A Dangerous Love

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Tears stung her eyes; she struggled to hold them back. She wouldn’t let him see her cry again! “You clearly lack enthusiasm for the prospect, Griff.”

  “Goddamn it, Rosalind,” he roared, “what do you want from me?”

  She blanched. “The truth. And some sign that you care about me.” When his gaze darkened in a familiar manner, she added hastily, “Not merely about my physical attributes. You’ve made it perfectly clear you have that sort of ‘caring.’”

  “I didn’t hear you making any such demands on Knighton,” he snapped. “You didn’t ask him for the truth, or want him to care about you.”

  A shaft of sorrow pierced her heart. That’s because I don’t want him to marry me. I want you.

  Dear God, it was true. She did want the wretch to marry her. To her shame, she realized she’d relinquish almost anything—her hopes for Juliet’s future, her family, even her dream of being an actress—to marry Griff. But only if he truly wanted her.

  The trouble was, he didn’t. Another man had taken his discarded toy, and that had made him want it back. But not enough to tell her the truth or show that he cared for her. She wasn’t even worth that to him.

  With a sinking heart, she walked to the door and opened it. “I didn’t ask for that from Mr. Knighton, because he’d already offered me something I didn’t have—his willingness and ability to help my family.”

  She swallowed her tears. “You haven’t offered me anything that I can see, not even a good reason for marrying me. Given the choice between two men who don’t care for me—a gentleman whose offer may only suit my practical needs but who treats me with courtesy and consideration, or a selfish schemer who calls me names and only offers marriage in a fit of pique—I’d be a fool to choose the schemer.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “A fit of pique? The only one having a fit of pique, Rosalind, is you. I didn’t offer for you this afternoon when I should have, so now you want to punish me by refusing me. Is that it?”

  Her heart twisted in her chest. What was the point of arguing with him? He simply refused to consider anything beyond his own feelings. “Mr. Knighton was right: you are a bastard, and I don’t mean in the literal sense. Well, I already have Papa to deal with—I don’t need another secretive, selfish bastard in my life.”

  His eyes blazed in the darkness. “Fine. And I don’t need a meddling, suspicious harpy in mine. Enjoy your ‘engagement’ to your ‘gentleman.’ I suspect you’ll find it vastly unsatisfying in the end.”

  He strode to the door, started to walk out, then returned to her side. Grabbing her about the waist, he pulled her to him for a hard, thorough kiss. At first she struggled, keeping her mouth firmly closed as he tried to deepen the kiss.

  Then he urged her hips against his, forcing her to feel his arousal through her silk wrapper, and to her utter shame she yielded, a complete weakling as always when it came to his seductions. Her mouth opened of its own accord, and with a dark groan of triumph, he conquered it, stabbing his devilish tongue inside.

  There in the open doorway to her bedchamber where anyone could see them, he kissed her like a lover, hot and deep, his hands sliding down to cup her buttocks and plaster her against his bulging trousers. He didn’t relent until he’d reduced her to a boneless, quivering mass of jelly.

  That’s when he broke off the kiss to stare down at her, eyes gleaming. “It seems you’re right—I don’t know what a gentleman is. But next time you’re with your ‘fiancé,’ my lady, remember that it isn’t the gentleman whose kisses you crave, whose hands you want on you. It’s the bastard’s. And whether you admit it or not, it’s the bastard you want in your bed.”

  Then the insolent devil left.

  Long after he’d gone, she stood there shaking with unfulfilled need. God help her, he’d spoken the truth. She did want the bastard in her bed.

  But if it meant marrying him when he didn’t care a farthing for her beyond desire, that was another matter entirely. She still had some say about whom she married, thank God. And though it probably wouldn’t be Mr. Knighton, it would definitely not be Griff.

  Chapter 15

  Good humor, like the jaundice, makes every one of its own complexion.

