A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries (9)

Amidst Lady Juliet’s chatter, Daniel’s attempts at charm, and Lady Helena’s reserved silence, Griff sat and watched Rosalind eat heartily of the cold ham and half-moon slices of cheddar on her plate. True to her words, she gave no sign of being affected by their kisses, nor had she from the moment they’d left the orchard. On their walk back to the house, her conversation had been brisk and engaging, and though she’d effectively skirted discussion of their activities, it hadn’t seemed deliberate.

As for him, he’d been too angry—and aroused—to do more than grunt responses to her comments. They’d arrived at the house to find everyone awaiting them on the terrace, where luncheon had been served.

Now Rosalind sat and ate beneath the kindly sun, wearing a countenance as serene as her older sister’s. And he sat wearing a countenance that was anything but. Perhaps she was immune to temptation, but he damned well wasn’t. He still hadn’t subdued his willful cock, and just when he pacified it a bit, one look at her made it rear its demanding head again.

How could she sit there so calmly, conversing and joking as if nothing had happened between them? He had no interest whatsoever in the innocuous conversations of their companions, and certainly no appetite for food or drink.

Except for the vintage he’d accidentally uncorked in the orchard. The one called Lady Rosalind.

That was a rare vintage indeed—champagne where he’d expected vinegar—and he craved more. But he couldn’t have more. She was fruit of Swanlea’s vines, for the love of God! Had he lost his mind to be thinking of her this way?

Yes. Because the thought of swearing off her particular liquor was bedeviling him.

But not her, it seemed. Gone were her virginal wonder and ardent gaze. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she could play the proper lady when she wanted. Is that what her self-possessed air was—a role? Or did she truly care no more about their shared kisses than she would the notes of a sonata vanishing on the breeze?

If this were a role, she played it well, sitting there so demure and prim as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. By God, he would make butter melt in her mouth, if it took him the rest of the day. How dared she make light of their kisses when they’d utterly distracted him from his purpose?

“You’re not eating, Mr. Brennan,” Juliet chirped. “Does the food not please you?”

He glanced down at his full plate. “The food isn’t the problem.” He tried to catch Rosalind’s eye, but she was suddenly intent upon drinking her wine. His eyes narrowed. “As it happens, your sister and I got so hungry on our walk that we ate a plum in the orchard.”

“You mean plums,” Juliet cut in with a giggle. “Surely you didn’t share one.”

He hesitated just long enough to make Rosalind’s gaze jump to his, a hint of alarm in its depths. But she misunderstood his intention—he didn’t wish to expose her, only make her expose herself to him.

“No, of course not,” he lied. “But it was a foolish indulgence, since it killed our appetites for anything else.”

He knew Rosalind took his meaning, though she made no sign of it. Instead, she leaned forward to cut a nice swath through the meat on her plate. “Speak for your own appetite.” She lifted the portion nearly to her mouth, then paused with the fork midair. “Mine is perfectly intact, at least for healthful food like this.”

“Do you claim that plums are unhealthful?” He felt everyone’s eyes on him, but paid them no heed. Let them think what they would. He wanted to make her acknowledge he hadn’t been the only one affected by their kisses.

“Oh, they’re very good in their place, but they can be cloying. As you’ve already noted, all it takes is a single plum to make one ill.”

“You misunderstand me. The plum didn’t make me ill.” He lowered his voice deliberately. “If anything, it made me crave more…plums.”

He’d hoped for a blush, but all he got was a stony stare. “Earlier this morning you said you didn’t like plums. You’re a most fickle creature, Mr. Brennan.”

“Not at all. After you coaxed me to taste one I discovered that eating truly superior fruit changes one’s opinions on the subject.”

“Well, Mr. Brennan,” Juliet put in before Rosalind could retort, “you and Rosalind had a dreadfully dull morning if all you talked about was fruit.” The girl yawned prettily.

“The one thing I would not call it is boring.” Griff kept his gaze fixed on Rosalind. He would unsettle her if it killed him. “And we discussed other subjects. Shakespeare, for example—one of the sonnets. We had an interesting discussion about temptation, didn’t we, Lady Rosalind?”

She showed no reaction, though a quick glance around the terrace revealed that at least two of their companions were now very interested in the conversation. Daniel watched them with narrowed eyes, and Lady Helena had stopped painting the miniature she’d taken up after finishing her meal.

