A Dangerous Love (24 page)

Griff hesitated with a vase in one hand, a book in the other. “What do you mean, keep her busy?”

“Courtship, man. Strolls in the garden at night, picnics on the grounds, that sort of thing. She can scarce refuse it when she’s planning to marry me. And if anything will keep her out of your way, that ought to.”

Griff didn’t seem nearly as pleased by that as he should be, Daniel thought smugly.

“I don’t know how wise that is,” Griff retorted, setting the vase down on a side table none too gently. “You shouldn’t lead her to hope for this marriage too much. I don’t want her…hurt when the truth comes out.”

“You can’t avoid that,” Daniel said dryly. “You’re planning to destroy her father, remember? Besides, while you mightn’t be interested in marrying, I am.” At Griff’s dire look, he added, “Not Lady Rosalind, of course. She’s too lofty an aim for the likes of me. But courting her will give me practice for wooing some other sweet lass. Isn’t that why you said I should do this in the first place? So I could learn to be more civilized? What’s more civilized than courting a lady?”

Griff looked as if two demons fought for control of his soul—the jealous monster who had laid into Daniel, and the proud man of trade who couldn’t yet admit the selfish nature of his plans for the Swanlea girls.

Pride won out. “Do as you please,” he muttered, though the muscles in his jaw fairly creaked with stiffness as he said it. “Just be careful you don’t…do anything to get us thrown from the place.”

Daniel rose to help Griff straighten the room. “Of course not.” He would only do what he needed to make Griff see sense. And it mightn’t take much more, after all.

Chapter 14

All policy’s allowed in war and love
.

Susannah Centlivre, English playwright
, Love at a Venture

G
riff stayed away from everyone all evening while the deed was being done. He didn’t go to dinner, and he certainly had no part in Daniel’s talk with the earl, though he wondered what excuse Daniel could offer for the mangled state of his face.

A more important matter required Griff’s attention. He didn’t know why it plagued him so, nor why it carried him to Rosalind’s bedchamber after he was sure she’d retired. He only knew he couldn’t ignore the compulsion.

He rapped softly on her door.

“Just a minute,” a muted voice said from inside.

Seconds later, the door opened a crack, and Rosalind’s face appeared. The minute she saw him, she tried to shut the door, but he shoved his foot in to prevent it.

“Go away!” She glanced worriedly past him to her sisters’ doors across the hall.

“I must speak with you.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“It’ll only take a moment, and then I’ll leave, I promise. Please let me in.”

“You’re not coming into my bedchamber,” she said stoutly.

“Why not? You came into mine.” When she glowered at him, he added, “I’ll be a gentleman, I promise. I only want to talk, that’s all. If you’d rather come out here—”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I-I don’t want anyone to see you here.”

“Then let me in.”

“If you’re so eager to speak to me, you can do so at breakfast.”

“Considering how I look, I don’t intend to be at breakfast.” He held his candle nearer his face. “As you can see, I’d frighten your sisters.”

Concern flickered in her eyes, and the door widened a fraction, giving him a glimpse of her unbound hair and flame-colored wrapper. He suddenly wondered if this was wise after all.

“What happened to you?” she whispered.

“The same thing that happened to Knighton.”

One pretty eyebrow arched up. “You fell down a flight of stairs?”

He chuckled. “Is that what he told all of you?”

“Yes. He gave a very convincing account. Though I did wonder if you might have pushed him down it—you seemed rather angry at him this afternoon.”

“I was.” He paused. “And how did he explain the disorder in the study?”

“Disorder?” she asked, bristling.

“Don’t worry, I’ll—
he’ll
pay for any damages.”

“You’re bloody right he will! Are the two of you so uncivilized you brawled right there in Papa’s study?”

Griff shrugged. “He took umbrage with what I said, and I did the same. We settled the matter in the old-fashioned way.” He leaned his shoulder against the door. “If you’ll let me in, my bloodthirsty Amazon, I’ll tell you all about it. If you don’t, I’ll stand here with my foot in the door until you do. What would your sisters say to that in the morning?”

