The vehemence in Daniel’s voice surprised him. He’d never thought of Daniel as having dreams or hopes or disappointments. The Irishman had always been ready with a joke or a humorous tale, never letting on that he might want more than what he had. Griff had always been so focused on his own plans that he hadn’t considered what Daniel might be planning—besides the aim to gain enough money to build his own concern, that is. But then, Griff understood that goal. It had been his own.
He tried another tack. “You seem to be laboring under the impression that Rosalind would marry me if I asked. She’d made it very clear she wouldn’t, not even to save Swan Park. Apparently, none of the daughters is amenable to their father’s plan, least of all Rosalind. She seems to find my character faulty.”
“You mean, my character, since she thinks I’m you.”
“I mean both our characters. She despises Mr. Brennan because of his smuggling past, which she considers akin to thievery. And she despises Mr. Knighton because he used what she considers unscrupulous means to gain his fortune. I couldn’t succeed with her in either incarnation.”
“Ballocks. If you courted her, she’d marry you. I noticed how she looked at you, too. She wants you. It would take no effort at all for you to bed her, and then she’d marry you willingly. No woman wants to be left ruined.”
He groaned at the erotic images Daniel’s words brought instantly to mind. Bedding her would indeed take no effort. He wanted her so badly he could scarce think of anything else.
“Just marry her,” Daniel went on,” get the papers, and be done with it so we can go home. I’m tired of this bloody farce. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
Damnation, the man would force him to explain everything. Unfortunately, the explanation would not sit well with Daniel—especially if he felt as kindly toward the Swanlea daughters as it appeared. But it was clear that if Griff didn’t provide an explanation, he’d soon lose Daniel’s help anyway.
With a curse, Griff turned and strode to the window. He surveyed the estate that would be his, and sooner than Daniel yet realized. “If I marry Lady Rosalind,” he said quietly, “Swanlea’s ‘proof’ will be of little use to me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not proof that I’m the heir to the Earl of Swanlea.” He faced Daniel grimly. “It’s proof that I am the rightful Earl of Swanlea.”
Daniel’s jaw dropped. “What the devil are you talking about? You can’t be the earl unless your father…” He trailed off with a look of shock.
“Was the earl. Or the heir presumptive.” A bitter laugh boiled out of Griff. “Why do you think Father amassed so many debts when I was young? Because he was a fool with money? No. He was supposed to inherit the title and Swan Park from the fourth Earl of Swanlea, the current earl’s predecessor. Father expected to pay off his debts with that inheritance. But Father died before the fourth earl, so when the fourth earl died, the title and the property went to the next in line after my father. And long before then, it had been determined that I was not the next in line.”
“Because you were believed to be a bastard?”
“Not believed to be—proclaimed one legally. Shortly after I was born, Rosalind’s father went to court to prove that my parents weren’t married. He did it with the express purpose of ensuring that I couldn’t inherit. With no record of their marriage, it was easy enough for him to persuade the fourth earl—and then the courts when Father disputed it—that my parents had borne me in sin.”
Looking stunned, Daniel dropped his huge frame into the chair beside the writing table. “Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell.” He glanced up at Griff. “So you think that’s how the old man obtained the proof of their marriage? He stole it to achieve his aims?”
Scowling blackly, Griff leaned back against the windowsill. “I don’t know for certain. Swanlea visited my parents shortly after the place where my parents had registered at Gretna Green burned down. A few months after his visit, my father went to get their marriage certificate out of his desk and discovered it gone. Quite possibly it had been gone since the day of Swanlea’s visit. I suspect he saw the opportunity to cut me off and took it.”
“The villain! How could he treat your parents so ill? Your father was his cousin, for Christ’s sake! And from what he said, I gather they were all once friends.”
“He might have been a friend to my father once,” Griff said tightly, “but he was never friend to my mother. I doubt he would have associated with the lowly daughter of a theater manager in Stratford. The previous earl despised Father’s unequal alliance with her—that was what first provoked their elopement and later led the earl to believe Swanlea’s claims about my illegitimacy.”
