A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries (12)

Griff stared at Rosalind, dumbfounded. His Athena stood there with her hair tumbled down about her shoulders and her lips still reddened from his kisses, and she talked of marrying another man? Daniel, whom she believed to be her cousin?

He must have misunderstood her. “You’ve obviously scattered my wits. I could have sworn you just said you wanted to offer yourself in marriage to Knighton.”

She swallowed, her gaze fixed to the floor. “That’s precisely what I said.”

The thought of her planning to marry any other man after the intimacies they’d just shared sent rage boiling up through him, unreasonable, unpredictable, and ungovernable.

“Over…my…dead…body,” he enunciated in a low growl.

Her head shot up and for a long moment, she stared at him speechlessly. Then stubbornness glinted in her eyes, and she headed for the door again. He grabbed her by the arm, forcing her around to face him.

“Let go!” she cried. “You have no say in this whatsoever!”

“Why the hell not? You nearly let me bed you! That gives me all the say I need!” She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off. “Don’t try to convince me you were unaffected by our activities. This time I know better. I forbid you to marry him when you obviously want me!”

“You forbid me? Why, you arrogant bastard—you have nothing to do with it!”

The word bastard reverberated in the room, striking an ancient chill along his spine that evoked Eton’s cold garrett and the cruel taunts in the halls. Icy fury froze his blood as he backed her against the closed door and planted his hands beside her shoulders to trap her. “You didn’t seem to mind my arrogance or my bastardy a few minutes ago when I had my fingers inside you.”

For a moment she only gaped at him, two spots of color blooming high on her cheeks. Then she slapped him, the impact of her hand against his cheek echoing in the room. “How d-dare you!” she sputtered. “Y-You are the crudest man I’ve ever met!”

“Not half as crude as Knighton, trust me,” he snapped, thinking of Daniel’s frequent visits to the London trollops. “Nor even as crude as you, my sweet, who are leaving one man’s bed to throw yourself into another’s.”

He might as well have struck her back, for hurt drained her eyes of their sparkle and leached her face of color. With a strangled whimper that would have melted stone, she slumped against the door, turning her head to lay her cheek against the oak panel. “That should not surprise you. You’ve already noted that I’m a wanton.”

Tears trembled on her lashes, flooding his conscience with guilt and dissolving his anger. Damnation, he’d made her cry. Self-loathing filled him as he shoved away from the door. What kind of monster had he become?

That was easy to answer: the green-eyed kind.

He was jealous. Of himself, for the love of God! He’d never been jealous in his life, and this was beyond ridiculous. If she wanted to marry “Knighton,” that was him. If by some chance she actually wanted Daniel—which he doubted—Daniel wouldn’t marry her anyway. So why torment her?

“Damn it, Rosalind, I didn’t mean…” He rubbed the cheek she’d slapped, which still stung. He should have known his Amazon would give as well as she got. Not that he didn’t deserve it. “I shouldn’t have said that. Any of it. I know you’re no wanton.”

At her long silence, he swung his gaze back to her. She was staring past him now, tears streaming down her face and her shoulders shaking with the fruitless effort to contain them.

Something tore inside him. “You’re not a wanton. It’s not your fault I took advantage of the attraction between us.”

“But it’s…my fault that I…let you.” She was sobbing now, struggling to speak between great gulps of air. “That’s why I…must end this.”

He didn’t know which was worse—her pitiful sobs or her determination to get away from him. Forcing himself to stay calm this time, he approached her. “End it how? By marrying Knighton?”

“Would you have me…marry you instead?” She groaned, then added quickly, “No, forget that I said it.”

He went very still. He could marry her, couldn’t he? Until now, he’d been convinced she wouldn’t consider him—or rather, Brennan—as a prospective husband. But if she would take him as Brennan, thinking there was no advantage to such a marriage, then she’d surely take him as Knighton—

Damnation, what was he thinking? That couldn’t be what she’d meant. “I thought you wanted to marry for love,” he said softly, searching her face for a sign of her true feelings.

Rubbing her tears away with her fist, she bent her head to focus on the shawl she twisted in her hands. “Yes, of course. I couldn’t possibly marry you.”

The sharp words scraped at his pride, a reaction he tried doggedly to ignore.

She lifted her tear-streaked face to him. “Besides, you don’t want to marry, do you? You said so in the deer park. You said other matters concerned you more than marriage.”

