“Besides,” Mr. Knighton went on blithely, “I’ve got no time for picnics in London, so this is a treat, no matter how wild the view.” He cast her a teasing glance as they entered the foyer. “Though after we marry, I’ll make time for picnics with my wife.”
“That’s an inducement to marry indeed,” she choked out through the sudden guilt that swamped her. He really was a charming man. A pity she didn’t want to marry him.
He led her outside with rough courtliness, and at her suggestion, they struck a path through the gardens and headed toward the woods that lay a quarter mile from the house. Soon they were following a dirt path through ancient oaks, willows, and elms.
“There it is,” she said as a sunlit clearing came into view through the trees. “That’s where the three of us used to play when we were girls. Papa hung that swing for us. There’s even a tree house, though I suspect it’s unsafe after all these years. The clearing is my favorite place in Swan Park.”
“Looks near to perfect.”
It took them a few minutes to reach it along the path, and in that time she grew increasingly uncomfortable. She’d forgotten how secluded it was. The trees formed an impenetrable shield that lent the area a disturbing privacy. Perhaps she should have brought her maid, but she hadn’t thought it necessary. Until now, he’d shown no inclination to deepen their relationship.
When they reached the clearing, however, his solicitous behavior made her wonder if he intended to do so today. First, when he spread out a blanket, he apologized for his lack of foresight in not bringing a cushion for her tender hind parts. Then when they sat down to eat, he insisted on serving her himself, offering her the best pieces of chicken, the choicest apple. It felt alarmingly like a real courtship. What would she do if he tried anything more…intimate? Though she concentrated on eating, she watched him furtively all the while, alert to any sign of impending advances.
“You’re looking fine as a fivepence today, m’lady,” he said after devouring his third piece of chicken. When he began licking his fingers, she held out a napkin, and he took it with a grin. “That bonnet’s quite fetching on you.”
Oh, dear, she’d best squelch this line of conversation. “Thank you, but I’m sure it doesn’t compare with what you see in London.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Y’know, you must think everything in London is better, since you’ve mentioned its wonders about fifty times in the past two days.”
Curse it—she really must learn to be more subtle. “I’m merely curious, that’s all.”
Curious to know when you’ll be returning there
. “But surely most things
are
better—the fashions, the diversions, the people. You must find Swan Park terribly dull after the delights of town.”
His face wore the most peculiarly strained expression, as if he tried very hard to keep from laughing. “Not dull in the least.”
She took a lusty bite of apple and chewed thoughtfully. “But in London you can go to the opera or the theater every night.”
“I don’t like the opera or the theater.”
“What about the British Museum? Or the Tower of London? I’d so love to see the menagerie at the Tower of London.”
“I wouldn’t even know what to do in a museum. And with my reputation I’m not venturing near the Tower of London.” He was grinning now.
She slanted a glance at him. “What do you find so amusing, Mr. Knighton?”
“You, m’lady.”
“Oh?” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, wondering if she had apple juice on her upper lip or something.
“Why don’t you just come out and say it, for Christ’s sake, and get it over with?”
“Say what?”
“That you want me gone to London so you can stop pretending to be engaged.”
Her napkin fluttered to her lap. “P-Pretending?”
“Come now, Lady Rosalind, we both know you don’t plan to marry me.”
The woods seemed to close in around her. Dear God, how had she given herself away? Could Helena have told him her plans? “Don’t be r-ridiculous,” she stammered. “Why on earth would you think such a thing?”
“Because you’ve been trying to pack me off to London since the day we arranged to marry. Not to mention those ‘terms’ of yours even a dog wouldn’t offer. You’re not the sort to make an arranged marriage, especially with such poor conditions.”
Rising to her knees, she began packing the remains of their picnic while wondering frantically how to salvage the situation. Why must she always give herself away?
“It’s all right,” he went on. “I don’t plan to marry you, either.”
Her gaze shot to him. “What?”
“I knew you didn’t intend to marry me the day you made that fool proposal.”
He was serious! She sank back onto her heels. “Then why did you accept it?”
“For one thing, you presented it so charmingly, I would’ve felt like a cad disappointing you.” He grinned. “But mostly, I liked watching it make Griff jealous.”
