A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries (14)

Griff 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.”

“Is it?” Her voice caught on the words. “All right. Answer a question that’s been plaguing me, and I’ll consider your…proposal.”

“What?”

“What have you been searching for so secretly at Swan Park?”

Damnation, that would be her question. And the simplest answer was the truth. It would certainly correct her misconceptions about his “contempt” for “Knighton,” and she’d understand why he’d delayed in proposing.

He sighed. Yes, she’d understand all right. She’d understand that he meant to ruin her father. She might not care, but if she did, then he risked her refusing him. And then she’d also make sure he never got his proof. Why should he gamble when the woman wouldn’t even admit she wanted to marry him?

“I haven’t been searching for anything, I told you,” he said evasively. “I’m only taking stock of the property—”

“Balderdash, sheer balderdash.” She approached, the candle suddenly bathing her with light that glinted red in her hair and reflected hellfire in her eyes. “Don’t treat me like a sapskull. You haven’t even spoken to our steward yet or asked to meet Papa’s own man of affairs. You would have done both right away if your concern had truly been for the future of the estate. Not to mention that I haven’t smelled tobacco on you once. For a man desperate for cigars, you’ve been dreadfully remiss in smoking them.”

By God, the woman had certainly paid close attention to his activities and come to some very astute conclusions. But he would expect no less of his Athena.

He tried another evasion. “If you’re so certain I’m searching for something, then why don’t you tell me what you think it is?”

Rosalind heard Griff’s question with a hint of alarm. It took all her will not to glance at the foot of her bed where the trunk with Papa’s box lay. She’d already glanced at it too many times since he’d been in the room. “I have no idea. That’s what I want you to tell me.”

“You have no idea what I’m looking for, but you’re sure I’m looking for something. If your suspicions are so sound, why haven’t you said anything to your father? Had him throw me out?”

His snide tone rankled. She tilted up her chin and glared at him. “I’d planned to do that very thing this afternoon when I discovered the unsealed door to the stairs in your room. But then you…distracted me and afterward—”

“Afterward, you went to my employer,” he bit out. “Come to think of it, why didn’t you mention these suspicions to Knighton when you were offering yourself to him? Or have you forgotten he’s the one I work for? You only seem to consider my motives suspect, yet I do what he commands.”

He had a point, Rosalind thought. If Griff were playing some deep game, Mr. Knighton must indeed have something to do with it. But if they were both in it together, why had Mr. Knighton accepted her proposal when Griff had been so decidedly against it? Something wasn’t right here.

“Very well,” she said, “perhaps I will ask him about it later. But first I want to know what you have to say about it, since you’re the one doing the searching.”

He glanced away, and his profile gave her a new view of his battered condition, which easily matched that of his employer’s. His upper cheek bore an ugly bruise, and the corner of his lip was crusted over where it had been split open.

She tamped down a sudden wave of tender concern. So what if he had fought over her? It meant nothing. Why, she wasn’t even sure how much the fight had to do with her at all. Mr. Knighton clearly didn’t care enough about her to fight anyone on her behalf. As for Griff…well, he was driven by pride, that’s all. He seemed to have an inordinate supply of it for a mere man of affairs.

“Believe what you wish about my activities,” he finally answered, “but I had no aim other than the one I’ve professed all along.” He fixed her with an earnest look. “Besides, it has nothing to do with us, with why we should marry. I want to marry you. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Pain seared her throat, not only at his refusal to tell her anything, but at the flat, unemotional tone of his proposal. He acted as if the very fact of his offering for a spinster like her ought to make her fall down at his feet in gratitude.

Well, he could wait until doomsday for that.

“While I’m terribly flattered that you’d deign to marry me—” she began frostily.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘deign’ to marry you?” he interrupted.

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.