A Dangerous Love

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He had to keep her from ruining everything.

  Rosalind rushed down the stairs, wiping away tears with every step. The blasted double-dealing wretch! Griff was outraged that she would marry his employer, yet he wouldn’t think of marrying her himself. No, he wanted only to dally with her, to take her virtue and her self-respect. And he knew he could do it, too, with the merest brush of his hands over her wayward body.

  She burst onto the first floor, not even stopping to glance behind her. Griff might be following her. He seemed determined to prevent her in this, though she didn’t understand why. He acted like a jealous husband, only he wasn’t her husband nor ever planned to be. All the same, he could cause trouble if he found Mr. Knighton before she could make her proposal. She must reach Mr. Knighton first.

  She strode quickly along the gallery toward the billiard table. To her vast relief, Mr. Knighton was still playing billiards with Helena, though it must have been two hours now at least. Rosalind noted wryly that they’d dispensed with the farce of the chair. Helena braced her body against the table and balanced on her good leg as she aimed.

  Rosalind heard the knock of ivory against wood all the way down the gallery, then saw Helena glance up at Mr. Knighton with a taunting smile. Juliet was right—it was a pity that Helena wouldn’t marry him. He was such a charming man. But somehow she couldn’t imagine elegant Helena with raffish Mr. Knighton.

  They looked up as Rosalind approached. When Helena’s eyebrows lifted half an inch at least, Rosalind realized she probably resembled one of Macbeth’s witches with her hair tangled around her shoulders and her gown utterly disordered. But she gave her sister no chance to remark upon it.

  “Mr. Knighton, I hate to disturb you, but I must speak to you in private. It’s a matter of some importance.”

  Alarm rose in his rawboned features as his gaze scoured her from head to toe. “Why…of course, Lady Rosalind, if you want.” He cast Helena a quizzical glance, and she shrugged in response.

  The sound of a door slamming upstairs quickened Rosalind’s pulse. Griff, blast him. “We can talk downstairs in Papa’s study,” she said urgently, and gestured to the stairs. “This way.”

  “Can’t it wait until I finish my game with your sister?” Mr. Knighton protested. “It shouldn’t take us more than a few minutes—”

  “No!” She caught their exchange of glances and deliberately softened her tone. “No, it must be now.”

  “Very well, if you insist.” He offered her his oak of an arm, and she took it, trying to ignore the unmistakable tramp of booted feet nearing the stairs on the floor above them.

  Thankfully, they made it into the east-wing staircase without Griff having emerged from the west-wing staircase. Nonetheless, she hurried Mr. Knighton down and into her father’s study with all due haste.

  “What’s this about?” Mr. Knighton asked.

  She shut the door and fumbled for her keys, but they’d apparently fallen out of her skirts when she was in Griff’s room on his bed…

  Blast, she thought, a blush heating her cheeks. Well, perhaps Helena wouldn’t tell Griff where they’d gone or he wouldn’t think to ask. Perhaps he wouldn’t even follow her. She could always hope.

  Swallowing hard, she left the door to face her massive cousin. He’d planted himself in front of Papa’s desk like a pugilist awaiting a fight, his expression wary. Now that the moment had come, she felt panicky. Curse Griff for forcing her into doing this before she’d had all her plans settled.

  And curse Papa for making it necessary in the first place. How fitting that it should happen in Papa’s study, where his presence lingered in every emblem of power—the leather-bound books, his massive chair, the Swanlea coat of arms on the wall. Well, she’d satisfy Papa for the moment, but only to gain time to undermine his plans.

  Yet how did a woman convince a wealthy man to marry her when all she possessed was a tiny dowry and no fine qualities to speak of? What could she possibly offer to tempt him?

  Something must. She had to make this proposal appealing enough so he’d accept it. Otherwise, Juliet and Papa would continue with their plans, and she’d still have to deal with Griff.

  “Lady Rosalind?” he prodded. “If you’d rather do this later—”

  “I have a proposal for you,” she blurted out.

  Eyes the color of wet slate examined her. “What sort of proposal?”