Yet Rosalind remained immune. “Are you sure it was one of the sonnets? I recall speaking of Shakespeare, but I thought it was A Comedy of Errors. All that talk about thieves, remember? When we discussed your childhood in the workhouse? And your fascinating family connections?”

Damnation. She certainly picked her weapons well. Daniel had straightened in his chair to glare at Griff.

As if knowing how much trouble she’d caused, she smiled. Then she leaned toward her younger sister without taking her gaze from Griff. “The man has a most intriguing background, Juliet. His father was a highwayman, for pity’s sake—Wild Danny Brennan. Can you believe it?”

Griff groaned. Daniel was going to kill him.

“No!” Juliet exclaimed, regarding Griff as if he’d suddenly transformed into a snake in their midst. Then she spotted her sister’s calculating look and gave a nervous giggle. “Oh, Rosalind, you’re teasing me again, aren’t you? You’re really too awful sometimes.”

“No, I’m perfectly serious. Mr. Brennan gave me all the details. Didn’t you, Mr. Brennan?”

Griff snatched up his wineglass and swigged a healthy mouthful, then stared into its ruby depths to keep from looking at Daniel.

Rosalind continued to pound nails into his coffin. “Mr. Brennan says he was once a smuggler, too—a very disreputable man. You must take care with him, Juliet. He’s been warning me about his dangerous character all morning.”

Griff swirled the wine in his glass to prevent himself from leaping over the table and throttling the loose-tongued woman.

A noise erupted from Daniel that sounded like a cross between a growl and a curse. “The two of you certainly had an interesting tour of the estate.”

“Oh, we did indeed. Mr. Brennan has been blackening his character for me by the hour.” She glanced at Daniel. “Unless, of course, he was telling me tall tales. Was he?”

Griff stiffened as Daniel leapt from his chair and began lumbering back and forth along the terrace like the bear at a bear baiting. Goddamn it, he’d better support the story. If Daniel made him look like a liar to her, he’d thrash the man into the next county!

Daniel stopped to fix Griff with a blistering stare meant to fry him where he sat. “Well, you see, m’lady—”

“Knighton,” Griff interrupted, setting down his wineglass, “remember that fellow you think should be paid two-hundred pounds? I’m beginning to agree that’s probably a fairer sum. Or even two-hundred and fifty. What do you think?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Rosalind bit out, then stared imploringly at Daniel. “Mr. Knighton? Was Mr. Brennan lying about his parentage?”

Daniel looked from her to Griff in sheer frustration. Finally, to Griff’s vast relief, he sighed and threw himself back into his chair. “Does it matter? If I say he’s lying, you won’t believe me. You’ll think I’m only covering up the follies—and loose tongue—of my man of affairs, won’t you? Especially when his words reflect badly on me.”

Daniel’s comments seemed to surprise her. “I don’t see how any of that could reflect badly on you. You aren’t responsible for the sins of Mr. Brennan’s parents, if indeed there were any. You didn’t know him when he was in the workhouse. And from what he told me about how you met, you can be excused for hiring a man who saved your life, even if he was—or claims he was—a smuggler.”

Daniel’s gaze swung back to Griff, slightly mollified. “You told her that? About how we met?”

Griff nodded.

Rosalind looked confused now. “Are you saying it’s…all true? What he said?”

Wearily, Daniel leaned back in his chair. “Yes, it’s all true. But believe me, it’s far in the past, and Mr. Brennan wouldn’t—”

“Don’t mistake me, Mr. Knighton,” she broke in, an odd remorse softening her face. “I-I wasn’t accusing you of anything, or implying that you’d erred in hiring him or bringing him here or—”

“Then what were you doing, Rosalind?” Lady Helena spoke after remaining so silent all afternoon. A disapproving frown rippled her smooth brow. “It seems to me you meant to embarrass someone—if not Mr. Knighton, then Mr. Brennan. You’d do well to remember they’re both our guests, no matter how you feel about it. You’ve exceeded the bounds of courtesy this time, and you know it.”

Griff relished Rosalind’s clear discomfort at the rebuke. He’d begun to think nothing shamed the brazen creature.

“You misunderstand me, Helena,” Rosalind answered. “I assumed Mr. Brennan was lying, or I would never have brought it up. He’s been telling falsehoods to…tease me, and I had thought this to be one of them. Indeed, I’m surprised to hear I was mistaken.”

