A Dangerous Love

by Sabrina Jeffries

  The brains of the concern, she thought. And what advantage did Mr. Knighton bring to it? Not that she could ask; that would be rude.

  She glanced at him with avid curiosity from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “So then he’s not really your personal man of business.”

  “Er…yes. That he is. But most of what he does in that capacity is…related to the company.” Mr. Knighton cleared his throat nervously. “Anyway, that ain’t…isn’t the point. Here’s what I wanted to say, why I arranged for us to have this tête-à-tête.”

  Mr. Knighton sat up and leaned toward her, his voice turning earnest. “Griff has his eye on you, but he’s never considered marriage till now, and he doesn’t know how to go about doing it. A fine woman like you—Well, he knows you’re far above his station, and he don’t feel right asking you to lower yourself. That’s the only reason he hasn’t offered for you yet. You have to encourage him a bit, show him you like him, and—”

  “It’s too late for that,” she cut in dryly. “Apparently I demonstrated my liking well enough. He’s already offered for me.”

  “What?” He gaped at her. “When?”

  “That time I told you about. When he called me a ‘meddling, suspicious harpy.’”

  Mr. Knighton sat back abruptly. “For Christ’s sake, I knew the man wasn’t a charmer, but you’d think he’d at least know enough to flatter a girl before he proposed.”

  “No, he called me that after I turned him down.”

  “You turned him down?” Shaking his head, he muttered a curse under his breath. “Why’d you go and do that for? You told me you were interested in him.” He eyed her suspiciously. “It wasn’t because he’s beneath you, is it?”

  “Don’t be absurd. Mama was an actress, and I’d planned to become an actress myself. Why would I care about Griff being beneath me?”

  “Lady Helena would care,” he pointed out.

  Rosalind sighed. “My sister might surprise you. Don’t let her coldness fool you. She plays the ice maiden to keep from getting hurt.” She cast him a sly glance. “Why? Is she your first choice for a wife?”

  He looked as if she’d struck him with a poker. “No, indeed. Lady Helena’s a mite too haughty for my tastes.” His eyes narrowed. “Anyway, we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about why you refused Griff. We both know it wasn’t because of this imaginary engagement.”

  “True. But since he’d never have offered for me if not for this ‘imaginary engagement,’ I didn’t see much point in accepting. He doesn’t want me. He’s merely angry because you have something he doesn’t. That’s all it is.”

  “Is that what you think, lass?” he said in a tone so gentle it made her throat ache.

  “It’s what I know.”

  He was silent a long time. The wind soughed through the trees, a mournful echo of her desolate heart. She tried to shake off the blue devils, but despite the sunny day and their lovely surroundings, she failed as miserably as she’d failed for the past two days.

  “Tell me something, Lady Rosalind,” he finally said. “Did Griff say anything to you about…that is…did he mention Knighton Trading? Or his work? Did he even say why he wanted to marry you?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t say anything except, ‘Marry me. Forget about Knighton and marry me.’ Oh, and he said, ‘I want you as my wife. Isn’t that enough?’”

  “Bloody arse,” Mr. Knighton mumbled. Then he glanced at her and frowned. “Forgive my bear-garden jaw, m’lady, but that’s what he is.”

  “No need to apologize. I wholeheartedly agree with you.” She stared past him at the old swing that mocked her turmoil with its wind-driven dance. “I didn’t…expect a lot of flattery, you understand. But I should have liked a reason, something other than ‘I want you as my wife.’” Her chest felt crushed under a weight of granite. “I should have liked to know…he cares for me a little.” And not just my body.

  “P’raps he does. Like most English, Griff’s not good at knowing his own heart.”

  “But he’s half-Irish. I thought the Irish were famous for knowing their hearts.”

  Mr. Knighton suddenly became very interested in picking up where she’d left off in stowing away the remains of their picnic. “Yes…um…but he didn’t grow up among the Irish, you see. His mother was English; he was raised in England.” He set the basket aside, then cast her a sad glance. “And we English are a nation of merchants. We know how to make money. We don’t know as well how to make love.”