  Think, blast it! “I know Papa is interested in having you marry one of us. And I gather you’re considering the possibility.”

  He looked startled. “Um…well…Yes, I s’pose I am.”

  “Have you—” She broke off as footsteps sounded in the hallway, heading for the study. She edged toward Mr. Knighton and lowered her voice. “Have you made up your mind on the subject?”

  Mr. Knighton tugged nervously on his cravat. “Lady Rosalind, this is…a bit irregular, isn’t it? I can’t exactly—”

  “Because if you haven’t, I’d like to suggest that you choose me.”

  The color drained from his face. “Choose you?”

  “For a wife, blast it!” She struggled to contain her temper, then added more evenly, “I wish to marry you.” That was about as forthright as a woman could possibly be, short of dragging the man bodily to a church. “What’s more, I think I can suggest terms that will make you want to marry me.” As soon as she thought of them, which had better happen this very moment or she was sunk.

  The door behind her swung open so hard it slammed back against the wall, making both her and Mr. Knighton jump. Curse it all, couldn’t Griff have waited a few minutes more before blustering in here? And what the devil did he plan—to lay out everything that had happened between her and him?

  She gritted her teeth. Not if she could help it.

  “I must speak to you, Knighton,” Griff ground out behind her. “Now!”

  Mr. Knighton’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His bewildered gaze swung from Griff to her and then back to Griff. He surveyed his man of affairs questioningly. Then he turned to regard her just as consideringly. At last a strange little smile, like that of a jester amused by his own jokes, spread over his face.

  He settled his hip on her father’s desk and braced one hand on the oak surface. “I have to speak to you, too, Griff. Do come join us. We’re in the midst of a fascinating discussion—one I believe you’d find interesting.”

  Rosalind colored to the roots of her hair. She didn’t have to look behind her to feel Griff throwing off sparks like a bonfire.

  “I must speak to you now,” Griff repeated, enunciating every word. “Alone.”

  Mr. Knighton crooked one eyebrow upward. “It can wait.” He gestured to a chair close to Rosalind. “Come sit down. I may need your advice in this matter of Lady Rosalind’s.”

  There was a long pause, then a low curse before Griff entered and closed the door. He pointedly passed the chair to walk instead to the window near the bookshelves.

  “I-I see no need for Mr. Brennan to be here,” she protested. “This doesn’t concern him.”

  “Everything concerns my man of affairs,” Mr. Knighton retorted. “I make no decisions without his advice. So if you want my attention, you’ll have to speak with him here.”

  Groaning, she risked a glance at Griff and instantly regretted it. He leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed over his crookedly buttoned waistcoat and his tailcoat, which sorely needed ironing. Wild strands of inky hair hung down over his creased brow, and he wore no cravat.

  But worst of all was the way he stared at her. If eyes could strip a person, his had already shredded her garments where she stood, as if to remind her that he knew her true self and wouldn’t allow her to present a false one to his employer.

  Well, she had no intention of presenting a false one. She intended to be perfectly honest with her cousin…in what she chose to tell him, that is.

  With Griff’s daunting presence renewing her resolution, she returned her gaze to Mr. Knighton to find him regarding he
r with an expression of pure mischief. Though his apparent amusement briefly unsettled her, she refused to let it deter her.

  “Go on, Lady Rosalind,” he remarked. “I believe you were saying something about wishing to marry me?”

  “Yes.” She closed one clammy hand around the ends of her shawl. “Exactly.”

  Griff’s audible oath sounded above the anxious beating of her heart.

  Mr. Knighton appeared to ignore it. “You mentioned something about terms.”

  She took firm hold of herself. “Yes. As I said, I think you’ll approve of the terms I’m prepared to offer if you marry me.”

  “What terms would those be?” Griff snapped from his stance at the window. When she glared at him, he added coolly, “Mr. Knighton pays me to assess any contract he considers.”

  She glanced to Mr. Knighton for help, but he merely shrugged. “He’s right. I’d never sign one Griff didn’t examine first.” The man’s cheeks quivered as if it cost him an effort to keep a straight face. “However, I do make the final decisions. So tell me your terms.”