She spoke with such dignity he felt like a cur for exulting over her embarrassment. Ironically, he had been lying—at least about himself. She’d been astute enough to realize that.

Daniel, the other liar, took up her cause. “It’s not Lady Rosalind’s fault,” he remarked to Lady Helena. “Knowing Griff, I’m sure he did something to rouse your sister’s temper. Lately he’s had an unhappy habit of alarming young women with stories of his days in the smuggling business. Apparently your sister doesn’t alarm so easily.”

He shot Griff a warning look. “You see all the trouble you’ve caused for nothing, man? How you’ve gotten my fair cousins into a miff? They’ll want nothing to do with me now that my man of affairs has proved disreputable.”

“That’s not true!” Juliet protested feebly.

Griff stood abruptly and clapped his hat on his head. He’d had enough of this. If he stayed here another moment, he was liable to expose the entire masquerade with his quick tongue. “I’m sure you can soothe all the ruffled feathers in the henhouse, Knighton. It’s what you do best, isn’t it? Meanwhile, I have work to do, so I’ll take my leave of you all and spare you my annoying presence for a few hours.”

Rosalind jumped to her feet, obviously intent on keeping to her threats to shadow him. “But I have more of the estate to show you.”

He was in no mood for another of her tours. “Show your ‘cousin’ Swan Park’s delights if you wish, Lady Rosalind, but leave me out of it.”

When he stalked off toward the house, he heard the damnable woman’s boots clicking on the granite as she hurried after him. “If you plan to work in the library,” she said imperiously behind him, “I’ll keep you company—”

“No!” He halted and turned on her. That was the last thing he needed—the suspicious Rosalind draped over some chair, watching over his shoulder, unwittingly tempting him to try her resolution not to “succumb” to his advances.

A sudden brilliant idea seized him. He lowered his voice so only she could hear his words. “As it happens, I won’t be working in the library, but in my bedchamber—sitting on my bed.”

He let his gaze rake her body with the utmost insolence, stopping deliberately at the point where her shawl half hid her full breasts. “If you wish to keep me company there, I’m more than happy to oblige.” He brought his gaze back to her face very, very slowly. “There’s plenty of room in my bed for both of us, I’ll wager. Just say the word, and we’ll go upstairs together.”

To his fierce satisfaction, a blush began in the vicinity of her breasts and crawled rapidly up her neck to her face. “You know very well I’ll do no such thing!” she hissed under her breath.

“What a shame. At the moment, I can think of nothing more satisfying than stopping your mouth—and so far I’ve found only one effective method for it. I think you’ll agree it has its…pleasures. For both of us.”

She trembled from head to toe, but her eyes were alight with anger. “I’ll die before I let you kiss me again, you…you cad!”

Well, well—he’d finally raised a reaction out of the woman. She was obviously not immune to his kisses. “‘The lady doth protest too much methinks,’” he quoted in gleeful delight. “And if you keep following me around like a bloodhound, I may decide to prove that you do enjoy my kisses. Only next time I won’t stop at kissing.”

Ignoring her rage, he pivoted on his heel and strolled into the house without a backward glance. Let her stew for a while. He knew the truth now—she was not unaffected, and kisses could drive her off. So until she stopped accompanying him everywhere, he would insist on kissing her…everywhere.

He glanced back toward the earl’s apartments in the east wing. Rosalind might bedevil him, but she no doubt bedeviled her father even more with her nonchalant refusal to save Swan Park by marrying. A bitter smile crossed his face. How ironic that his enemy should have to rely on his daughters to hold on to his estate. He hoped that stuck in the old man’s craw.

He strode down the hall to the west wing, climbed the two flights of stairs, and had nearly reached his bedchamber on the second floor when he heard footsteps behind him again. Surely after all his threats Rosalind wouldn’t persist in following him. Grimly, he turned to look back. But it wasn’t Rosalind approaching.

It was Daniel. And the giant was not happy.

With a sigh, Griff waited for him. As the man drew near and started to speak, Griff held his finger to his lips, then gestured to the door of his bedchamber.

As soon as they’d entered, Griff closed the door. “Daniel, I—”

“Don’t try any excuses on me,” Daniel snapped. “I had good reasons for asking you to keep silent, but you didn’t care. You behaved as you always do, without a thought for anybody but your bloody self and your bloody Knighton Trading. Well, I put up with it most of the time, but today…”

He trailed off with a shake of his head. “You shouldn’t have told them, and you know it. It ain’t wise.”