She sniffed. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bully?”

“Nearly every day,” he quipped, remembering her similar comment in the deer park.

Apparently she remembered, too, for a small smile graced her lips. But she still didn’t open the door.

His patience was at an end. “Damnation, woman, you can see I’m in no condition to ravish you. After the battering my body took this afternoon, it would resist any attempt at such vigorous activity. So let me in!”

“Hold your voice down, for pity’s sake!” The sound of a cough coming from one of her sisters’ rooms apparently decided her. “Very well, you may come in for a moment, but I’ll hold you to your promise to be a gentleman.” She stood aside to let him in, and added, “Though I greatly fear you don’t know what one is.”

Biting back a smile, he entered the sanctuary and held his candle high to survey it as she closed the door. His lone candle illuminated very little, but it did flash off a great bed hung in green and tall windows draped with velvet curtains of what looked like the same green. Though he couldn’t make out the shade, he laid odds it was vivid.

It pleased him to think of her wrapped in orange Chinese silk and lying in the verdant green, like
jasper set in jade—full of Oriental mystery and sensuality. He clamped down on a sudden surge in his unruly cock.

He’d sorely lied about his inability to ravish her. He could ravish her quite cheerfully right now, no doubt about it. Then again, it would take a pummeling from
fifty
men before he’d hold back from bedding Rosalind. Even then, he’d want to kiss her and taste her breasts again and…

No!
he told himself sternly. He’d promised her, though he regretted his promise when he looked at her in her wrapper, all soft and alluring, her lush “assets” only too well outlined by the silk.

She tugged nervously at the ties. “Why are you here, Griff? What do you want?”

What he wanted, he couldn’t have tonight. “I want…to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine. Now if that’s all—”

“How did your sisters take your news about the engagement? I needn’t ask about your father. I assume
he
was overjoyed.”

With a little frown, she averted her gaze from him. “Yes, of course he was. He’s pleased to finally rid himself of a spinster daughter.” She paused. “And my sisters took it as well as can be expected.”

Whatever
that
meant.

She looked at him again. “But surely you didn’t come to ask after my family.”

“No. I’m here to apologize.”

Even in the dimness of the candlelight, he could see a welter of emotion in her face. Relief, confusion, and finally, anger. “You’ll have to be more specific,” she snapped. “What do you wish to apologize for? Trying to seduce me? Calling me a harlot in front of your employer? Acting like a beast—”

“Enough,” he growled. “I see you have a number of sins to lay to my account. I won’t apologize for
trying to seduce you, since the only part of that I regret is not finishing it.”

“Griff—” she warned.

“But I do apologize for the rest of it. That’s why I came, and to make sure that you’re well. We didn’t part on the best of terms this afternoon.” He had other motives, too, though they were wholly unwise.

She said nothing, but glided out of the small circle of candlelight to stand at a safer distance. Sheltered by darkness, she looked otherworldly, mystical…a golden Oriental idol come alive to protect her sisters from encroaching villains.

Villains like Knighton. Him. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how else to placate her. “I know you’re not marrying Knighton for money, and I certainly know you’re no harlot. It’s just that when you started talking about being so damned accommodating—”

He broke off as a familiar red haze swam in his head. It had taken him all evening to figure out why her proposal had so angered him. Finally, he’d realized it was because she’d offered “Mr. Knighton” insane liberties to entice him into marriage after blithely dismissing any thought of marrying “Mr. Brennan.” And for what? Swan Park, which she claimed to detest? Her sister, who seemed quite happy to marry whoever would save the estate? It made no sense.

“If I…” He paused and gritted his teeth, knowing he’d later regret asking this question. But he couldn’t stop himself. He’d tortured himself all evening with thoughts of his behavior earlier. “If I’d asked you to marry me this afternoon in my bedchamber, what would you have said?”

The room was so still, he could hear her breathing quicken, a distressing counterpoint to the crackling of the fire. “You didn’t ask me to marry you.” Her
voice thrummed through the darkness, adding low cello notes to that counterpoint.