Heat rose to her cheeks despite her attempt to suppress any reaction. Surely Griff hadn’t told him about the kisses and…all the other things. Oh, but what if he had?
She tried summoning up righteous indignation. “You don’t mean to imply that Mr. Brennan and I—”
“I’m not implying it. I’m coming right out and saying it. I’d have to be chuckleheaded indeed not
to notice what’s going on between you and my man of affairs.”
“There is
nothing
going on between me and Griff…I-I mean, Mr. Brennan…” She trailed off, face flaming. Dear God, how easily she betrayed herself!
“See here,” he said, “I don’t mind you being interested in my man of affairs.”
“I’m
not
interested in him!”
“That’s a clanker.”
She glowered at him. “It is not! You have no reason to think I’m lying!”
“No reason? Let’s see. Two days ago, you come running from the top floor where Griff’s bedchamber is, with your hair down and your clothes rumpled. We go off in the study, then Griff comes in with
his
hair mussed and
his
clothes rumpled, raging about you wanting to marry me. After you’re gone, he near beats me senseless over my agreeing to your offer. If you were in my shoes, what would
you
make of all that?”
Cringing at the graphic description, she sat back on the blanket again.
“So let’s have some honesty between us. Admit it—you’re interested in the man.”
“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “Yes. I suppose I am.”
With a triumphant smile, he stretched out on the blanket and braced himself up on two elbows. “You don’t seem too happy about it.”
A bitter laugh tumbled from her lips. “What’s there to be happy about? The last time I saw him, he called me a ‘meddling, suspicious harpy.’”
“When was that?”
She groaned. This was so mortifying. Thank God she had no intention of marrying Mr. Knighton.
Otherwise, this would squash that hope. Still, it was a relief to have someone to discuss Griff with, especially someone who knew him so well.
“M’lady?” he prodded.
“It was after your fight with him.” She ducked her head to hide her blush.
Mr. Knighton chuckled. “Couldn’t stay away from you, could he?”
“Don’t assume that means anything. He only came to apologize, but as usual he ended up insulting me.” And proposing to her and kissing her senseless, but she wouldn’t think of that, let alone mention it.
“Oh, it means something, all right. I’ve known Griff a long time, and I’ve never seen him act like this around a woman.”
“Like what?” she snapped. “Obnoxious? Arrogant? Rude?”
“Jealous.” Mr. Knighton crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles. “He usually doesn’t care enough about any woman to be jealous or obnoxious or anything else. Since he doesn’t have time for wooing, he usually gets what he needs from the light-skirts and goes on about his business.”
She didn’t like the sound of “gets what he needs.” The thought of Griff going to light-skirts for anything bothered her to an astonishing degree.
“You see, Griff is the sort who thinks only of his work,” Mr. Knighton went on. “Knighton Trading is everything to him, y’know.”
“I did wonder…He does seem to know so much about it while you…well—”
“Don’t know a thing?”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” she protested, cursing her quick tongue.
He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all right. Griff’s the one with the knowledge of trading.” He
added hastily, “Because of having been a smuggler, you see. He’s got the connections, and he manages all of that.”
The brains of the concern, she thought. And what advantage did Mr. Knighton bring to it? Not that she could ask; that would be rude.
She glanced at him with avid curiosity from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “So then he’s not really your
personal
man of business.”
“Er…yes. That he is. But most of what he does in that capacity is…related to the company.” Mr. Knighton cleared his throat nervously. “Anyway, that ain’t…isn’t the point. Here’s what I wanted to say, why I arranged for us to have this tête-à-tête.”
Mr. Knighton sat up and leaned toward her, his voice turning earnest. “Griff has his eye on you, but he’s never considered marriage till now, and he doesn’t know how to go about doing it. A fine woman like you—Well, he knows you’re far above his station, and he don’t feel right asking you to lower yourself. That’s the only reason he hasn’t offered for you yet. You have to encourage him a bit, show him you like him, and—”
“It’s too late for that,” she cut in dryly. “Apparently I demonstrated my liking well enough. He’s already offered for me.”