“Isn’t wise,” Griff instinctively corrected.

Daniel’s cold gaze held a warning. “And don’t be telling me how to bloody talk either. I do it right most times, as you well know. You’re in the wrong, Griff, and for once have the decency to admit it.”

“I don’t think I am,” Griff retorted.

“That’s because you don’t have to live with my reputation—I do. Goddamn it, I’ll be the one dealing with them, the one trying to convince them we mean them no harm. Even pretending to be you, I’m not liked. I frighten the youngest girl out of her wits half the time, and the eldest may be beautiful but…” he snorted. “She’s a real lady, so she despised me even before you told them all that rot. Bloody haughty wench, makes me want to take her over my knee. If you don’t get me out of here, I’m liable to do it one day, too.” He held out his hands as if in the act of squeezing and added, “Her backside makes a man just want to—”

He broke off at Griff’s laugh, then said stiffly, “She’ll drive a man crazy is all. She’s nearly as bad as Lady Rosalind. And what the devil am I supposed to do with her?”

“I can handle Lady Rosalind,” Griff reassured him.

“I’ve seen how well you handle her. What do you want to wager that the she-devil is standing outside your door right now waiting for you?”

“She wouldn’t dare,” he ground out.

“You think not?” Daniel strode to the door and laid his hand on the knob. “Five quid says she’s out there waiting for you.”

“Five quid it is,” Griff snapped as he stalked up to the door.

Daniel swung it open for him, and Griff stepped out into the hall. Then groaned. Standing in the hall were Rosalind and a footman.

She immediately hurried over. “I was just coming to tell you—I’ve asked John to be your companion: show you the estate, help you with Papa’s ledgers and such.” Her tone grew acid. “Since you made it clear that my company would prod you into…misbehaving, I thought I’d offer you someone else to help.”

Of all the—Damn the woman, did she never give up? “Lady Rosalind,” he growled, “I do not need anyone’s help.”

Her expression was suspiciously innocent. “But you did say you were assessing the estate for your employer. I should think you’d wish all the help you could get, considering how little time you might have here.”

He heard Daniel’s barely smothered laughter behind the door. Damnation! He’d thought himself so clever with his threats to kiss her, but that had merely challenged her to bedevil him another way. He almost suspected she knew what he searched for, except he couldn’t imagine her father telling her the truth.

Now she had him trapped, and she knew it. If he insisted on dismissing the footman, she’d know he’d lied about his reasons for “skulking about,” as she put it. Then she’d be following him again, which presented far more dangerous problems. But a footman might be less suspicious of his motives and might even help him unwittingly.

And a footman would not make him burn.

“Very well,” he clipped out, “when I’m finished with my work in here, I’ll come seek your footman’s help.”

“He’ll wait for you,” she responded with a lift of her impudent chin.

The witch thought of everything. “As long as it’s him and not you. Because if you keep following me, I promise to make good on my threats.”

Her blush told him she understood. With some satisfaction, he reentered his bedchamber.

“Easiest five quid I ever made,” Daniel commented with a smirk.

“Shut up, unless you have other suggestions for how I might rid myself of that termagant.” That fetching termagant, whose aptitude for war—and feminine attractions—rivaled those of the battle goddess Athena. And who already had him itching to taste her again.

Daniel snorted. “The wench should’ve worked for you in the early days. God knows what you could have done with her in your employ.”

Not much, Griff thought sourly. He’d have been too busy trying to seduce her. Within a week she’d have had him offering her Knighton Trading for a chance at bedding her.

“If you’re worried about that footman,” Daniel went on, “why don’t you use the servants’ stairs?”

“What do you mean?”

“Over there.” Daniel nodded toward a portion of the wall. “See that panel, the ornamented one behind the bureau? It’s a door leading to the servants’ stairs.”

Griff was already heading across the room. “Are you sure?”

Daniel followed him. “I nearly jumped out of my skin this morning when I heard a knocking inside the wall in my room. It was the valet. He said all the servants come and go through those stairs. And the ones in the east wing.”

Griff had heard of such staircases, but never seen one. Then again, he rarely visited estates like this. Once Griff moved the bureau aside, it was easy to find the door handle disguised as an ornament. But when he tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. He felt along the seam. “It’s painted shut.”

“I don’t think they receive many guests. Your room is the only one on this floor being used at present. The servants probably don’t even come up here.”

