Give up his plans for China.
He groaned. She wouldn’t understand his pur
pose or accept it, not Rosalind with her lofty morality. Delegation or no, she’d certainly never marry him if she knew he planned to strip her father of his title. So marrying her would mean giving up the other.
It would mean letting Swanlea win.
Your pride balks at letting their father win…I know you want vengeance
…Ruthlessly, Griff shoved Daniel’s words from his brain. This was not about pride or vengeance. It was about business, that’s all. A very large, very significant business with hundreds of employees who depended on him.
With a low curse, he whirled away from her to pace the room. It was madness even to think of marrying her with so much at stake. For the love of God, the woman even said she didn’t want to marry him. What sane man would consider choosing such a woman over the possibility of expanding his business threefold?
Daniel would, he thought.
Women of Lady Rosalind’s kind are denied to me and always will be. You don’t know how fortunate you are
.
He stiffened. Daniel was wrong. Griff knew precisely how fortunate he was—to have a growing company on the verge of becoming a major power in the world of trade. Unlike his sentimental man of affairs, he could appreciate that advantage.
So marrying her—telling her the truth—was out of the question. Unfortunately, however, she wouldn’t be making her foolish offer to
him
, but to Daniel, and Griff couldn’t let it go that far. If she offered herself as wife to “Knighton,” Daniel would have to refuse. Swanlea would demand that Daniel offer for one of the others, and when he didn’t would throw them both out. That would end Griff’s search for the proof.
He must change her mind on this. He faced her,
again noting with a stab of guilt her fruitless struggle to contain her tears. Damn the woman—could she never do anything delicately? The sight of her so vulnerable cut him right to the heart.
He steeled himself against it. “You said you wouldn’t marry me, so why would you marry Knighton? You don’t love him either, do you?” When she shook her head no, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “So you’ve decided to be mercenary. His wealth has convinced you.”
“No! How could you think it?”
He didn’t think it, not really. Although he’d grown accustomed to grasping women in recent years, she’d never struck him as one. But he wished she were. It would be easier to hold fast to his purpose if she were a greedy harpy.
“Why then?” he asked quietly. “As I recall, you swore
not
to marry merely to save Swan Park.”
She took a shuddering breath. “Unfortunately, Juliet has no such compunction. I didn’t realize until today how strongly she feels on the subject.”
“Then let
her
marry him, if that’s what she wants!” Because Lady Juliet was the sort to wait until Daniel proposed, which Griff would never allow to happen.
“But she doesn’t want it—that’s the trouble. She simply has this…insane determination to make sure we don’t lose our home.”
“He has to ask her first, and to my knowledge, he has not.”
Nor will he
.
She tilted up her chin. “Then my proposal will help him make up his mind. That’s all I want—to have this blasted business decided.”
“Even if it means you marry Knighton?” he asked hoarsely.
Her gaze skittered away from his. “Yes.”
He strove mightily to control his temper. “What if he refuses?”
“He won’t, unless he decides not to marry
any
of us. I intend to make him a very good proposal. He’ll get no better from my sisters, so if he won’t take mine, he might as well leave.”
Damn her. She placed him and Daniel in a devil of a position. And what the hell did she mean by “make him a very good proposal”?
“If you do this,” he warned in a last-ditch effort to prevent her from forcing Daniel into a choice, “I’ll tell Knighton about our intimacies. He won’t want a wife who’s been carrying on with his man of affairs.”
Her gaze shot to his, eyes glittering like a ruin of crushed gold and green glass. “Tell him if you wish. Though I don’t think he’d want a man of affairs who’s been toying with his respectable female cousin.”
Griff groaned. She would then expect Daniel to dismiss him or something absurd like that. He couldn’t win.
She squared her shoulders. “Besides, such…intimacies won’t happen again no matter what his decision, so it hardly matters.”
Absurdly, that pronouncement infuriated him. “You can’t offer to marry him,” Griff growled.
“Why not? So far you’ve given me no compelling reason against it.”
She tossed back her head. By God, she’d never looked more tempting. With her hair wild and free, her cheeks and lips flushed with color, and her hands planted on her abundant hips, she was the very essence of warrior queen preparing for battle. A sensual, desirable warrior queen.
