A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries (23)

Rosalind paced backstage, surprised she wasn’t more nervous. She’d seen the packed theater—it ought to terrify her, yet it didn’t. She wasn’t sure why. It might be different if her family were here or…

She squelched that thought at once.

Mrs. Inchbald approached to survey Rosalind’s costume with obvious approval. “I’m delighted to see they made it fit. Your first appearance shouldn’t be marred by a shabby costume.”

“Once again, I’m in your debt. If I’d realized I’d be better off providing my own costumes, I’d have brought clothes from home to remake.”

She glanced down at the flowing gown Mrs. Inchbald had loaned her. Its gold threads and filmy fabric made it look more Egyptian than anything in the properties room, though it consequently displayed a scandalous amount of flesh. Then again, a dressmaker could only accomplish so much when the original wearer of a costume was as slender as Mrs. Inchbald and the new one as full-bodied as Rosalind.

Tugging the deep bodice higher, she smiled sheepishly. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have started as an Egyptian handmaiden after all.”

“Nonsense. You look lovely.” Mrs. Inchbald pulled aside the curtain and scanned the audience, then smiled. “It’s a good thing, too, since your Mr. Knighton is here.”

Rosalind’s curst heart fluttered uncontrollably. “He can’t be!” She hurried to look out at the woman’s side.

Mrs. Inchbald gestured to a box near the stage. “There. That’s him, isn’t it?”

Rosalind immediately spotted the dark-haired man standing in the first-tier box with his profile to the stage. Dear God, oh, dear God. “Yes, that’s him.”

“He’s a handsome one, isn’t he?”

She nodded as she examined every inch of him. He was, more’s the pity. She should have guessed he’d look delicious in evening clothes. The perfectly fitted tailcoat and breeches suited him. But he was wealthy, after all. He probably spent more on a tailor in one month than she spent on gowns in a year.

He was accompanied by Daniel and a silvery-haired woman Rosalind could only assume was his mother. Rosalind eyed “Georgina” with painful curiosity. So that was the woman Papa had once loved so much that he’d destroyed her son for it? Rosalind could see why. Georgina was still pretty, and her smile held a brightness that would captivate any man.

The woman sat down, and Rosalind returned her attention to Griff. She thought he looked pale under the light from thousands of candles. He wasn’t smiling, though Daniel seemed to be doing enough of that for both of them. Seeing him so close and yet so inaccessible made her heart twist in her chest.

The orchestra started playing, and Rosalind jerked back from the curtain. She was in the second scene. She didn’t have time to stand here gawking at Griff.

When Mrs. Inchbald also drew back and smiled, a sudden suspicion leapt into Rosalind’s mind. “How did Griff know I was here?”

Her friend shrugged. “Perhaps he likes Shakespeare.”

Rosalind groaned. “Of course.” How stupid of her to take a role in a Shakespeare play, especially the only one currently being performed in London. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t realize it was she. How would he make a connection between Rose Laplace and her? He couldn’t know her mother’s stage name, and besides, she was in costume.

She rolled her eyes. Oh, yes, a costume that hid nothing. She wasn’t even wearing a wig, for pity’s sake, since they’d deemed her hair dark enough for the role. And that box he was in practically sat on the stage.

The play started.

Now she was nervous.

The first scene passed before she was ready, and all too soon she was entering the stage with the other eight performers. Thankfully, her first line came well into the scene. By then, she was caught up in the story enough to put Griff from her mind. Or as much as she could ever put him from her mind.

Iras, along with the character of Charmian, was Cleopatra’s attendant, destined to die with her. In their scene, Iras and Charmian were having their fortunes told by a crafty soothsayer whose every word had a double, more dire meaning. For most of the scene, Rosalind easily fell into her part.

There was one frantic moment, however, when she lost her role. The soothsayer had just told Charmian that she had the same fortune as Iras, and Iras had asked if she wasn’t at least an inch of fortune better.

Charmian’s next line was, “Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?”