  “Very well.” She twisted the corners of her shawl together and tried not to think of Griff brooding in the corner like his namesake standing guard over the master’s treasure. “First of all, I know you have a business to run in London. If you marry me, I won’t expect you to bother with Swan Park. I’ll continue to run it for you if you wish.”

  “Quite a noble sacrifice,” Griff said acidly, “since you detest running this place.”

  “Shut up, man,” Mr. Knighton commanded. “Let the woman speak her piece.” Then he flashed her a dazzling smile. “Go on.”

  She swallowed. This was more difficult than she’d expected, rather like putting one’s goods on display at the fair. One’s worst goods, unfortunately. “Unlike other women you could marry, I wouldn’t expect a large sum for pin money nor make exorbitant demands on you for gowns and the like. Such things matter little to me anyway, and if I reside in the country, I should hardly need them.”

  Mr. Knighton’s upper lip twitched. “What if I want you to live in town with me?”

  “That would be your choice, of course.” She tilted up her chin. “But in such a case, I’d ask that you fit me out in a manner becoming my station and position.”

  “That could become expensive,” he remarked dryly.

  “You’d make the decisions in that matter. I’d accept your choices for such expenses without complaint.” A loud snort from Griff made her stiffen. “Indeed, I wouldn’t cost you nearly as much as most women. I wouldn’t even cost you as much as my sisters, for they’re both the sort to require costly gowns and jewels.” Well, that was an exaggeration, but close enough.

  Mr. Knighton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That might appeal to most men, but I’m so flush in the pockets these days, I can meet the needs of even a spendthrift.”

  Her eyes widened. If he didn’t care about money, then what? What else did a man want that he might not get from the average wife? Most men wanted beautiful wives, she knew, but she could do nothing about that. If she’d thought she could tempt him with her person…but that would never work, even if she could lower herself to do so. Besides, men of his sort kept mistresses and—

  Yes, of course. That was what men wanted—freedom to behave as they pleased, wife or no. “I’d be a most convenient wife in more than cost, sir. No matter where you choose to have me reside, you’d be free to live your life as you please. I won’t expect you to give up your…bachelor activities after we’re married.”

  His eyes fairly twinkled at that. Men were so bloody predictable. “Bachelor activities? What exactly do you mean, m’lady?”

  Surely he didn’t expect her to spell it out. “Um…you…you may spend all night…out in town, if that’s what you wish.”

  “You mean, at a club or gambling? I don’t much cotton to gentlemen’s clubs, and a man doesn’t get as rich as me by risking his money on cards.”

  The cursed wretch would indeed make her spell it out. “Yes, but…well, I also wouldn’t mind if…that is…” She blushed. “If you and some woman…” Dear God, how could she put this delicately?

  “I believe, sir,” Griff interjected in a tone of pure ice, “that Lady Rosalind is giving you permission to fornicate whenever, wherever, and with whomever you wish.”

  So much color flooded her cheeks she probably lit up the room like a chandelier. But Griff’s obvious contempt stiffened her resolve. What right had he to judge her? At least she wouldn’t do any “fornicating,” the way he’d probably done many times. And had tried to do with her this afternoon, blast him.

  She met Mr. Knighton’s astonished expression determinedly. “Though your man of affairs puts it crudely, he’s correct. That’s precisely what I’m offering. If we marry, I won’t complain about your keeping a mistress or visiting…certain ladies.” Her tone grew cynical. “I believe I can safely say that few women—my sisters included—would be so accommodating.”

  “How very true, Lady Rosalind.” Griff left his corner to approach the desk where Mr. Knighton quietly watched the two of them. “I would even venture to say that no woman would be so accommodating. Unless, of course, she has her own plans for ‘entertainment.’ A lover kept in abeyance, perhaps?”

  She couldn’t mistake whom he meant, for he raked her with a heated gaze clearly intended to remind her of how easily she’d succumbed to his advances earlier.

  “Griff!” Mr. Knighton growled. “You will not insult—”

  “It’s all right, cousin,” she broke in, her pulse pounding. “I should like to address Mr. Brennan’s insinuation.” Before the wretch ruins everything.