Damn her to hell. Giving her no warning, he
stepped forward and caught her head to hold it still, then kissed her hard, driven by a mix of desire and yes, jealousy. Though she tried to wrench free, he refused to relent until she opened her mouth and took him inside. Then he thrust into it over and over, hungry, desperate. He sandwiched her between his freshly aroused body and the door. With a whimper of need, she strained against him and locked her arms about his waist. That only enflamed him more.
In seconds, he had his hand in her bodice kneading her soft flesh, thumbing her sweet nipple, inciting himself to madness again. Barely conscious of anything but pure raging lust, he ground his erection restlessly into her loins.
She stiffened. Then she shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back away from her. With the look of a wounded animal, she fumbled to straighten her clothes.
“You wanted a compelling reason?” he snapped. His breath came in desperate gasps as he strove to regain control. “That ought to be compelling reason enough for you.”
She dragged her shawl around her shoulders and clutched it tightly to her chest. “It is. It’s a compelling reason why I
should
marry him,” she whispered. “Because if this goes on any longer, you’ll use my desires to make a h-harlot of me.”
“Rosalind—” he began, but before he could say more, she tore the door open and fled into the hall. He ran out after her. “Damn it, woman, come back here—”
He skittered to a halt as he realized he wore no shirt, no coat, no waistcoat. Although the hall was empty, he couldn’t run after her like this. Not unless he wanted the entire household to know what they’d been doing.
A string of oaths poured out of him as he watched her bolt for the stairs, then hurry down them. Surely she didn’t mean to find Daniel
now
. For the love of God—
Racing back into his room, he dragged on his clothes, cursing at the endless buttons defying all his attempts at speed. He had to stop her. He had to talk to Daniel and make some decision about how to handle this before she reached the man.
He had to keep her from ruining everything.
Rosalind rushed down the stairs, wiping away tears with every step. The blasted double-dealing wretch! Griff was outraged that she would marry his employer, yet he wouldn’t think of marrying her himself. No, he wanted only to dally with her, to take her virtue and her self-respect. And he knew he could do it, too, with the merest brush of his hands over her wayward body.
She burst onto the first floor, not even stopping to glance behind her. Griff might be following her. He seemed determined to prevent her in this, though she didn’t understand why. He acted like a jealous husband, only he wasn’t her husband nor ever planned to be. All the same, he could cause trouble if he found Mr. Knighton before she could make her proposal. She must reach Mr. Knighton first.
She strode quickly along the gallery toward the billiard table. To her vast relief, Mr. Knighton was still playing billiards with Helena, though it must have been two hours now at least. Rosalind noted wryly that they’d dispensed with the farce of the chair. Helena braced her body against the table and balanced on her good leg as she aimed.
Rosalind heard the knock of ivory against wood all the way down the gallery, then saw Helena glance up at Mr. Knighton with a taunting smile.
Juliet was right—it
was
a pity that Helena wouldn’t marry him. He was such a charming man. But somehow she couldn’t imagine elegant Helena with raffish Mr. Knighton.
They looked up as Rosalind approached. When Helena’s eyebrows lifted half an inch at least, Rosalind realized she probably resembled one of Macbeth’s witches with her hair tangled around her shoulders and her gown utterly disordered. But she gave her sister no chance to remark upon it.
“Mr. Knighton, I hate to disturb you, but I must speak to you in private. It’s a matter of some importance.”
Alarm rose in his rawboned features as his gaze scoured her from head to toe. “Why…of course, Lady Rosalind, if you want.” He cast Helena a quizzical glance, and she shrugged in response.
The sound of a door slamming upstairs quickened Rosalind’s pulse. Griff, blast him. “We can talk downstairs in Papa’s study,” she said urgently, and gestured to the stairs. “This way.”
“Can’t it wait until I finish my game with your sister?” Mr. Knighton protested. “It shouldn’t take us more than a few minutes—”
“No!” She caught their exchange of glances and deliberately softened her tone. “No, it must be now.”
“Very well, if you insist.” He offered her his oak of an arm, and she took it, trying to ignore the unmistakable tramp of booted feet nearing the stairs on the floor above them.