  Elizabeth Inchbald, English playwright, A Simple Story

  Over the next two days, Rosalind discovered that being engaged to a man she didn’t wish to marry had decided disadvantages. To her annoyance, despite Papa’s joy at the engagement, her sisters lacked enthusiasm. Rosalind had told Helena privately what she really intended, and to her surprise Helena had disapproved. She’d said it was awful of Rosalind to mislead Mr. Knighton like that.

  But Rosalind could endure Helena’s icy demeanor. It was Juliet whose behavior puzzled her. When Papa had given Juliet the news about the engagement, the girl had burst into tears and fled. Rosalind had scarcely seen her since.

  Only today had Rosalind figured out the source of Juliet’s discontent. The girl’s heart had been set on saving the family and in her eyes, redeeming the grievous blow she’d dealt it with her birth. Rosalind had denied her that chance at redemption.

  But Rosalind couldn’t regret that. Juliet was too young to act as a virgin sacrifice.

  Not that Rosalind was very good at it herself. She’d hoped her offer would rid her of Mr. Knighton; instead, it had drawn him in. Though she regularly protested that she didn’t need him around to plan the wedding, the blasted man wouldn’t listen. He insisted on spending time in her company, squiring her to town to order a fictitious gown, consulting with her and Cook about a fictitious wedding feast. She began to fear she’d soon find herself standing before a minister who wasn’t the least fictitious.

  Today he’d proposed a picnic on the grounds for the two of them. She dreaded so intimate an outing, yet she couldn’t refuse without rousing suspicion. So she now awaited him in Swan Park’s drawing room, trying not to fret and failing miserably.

  She was woefully unaccustomed to courtship and certainly to a pretended courtship. Her previous encounters with men had all ended when her admittedly irascible behavior sent them running for the next shire. No man had ever come close enough to pierce her defenses, and she’d been happy with that state, since none of them had appealed to her.

  Until Griff. A shiver swept her. Dear God, the last time he’d kissed her…

  Hot need poured through her veins, despite her memory of his arrogant remarks. His absence the past two days—for he’d avoided her entirely—had illustrated painfully just how much she desired the scoundrel. He might be insolent and uncaring and a complete bastard, but he reduced her to a blithering idiot whenever he kissed her.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t done so again. He hadn’t even been around. Her relief at being spared his unsettling presence had prompted her to ignore her suspicions about where he’d been spending his time. No doubt he was still occupied with searching for…whatever was in Papa’s strongbox.

  Well, that was fine, just fine. Let him search the place, the wretch. She’d tried asking Mr. Knighton about Griff’s secret searches, but he’d claimed that his man of affairs merely did his job thoroughly. What a lot of fustian. She’d even told Papa of her suspicions, but he hadn’t cared, except to make sure she’d hidden the box well. He refused to tell her what was in it, however, especially now that Mr. Knighton had agreed to marry her. The man would have to be looting the house before Papa would kick him out now, him or his man of affairs.

  So she’d taken the precaution of moving the strongbox to her wardrobe, beneath her unmentionables. Not that Griff would balk at searching her unmentionables, she thought testily. Clearly, the man was wholly unacquainted with the concept of shame.

  Very well—let him have whatever was in the blasted strongbox if he found it. Protecting it had brought her far too much trouble already. Let Griff rifle the house with impunity. As long as he didn’t rifle her body with impunity, she was safe.

  Now if only he’d stop rifling her thoughts at night in bed—

  “Ar
e you ready to go, m’dear?” came a cordial voice from the door.

  Startled, she glanced up to find her curst cousin standing in the doorway. She walked toward him with a wan smile. “Of course.”

  Though his battered face was healing remarkably well, it added to his often incongruous appearance. Sometimes he put her in mind of a bear bedecked in finery for a fair or the circus, stoically enduring the indignities of his inappropriate attire even though he’d prefer to return to his natural state. Today, however, he was a bear with a picnic basket, and that actually suited him.

  “Where should we go, Lady Rosalind? You’ll have to find us a spot, since I don’t know the place too well yet.”

  She smiled and laid her hand on the arm he offered. “I fear we have few truly pretty vistas. We’ve not had a regular gardener for some time now, so our grounds have grown quite wild.”

