A Dangerous Love Read online

  “I am not overbearing!” When he raised an eyebrow, Rosalind tossed back her head. “All right, perhaps a little. But I could not run this estate for you if I were otherwise.” Oh, how had they gotten onto this awful subject? “Besides, what about Juliet? She might still marry for love, given time.”

  “Accept it, gel—there’s no time left.” Papa’s rattling cough only proved his point.

  She skirted the painful subject of his illness. “We don’t have to marry, you know. We could earn our way.”

  “Don not be silly. When Mr. Knighton evicts you—”

  “I can go on the stage like Mama.” At her father’s snort, Rosalind went on fiercely, “My looks may be lacking, but I’m tall and have a fine speaking voice. Helena could sell her miniatures. Juliet could do something. Mama’s actress friend, Mrs. Inchbald, would help us find lodgings in London. If we pooled our portions—”

  “No!” Juliet put in. “We can’t leave Swan Park! We can’t abandon it!”

  “Oh, blast, why not?” Rosalind snapped, glancing about the bedchamber with its crumbling moldings and shattered-silk drapes. “I see nothing worth sacrificing my darling sister for. What has this heap of stones ever done except make us the Swanlea Spinsters? If I must be a spinster, I’d rather be one in town.”

  “You wouldn’t survive town,” Papa growled. “You remember what happened to Helena. Besides, your mother was much happier as a wife than an actress. Such a life is not for you, nor for Juliet, either. She deserves better.”

  “Yes, but a forced marriage isn’t ‘better,’ Papa. Especially when the man is, according to Mrs. Inchbald’s letters, a scoundrel and a villain. You know that he had connections to smugglers and even sold smuggled goods himself.”

  “Out of necessity, and a long time ago. He is perfectly respectable these days.”

  “Mrs. Inchbald also said—”

  “One moment, gel,” her father broke in. He motioned Juliet to his side and whispered to her. She nodded. Then he looked at Rosalind. “Give Juliet the house keys. I need her to fetch my restorative from the pantry.”

  It was a flimsy excuse for getting rid of Juliet, but Rosalind didn’t entirely mind. Handing her sister the ring of keys, Rosalind tapped her foot impatiently while the girl fled.

  Then Rosalind squared off against her father, barely noticing the click of the door. “What’s more,” she continued, “Mrs. Inchbald says that Mr. Knighton is a…was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  He broke into an alarming fit of coughing. Hurrying to his side, she thumped the middle of his back as Juliet always did. Apparently Juliet did it less vigorously, however, for he shoved her away, and growled, “Stop that, gel! I am not a bloody rug you beat the dust out of!”

  Muttering to herself, she backed away. Ungrateful man! And they wondered where she learned to curse! Hah! How did Juliet put up with him?

  As he dragged in several wheezing breaths, all her resentment vanished. Poor Papa. Not being able to leave his bed to order all of them about must drive him insane. It would certainly bedevil her. She returned to the bed, plumped up a fresh pillow, then eased it behind his back.

  He settled into it. “Mrs. Inchbald is ill informed.” He slid under the covers like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. “How could Knighton be heir to my title and estates if he is a bastard?”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You see?” he mumbled, his face half-hidden by the sheets. “That is the trouble with you women—you never think things through. That is why women are so fickle. They let their feelings lead them about by the nose. One moment they love a man and the next they—”

  A flurry of activity in the hall startled them both. Servants called out, and feet pounded down the stairs. Rosalind rushed to the window, but couldn’t see the front drive. Still, the sounds of hoofbeats and wheels crunching the gravel drive signaled the arrival of a coach.

  Their cousin’s.

  “While I’d love to stay and listen to your wisdom concerning my gender,” she said dryly, “I can’t. Your precious Mr. Knighton is here.”

  She hurried to the door of the bedchamber, but when she turned the knob, the door wouldn’t open. She tried again with no success, then gawked at it, a horrid suspicion leaping into her mind. “Papa—” she began.

  “ ’Tis locked. I told Juliet to lock us in when she left.”

  She’d locked them in? Rosalind’s temper soared. Curse the wretched girl’s obedient nature! She kicked the door, wishing it was Juliet’s backside, then whirled on her father. “What do you hope to accomplish by this, Papa?”