Thankfully, they made it into the east-wing staircase without Griff having emerged from the west-wing staircase. Nonetheless, she hurried Mr. Knighton down and into her father’s study with all due haste.
“What’s this about?” Mr. Knighton asked.
She shut the door and fumbled for her keys, but
they’d apparently fallen out of her skirts when she was in Griff’s room on his bed…
Blast, she thought, a blush heating her cheeks. Well, perhaps Helena wouldn’t tell Griff where they’d gone or he wouldn’t think to ask. Perhaps he wouldn’t even follow her. She could always hope.
Swallowing hard, she left the door to face her massive cousin. He’d planted himself in front of Papa’s desk like a pugilist awaiting a fight, his expression wary. Now that the moment had come, she felt panicky. Curse Griff for forcing her into doing this before she’d had all her plans settled.
And curse Papa for making it necessary in the first place. How fitting that it should happen in Papa’s study, where his presence lingered in every emblem of power—the leather-bound books, his massive chair, the Swanlea coat of arms on the wall. Well, she’d satisfy Papa for the moment, but only to gain time to undermine his plans.
Yet how did a woman convince a wealthy man to marry her when all she possessed was a tiny dowry and no fine qualities to speak of? What could she possibly offer to tempt him?
Something must. She had to make this proposal appealing enough so he’d accept it. Otherwise, Juliet and Papa would continue with their plans, and she’d still have to deal with Griff.
“Lady Rosalind?” he prodded. “If you’d rather do this later—”
“I have a proposal for you,” she blurted out.
Eyes the color of wet slate examined her. “What sort of proposal?”
Think, blast it!
“I know Papa is interested in having you marry one of us. And I gather you’re considering the possibility.”
He looked startled. “Um…well…Yes, I s’pose I am.”
“Have you—” She broke off as footsteps sounded in the hallway, heading for the study. She edged toward Mr. Knighton and lowered her voice. “Have you made up your mind on the subject?”
Mr. Knighton tugged nervously on his cravat. “Lady Rosalind, this is…a bit irregular, isn’t it? I can’t exactly—”
“Because if you haven’t, I’d like to suggest that you choose me.”
The color drained from his face. “Choose you?”
“For a wife, blast it!” She struggled to contain her temper, then added more evenly, “I wish to marry you.” That was about as forthright as a woman could possibly be, short of dragging the man bodily to a church. “What’s more, I think I can suggest terms that will make you want to marry
me
.” As soon as she thought of them, which had better happen this very moment or she was sunk.
The door behind her swung open so hard it slammed back against the wall, making both her and Mr. Knighton jump. Curse it all, couldn’t Griff have waited a few minutes more before blustering in here? And what the devil did he plan—to lay out everything that had happened between her and him?
She gritted her teeth. Not if she could help it.
“I must speak to you, Knighton,” Griff ground out behind her. “Now!”
Mr. Knighton’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His bewildered gaze swung from Griff to her and then back to Griff. He surveyed his man of affairs questioningly. Then he turned to regard her just as consideringly. At last a strange little smile, like that of a jester amused by his own jokes, spread over his face.
He settled his hip on her father’s desk and braced one hand on the oak surface. “I have to speak to
you, too, Griff. Do come join us. We’re in the midst of a fascinating discussion—one I believe you’d find interesting.”
Rosalind colored to the roots of her hair. She didn’t have to look behind her to feel Griff throwing off sparks like a bonfire.
“I must speak to you now,” Griff repeated, enunciating every word. “Alone.”
Mr. Knighton crooked one eyebrow upward. “It can wait.” He gestured to a chair close to Rosalind. “Come sit down. I may need your advice in this matter of Lady Rosalind’s.”
There was a long pause, then a low curse before Griff entered and closed the door. He pointedly passed the chair to walk instead to the window near the bookshelves.
“I-I see no need for Mr. Brennan to be here,” she protested. “This doesn’t concern him.”
“
Everything
concerns my man of affairs,” Mr. Knighton retorted. “I make no decisions without his advice. So if you want my attention, you’ll have to speak with him here.”