  He drew up one knee and rested his elbow on it. “That’s the trouble with Griff, you see. He’s spent his whole life making money—for me, that is—so he’s never learned anything else. Now he sees a woman he wants, and he doesn’t know why or how. He can’t even put it into words for himself, so how can he put it into words for you?”

  She thought back to how Griff had behaved—how he’d said over and over that he wanted her, but wouldn’t say why. What Mr. Knighton said made sense. On the other hand, Griff simply might not feel anything for her at all.

  “Besides, did you tell him how you felt?” Mr. Knighton asked. “Did you tell him you were in love with him?”

  In love with him? She started to protest the very idea, but no words came out. Because he was right. She was in love with Griff.

  She closed her eyes and groaned. Blast it, she couldn’t be in love with that man! It would be too cruel of Fate to play such a trick on her! She couldn’t, she mustn’t!

  But she was. She knew it as surely as she knew it wasn’t returned. Miserably, she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell him something like that. He didn’t even offer to marry me until after my proposal to you. I couldn’t be sure he felt anything for me except—” She broke off with a blush. “Except…”

  “Lust?”

  The man certainly never minced words. She nodded, her blush deepening.

  “There’s something you got to understand about men. A man’s got three parts: his brain, his…er…St. Peter, and his heart. Each part has got its own needs, you see?” Glancing into the thick woods, he sighed. “Griff’s always answered the needs of his brain and his St. Peter. But he’s ignored the needs of his heart, most likely because he didn’t hear it calling, didn’t even know it was there.”

  He stared earnestly into her face. “Then he meets you, and all hell breaks loose. His brain’s trying to figure you out, his St. Peter is crying out for attention, and worst of all, his heart is clamoring to be heard for the first time in the poor sod’s life. All that clamoring is confusing the man like mad. He doesn’t know it’s his heart wanting something, since it never troubled him before. So he’s only listening to his St. Peter. He figures if he satisfies it, the rest of the parts will settle down and let him go back to how things were. But that’s not gonna work. He just don’t know it yet.”

  She remembered Griff saying during their discussion in the deer park that he wouldn’t marry for love, that he didn’t believe it existed. People merely mistake desire for love, he’d said.

  According to Mr. Knighton, Griff was doing the opposite—mistaking love for desire. “What if you’re wrong? What if it really is only his…um…St. Peter?”

  “A man laboring under those needs doesn’t sniff around a virgin like you, m’lady. Making free with a virgin is a chancy thing, especially a wellborn one. But it’s hard for a man in love to stay away from what he loves.”

  A thrill shot through her. No, she cautioned herself, don’t raise your hopes. Griff will only dash them as usual. “I fear you assume too much about his affections.”

  “Do I? He damned near beat me to death for accepting your proposal. That isn’t the behavior of an indifferent man.”

  She shook her head, unconvinced. “He merely hated that you’d gotten what he wanted, that’s all. The night he proposed, he said nothing about his feelings for me. He kept complaining about you and why I’d marry you over him.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him you didn’t plan to marry me?”

 
“Because I thought he’d run to you and ruin everything, of course.”

  Mr. Knighton laughed wholeheartedly. “You two are a pair. If you’d only be honest with yourselves and take a chance on each other instead of all this scheming, you might find you feel the same things.”

  “Scheming?” She sniffed. “We’re not the only ones scheming. What about you? Why didn’t you tell him your suspicions about me?”

  “More fun not to.” His eyes twinkled in the afternoon sun.

  “At least my scheming had a purpose,” she grumbled. “Yours was merely for entertainment.”

  “What purpose? You offered to marry me, knowing you weren’t going to.”

  “I was trying to prevent a marriage, any marriage, with you as long as possible.”

  All semblance of his good humor vanished. “Didn’t approve of me as a husband for your sisters, I s’pose.” His jaw tightened as he stared off behind her into the woods.