The meaning behind Iras’s rejoinder, “Not in my husband’s nose,” struck Rosalind suddenly. She blushed and nearly tripped over the line, but thankfully recovered in time to give it the comedic delivery it deserved.

Throughout the rest of the scene, however, she was only too painfully aware of Griff, though she didn’t dare look at him. All she could think about was their discussions of Shakespeare’s bawdy humor. Dear God, how would she ever perform Shakespeare without thinking of it? Of Griff? Would the man intrude even here, in this part of her life?

She half feared, half hoped he’d seek her out during the interludes between the acts, but when the third act came and went with no sign of him, she decided perhaps he hadn’t recognized her after all. She told herself she ought to be relieved.

Instead she was annoyed. Here she was, making her great debut on the stage, and he didn’t even know it. It was enough to make her flounce out there and tell him. Of course, that would be foolish in the extreme.

Then again, he might have recognized her and not care. She scowled at the thought, then cursed herself for scowling. Why did it matter what he did, how he felt?

Because it did. It just did.

By the last scene, the one in which she was to die with Cleopatra, she finally worked up the courage to look at him during the first part, when she had no lines and nothing to do but stand by on stage.

She regretted it instantly. He’d certainly recognized her. His gaze was locked on her—earnest and grave, mirroring her own desperate need. Daniel and his mother conversed in low whispers beside him, but he ignored them. Cleopatra spoke, and he ignored her. He only had eyes for Rosalind.

And she only had eyes for him. She drank him in greedily, wishing she could see him better past the candles at the foot of the stage.

In that instant—when all her attention was off the play and focused on Griff—she realized that nothing mattered to her except him. The acclaim of the audience meant nothing next to his; the demands of the play were as dust next to his. If he attended all her plays and looked at her like that, they might as well take her out and shoot her, for all the good she’d be as an actress. Because right now, for her, the only person in the entire huge Covent Garden Theatre was him.

She played the rest of the last act in a daze, hardly caring how she gave her lines. All she wanted was to see him, and now she felt sure she would. The fact that he hadn’t tried to interrupt her performance by accosting her between the acts touched her, but surely he wouldn’t delay once the play was done.

She was right. When she exited after the final curtain call, he was waiting in the wings. Actors and actresses milled around, chatting about the performance, evaluating the crowd, but she saw no one else. She walked toward him, a sudden apprehension piercing her. What if he didn’t want her back? What if he was here merely to be polite?

But Griff never did anything to be polite. He watched her expectantly, and he held a satchel tucked under his arm. She felt a twinge of guilt to see lines of weariness etched into his brow and black circles under his eyes. He looked as if he’d been eating and sleeping as little as she. Surely that showed he loved her, didn’t it? Perhaps not the way she loved him, but—

“You were wonderful,” he said as she reached him, his voice barely lifting above the din backstage. A faint smile touched his lips. “But I knew you would be.”

“Thank you.” I love you.

They stood apart, awkward, so much to be said and both uncertain how to begin.

He cleared his throat. “I see you decided to start on those bawdy passages of Shakespeare without me.”

She had no chance to answer before a young man pushed between them to thrust a half-wilted bouquet of flowers at her. “Miss Laplace, you outshone them all!”

Not sure what else to do, she took the flowers and murmured another “Thank you,” though this one was distinctly wooden.

The young man leered down at her breasts. “A few of us are having a late dinner at the Crown and Anchor, and we’d love it if you joined us.”

“No, I—”

“We’re not taking no for an answer, are we, Darnley?” another young man interjected as he joined his friend. He winked at her. “Two of the other girls are coming with us. You’ve got to come. It’ll be jolly good fun.”

She glanced at Griff, but he just stood there silently, with an uncharacteristic reserve. Though she didn’t know what to make of it, she certainly had no desire to go off with these two coxcombs. She leveled a cold gaze on them. “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.”

She started to push through them to get to Griff, but the one named Darnley slid his arm about her waist. “At least give us a chance to talk you into it, won’t you?”

