His heart
, she thought, remembering what Daniel had told her.
He doesn’t know it’s his heart
.
Other things Daniel said sprang into her mind:
His brain’s trying to figure you out, his St. Peter is crying out for attention, and worst of all, his heart is clamoring to be heard for the first time in the poor sod’s life. All that clamoring is confusing the man
.
The thought warmed her. Surely he loved her a little if he could speak so haltingly, so sweetly of his need for her. He might not know it was his heart speaking, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t.
“I want to marry you, now more than ever,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “The question is—can you forgive me, will you forgive me enough to marry me?”
Blast him, he had a talent for reducing situations to their most basic. She even knew the answer she wanted to make. How could she not forgive him when she loved him so much?
After all, it was entirely possible the situation was exactly as he’d claimed. She could easily imagine Griff wanting to avoid being plagued by three spin
sters. And she could see how his pride would have prevented him from offering for her sooner.
So why did she feel this uncertainty, this sense he wasn’t being entirely truthful with her? Certain things remained odd. Why had Griff gone to such extraordinary lengths to secure his privacy in the past few days? His story didn’t seem to warrant it. And what about Papa’s bloody strongbox? Papa insisted it contained only papers, but why hide them? That made no sense.
She thought about actually mentioning the strongbox to Griff, but some instinct made her hold back. If he were lying about it, her mentioning it would make matters worse, for then he’d know of it. If he were telling the truth, then it was of no importance.
“Rosalind, darling,” he bit out, “if you’re trying to punish me with this silence, you’re doing a good job of it.”
His worry touched her. “I’m not trying to punish you. It’s just that…this is so wholly unexpected. I’m still trying to take it all in.”
I’m still trying to determine who you really are. And if I can trust you
.
“What is there to take in? I’m the same man you cared for, only with a different name and a less disreputable past. That shouldn’t affect whether you care for me enough to marry me.” When she remained silent, torn, he added in a rigid tone, “And if my blunders have destroyed your feelings for me, you could still marry me for practical reasons. I would accept even that from you.”
“Practical reasons? I suppose you mean the advantages to my family.”
He stiffened the merest fraction. “Yes. But more particularly the advantages to
you
. I’m rich, remember?”
“I ought to,” she said coldly. “You reminded me
of it repeatedly that day in the deer park. As I recall, it influenced me as little then as it does now.”
“You’re a stubborn woman, Lady Rosalind.”
“In fact, I believe I told you that I had so little interest in money I was willing to throw it all aside to go on the stage.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll have to find other enticements to tempt you from the lure of the theater, won’t I?” Taking her by surprise, he caught her to him with an arm about her waist. The blanket slipped a little, but she didn’t resist his embrace. She couldn’t.
Brushing her cheek with his lips, he lowered his voice seductively. “For one thing, you and I are very well matched. You must admit it.”
“Well matched in bed, you mean,” she choked out. Curse him for his ability to fog her mind with passion.
“Everywhere.” Clasping her chin, he forced it up so she’d look into his eyes, his beautiful, devious eyes. “What do you think are your chances of finding a husband who can match your knowledge of Shakespeare quote for quote?”
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Of course he knew Shakespeare. He’d been educated at Eton. Still, of all the things he might have said to convince her, that wasn’t one she’d expected. It was rather crafty of him to use it, and Griff was nothing if not crafty.
She lifted an eyebrow. “We haven’t yet established that you can match me quote for quote, sir.”
He smiled at her taunt. “Then perhaps we should. Think of all the enjoyment we’ll have doing so.” He pressed a heated kiss to her cheekbone. “Think of the hours we can spend—” he kissed a path to her ear and nipped the lobe—“discussing all of Shakespeare’s euphemisms for
cock
.”
An unwanted thrill coursed through her. The man certainly knew how to use naughty words to his advantage.
Laving her too-sensitive ear with his tongue, he flattened her against his body. His decidedly aroused body. “There will be other advantages, too. You can redecorate my town house from top to bottom. You’ll have two estates full of servants to order about.”