  “I don’t mind wild.”

  “Yes, but no doubt you miss London with its well-kept parks and gardens.”

  His eyes gleamed with mischief. “How could I miss London when I have such lovely company here?”

  Having grown accustomed to his compliments over the past two days, she surprised herself by blushing like a green miss. Mr. Knighton might be unpolished, but he possessed a facility for gallantry that Griff lacked. It was a refreshing change from the whirlwind Griff invariably roused in her. But not so refreshing that she’d want the man around all the time. Whereas Griff…

  She squelched that thought at once.

  “Besides,” Mr. Knighton went on blithely, “I’ve got no time for picnics in London, so this is a treat, no matter how wild the view.” He cast her a teasing glance as they entered the foyer. “Though after we marry, I’ll make time for picnics with my wife.”

  “That’s an inducement to marry indeed,” she choked out through the sudden guilt that swamped her. He really was a charming man. A pity she didn’t want to marry him.

  He led her outside with rough courtliness, and at her suggestion, they struck a path through the gardens and headed toward the woods that lay a quarter mile from the house. Soon they were following a dirt path through ancient oaks, willows, and elms.

  “There it is,” she said as a sunlit clearing came into view through the trees. “That’s where the three of us used to play when we were girls. Papa hung that swing for us. There’s even a tree house, though I suspect it’s unsafe after all these years. The clearing is my favorite place in Swan Park.”

  “Looks near to perfect.”

  It took them a few minutes to reach it along the path, and in that time she grew increasingly uncomfortable. She’d forgotten how secluded it was. The trees formed an impenetrable shield that lent the area a disturbing privacy. Perhaps she should have brought her maid, but she hadn’t thought it necessary. Until now, he’d shown no inclination to deepen their relationship.

  When they reached the clearing, however, his solicitous behavior made her wonder if he intended to do so today. First, when he spread out a blanket, he apologized for his lack of foresight in not bringing a cushion for her tender hind parts. Then when they sat down to eat, he insisted on serving her himself, offering her the best pieces of chicken, the choicest apple. It felt alarmingly like a real courtship. What would she do if he tried anything more…intimate? Though she concentrated on eating, she watched him furtively all the while, alert to any sign of impending advances.

  “You’re looking fine as a fivepence today, m’lady,” he said after devouring his third piece of chicken. When he began licking his fingers, she held out a napkin, and he took it with a grin. “That bonnet’s quite fetching on you.”

  Oh, dear, she’d best squelch this line of conversation. “Thank you, but I’m sure it doesn’t compare with what you see in London.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Y’know, you must think everything in London is better, since you’ve mentioned its wonders about fifty times in the past two days.”

  Curse it—she really must learn to be more subtle. “I’m merely curious, that’s all.” Curious to know when you’ll be returning there. “But surely most things are better—the fashions, the diversions, the people. You must find Swan Park terribly dull after the delights of town.”

  His face wore the most peculiarly strained expression, as if he tried very hard to keep from laughing. “Not dull in the least.”

  She took a lusty bite of apple and chewed thoughtfully. “But in London you can go to the opera or the theater every night.”

  “I don’t like the opera or the theater.”

  “What about the British Museum? Or the Tower of London? I’d so love to see the menagerie at the Tower of London.”

  “I wouldn’t even know what to do in a museum. And with my reputation I’m not venturing near the Tower of London.” He was grinning now.

  She slanted a glance at him. “What do you find so amusing, Mr. Knighton?”

  “You, m’lady.”

  “Oh?” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, wondering if she had apple juice on her upper lip or something.

  “Why don’t you just come out and say it, for Christ’s sake, and get it over with?”

  “Say what?”

  “That you want me gone to London so you can stop pretending to be engaged.”

  Her napkin fluttered to her lap. “P-Pretending?”

  “Come now, Lady Rosalind, we both know you don’t plan to marry me.”