With a frown, Daniel leaned forward to brace his elbows on the writing table. “ ’Tis very strange then. Swanlea told me this morning that he knew your mother. He even called her by her Christian name.”
“What?” Griff had always assumed she hadn’t known the man personally.
“Besides,” Daniel went on, “Swanlea married an actress himself, so he couldn’t have been so critical of theater folk as you think.”
Griff shook off the unease roiling in his belly. It didn’t matter if Swanlea had ever known Mother; the man was no less a scoundrel. Nor did it change Griff’s plans.
“In any case,” Griff said with an air of finality, “whatever he once was to my parents, he ended up their enemy. That’s why he wants me to marry one of his daughters before he’ll give me the proof: He thinks that if I get it in my hands without any strings attached, nothing will prevent me from having him stripped of his title and his family thrown off the estate he stole.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “I see. And is that what you intend?”
Griff stared him down. “In one respect. When I find that certificate, I fully intend to use it to strip Swanlea of the title that belongs to me. As soon as possible.”
Disapproval was stamped on Daniel’s face. “Aren’t you afraid of what society might think? What good is a bloody title to you if those whose influence you seek think ill of you for getting it?”
“Society won’t think ill of me, I assure you. Given the choice between championing a usurper or the wronged heir to a title, society will side with the wronged heir every time. It does not like to see its rules flouted.”
“What about Swanlea’s daughters?”
Swanlea’s daughters. Rosalind. Griff’s throat felt suddenly tight and raw. “What about them?”
“If you strip Swanlea of his title and property, they’ll share in his disgrace. And his poverty.”
A stab of guilt made Griff wince. “I don’t intend that, never did. I have no quarrel with the daughters.” Especially now that he’d met them. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill. “I’ll make sure they’re well provided for, give them dowries so they can find husbands.”
“But even if you provide for them, their lives will be ruined, tainted by scandal. Even money might not buy them husbands then.”
“They don’t want husbands anyway,” Griff snapped. “According to Rosalind, they choose to be spinsters.”
“You don’t believe that.”
I believe a woman—people—ought to marry for love. Griff shook off Rosalind’s wistful words. “They’ve never had much hope for marriage in any case, and my money will only improve that hope.”
“But why not just find the marriage certificate and wait until the old man dies? It can’t be long. Afterward you can have the legalities done quietly, inherit the estate and the title, and everyone will assume you weren’t a bastard after all. Then you won’t even have to worry about the girls. I’m sure their father has left them something.”
“I can’t wait until he dies—that might take years. I’ve seen plenty of men supposedly on their deathbeds go on to outlive their children.”
Daniel’s voice rose in outrage. “So it’s years—why do you care? Since when is a title or an estate so important to you? You have all the money you need, and Knigh
ton Trading is doing well.”
Griff recoiled. Though he’d expected Daniel’s reaction, he hadn’t expected it to bother him so much. “You don’t understand,” he ground out. “As soon as I become the Earl of Swanlea, I’ll be allowed into the House of Lords. I’ll be in the perfect position to put myself on that delegation to China. And that must be done before this year is out, or I lose my chance at it.”
Daniel stared at Griff as if seeing him for the first time. “So that’s what this is all about—your precious delegation and Knighton Trading.”
Damn the man for his self-righteousness. “Yes, Knighton Trading—the company that put you where you are, or have you forgotten? Without my company, you wouldn’t have a position. Nor would the other hundred or more people in my employ. You wouldn’t have a small fortune in that fund of yours, nor any chance at owning your own business. Disparage my methods all you want, but without them, where would you be?”
Daniel tilted his head up proudly. “I’ve never criticized your methods before this. I’ve never had to. But then, you’ve never set out to ruin four people for the sake of Knighton Trading.”