“Why should I want that?” She was finding it hard to breathe, hard to think. She angled her head away, fighting down the surge of excitement that always deluged her when he started his blasted seductions. “I don’t like running this estate, remember?”
“You said you only disliked the tedious details. Well, my darling, I have plenty of employees to take care of the tedious details, leaving you free to order everyone about.” He kissed her neck. “And warm my bed.”
She swallowed. Hard. “I suppose you consider warming your bed one of those ‘advantages’ in favor of my marrying you.”
“Contentious woman,” he muttered. “Shall I demonstrate again that we both consider it an advantage?”
He kissed her on the mouth then and stole the very soul from her body. Every sense stood to attention, her very skin came alive with heat. For a moment, she reveled in it, responding to his kiss with all the love in her heart.
But when he tugged at her blanket, she came to her senses. With a feverish burst of will, she wriggled from his arms to go stand a few feet away, clutching the blanket close like a shield.
“Rosalind?” he queried in concern.
“All right.”
“‘All right’ what?”
“I’ll marry you.”
His ragged sigh of relief echoed unmistakably in the clearing. “Good. Now come here so we can celebrate.”
Only Griff could imbue the word
celebrate
with sheer carnality. She shivered at his delicious temptation, but resisted it. She couldn’t lie with him again until she determined if all her fears were nothing. She’d nearly admitted she loved him before; if he took her again, she’d never keep from saying it. And her pride wouldn’t let her lay her heart before him until she was more sure of him.
“No,” she protested, “we’ll be missed if we don’t go in soon.”
He stepped toward her. “Daniel will see to it that no one disturbs us.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m…a bit…” What? Tired? Sleepy? At shortly after sunset? What reason could she give?
To her surprise, he supplied the reason for her. “Sore. Of course.” He flashed her an apologetic look. “I wasn’t thinking. You were a virgin, and we were rather…vigorous in our lovemaking. You need time to recover.”
She pounced on his reason at once, though she wasn’t nearly as sore as he seemed to think. “Yes, precisely. I-I’m sorry—”
“You’ve no reason to apologize.
I’m
the one who should apologize. I should have realized you wouldn’t be ready again so soon.” He stepped up close to caress her cheek. “I’m sailing in uncharted waters, my sweet, since you’re my first virgin.”
“I’d better be the last, as well,” she warned. “No matter what I promised Daniel, I won’t play the accommodating wife for
you
. If you take a mistress
after we’re married, I swear I’ll cut off your St. Peter, or whatever you call it.”
He laughed. “Spoken like a true Amazon. But don’t worry, darling, I don’t want that sort of accommodating wife. Nor do I want a mistress. I want you and no one else, for the rest of our lives.”
It sounded so good, so perfect. Too perfect, she thought as he bent to kiss her.
There was only way to be sure of his intentions and lay all her fears to rest. Tonight she must go to Papa with that blasted strongbox and make him open it, make him tell her what it contained. It had to be nothing—she was nearly sure it was nothing.
She prayed it was nothing.
Because if Griff proved to be lying about his reasons for marrying her, it just might kill her.
There is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy
.
Richard Sheridan, English theater manager and playwright
, The Critic
H
alf an hour later, after they were dressed and walking back to the house, Griff couldn’t shake the unease plaguing him. He didn’t understand it. He ought to be ecstatic now that he had what he wanted.
Everything
he wanted.
He’d gained Rosalind despite the revelation of his masquerade. She’d agreed to marry him. She’d spoken of caring for him. She’d even threatened him with emasculation if he ever took a mistress, which he found decidedly promising. Her jealousy surely meant she felt more than desire for him.
And he’d gained the certificate, or would on his wedding day if the earl kept his promise. He’d done it without alienating her from his affections, too,
thanks to his prudent decision not to tell her about the damned thing.
Yet he still felt unsure of her. He shot her a quick glance as they skirted the manor and passed under a window spilling soft light onto her face. She seemed…pensive, distant. Could she possibly know…
No, how could she? She was merely responding to the loss of her virginity and the many changes it had wrought. Because if she’d known the truth, she wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. He was nearly certain of that.
