and down the mountains and endure all the filth and vermin and—”

“Esme, are you quite well?” he asked in a queer, strangled voice.

“I am much better than I deserve,” she muttered. “I deserve to be shot. I should not be allowed among civilized people. I belong in the mountains, with the wild beasts.”

He cleared his throat. “I did indicate the day of reckoning had arrived, my dear. I had something a bit more drastic in mind, however.”

Her eyes opened very wide. She’d not meant to be taken literally. “M-more drastic?”

“You may well look frightened, Esme. It’s about time you did.” He pried her hand from the blanket and clasped it firmly between his. “Miss Brentmor, like it or not, you are going to do me the very great honor of becoming Lady Edenmont.”

Esme stared blindly at her trapped hand. “What?”

“My wife,” he said. “Marriage. You can’t seduce me and expect to get away scot-free.”

She tried without success to extricate her hand. “Varian, this is not amusing.”

“The knell of doom rarely is.”

“You talk nonsense,” she said. “It is a spiteful joke to get even, because you are angry with me. Or else you lied to me about Ali. Or else...”

Esme paused as another, far more disquieting possibility came to her. “Oh, Varian, it cannot be because I was a maiden. Surely I was not the first—” She stopped dead then, because he stiffened. A shadow crossed his features.

“I am not yet thirty years old,” he said. “I’d not yet got round to ravishing virgins. Not that I blame you for believing otherwise.”

“It does not matter,” she said quickly. “You cannot be so foolish as to tie yourself to a female on that account. You said you would not wed for a thousand pounds, yet you will do so because of a small piece of flesh? That makes no sense. How many girls lose their maidenheads by accident? It may happen on a horse or in a host of ways. I do not understand why nature created such a thing at all. It only makes trouble.”

Varian shook his head. “I might have known. Esme logic, that’s what it is. I should not have lef

t you this morning. I should not have given you one instant to think. I knew you’d need looking after. But so did other people—and I’ve not had much practice looking after anybody.”

“I do not need—”

“Yes, you do. Come here.” He released her hand.

“Where?”

“Where do you think? Where would your lover want you but in his arms?”

“You are not my—”

“Yes, I am. Stop being silly, Esme. Hajde. “

He was her lover—or had been—and in any case, she could no more resist his invitation than night could resist the sunrise. Sheepishly, she crept onto his lap. His arms tightened possessively about her, and her heart gave a mad leap of relief. She buried her face in his coat.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” His voice was gentler.

“Yes.”

“Because we’re excessively infatuated with each other, aren’t we?”

“Yes. At least I am, Varian,” she mumbled to the wool.

“That is why we made love,” he said. “I did not find it wearisome. My only trouble was guilt. I am very fond of you. You make me insane, but that’s simply part of it. I did not want to dishonor you. You’re brave and strong and beautiful, and a great many of my countrymen will fall head over ears in love with you. If I’d left you untouched, you could marry one of them. I had good intentions, you see. Unfortunately, those were no match for my lust and selfishness—and when you wouldn’t say ‘no,’ you quite finished them. I want you to understand that you’re a little to blame in this, Esme. I’ve not much honor left to me, but I would have heeded a no...I hope.”

She drew back to look at him. “Of course you would. Why do you think I would not say it? And do not talk of a little blame. I am sure I would have tried to kill you if you had refused me.”

“Then perhaps you’ll understand why I shall kill you if you refuse to wed me.”

Esme closed her eyes. Every time she had tried to run away from him, she’d felt so wretched she wanted to die. But to tie him to her in the eyes of all the world and God Himself?

She was a rude, ungovernable hoyden, he an English lord…and a libertine. His nature could not tolerate the shackles of marriage. And when his desire for her faded—as it must—he’d abandon her, in spirit if not in fact. His gaze would turn cold, disgusted…How would she bear it? Better, far better, to break away now.