  “No, I didn’t. Because you don’t love either of them.”

  His rigid features softened. “You put great store by marrying for love, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Though Juliet would indeed marry you for your practical advantages. But she’s far too young to marry, especially where she doesn’t love.”

  “And Lady Helena would find even Prinny beneath her condescension,” he said dryly, “not to mention a great rascal like me.”

  How strange. Mr. Knighton had brought up Helena twice now as a prospective wife. Could he have a serious interest in her?

  “Anyway, it’s a ticklish business,” he went on. “Your father seems set on the marriage.”

  “Yes.” She brightened. “But if you’re not, just tell him so and go home. I was afraid you’d marry Juliet if I didn’t step forward, but now I needn’t worry. So you needn’t stay here anymore. You and Mr. Brennan can return to London.”

  “Trying to get rid of him, are you?”

  She stared down at the half-eaten apple in her lap. Turning it over in her hand, she murmured, “Perhaps.”

  “But he hasn’t come near you in a couple of days, has he? So don’t be packing us off yet. I’m not ready to run back to London. I like it here.”

  She eyed him askance. “If you’re thinking of staying in order to further a possible marriage between Griff and me, you might as well give that up. It won’t happen.”

  “That’s not why I’m staying,” he protested. “I’ve a right to look over the estate I’ll inherit, don’t you think? There’s plans to make, improvements to consider.”

  “Is that your only reason?” She thought of Griff’s search, which he’d as much as said was sanctioned by Mr. Knighton. “You have no other purpose?”

  “What purpose could I possible have?”

  She considered mentioning the strongbox burning a hole in her wardrobe, but decided against it. He wouldn’t tell her, and her continued questions might rouse their suspicions enough to make Griff search her room.

  “How long will you stay?” she asked. “How long will it take you to ‘consider improvements’?”

  “A few days, no more. As you said before, I’ve got a business to run in London.”

  She smiled. She could endure them a few days longer, especially if Griff continued ignoring her.

  “In the meantime,” he went on, eyes gleaming, “you and I should still pretend to be engaged, don’t you think? It’ll keep your father happy and your sister Juliet from running after me. And it’ll drive Griff mad.”

  She confessed she liked that particular idea. “That sounds like fun.”

  He picked up the half-empty bottle of claret. Pouring them each a glass, he handed her one, then lifted his own in toast. “To short engagements, m’lady.”

  “To short engagements,” she agreed. “But you shouldn’t call me ‘my lady,’ you know; it sounds terribly formal. I give you leave to call me by my Christian name. Besides, every time you say ‘my lady’ it makes me feel like a dowager duchess with graying temples and a lorgnette.” Not to mention that only the servants spouted “my lady” every other sentence, but she didn’t want to embarrass him by pointing it out.

  “Whatever you wish, m—Rosalind.” He sipped his wine, eyeing her over the glass with a teasing look. “But I’ve seen a dowager duchess or two, and you don’t look like them in the least, trust me. You’re much too pretty.”

  Now that she had no more reason to fear his compliments, she could enjoy them, no matter how insincere. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Knighton?”

  “P’raps I am. Do you mind?”

  Laughter bubbled up through her throat. “No. I don’t think I do.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. They talked of the estate, of the upcoming harvest and Swan Park’s dairy. He seemed interested in financial specifics—how much cheese and milk fetched at market, what portion of the profits went back into the dairy, how much they paid the dairymaids. That shouldn’t surprise her—he was in trade, after all. Yet she’d assumed that the owner of a large trading firm would no longer bother with such details. They certainly weren’t her strong suit, and more than once she stumbled over the actual prices.

  After a while, he asked if the swing worked, and she assured him it did. Soon he was pushing her on it, sending her soaring high. It had been years since she’d swung. It made her feel weightless, free, happy. She could almost forget about Griff. Almost.

  The sun had already dipped behind the trees when she slowed the swing. “We should probably go in,” she told him with a tinge of regret. “They’ll be wondering what happened to us.”