  “I know you, gel. You’d run Knighton off before Juliet had a chance to meet him.” Even the capricious firelight didn’t disguise the Machiavellian gleam in his eyes. “So I told her not to let you out until our guest retires for the evening.”

  “If you think this will alter my behavior toward the man one whit—”

  “It matters not.” He rose, parting the covers like Neptune rising from the waves. “If you drive him off now, I will merely arrange the match by letter. After seeing Juliet’s beauty and sweet temper tonight, he will agree to a match, never fear.”

  Blast! If Mr. Knighton left Swan Park believing that Juliet would make him a suitable wife, how could Rosalind prevent the marriage? She had no choice but to let him stay. But somehow she’d persuade Juliet that the man was wrong for her.

  Papa’s triumphant smirk vanished as he lapsed into another cough. She glared at him, refusing to go to his side. How was it possible to pity someone and also wish to throttle him? She loved Papa, truly she did, but his blindness drove her mad.

  His coughing petered out. “One more matter, gel. I have a task for you to accomplish after Juliet lets you out.”

  “Oh?” she grumbled. “What task?”

  “There is a locked strongbox in the desk in my study. I want you to fetch it.”

  “And bring it here?”

  “No!” His gaze skittered away. “No, better put it where you can keep an eye on it. Your dressing room perhaps. Or in your writing table. Just until your cousin leaves.”

  Suspicions snaked through her mind. “Why? What’s in it?”

  “Only some papers I do not want him to see.” He glanced away.

  “What sort of papers?” she demanded.

  “Just do as I say! And do not mention them to anyone, or try to open the box. Else I shall have your hide.”

  “But, Papa—”

  “Promise you will keep it safe. Or I will have Juliet keep you locked up in here until you do.”

  She sniffed. As if he could manage that. Still…“Oh, all right, I promise.” When he sank weakly back into the pillow, she added, “I do think, however, that if Mr. Knighton is so untrustworthy that you must hide your papers—”

  “Merely a precaution. Nothing for you to worry about. Now let me sleep.”

  Rosalind gritted her teeth. Why must Papa be so bullheaded and secretive? He wouldn’t tell her the truth, yet the more she learned about Mr. Knighton, the more alarmed she became. Something was rotten in Denmark, and it centered on her cousin.

  Well, she’d learn what it was without Papa. Just see if she didn’t.

  Chapter 2

  Such a set of tittle tattle, prittle prattle visitants! Oh dear! I am so sick of the ceremony and fuss of these fall lall people!

  Fanny Burney, English novelist, diarist, and sometime playwright, Journal

  So this is Swan Park, Griff thought with unaccountable pride as his carriage raced up the majestic oak-bordered drive and past a shimmering pond alive with courtly swans. A refined air of ancient rank clung like ivy to the stone walls of the Jacobean manor, putting to shame his own impressive chateau. Perhaps once Swan Park was his, he’d establish himself here. Yes, it would sway even the most recalcitrant Parliament member.

  “No wonder you want that certificate so badly,” Daniel muttered across from him.

  Gr
iff chuckled. “It would be quite an addition to my properties, wouldn’t it?”

  As the house loomed up, servants streamed through the entrance doors to form a long row on the terrace. In the center, two women presided over them.

  “Tell me those two angels aren’t your spinster cousins,” Daniel growled.

  Griff examined them through the dusty glass. “They must be, although there should be three of them. Perhaps the third is sick or tending their father.”

  Daniel scowled as the coach rattled to a halt. “Blast it, Griff, those beauties probably spend their days fighting off the gents. They’ll see me for an impostor at once!”

  “They’re merely country cousins. You’ll do fine.” Griff watched as the taller woman limped toward them, relying heavily on a stout cane. “For the love of God, the dark-haired one is lame. She’ll be glad of a man to pay her some attention.”

  “Are you blind as well as daft?” Daniel hissed. “Lame or no, she carries herself like a bloody duchess. She’ll think me a clod ten times beneath her.”

  The women had nearly reached the carriage. Griff opened the door, then dropped his voice. “Just remember the hundred and fifty pounds.”