  The woods seemed to close in around her. Dear God, how had she given herself away? Could Helena have told him her plans? “Don’t be r-ridiculous,” she stammered. “Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

  “Because you’ve been trying to pack me off to London since the day we arranged to marry. Not to mention those ‘terms’ of yours even a dog wouldn’t offer. You’re not the sort to make an arranged marriage, especially with such poor conditions.”

  Rising to her knees, she began packing the remains of their picnic while wondering frantically how to salvage the situation. Why must she always give herself away?

  “It’s all right,” he went on. “I don’t plan to marry you, either.”

  Her gaze shot to him. “What?”

  “I knew you didn’t intend to marry me the day you made that fool proposal.”

  He was serious! She sank back onto her heels. “Then why did you accept it?”

  “For one thing, you presented it so charmingly, I would’ve felt like a cad disappointing you.” He grinned. “But mostly, I liked watching it make Griff jealous.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks despite her attempt to suppress any reaction. Surely Griff hadn’t told him about the kisses and…all the other things. Oh, but what if he had?

  She tried summoning up righteous indignation. “You don’t mean to imply that Mr. Brennan and I—”

  “I’m not implying it. I’m coming right out and saying it. I’d have to be chuckleheaded indeed not to notice what’s going on between you and my man of affairs.”

  “There is nothing going on between me and Griff…I-I mean, Mr. Brennan…” She trailed off, face flaming. Dear God, how easily she betrayed herself!

  “See here,” he said, “I don’t mind you being interested in my man of affairs.”

  “I’m not interested in him!”

  “That’s a clanker.”

  She glowered at him. “It is not! You have no reason to think I’m lying!”

  “No reason? Let’s see. Two days ago, you come running from the top floor where Griff’s bedchamber is, with your hair down and your clothes rumpled. We go off in the study, then Griff comes in with his hair mussed and his clothes rumpled, raging about you wanting to marry me. After you’re gone, he near beats me senseless over my agreeing to your offer. If you were in my shoes, what would you make of all that?”

  Cringing at the graphic description, she sat back on the blanket again.

  “So let’s have some honesty between us. Admit it—you’re interested in the man.”

  “Oh, all right,” she grumbled.
“Yes. I suppose I am.”

  With a triumphant smile, he stretched out on the blanket and braced himself up on two elbows. “You don’t seem too happy about it.”

  A bitter laugh tumbled from her lips. “What’s there to be happy about? The last time I saw him, he called me a ‘meddling, suspicious harpy.’”

  “When was that?”

  She groaned. This was so mortifying. Thank God she had no intention of marrying Mr. Knighton. Otherwise, this would squash that hope. Still, it was a relief to have someone to discuss Griff with, especially someone who knew him so well.

  “M’lady?” he prodded.

  “It was after your fight with him.” She ducked her head to hide her blush.

  Mr. Knighton chuckled. “Couldn’t stay away from you, could he?”

  “Don’t assume that means anything. He only came to apologize, but as usual he ended up insulting me.” And proposing to her and kissing her senseless, but she wouldn’t think of that, let alone mention it.

  “Oh, it means something, all right. I’ve known Griff a long time, and I’ve never seen him act like this around a woman.”

  “Like what?” she snapped. “Obnoxious? Arrogant? Rude?”

  “Jealous.” Mr. Knighton crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles. “He usually doesn’t care enough about any woman to be jealous or obnoxious or anything else. Since he doesn’t have time for wooing, he usually gets what he needs from the light-skirts and goes on about his business.”

  She didn’t like the sound of “gets what he needs.” The thought of Griff going to light-skirts for anything bothered her to an astonishing degree.

  “You see, Griff is the sort who thinks only of his work,” Mr. Knighton went on. “Knighton Trading is everything to him, y’know.”

  “I did wonder…He does seem to know so much about it while you…well—”

  “Don’t know a thing?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” she protested, cursing her quick tongue.

  He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all right. Griff’s the one with the knowledge of trading.” He added hastily, “Because of having been a smuggler, you see. He’s got the connections, and he manages all of that.”