Griff drew out his penknife, then cut carefully around the door until he’d freed it. It opened into a damp, empty stairwell clogged with cobwebs. He broke them with his arm, then stepped into the stairwell and peered down. Pieces of furniture cluttered the last few feet. Apparently, the stairwell was used for storage now. That’s why the servants who’d entered his room had used the main door.

But he could get around the furniture. If he were careful and avoided the servants, he could come and go as he pleased. All he need do was pretend to spend a few hours working in his room each day. If he spent the rest of the time with Rosalind’s footman, she might not guess what he was doing for some time. And he could search at night, too.

He came back into the room grinning. “Excellent—Rosalind won’t suspect a thing.”

“‘Rosalind’? You’re calling her by her Christian name now?” Daniel shook his head in disgust. “Why don’t you just bed the bloody woman and be done with it?”

Griff stiffened. “Bed her?”

“You know you want to.”

Had he been as obvious as all that? “That’s absurd.” Pivoting away from his too perceptive friend, he strolled across the room and removed his coat for his sojourn in the servants’ staircase. “As you said before, she isn’t the sort of woman I prefer.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t put your hands all over her in private.”

Griff went still. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I saw how she looked when the two of you returned from your ‘tour.’ She was all rattled and rosy-lipped, her bonnet askew. Looked to me like some man had been having himself a fine time sampling her attractions.”

“All right, so maybe I kissed her,” Griff muttered as he jerked at the knot of his cravat. “She was annoying me, and it shut her up. That’s all it was.”

“And is that why you scowled at her the whole meal? I could almost hear you thinking how you wanted to lay her down and spread her legs right there.”

“Don’t talk about her that way!” Griff whirled on Daniel. “She’s not one of your dockside light-skirts, for the love of God!”

Too late he realized how easily he’d fallen into Daniel’s snare. Daniel was watching him with eyebrows raised. “No, she isn’t,” he said softly. “She’s the sort of woman a man marries—the sort you ought to marry.”

Griff smothered the bewitching idea before it could take root in his brain. “Marrying Lady Rosalind is out of the question.”

“I don’t see why. You want the woman, don’t you?”

He thought about lying, but Daniel knew him too well for that. “Yes. Insane as it seems, I want the woman, but only in the physical sense. And I want the document proving my legitimacy more.”

“Why not have both? A wife you desire—an earl’s daughter, for Christ’s sake—and those papers that make you clear heir to an estate and a title.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Why not?” He lowered his voice. “Because your pride balks at letting their father win? If I could have a woman as fine as all that only by swallowing my pride, I’d be choking it down so fast I wouldn’t taste it. But I can’t. Women of Lady Rosalind’s kind are denied to me and always will be. You don’t know how bloody fortunate you are.”

The vehemence in Daniel’s voice surprised him. He’d never thought of Daniel as having dreams or hopes or disappointments. The Irishman had always been ready with a joke or a humorous tale, never letting on that he might want more than what he had. Griff had always been so focused on his own plans that he hadn’t considered what Daniel might be planning—besides the aim to gain enough money to build his own concern, that is. But then, Griff understood that goal. It had been his own.

He tried another tack. “You seem to be laboring under the impression that Rosalind would marry me if I asked. She’d made it very clear she wouldn’t, not even to save Swan Park. Apparently, none of the daughters is amenable to their father’s plan, least of all Rosalind. She seems to find my character faulty.”

“You mean, my character, since she thinks I’m you.”

“I mean both our characters. She despises Mr. Brennan because of his smuggling past, which she considers akin to thievery. And she despises Mr. Knighton because he used what she considers unscrupulous means to gain his fortune. I couldn’t succeed with her in either incarnation.”

“Ballocks. If you courted her, she’d marry you. I noticed how she looked at you, too. She wants you. It would take no effort at all for you to bed her, and then she’d marry you willingly. No woman wants to be left ruined.”

He groaned at the erotic images Daniel’s words brought instantly to mind. Bedding her would indeed take no effort. He wanted her so badly he could scarce think of anything else.

“Just marry her,” Daniel went on,” get the papers, and be done with it so we can go home. I’m tired of this bloody farce. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Damnation, the man would force him to explain everything. Unfortunately, the explanation would not sit well with Daniel—especially if he felt as kindly toward the Swanlea daughters as it appeared. But it was clear that if Griff didn’t provide an explanation, he’d soon lose Daniel’s help anyway.