  Shooting a baleful glance over his shoulder, Daniel climbed down. Griff followed, wishing he’d instructed Daniel more thoroughly on how to act rich and powerful. The man usually had plenty of confidence, but these women seemed to drain his pride. Griff trod on his friend’s heel deliberately, and Daniel straightened his spine and clenched his jaw. That was more like it.

  Stepping forward, Daniel made a presentable bow to the taller woman. “Mr. Knighton at your service, madam.”

  “Welcome to Swan Park.” Her voice was cool and cultured. “I’m your cousin, Helena.” Bracing herself on her cane with one hand, she offered Daniel the other.

  Daniel held the woman’s hand too long, provoking her to jerk it free with a flustered look. Griff groaned.

  Gesturing to the girl at her side, Lady Helena added in a haughtier tone, “This is Juliet, my youngest sister.”

  The slip of woman gazed up at Daniel wide-eyed. “How do you do?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Daniel said, his accent credibly genteel if a bit coarse.

  An awkward silence ensued. Then Lady Helena glanced back to where Griff stood. “And who is your friend?”

  Daniel started. “Begging your pardon—this is Mr.…er…Daniel Brennan.”

  Griff bowed. “It’s a very great pleasure to meet you.”

  When the women looked to the real Daniel for an explanation, Griff ground his teeth. Playing the subordinate was damned inconvenient, especially when Daniel stood there like a witless bull. Griff prodded him in the foot with his walking stick.

  Daniel blurted out, “Mr. Brennan is my man of affairs. I hope my bringing him doesn’t give you any trouble, but with so many business matters to discuss…”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” Lady Helena put in evenly.

  As she ushered them to the house, Daniel asked, “Don’t you have another sister?”

  Inexplicably, the younger woman turned scarlet. “Yes, our middle sister. I-I don’t know where Rosalind’s gone, but she’ll be at dinner, I’m sure.”

  Lady Helena cast her sister a quizzical glance, and Lady Juliet ducked her head. Very strange, Griff thought. Why was the third sister hiding? Did she know of her father’s plans to blackmail him into marriage? Did they all know?

  At least they weren’t shrews, which should appease Daniel. Lady Helena was formal and cold, and Lady Juliet was a milk-and-water miss, but neither seemed disposed to cause trouble, thank God.

  At the doors, Lady Helena halted to point out the estate’s boundaries for Daniel. Griff found it disconcerting to play Daniel’s lackey. As a charity student at Eton, Griff had disliked being the target of condescension, and it was downright hateful to him now.

  Then they entered the house, and the awful sight that greeted Griff knocked the wind from him. Father had described a vision of old nobility—veined marble arches and ancient tapestries hung on elegant walls. This was a nightmare of hell at its busiest hour.

  Fiery red was the color of choice. The red-papered walls were punctuated by dark moldings and curtains in gold gauze with red-painted designs. Beside the staircase, a miniature pagoda sat atop a black-lacquer table. Indeed, Chinoiserie decorated the entire hall. Not to mention that a brilliant scarlet-and-blue Oriental carpet spanned the majestic room, covering up what his father had said was a floor of expensive Italian marble.

  Apparently catching his stunned look, Lady Juliet ventured, “Rosalind recently had our hall redone. It’s in the new Chinese style.”

  “I thought it was the old brothel style,” Griff bit out unthinkingly. In the weighty silence that followed, it dawned on him what he’d said, to whom he’d said it, and most importantly, that he’d said it with a boldness unthinkable for an employee.

  Daniel eyed him with something akin to glee. “Please forgive my man of affairs. He has a bad habit of speaking his mind.”

  Griff suppressed a groan.

  “R-Rosalind said the Chinese style was quite popular in L-London,” the younger woman sputtered. “Is that not true?”

  Daniel glanced furtively to Griff, who gave him a slight nod. “The style is still all the crack in many quarters,” Daniel reassured the two ladies. “Mr. Brennan’s tastes are duller than your sister’s, that’s all.”

