The count stepped forward. “I am delighted to meet you, Miss McGann,” he said in a deep, languorous voice that seemed to bring with it all the warmth of his homeland.
He bent over her hand, and when his lips brushed her glove, Marjorie felt for the second time in her life the thrill that came from such masculine attentions, and when he straightened, that thrill grew stronger at the appreciation she saw in his black eyes.
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 thecontessa, 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.