Yet he’d have to tell her eventually. What a dilemma he’d created. To gain his place in the House of Lords and thus on that delegation, he must publicly establish his claim to the title. But if he claimed it publicly, whether before or after he married Rosalind, she would kill him.
He groaned. Was there no way around this without infuriating her?
Of course, she needn’t know how he’d gotten the certificate. He could keep that between the earl and himself. And using it would mean little change to the family situation, because once he married Rosalind, he’d take up residence at Swan Park and all would be as it was before. He could even allow her father to remain in the master bedchamber. He was not a vindictive man, after all.
There would merely be the small matter of a public transfer of the title from her father to Griff. Possibly no more than a month. In the House of Lords. Before all her father’s peers and a number of newspapermen, no doubt. Her father branded a criminal, her sisters pitied, his deception in wooing her aired before her.
He groaned again. Damnation, it wasn’t fair! He deserved that title; it was his! She ought to be grate
ful he wanted to marry her after everything her father had done to him, damn it!
“If you groan one more time with such feeling, Griff,” she said quietly at his side, “I’ll know you’re regretting your proposal of marriage.”
His gaze swung to her. “I have no regrets on that score, believe me.” It was true, God help him. No matter what difficulties marriage might present, he wanted to marry her more than anything he’d wanted in his life. Except that place on the delegation.
But he’d find a way to gain both. Perhaps her father would oblige him by succumbing to his illness in a timely fashion.
Guilt assailed him for even wishing something that would give her such pain. He groaned yet again. Catching her anxious look, he quickly said, “I’m merely trying to decide how to handle our entrance. I don’t wish to embarrass you before your family. Is there a way to enter the house without being noticed?”
“Don’t tell me you failed to uncover all the secret passages of Swan Park during your wanderings.”
“I see that making love hasn’t dulled your sharp tongue, my lady. Very well.” He halted, swept her up in his arms, and strode toward the main entrance. “We can always go in like this. Get all the questions out of the way at once.”
“Put me down, you rascal!” she hissed, darting a furtive glance at the windows they were passing. “For pity’s sake, put me down!”
“As you wish.” He released her legs so they slid slowly down his body, though he continued embracing her until he’d stolen a kiss. One very hot, very sweet kiss that left him panting for more.
She broke away, breath racing, eyes wide, lips reddened. “There’s a side door behind there.” She
pointed to a row of hedges. “It leads to one of the servants’ stairs.”
When they reached the small door, she opened it, but he caught her arm to stay her. “I’ll let you go up alone. I’ll enter in front and distract everyone,” he said.
“How do you intend to do that?”
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s time I tell them about the masquerade, if Daniel hasn’t already done so. That ought to distract them.” He prayed that Daniel hadn’t mentioned
everything
, however. “Are you coming down to dinner after you get inside?”
She dropped her gaze, probably embarrassed. “I…um…think I’ll eat in my room tonight. I need a bath.”
“Shall I join you for that bath later?”
“Certainly not!” she protested with a fiery blush.
He chuckled. “I suppose that will have to wait until after we’re married.”
She eyed him warily. “Surely you wouldn’t be so incorrigible as to bathe with me.”
“I’m afraid, darling, that I intend to be a most incorrigible husband.” He grinned shamelessly. “You know very well that’s why you agreed to marry me.”
She sniffed, but didn’t bother to deny it.
“I suppose sneaking into your bedchamber at midnight is out of the question, too?”
“It certainly is!”
He sighed loudly. But it was just as well. He should probably meet with her father in private to explain about the masquerade. With any luck, the fact that Griff was willing to marry Rosalind would mollify the man’s anger over the deception.
Not that the man had any reason to be angry, considering his own treacheries. But if angered, the earl
might mention the certificate to Rosalind, and it would be better if Griff headed that off. Indeed, it might be better if Griff kept her as far away from her father as possible until the wedding.