  She pinned Griff with a cold look, though her knees threatened to buckle. “I’m being so accommodating to your employer because I recognize our unequal circumstances. He has little to gain by marrying me, whereas I’ll gain a great deal. Since my accommodating nature is all I have to offer, I’d be stupid indeed to jeopardize my position with reckless liaisons, don’t you think?” When he merely continued to glower at her, she added, “I’m not stupid, however. Nor am I a harlot.”

  Mr. Knighton’s sharp intake of breath made her wonder if she’d gone too far. But she couldn’t regret speaking frankly when Griff was being so utterly unreasonable.

  Griff stepped closer, and said nastily, “Apparently, Lady Rosalind, I misunderstand your definition of harlot. It is someone who sells herself for money, isn’t it?”

  The words hung in the room, so nakedly cruel they knocked the wind from her. She’d thought he understood her reasons, but obviously he hadn’t. She couldn’t stop her tears. They welled up freely and spilled down her cheeks while Griff looked on, his expression rapidly changing from anger to horror.

  Only Mr. Knighton’s hand under her elbow kept her from collapsing. Only his words saved her pride. “But we all understand the definition of bastard, don’t we?” He leveled an accusing glare on Griff. “To my mind, it fits you bloody well.”

  Griff looked visibly shaken, as if he could hardly believe what he’d said himself. “Rosalind, I…By God, I didn’t mean…Please forgive me. Damnation, I don’t know what has come over me.”

  “Don’t you?” Mr. Knighton snapped. “It seems fairly clear to me. Your concern for my assets and reputation has made you forget you’re s’posed to be a gentleman.” His fingers tightened on Rosalind’s elbow. “But you needn’t worry overmuch about it. You see, I think Lady Rosalind’s offer is sound, even appealing. I’m going to accept it.”

  Rosalind’s shocked gaze flew to her cousin at the same time Griff groaned. Did Mr. Knighton truly mean it? She’d won her position?

  The burly man now regarded her with the same kindly concern he’d always shown Juliet, and for an instant, guilt overwhelmed her. He was acting upon the assumption that she’d honor a promise she never intended to honor.

  Then he astonished her by winking. Absurdly, that reassured her. He clearly had a trick up his sleeve, though she couldn’t imagine w
hat. Or why it would prompt him to accept her offer when his man of affairs had practically called her a harlot.

  She darted a furtive glance at Griff, wondering if he’d seen that wink. Judging from his look of pure shock, she supposed he hadn’t. He opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. But the only sound that came out was a strangled, “Why?”

  “Lady Rosalind has made me an offer I can’t refuse,” Mr. Knighton explained. “An accommodating wife who’ll run my estate for me? What man wouldn’t want to have his cake and eat it, too?”

  “But you can’t—You wouldn’t—” Griff began.

  “Why not? Her father invited me here for that reason. I’ll admit I thought her younger sister was more interested, but as Lady Rosalind says, Lady Juliet would probably not be near so accommodating.”

  “This is absurd, and you know it,” Griff said hollowly.

  “I don’t find it absurd.” Mr. Knighton eyed Griff with a gleam of satisfaction. “Can you think of any reason I should not marry Lady Rosalind? Aside from your complaints about her accommodating nature?”

  Mr. Knighton seemed to be throwing that word accommodating around very freely. And every time he spoke it, Griff stiffened a fraction more.

  When Griff made no answer, Mr. Knighton persisted. “Don’t you have something else to say on the subject, or has the cat got your tongue all of a sudden? I swear you look as if a whole delegation of cats has got your tongue.”

  At the word delegation, Griff’s eyes blazed. “I am merely thinking that Lady Rosalind has no idea what she’s getting herself into.”

  “Then P’raps you should tell her,” Mr. Knighton said evenly.

  Perhaps one of them should, Rosalind thought. The interchange between the two men bewildered her. They spoke words she understood, but hinted at other meanings. Griff might be right—she truly had no idea what she was getting into.

  Or what she would be getting into if she actually intended to go through with it. She pressed the back of her hand to her hot temple. This had become far too confusing.