“What?” He gaped at her. “When?”
“That time I told you about. When he called me a ‘meddling, suspicious harpy.’”
Mr. Knighton sat back abruptly. “For Christ’s sake, I knew the man wasn’t a charmer, but you’d think he’d at least know enough to flatter a girl before he proposed.”
“No, he called me that after I turned him down.”
“You turned him down?” Shaking his head, he muttered a curse under his breath. “Why’d you go and do that for? You told me you were interested in
him.” He eyed her suspiciously. “It wasn’t because he’s beneath you, is it?”
“Don’t be absurd. Mama was an actress, and I’d planned to become an actress myself. Why would I care about Griff being beneath me?”
“Lady Helena would care,” he pointed out.
Rosalind sighed. “My sister might surprise you. Don’t let her coldness fool you. She plays the ice maiden to keep from getting hurt.” She cast him a sly glance. “Why? Is she your first choice for a wife?”
He looked as if she’d struck him with a poker. “No, indeed. Lady Helena’s a mite too haughty for my tastes.” His eyes narrowed. “Anyway, we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about why you refused Griff. We both know it wasn’t because of this imaginary engagement.”
“True. But since he’d never have offered for me if not for this ‘imaginary engagement,’ I didn’t see much point in accepting. He doesn’t want me. He’s merely angry because you have something he doesn’t. That’s all it is.”
“Is that what you think, lass?” he said in a tone so gentle it made her throat ache.
“It’s what I know.”
He was silent a long time. The wind soughed through the trees, a mournful echo of her desolate heart. She tried to shake off the blue devils, but despite the sunny day and their lovely surroundings, she failed as miserably as she’d failed for the past two days.
“Tell me something, Lady Rosalind,” he finally said. “Did Griff say anything to you about…that is…did he mention Knighton Trading? Or his work? Did he even say why he wanted to marry you?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t say anything
except, ‘Marry me. Forget about Knighton and marry me.’ Oh, and he said, ‘I want you as my wife. Isn’t that enough?’”
“Bloody arse,” Mr. Knighton mumbled. Then he glanced at her and frowned. “Forgive my bear-garden jaw, m’lady, but that’s what he is.”
“No need to apologize. I wholeheartedly agree with you.” She stared past him at the old swing that mocked her turmoil with its wind-driven dance. “I didn’t…expect a lot of flattery, you understand. But I should have liked a reason, something other than ‘I want you as my wife.’” Her chest felt crushed under a weight of granite. “I should have liked to know…he cares for me a little.”
And not just my body
.
“P’raps he does. Like most English, Griff’s not good at knowing his own heart.”
“But he’s half-Irish. I thought the Irish were famous for knowing their hearts.”
Mr. Knighton suddenly became very interested in picking up where she’d left off in stowing away the remains of their picnic. “Yes…um…but he didn’t grow up among the Irish, you see. His mother was English; he was raised in England.” He set the basket aside, then cast her a sad glance. “And we English are a nation of merchants. We know how to make money. We don’t know as well how to make love.”
He drew up one knee and rested his elbow on it. “That’s the trouble with Griff, you see. He’s spent his whole life making money—for me, that is—so he’s never learned anything else. Now he sees a woman he wants, and he doesn’t know why or how. He can’t even put it into words for himself, so how can he put it into words for you?”
She thought back to how Griff had behaved—how he’d said over and over that he wanted her, but
wouldn’t say why. What Mr. Knighton said made sense. On the other hand, Griff simply might not feel anything for her at all.
“Besides, did you tell him how
you
felt?” Mr. Knighton asked. “Did you tell him you were in love with him?”
In love with him? She started to protest the very idea, but no words came out. Because he was right. She was in love with Griff.
She closed her eyes and groaned. Blast it, she
couldn’t
be in love with that man! It would be too cruel of Fate to play such a trick on her! She couldn’t, she mustn’t!
But she was. She knew it as surely as she knew it wasn’t returned. Miserably, she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell him something like that. He didn’t even offer to marry me until after my proposal to you. I couldn’t be sure he felt anything for me except—” She broke off with a blush. “Except…”