Other matters. Memory slammed into him. He couldn’t believe he’d been so caught up in this that he’d forgotten his situation. If he married Rosalind, he’d have to reveal his identity, what he wanted…everything.

He stared down into her face, so hesitant, so expectant…so enticing. The possibility of marrying her tantalized him. She would belong to him, every fascinating, delightful, lush inch of her. And all he had to do to have her, aside from convincing her to marry the “wicked” Mr. Knighton, was—

Give up his plans for China.

He groaned. She wouldn’t understand his purpose or accept it, not Rosalind with her lofty morality. Delegation or no, she’d certainly never marry him if she knew he planned to strip her father of his title. So marrying her would mean giving up the other.

It would mean letting Swanlea win. Your pride balks at letting their father win…I know you want vengeance…Ruthlessly, Griff shoved Daniel’s words from his brain. This was not about pride or vengeance. It was about business, that’s all. A very large, very significant business with hundreds of employees who depended on him.

With a low curse, he whirled away from her to pace the room. It was madness even to think of marrying her with so much at stake. For the love of God, the woman even said she didn’t want to marry him. What sane man would consider choosing such a woman over the possibility of expanding his business threefold?

Daniel would, he thought. Women of Lady Rosalind’s kind are denied to me and always will be. You don’t know how fortunate you are.

He stiffened. Daniel was wrong. Griff knew precisely how fortunate he was—to have a growing company on the verge of becoming a major power in the world of trade. Unlike his sentimental man of affairs, he could appreciate that advantage.

So marrying her—telling her the truth—was out of the question. Unfortunately, however, she wouldn’t be making her foolish offer to him, but to Daniel, and Griff couldn’t let it go that far. If she offered herself as wife to “Knighton,” Daniel would have to refuse. Swanlea would demand that Daniel offer for one of the others, and when he didn’t would throw them both out. That would end Griff’s search for the proof.

He must change her mind on this. He faced her, again noting with a stab of guilt her fruitless struggle to contain her tears. Damn the woman—could she never do anything delicately? The sight of her so vulnerable cut him right to the heart.

He steeled himself against it. “You said you wouldn’t marry me, so why would you marry Knighton? You don’t love him either, do you?” When she shook her head no, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “So you’ve decided to be mercenary. His wealth has convinced you.”

“No! How could you think it?”

He didn’t think it, not really. Although he’d grown accustomed to grasping women in recent years, she’d never struck him as one. But he wished she were. It would be easier to hold fast to his purpose if she were a greedy harpy.

“Why then?” he asked quietly. “As I recall, you swore not to marry merely to save Swan Park.”

She took a shuddering breath. “Unfortunately, Juliet has no such compunction. I didn’t realize until today how strongly she feels on the subject.”

“Then let her marry him, if that’s what she wants!” Because Lady Juliet was the sort to wait until Daniel proposed, which Griff would never allow to happen.

“But she doesn’t want it—that’s the trouble. She simply has this…insane determination to make sure we don’t lose our home.”

“He has to ask her first, and to my knowledge, he has not.” Nor will he.

She tilted up her chin. “Then my proposal will help him make up his mind. That’s all I want—to have this blasted business decided.”

“Even if it means you marry Knighton?” he asked hoarsely.

Her gaze skittered away from his. “Yes.”

He strove mightily to control his temper. “What if he refuses?”

“He won’t, unless he decides not to marry any of us. I intend to make him a very good proposal. He’ll get no better from my sisters, so if he won’t take mine, he might as well leave.”

Damn her. She placed him and Daniel in a devil of a position. And what the hell did she mean by “make him a very good proposal”?

“If you do this,” he warned in a last-ditch effort to prevent her from forcing Daniel into a choice, “I’ll tell Knighton about our intimacies. He won’t want a wife who’s been carrying on with his man of affairs.”

Her gaze shot to his, eyes glittering like a ruin of crushed gold and green glass. “Tell him if you wish. Though I don’t think he’d want a man of affairs who’s been toying with his respectable female cousin.”

Griff groaned. She would then expect Daniel to dismiss him or something absurd like that. He couldn’t win.

She squared her shoulders. “Besides, such…intimacies won’t happen again no matter what his decision, so it hardly matters.”

Absurdly, that pronouncement infuriated him. “You can’t offer to marry him,” Griff growled.

“Why not? So far you’ve given me no compelling reason against it.”