“I believe the lady told you she wasn’t interested, Darnley,” Griff bit out as he stepped forward to clasp her arm. “And her prior engagement is with me, so why don’t you and Jenkins find another actress to play with?”

Darnley blinked at Griff. “Knighton! I beg your pardon. We didn’t see you there, old chap.”

Griff just glared at him until Darnley dropped his arm and pulled his friend away, grumbling.

“Could we talk privately?” he then asked her in a low voice. “Kemble has offered me the use of his office. That is, if you’re willing to come with me.”

“Of course I’ll come with you.”

This sudden odd restraint of his worried her. She let him draw her through the throng and down the backstage stairs, but his silence preyed upon her imagination until she could stand it no longer. “Thank you for stepping in with those two.”

“You know who they are, don’t you?” he said tightly.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“Darnley is the Marquess of Darnley. And his companion Captain Jenkins is his cousin and Prinny’s current favorite. They both attended Eton with me.” He shot her a bleak look. “Perhaps now you regret rebuffing them.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Deliberately, she tossed the bouquet aside. “I wouldn’t even have let it go as far as it did if they hadn’t taken me by surprise.”

“Taken you by surprise?” he grumbled. His eyes scoured her costume, narrowing as they focused on her low-hung bodice. “I don’t see why. That gown is designed to have half the male audience slavering over you.”

Cheered by his jealousy, she ventured a smile. “Mama’s friend, Mrs. Inchbald, gave it to me.”

“I see I must have a chat with the woman if you plan to keep using her costumes.”

Her heart sank. That didn’t sound like a renewal of his proposal. But then, why was he here, asking to speak to her privately?

As soon as they reached Mr. Kemble’s office and went inside, he released her arm, further heightening her distress. He strode away from her to Mr. Kemble’s desk and set down his satchel. For a moment, he stood there with his back to her, making her more uneasy the longer he remained silent.

The room was cold, though there was a fire lit. Nervously, she rubbed her bare forearms and tried to read Griff’s mood. She’d expected recriminations, accusations, and certainly more of his attempts to seduce her. Not this unnatural quiet. Not from Griff. Then he faced her, and the stark pain in his expression made her breath catch in her throat.

“I want you to know,” he said, “that I’ve spent the last few days becoming intimately acquainted with my black soul. I’d never examined it before, but after your father held a mirror up to it, then you, and finally my mother, I could hardly ignore the image. I confess it was an ugly one. Resentments lurked there that I’d never recognized; vanities were exposed to the light so vexing I couldn’t bear the sight of them.”

“Oh, Griff—” she began.

He forestalled her with a quick wave of his hand. “Let me say it all first before you say anything. Please?”

She nodded, though what she really wanted wasn’t to speak but to enfold him in her arms and kiss away his hurts.

He shifted his gaze to the curtained window at her right, as if looking at her was more than he could stand. “One thing that became horribly clear to me was that you were right. About everything—my ambition, my selfishness, everything. You were certainly right about my reasons for wanting Knighton Trading to succeed. I realized it the morning after you left me when I dreamed—”

Breaking off, he rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “Let’s just say I had a dream that made me finally understand myself. You said I wanted to lash out at those who’d called me bastard to ‘grind their noses’ in it. That was true, but it was even smaller than that. I wanted to strike back at my boyhood tormentors, a lot of children who’d long ago ceased to matter. Everything I wanted came down to that—a need to beat a lot of stupid Eton dandies like Darnley and Jenkins, a need to show them I was better. To do it, I was even prepared to act like a child myself—spoiled and selfish and caring only about what I wanted.”

She hadn’t thought her words had affected him so. He’d seemed so angry over them that night.

A muscle jerked as he clenched his jaw. “I finally realized that all my hopes for China came down to that. In truth, Knighton Trading was fine without my having a spot on that delegation, and I knew it. I wouldn’t admit it, but I knew it.” His gaze swung back to her. “As its owner—as a grown man rather than a child—I should have seen how contemptible my plans were. You saw it. Daniel saw it. Even your damned father saw it. The part of me that still had a sliver of conscience saw it, too, or I would never have attempted to gain your hand in marriage without telling you of the certificate. Still, I ignored my conscience until you left me.”