With a curse, Griff turned and strode to the window. He surveyed the estate that would be his, and sooner than Daniel yet realized. “If I marry Lady Rosalind,” he said quietly, “Swanlea’s ‘proof’ will be of little use to me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not proof that I’m the heir to the Earl of Swanlea.” He faced Daniel grimly. “It’s proof that I am the rightful Earl of Swanlea.”

Daniel’s jaw dropped. “What the devil are you talking about? You can’t be the earl unless your father…” He trailed off with a look of shock.

“Was the earl. Or the heir presumptive.” A bitter laugh boiled out of Griff. “Why do you think Father amassed so many debts when I was young? Because he was a fool with money? No. He was supposed to inherit the title and Swan Park from the fourth Earl of Swanlea, the current earl’s predecessor. Father expected to pay off his debts with that inheritance. But Father died before the fourth earl, so when the fourth earl died, the title and the property went to the next in line after my father. And long before then, it had been determined that I was not the next in line.”

“Because you were believed to be a bastard?”

“Not believed to be—proclaimed one legally. Shortly after I was born, Rosalind’s father went to court to prove that my parents weren’t married. He did it with the express purpose of ensuring that I couldn’t inherit. With no record of their marriage, it was easy enough for him to persuade the fourth earl—and then the courts when Father disputed it—that my parents had borne me in sin.”

Looking stunned, Daniel dropped his huge frame into the chair beside the writing table. “Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell.” He glanced up at Griff. “So you think that’s how the old man obtained the proof of their marriage? He stole it to achieve his aims?”

Scowling blackly, Griff leaned back against the windowsill. “I don’t know for certain. Swanlea visited my parents shortly after the place where my parents had registered at Gretna Green burned down. A few months after his visit, my father went to get their marriage certificate out of his desk and discovered it gone. Quite possibly it had been gone since the day of Swanlea’s visit. I suspect he saw the opportunity to cut me off and took it.”

“The villain! How could he treat your parents so ill? Your father was his cousin, for Christ’s sake! And from what he said, I gather they were all once friends.”

“He might have been a friend to my father once,” Griff said tightly, “but he was never friend to my mother. I doubt he would have associated with the lowly daughter of a theater manager in Stratford. The previous earl despised Father’s unequal alliance with her—that was what first provoked their elopement and later led the earl to believe Swanlea’s claims about my illegitimacy.”

With a frown, Daniel leaned forward to brace his elbows on the writing table. “ ’Tis very strange then. Swanlea told me this morning that he knew your mother. He even called her by her Christian name.”

“What?” Griff had always assumed she hadn’t known the man personally.

“Besides,” Daniel went on, “Swanlea married an actress himself, so he couldn’t have been so critical of theater folk as you think.”

Griff shook off the unease roiling in his belly. It didn’t matter if Swanlea had ever known Mother; the man was no less a scoundrel. Nor did it change Griff’s plans.

“In any case,” Griff said with an air of finality, “whatever he once was to my parents, he ended up their enemy. That’s why he wants me to marry one of his daughters before he’ll give me the proof: He thinks that if I get it in my hands without any strings attached, nothing will prevent me from having him stripped of his title and his family thrown off the estate he stole.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “I see. And is that what you intend?”

Griff stared him down. “In one respect. When I find that certificate, I fully intend to use it to strip Swanlea of the title that belongs to me. As soon as possible.”

Disapproval was stamped on Daniel’s face. “Aren’t you afraid of what society might think? What good is a bloody title to you if those whose influence you seek think ill of you for getting it?”

“Society won’t think ill of me, I assure you. Given the choice between championing a usurper or the wronged heir to a title, society will side with the wronged heir every time. It does not like to see its rules flouted.”

“What about Swanlea’s daughters?”

Swanlea’s daughters. Rosalind. Griff’s throat felt suddenly tight and raw. “What about them?”

“If you strip Swanlea of his title and property, they’ll share in his disgrace. And his poverty.”

A stab of guilt made Griff wince. “I don’t intend that, never did. I have no quarrel with the daughters.” Especially now that he’d met them. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill. “I’ll make sure they’re well provided for, give them dowries so they can find husbands.”

“But even if you provide for them, their lives will be ruined, tainted by scandal. Even money might not buy them husbands then.”

“They don’t want husbands anyway,” Griff snapped. “According to Rosalind, they choose to be spinsters.”

“You don’t believe that.”