She tossed back her head. By God, she’d never looked more tempting. With her hair wild and free, her cheeks and lips flushed with color, and her hands planted on her abundant hips, she was the very essence of warrior queen preparing for battle. A sensual, desirable warrior queen.

Damn her to hell. Giving her no warning, he stepped forward and caught her head to hold it still, then kissed her hard, driven by a mix of desire and yes, jealousy. Though she tried to wrench free, he refused to relent until she opened her mouth and took him inside. Then he thrust into it over and over, hungry, desperate. He sandwiched her between his freshly aroused body and the door. With a whimper of need, she strained against him and locked her arms about his waist. That only enflamed him more.

In seconds, he had his hand in her bodice kneading her soft flesh, thumbing her sweet nipple, inciting himself to madness again. Barely conscious of anything but pure raging lust, he ground his erection restlessly into her loins.

She stiffened. Then she shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back away from her. With the look of a wounded animal, she fumbled to straighten her clothes.

“You wanted a compelling reason?” he snapped. His breath came in desperate gasps as he strove to regain control. “That ought to be compelling reason enough for you.”

She dragged her shawl around her shoulders and clutched it tightly to her chest. “It is. It’s a compelling reason why I should marry him,” she whispered. “Because if this goes on any longer, you’ll use my desires to make a h-harlot of me.”

“Rosalind—” he began, but before he could say more, she tore the door open and fled into the hall. He ran out after her. “Damn it, woman, come back here—”

He skittered to a halt as he realized he wore no shirt, no coat, no waistcoat. Although the hall was empty, he couldn’t run after her like this. Not unless he wanted the entire household to know what they’d been doing.

A string of oaths poured out of him as he watched her bolt for the stairs, then hurry down them. Surely she didn’t mean to find Daniel now. For the love of God—

Racing back into his room, he dragged on his clothes, cursing at the endless buttons defying all his attempts at speed. He had to stop her. He had to talk to Daniel and make some decision about how to handle this before she reached the man.

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 her 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 what. 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.

“Well, Griff?” Mr. Knighton prodded. “Have you got anything to tell Lady Rosalind to dissuade her from marrying me?”

She glanced at Griff, but he refused to look at her. Instead, his gaze was fixed on his employer, full of an impotent rage so fierce it made her catch her breath. At last he said, “No. Nothing. If she wants to marry you and you want to marry her, then go ahead. I intend to continue as if nothing has happened.”

What a strange statement. But what struck her most was the contempt with which he spoke it. Was it contempt for her? Or his employer?

Her new “fiancé” faced her with a smile. “Then it’s agreed. I’ll go to your father after dinner and offer for your hand. Tomorrow he and I will discuss the settlement.”

A sudden inspiration seized her. “After that, I know you’ll want to return to London to attend to your business, you and Mr. Brennan. I’m sure we’ve kept you from your work far too long already. I’ll stay here and prepare for the wedding, of course.”

Mr. Knighton stared at her. The oddest flicker in his gray eyes made her wonder if she’d been too obvious, and he’d guessed what she was about. Behind him, she heard Griff mutter something unintelligible beneath his breath.

Then her “fiancé” smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous, m’lady. My business affairs can wait. I want to take part in all the plans for the wedding. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you here to do it alone, and so soon after our engagement.”

Blast him. Well, it had been worth a try, and she didn’t plan to give up. One way or the other, she intended to delay the wedding long enough to make arrangements for her and Juliet and Helena.

“So don’t concern yourself about Knighton Trading,” Mr. Knighton went on genially. “Griff and I planned from the beginning to be here at least a week, and it’s already half-gone.” He shot Griff a glance. “Isn’t that right?”

Griff looked as if he were strangling on his own blood, but he managed to choke out a curt, “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Knighton turned back to her with an even broader smile. “Now, why don’t you go on and start those wedding plans? And don’t worry over the expense neither. I don’t mind paying for it if need be.” His eyes twinkled merrily. “I have plenty of money, y’know. Just ask Griff.”

She didn’t dare look at Griff, much less ask him such a question. But she was rabidly eager to escape his condemning stares. “Very well,” she told Mr. Knighton. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Certainly, m’lady.” To her surprise, he placed a proprietary hand in the small of her back and led her to the door. “Until then.”

Only after she’d left the study and made her way to her bedchamber did she allow herself to crumple. She hoped she could indeed delay this wedding indefinitely…or at least until she figured out a way to escape this nightmare. Because if she couldn’t, she might find herself in quite a pickle.