  “That they will,” he said genially, circling to the front of the swing to help her out.

  Then he froze in front of her and lifted his head to scan the trees. A slow grin spread over his face. Without warning, he bent and kissed her square on the lips.

  She was so shocked she didn’t even react. The kiss wasn’t overly intimate, but it was soft and tender and certainly demonstrated the man’s facility for kissing. While it didn’t make her heart leap as Griff’s kisses did, she suspected it would make just about any other woman’s heart leap.

  When he drew back, she gaped at him. “What in God’s name was that for?”

  “A certain gentleman is watching us,” he murmured, eyes dancing. “The bloody jealous arse.”

  She angled her head just enough to see Griff approaching through the woods, face grim. Outrage made her heart pound. He had the audacity to spy on her “courtship,” did he? Well, if he insisted upon such insulting behavior, she’d certainly give him something to see.

  Rising from the swing, she threw her arms about Mr. Knighton’s neck, then stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his.

  She quickly discovered, however, that it was difficult to kiss a man with conviction when he was chuckling. Especially when she was chuckling, too. Indeed, the two of them were so overcome with laughter, they were hard-pressed to do more than keep their lips aligned long enough to produce a convincing kiss.

  When she drew back she was fairly certain they’d hidden their humor from their observer. So she wasn’t quite sure what possessed her to do what she did next.

  Chapter 16

  A willing heart adds feather to the heel.

  Joanna Baillie, Scottish playwright, De Montfort

  Griff halted to gawk at Rosalind. She’d stuck her tongue out at him? The witch had kissed Daniel, then turned, stared straight at Griff, and stuck her tongue out at him!

  Of all the—

  Perhaps he’d imagined it: the kiss, the taunt, the whole thing. She and Daniel stood apart now, looking perfectly civilized and cordial.

  No, he hadn’t imagined it, damn it. He’d watched them from a distance for some time, watching Daniel use his flatteries to make her laugh and flirt. When Daniel had kissed her, Griff’s blood had flashed hot, then cold. Her return kiss had stopped it entirely.

  Then she’d stuck her tongue out at him. Now he didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.
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  He’d come out here swearing to rein in his temper, control his jealousy, woo her properly. When she’d refused him because he’d made such a hash of it, he’d sworn he would manage it better this time. She’d been right that night—he hadn’t given her a single reason for marrying him other than desire. And desire never swayed women as it did men.

  No, this time he’d tell her everything, no matter what her response. Half of her refusal was based on her mistaken perception of his behavior toward Daniel, and there was only one way to set that straight.

  Not that he’d changed his mind about the certificate—he wasn’t that besotted. But he would marry her in spite of it. If she would marry the pretend Knighton to protect her sisters, then she’d marry the real one for the same reason, wouldn’t she?

  One way or the other, he had to have the Amazon. He needed her, every eccentric inch of her. It made no sense—she wasn’t the sort of wife he’d thought to acquire. Earl’s daughter or no, she and her forthright tongue would certainly never further his aims for Knighton Trading. Besides, she wouldn’t be an earl’s daughter once he acted on the certificate.

  And yet…And yet two days of attempting to ignore her had maddened him. He’d accomplished almost nothing. He hadn’t found the damnable documents, because he’d spent all his time pacing his room and wondering what she and Daniel were up to.

  Well, now he knew, didn’t he? Griff swore under his breath, then continued toward them like a cannonball headed unerringly for its target. A week ago, Griff would have sworn Daniel would never attempt to steal a woman from him. But that was only because Daniel never had. It didn’t mean the scoundrel wouldn’t try it now.

  What if Daniel had told her everything, showing Griff in the worst light? That night in her bedchamber she’d said that Griff’s lack of income wouldn’t bother her. So it wouldn’t bother her for Daniel either, would it?

  If I could have a woman as fine as all that only by swallowing my pride, Daniel had said, I’d be choking it down so fast I wouldn’t taste it.