I believe a woman—people—ought to marry for love. Griff shook off Rosalind’s wistful words. “They’ve never had much hope for marriage in any case, and my money will only improve that hope.”

“But why not just find the marriage certificate and wait until the old man dies? It can’t be long. Afterward you can have the legalities done quietly, inherit the estate and the title, and everyone will assume you weren’t a bastard after all. Then you won’t even have to worry about the girls. I’m sure their father has left them something.”

“I can’t wait until he dies—that might take years. I’ve seen plenty of men supposedly on their deathbeds go on to outlive their children.”

Daniel’s voice rose in outrage. “So it’s years—why do you care? Since when is a title or an estate so important to you? You have all the money you need, and Knighton Trading is doing well.”

Griff recoiled. Though he’d expected Daniel’s reaction, he hadn’t expected it to bother him so much. “You don’t understand,” he ground out. “As soon as I become the Earl of Swanlea, I’ll be allowed into the House of Lords. I’ll be in the perfect position to put myself on that delegation to China. And that must be done before this year is out, or I lose my chance at it.”

Daniel stared at Griff as if seeing him for the first time. “So that’s what this is all about—your precious delegation and Knighton Trading.”

Damn the man for his self-righteousness. “Yes, Knighton Trading—the company that put you where you are, or have you forgotten? Without my company, you wouldn’t have a position. Nor would the other hundred or more people in my employ. You wouldn’t have a small fortune in that fund of yours, nor any chance at owning your own business. Disparage my methods all you want, but without them, where would you be?”

Daniel tilted his head up proudly. “I’ve never criticized your methods before this. I’ve never had to. But then, you’ve never set out to ruin four people for the sake of Knighton Trading.”

With an oath, Griff shoved away from the window. “That bastard ruined my entire family for the sake of this estate. At least I intend to look after his family; that’s more than he ever did for me.”

He paced angrily in front of the writing table. “Do you know what they used to call my mother at Eton when they thought I couldn’t hear? Knighton’s whore. I was Knighton’s bastard’ and she was ‘Knighton’s whore.’ My parents had another wedding after the scandal, but it didn’t change public opinion about her. Or me. After all, I’d been declared a bastard in the courts, before God and everyone.”

Striding up to the writing table, he planted his fists on it and glowered down at Daniel. “After Father died, do you think Swanlea came offering his help? No, indeed.” He talked past the pain tightening his throat, the pain he’d sworn would never infect him. “Now he wants me to marry his daughter for the proof that’s rightfully mine. What would you do? Marry her? Make it easy for him? Is that what you think I should do?”

“I don’t see how marrying his daughter would make it any easier for him. It wouldn’t prevent you from stripping him of his title. I know you want vengeance, but—”

“This is not about vengeance!”

Daniel regarded him with quiet accusation. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” He paced the floor again. “It’s about getting on that delegation. If I marry Rosalind, do you think she’d stand idly by while I humiliate her father publicly? While I make it even more difficult for her sisters to marry? Not Rosalind. She’ll fight me tooth and nail. As I said before, if I marry her, my parents’ marriage certificate is virtually useless to me. I couldn’t act on it without making an enemy of my wife.”

He leveled a solemn gaze on Daniel. “No, I’ll have that certificate without the daughter, just as I planned.” He couldn’t resist adding, with a hint of sarcasm, “And you’ll have your two hundred and fifty pounds.”

Like a bow strung taut, Daniel sprang to his feet. “I don’t want your money anymore. It was different when I thought you only wanted to prove your legitimacy. I didn’t blame you for that or for not wanting to marry for it. A man has a right to claim his property without having to marry. But this—” He broke off with a snort of disgust.

“Are you refusing to continue with the masquerade?” Griff snapped, his hands drawing into fists at his sides.

“I told you I’d do it and I will, but for a week and no more. That should give you ample time to find your bloody documents.” He strode for the door, then paused to look back at Griff, a strange disquiet in his features. “But it’ll be my last week in your employ, do you hear? Swanlea may be a villain, and having met him I can say for certain he’s an arse, but he’s old and he’s dying and he seems to want only one thing—to secure his daughters’ futures. Can’t say I blame him for that.”

Eyes darkening, Daniel laid his hand on the knob. “You, on the other hand, are willing to ruin them just to further your ambition. Well, there are some things even a highwayman’s bastard can’t stomach.”

The words haunted Griff for long hours after Daniel left.