“I know,” he ground out. “But what would you have said if I had?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I’m planning to marry your employer.”

He suppressed the exasperated retort that sprang instantly to his lips. Her ability to make him lose control over his tongue was truly astonishing. Never in his life had he spoken as heedlessly as he had around her today. “Just answer the question, Rosalind,” he said, as calmly as he could manage.

“Why?” Bitterness threaded her words. “To reassure you that you could have me if you wanted? To save your blasted pride? Is that it?”

“No, of course not.” But that was indeed part of it. Even knowing all her practical reasons for wanting to marry the man she thought of as Knighton, it chafed his pride to watch her pursue that course.

His other reasons were more noble, however. He’d come to realize that he needn’t give up the idea of having her as his wife—he needn’t change his plans for her father too much to have her. He still wanted the title, of course, but perhaps the matter could be settled less publicly.

Because he wanted both. He wanted the title that would gain him the China delegation and thus propel Knighton Trading into a position of great strength and power. And he wanted Rosalind. In his bed, in his life, forever.

Why shouldn’t he have her, damn it? He didn’t know for certain that she’d oppose his plans. His cause was just, after all, and Rosalind was the most fair-minded female he’d ever met. Surely she would concede that her father had wronged him and he deserved the title. From what he could gather, she didn’t even get along with her father.

She did love her sisters, however. No matter how much money he offered for their financial care, she wouldn’t want their names linked with scandal.

But she might brave it if she cared about him. This was the woman, after all, who planned to tread the boards. Surely that would tarnish her sisters’ reputations more than what he intended.

He’d come here hoping to determine how she really felt about him before he took such a drastic step…Yet she clearly wouldn’t tell him as long as he prevaricated. Very well. “Don’t answer my other question, then. Answer this one: Will you marry me? Just forget about Knighton and marry me?”

He held his breath for her answer. If she said yes, he’d tell her the truth—all of it. But first, he had to know how she truly felt about him. Beyond desiring him, of course—after this afternoon he knew she desired him. Even now, her glance kept darting nervously to her bed. He was certainly all too aware of the bed himself.

“No,” she finally clipped out.

He couldn’t believe his ears. She was
refusing
him? How could she, after he’d spent all evening trying to decide whether to offer in the first place! “Why the hell not?” Then it dawned on him. “You think I can’t provide for you, is that it? A man of affairs wouldn’t have the income to support a wife.” That was an answer he could understand, one that would disappear once he told her everything.

“It has nothing to do with your income, I assure you.”

A bleak wind blew through him. “Then it’s my…past you object to.”

“No! It’s because you don’t
want
to marry me. You merely wish to beat Mr. Knighton, to salvage your pride. You can’t bear that I’d offer my hand—
even out of practicality—to someone you hold in such contempt.”

That stymied him. “What? I don’t hold Knighton in contempt!”

“Don’t you? I’ve heard how you speak to him, as if you were his better. Being naturally devious, you’ve taught yourself the ways of a gentleman, but he doesn’t have your talent. He’s not as polished as you, despite his supposed Eton education. So you despise him for his crude manners. And your marriage proposal is only an extension of your contempt, one more effort to show him up.”

“That’s arrant drive!” Thanks to the masquerade, she’d misunderstood everything! What she viewed as contempt was only authority—years of taking charge had made it difficult for him to alter his behavior easily.

“Tell me something, Griff,” she said softly. “If I hadn’t gone to him today with my offer, would you even be here now?”

Her pain rang clearly in her words, sobering him. He wasn’t the only person whose pride had been wounded. Much as he hated to admit it, her offer had indeed made him consider marriage further, and she was too intelligent not to realize it. But that didn’t mean he wanted her because of some feeling of competitiveness toward Daniel, for the love of God. He wanted her for herself.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, determined to lay her fears to rest. “Knighton and I have an unusual friendship. We’ve known each other for ten years, and we speak more frankly to each other than most in our situation. I assure you, however, I have no desire to ‘beat him’ at anything.” He swallowed his pride, and admitted, “I want you as my wife—it’s as simple as that.”