With an oath, Griff shoved away from the window. “That bastard ruined my entire family for the sake of this estate. At least I intend to look after his family; that’s more than he ever did for me.”
He paced angrily in front of the writing table. “Do you know what they used to call my mother at Eton when they thought I couldn’t hear? Knighton’s whore. I was Knighton’s bastard’ and she was ‘Knighton’s whore.’ My parents had another wedding after the scandal, but it didn’t change public opinion about her. Or me. After all, I’d been declared a bastard in the courts, before God and everyone.”
Striding up to the writing table, he planted his fists on it and glowered down at Daniel. “After Father died, do you think Swanlea came offering his help? No, indeed.” He talked past the pain tightening his throat, the pain he’d sworn would never infect him. “Now he wants me to marry his daughter for the proof that’s rightfully mine. What would you do? Marry her? Make it easy for him? Is that what you think I should do?”
“I don’t see how marrying his daughter would make it any easier for him. It wouldn’t prevent you from stripping him of his title. I know you want vengeance, but—”
“This is not about vengeance!”
Daniel regarded him with quiet accusation. “Isn’t it?”
“No!” He paced the floor again. “It’s about getting on that delegation. If I marry Rosalind, do you think she’d stand idly by while I humiliate her father publicly? While I make it even more difficult for her sisters to marry? Not Rosalind. She’ll fight me tooth and nail. As I said before, if I marry her, my parents’ marriage certificate is virtually useless to me. I couldn’t act on it without making an enemy of my wife.”
He leveled a solemn gaze on Daniel. “No, I’ll have that certificate without the daughter, just as I planned.” He couldn’t resist adding, with a hint of sarcasm, “And you’ll have your two hundred and fifty pounds.”
Like a bow strung taut, Daniel sprang to his feet. “I don’t want your money anymore. It was different when I thought you only wanted to prove your legitimacy. I didn’t blame you for that or for not wanting to marry for it. A man has a right to claim his property without having to marry. But this—” He broke off with a snort of disgust.
“Are you refusing to continue with the masquerade?” Griff snapped, his hands drawing into fists at his sides.
“I told you I’d do it and I will, but for a week and no more. That should give you ample time to find your bloody documents.” He strode for the door, then paused to look back at Griff, a strange disquiet in his features. “But it’ll be my last week in your employ, do you hear? Swanlea may be a villain, and having met him I can say for certain he’s an arse, but he’s old and he’s dying and he seems to want only one thing—to secure his daughters’ futures. Can’t say I blame him for that.”
Eyes darkening, Daniel laid his hand on the knob. “You, on the other hand, are willing to ruin them just to further your ambition. Well, there are some things even a highwayman’s bastard can’t stomach.”
The words haunted Griff for long hours after Daniel left.
Chapter 10
The mind naturally accommodates itself, even to the most ridiculous improprieties, if they occur frequently.
Fanny Burney, English novelist, diarist, and sometime playwright, Evelina
Griff was up to something. Rosalind knew it. But she couldn’t figure out what. Aside from a marked tension between him and his employer, she’d noticed nothing that might signal his intentions.
Her footman’s reports had been unrevealing, and going near Griff herself had become increasingly difficult. Whenever she attempted it, even in the company of others, he whispered the most outrageous things to her when no one else could hear. Allusions to plums abounded—the man had no imagination at all. Nor did it help that Juliet, completely misunderstanding Griff’s words on the terrace that day, now made a point of having plums at every meal. Plums that he ate only to torment her.
This morning she’d insisted on riding out with him and Mr. Knighton when John was required elsewhere. Griff had repaid her amply for it, especially once he’d discovered she didn’t ride sidesaddle. Every comment about riding had seemed to mean something naughtier. And he’d shown her just how well he could control a horse, for as they’d ridden he’d brushed his leg against hers several times with such precision that the horses never touched or shied.