  “You may inform your man of affairs,” Lady Helena retorted in a frosty voice, “that my sister Rosalind manages the estate almost entirely alone under difficult circumstances, so I think she’s entitled to a few eccentricities.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, my lady,” Griff interjected, determined to placate the woman. And change the subject before her tongue stripped his skin. “Speaking of eccentricities, I noticed that you and your sisters bear the names of Shakespearean heroines. Rosalind. Helena. Juliet. Was that intentional?”

  “Are you a lover of Shakespeare?”

  He decided the truth wouldn’t hurt. “Actually, I am. The comedies mostly.”

  “Thanks to our proximity to Stratford-upon-Avon, Papa is also an enthusiast. That, as you might guess, is why we’re saddled with these names.” She turned to Daniel. “What about you? Are you also fond of Shakespeare?”

  “Not at all. Griff’s the only one who’s contracted the Shakespeare pox.”

  “Griff?” Lady Helena asked. “I beg your pardon, but who is Griff?”

  Damnation, Daniel had already slipped up. Daniel shot Griff a look of sheer exasperation, but Griff suddenly realized that his cousins probably didn’t know his middle name. This might work to his advantage. “Griff is my nickname,” he quickly put in. “That’s what Knighton and the employees at Knighton Trading call me.”

  “Y-Your Christian name is Daniel, isn’t it?” Lady Juliet stammered.

  Griff thought fast. “Yes, but I’m called Griff after the griffin.” For Daniel’s benefit, he added, “You know—the mythical creature with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion, who keeps guard over gold and riches.”

  “That’s right,” Daniel chimed in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “It’s because he’s so tightfisted. Why, only last week I wanted to pay a man two hundred pounds for a service Griff thinks deserves only one hundred and fifty. Isn’t that right, Griff?”

  Griff raised an eyebrow. “Yes. And I haven’t changed my mind. The man still has to prove he can do a decent job.”

  “I expect he’ll surprise you.” At Griff’s warning glare, Daniel turned to the ladies. “When will I meet your father—at dinner? I’m eager to talk with him.”

  Probably more eager to get it over with, Griff thought wryly. If Daniel passed that test, they were in for the duration.

  “Oh, no, not tonight!” Lady Juliet cried. “I-I mean, Papa is so ill you’d best wait until he’s better. In the morning, perhaps.”

  “But Juliet, surely—” her sister began.

 
; “In the morning,” Lady Juliet insisted. “W-Would you gentlemen like some tea?”

  Griff’s eyes narrowed as Lady Juliet steered them toward the parlor, chattering anxiously as they went. All was not as it had seemed at first—these two were hiding something, and their sister, who apparently ran the estate, probably had a part in it.

  No matter. Their petty secrets would not deter him from his purpose.

  Rosalind had been fretting for an age when she heard a key turn in the lock.

  To her surprise, it was Helena. “You really are here,” Helena said, her eyes reflecting shock at the sight of Rosalind waiting impatiently on the other side of the door.

  Rosalind pushed past her out of the room. “Shh—Papa is asleep, and I don’t want to wake him.” As soon as she was in the hall, she asked, “Did Juliet send you to let me out?”

  “Yes—she couldn’t face your lecture. If I’d known you were here, I’d have come sooner. It’s past eleven already.” Helena closed the door. “I can’t believe she did it. Papa doesn’t surprise me, but Juliet—”

  “I know. Wait until I get my hands on the foolish child. Where is she, anyway?”

  Helena shot her a cautious look. “She’s gone to bed, and you should wait until your temper cools.”

  Reluctantly, Rosalind acknowledged the wisdom of that. At the moment she was liable to throttle the girl. “I suppose Mr. Knighton is ensconced in a guest room?”

  Her sister limped toward the grand staircase that led up to the first floor and their bedrooms. “He has retired for the night. Everyone has retired but us.”

  Rosalind scowled as she followed her sister. “I swear, if I’d been free, I might very well have barred him from the house.”

  “Which is why Papa had Juliet lock you in. You’ve lost now. Best to admit it.”

  “The man isn’t the least respectable.”

  “So you say, but he isn’t that bad. You might even like him.”

  “I doubt that.” As they climbed the stairs, Rosalind slowed her steps to match her sister’s awkward progress. “Tell me more. Does he speak like a gentleman or is he as coarse as I feared? Does he favor Papa in looks?”