She held her breath, moved beyond words by his obvious remorse. Dear God, how she loved him!

“I came to tell you that I do see it now, that I see it and regret it, that I’m sorry for all that my plans may have cost you. And I came to give you something.” Turning to the desk, he removed some papers from the satchel. When he faced her, he held them out.

Not sure what to expect, she took the papers warily.

“The document on top you will recognize,” he said hoarsely. “It’s the certificate. I have my mother’s permission to give it to you.” When she glanced up at him, perplexed, he added with a wry smile, “You see, one thing you taught me was that I ought to consult all the parties concerned, instead of pursuing my plans as if only I was involved. Since the certificate was my mother’s before your father stole it, I thought she should have a say in how it’s used. She agreed I could give it to you.”

Her throat felt clogged with happy tears as she stared down at the piece of paper that had brought so much grief to so many.

“You will need it after your father dies,” he went on, “in order to execute that second document in your hand.”

Seized by curiosity, she flipped to the next document and stared at it. It was a contract of some kind, written in typically impenetrable legal language.

“That document assigns ownership of Swan Park to you and your sisters when your father dies and I inherit.” When her gaze flew to his, he added with a hint of remorse, “That was the only legal way to accomplish it, I’m afraid. As his daughters, you can’t inherit it, and only after I’m proven the legitimate heir can I even give it to you. But if you use the first to prove I can inherit, then you can exercise the second that allows the three of you to receive it from me as a gift.”

Pure shock kept her silent. Could this be the same man who’d manufactured an elaborate masquerade so he could regain the title withheld from him? Could he actually be giving away not only the title, but the property and everything in it?

As if sensing her disbelief, he said, “It’s all legal, I assure you.” He flashed her a wan smile. “I had to stand over my solicitor and his clerks to get it finished in time for tonight, but it’s legal. If you don’t believe me, take it to an attorney or—”

“I believe you.” Fear suddenly seized her chest, making her heart thump madly. “But does this…does this mean you don’t want to marry me anymore?”

“We’re getting to that.” A desolate pain scored his brow. “I want to marry you more than ever. But I want you to choose me because you want me, too. You can’t choose freely if you’re encumbered by responsibilities to your sisters. If you own Swan Park, then you have a choice. If you don’t marry me, this will enable you to—” His voice cracked a little. “Make your way on the stage if you like or manage the estate. Either way, you and your sisters will be provided for. It’s a small enough thing to offer in repayment for my…base behavior.”

She could hardly bear his self-recrimination anymore. “Please, Griff—”

“Let me finish, my sweet.” He closed his eyes briefly, as if marshaling his strength. When he continued, his tone was wrought with guilt. “Among the hard truths I’ve had to acknowledge in the past few days, one was that I treated you and your family badly. Perhaps your father deserved it—I don’t know—but none of the rest of you did. I manipulated you, lied to you, and seduced you, yet you forgave me. Until I held firm about my stupid title—a title I’d never really needed, that I only thought I needed.”

He leaned back against the desk, gripping the edges until his knuckles gleamed white. “You probably won’t be surprised to learn that I really hadn’t thought I’d done anything wrong, not until after you left Swan Park. Then I realized that any woman so hurt by my actions that she would risk danger and uncertainty to be free of me must be desperate indeed. And I’d driven you to that desperation. I’d driven you away.”

Staring off past her, he went on in a choked voice. “That’s when I knew the truth. You said I didn’t know how to love. Well, about that one thing, you were wrong. Perhaps I didn’t know how before, but I do now.” His gaze met hers, fierce, intent. “I love you. I’ll always love you. After you left, I realized that my greatest fear was losing you. It mattered more to me than the certificate or the China delegation. It mattered more to me than Knighton Trading.”

Her heart felt full to bursting with her own love for him, yet it was clear he wasn’t finished, and now she desperately wanted to hear it all.