But the worst had been when he’d helped her dismount. He’d held her waist much longer than necessary and remarked in a low voice that the sight of her astride was guaranteed to “fill his pockets.” It had taken her a second to recognize the allusion. To her shame, more than her cheeks had grown heated when she did so. As if sensing the warmth pooling low in her belly, he’d laughed heartily. The insolent scoundrel!
Now she sat near the billiard table at the east end of the long first-floor gallery that stretched between the two wings. Griff played against Juliet while Mr. Knighton lounged in a chair and cheered Juliet on. Rosalind had almost left them to it, reluctant to attract any more of Griff’s sly maneuvers, until she’d realized that he would thus achieve his purpose to drive her away. Her pride wouldn’t let him have even the smallest success in that aim.
The table was ancient, bought by Papa before she was even born. He and Mama used to play billiards—she remembered that, a sweet hazy image from when she was a little girl. Papa had laughed and teased Mama while Helena begged to be allowed to play, too, and protested that she was nearly nine, surely old enough to play billiards.
After Mama’s death, Papa had stopped using it. Rosalind could only suppose it brought back painful memories. But the three girls had all played billiards. What else was one to do in the long winter months when even books grew tedious, and there was no company to speak of? Unfortunately, after Helena’s illness she’d claimed she could no longer play, but Juliet and Rosalind still played often. Juliet hadn’t really mastered the game, but Rosalind was quite good, though she’d had no chance this afternoon to show her skill.
Unfortunately, watching Griff play was a torment—his smooth handling of the cue, the flex of his muscles as he bent over the table to shoot, his low laugh of triumph when he won. It spurred her imagination too dreadfully. Instead of gripping a cue stick, he was gripping her waist, and instead of bending over the table to shoot, he was bending over her body to kiss and fondle it. And his low laugh of triumph became a groan of need as he lowered himself…
Dear God, she thought, blushing violently. Why couldn’t she prevent these scandalous fancies playing repeatedly in her head? But she knew why. All his contradictions of background and speech and behavior fascinated her. One moment he seemed a gentleman, the next a rogue. Being unable to figure him out vexed her exceedingly.
Well, at least he wasn’t sneaking about the house anymore. Perhaps she’d imagined it all in the fir
st place. The night they’d met, might he really have been searching for cigars? And the next day, might his pride have been pricked when she’d insisted on staying with him, thus prompting him to try all those tactics to be rid of her?
It was possible, but it seemed unlikely. Still, why hadn’t he balked more at her restrictions? Although he did disappear into his bedchamber every afternoon to work, John stayed right outside his door. Another footman took the night watch. She would suspect the men of falling asleep at their post, except that she’d checked on them a few times, even late at night, and found them always vigilant.
Probably this was Griff’s plan to lull her into complacency so she’d relax her guard and he could return to his snooping. Well, she didn’t intend to relax her guard until the day he left Swan Park.
But as the afternoon dragged on, Rosalind felt herself dozing off. She’d had trouble sleeping last night, imagining sounds inside the walls when none of the servants would be about. She was just considering going to her bedchamber for a quick nap when a ball entered a pocket with a sudden thunk, and Juliet let out an uncharacteristic whoop.
“I win! I win!” Juliet crowed, brandishing her cue in the air with childish joy. “I’ve beaten you at last, Mr. Brennan, admit it! And after only three games, too!”
“You have indeed.” Griff’s tone was indulgent, kind. It suddenly occurred to Rosalind that he’d played rather worse this game for no apparent reason. When he turned away from Juliet and a look passed between him and Mr. Knighton, she realized that he’d allowed Juliet to win.
The realization wound around her heart with insidious warmth, like the lion’s tail of the griffin he was named after. His action had cracked Juliet’s painful shyness as Mr. Knighton had been unable to do, and Rosalind found herself grudgingly grateful to him for it. Over the past three days, Juliet had been anxious all the time—either silent entirely or answering only when spoken to. She was more comfortable with Griff than with Mr. Knighton, but the reason for that was obvious: Juliet did not worry about having to marry him.
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