He shoved away from the desk, approaching her with solemn determination. “You once accused me of having a mistress with whom you could never compete. Well, my love, I’m relinquishing my mistress. To you.” Gesturing to the papers in her hand, he added, “That last document assigns to you the ownership of Knighton Trading.”

“What?” she exclaimed, half-certain he was joking.

“I’m giving you the only thing I own of any worth. It’s yours now. You may keep me on as manager or clerk or whatever you wish. Or dismiss me. It’s your choice.”

“Oh, my love—”

“If you choose to marry me, of course, Knighton Trading will once more belong to me as your husband, but as far as I’m concerned, it matters not—you’ll still have a say in the running of it. Therefore you needn’t worry that it means more to me than you. And if you choose not to marry me—” He glanced away as if that possibility were too painful to contemplate. “Then none of it matters anyway. Because I’ve discovered in the past few days that without you, my life is nothing. At least this way I’d have the satisfaction of knowing I’d given you the wealth to ensure you a happy life.”

“A happy life?” She looked at the tormented man she loved, who’d faced his own darkness for her. It was her turn now. Walking to the fireplace, she threw the documents for Swan Park onto the low-burning fire. “I told you before that running Swan Park would not make me happy.”

As they burst into flame, her heart lightened, floated. She tossed the documents for Knighton Trading on top, her happiness soaring as high as the smoke rising from the fiery consumption of all her fears. “And I’m bloody certain that running a trading concern—even as your partner—could not make me happy.”

The certificate, she folded carefully and tucked in the band of her skirt. “This, however, I shall keep.” With her heart brimming over, she returned to where he stood watching her uncertainly. “We’ll need it for our son someday, won’t we?”

As hope softened Griff’s features, she cupped his face tenderly between her hands. “There’s just one thing I require for a happy life, and it isn’t your wealth. But only you can give it to me. Indeed, it’s the only thing I want from you.”

“What is that?” he choked out, his wonderful blue eyes riveted on her face.

“You. Your heart. Your love. Your—”

Hauling her into his arms, he kissed her sweetly, achingly, a kiss that promised more love than she’d expected from any man, but certainly from him. When he drew back, that same love shone in his dear face. “You have it, all of it,” he said earnestly. “My wealth, my heart, my love. Marry me, and you may do as you wish—strut the stage, run Swan Park, or lie about all day while I feed you apple tarts. But never leave me again, darling, for I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

“Nor can I.” Feverishly, she pressed kisses to his cheeks, his chin, his broad temple. Joy danced through her, sweeping away all her uncertainties. He loved her so much he’d wanted to sacrifice everything for her happiness. How could a woman resist a man like that?

She drew back to beam at him. “You didn’t need to do all this, you know. The minute I saw you in the theater, I realized I could never leave you again. I knew I never wanted to let you go.”

That earned her another kiss, only this time he lingered forever over her mouth, worshiping it, plundering it…loving it. And as always, when he finished he left her weak-kneed and trembling.

“I hope you realize what marriage to me will mean, darling,” he warned. “Since I’m determined to keep your father’s secret, in public I must pretend to be what I was before. So you’ll be marrying a man widely proclaimed to be both illegitimate and heartless. Certainly someone unworthy of an earl’s daughter in the eyes of the world.”

“Do you care what the world thinks?”

He stared down at her sincerely. “All I care about is having you as my wife.”

She searched his face but saw only worry for her, and that warmed her to her toes. “Then I’m perfectly content.” She smiled. “Besides, we’re both good at playacting, so we can manage any role. As long as you’re my husband in private, I don’t care what else you pretend to be in public. We both know the truth.”

Laying her hand on his chest, she added, “As for being heartless, I’ll challenge anyone who calls you such. For I finally know that Daniel was right. Until now you ignored your heart—but you have one. Oh, yes, my love, you had one all along.”

“And it’s yours,” he told her as he clasped her hand tightly in his. “It will always be yours.”