A Dangerous Love (6 page)

“Did the blessed creature grow in the night?” Juliet muttered under her breath.

Rosalind kept her voice low as well. “That’s our cousin?”

“Yes, that’s Mr. Knighton.”

She scrutinized the man she’d already cast as the villain of the piece. He didn’t look like a villain. He looked like a field laborer in gentlemen’s clothing,
awkward and uncomfortable and wary of his surroundings. Papa’s valet, assigned to Mr. Knighton for the visit, must have tied his cravat too tightly, for the man tugged at it so often he was in danger of unraveling the knot entirely. His clear discomfort had the strange effect of making her feel sympathy for him.

It did not, however, seem to do the same for Juliet. The young woman lagged behind Rosalind fearfully. For pity’s sake, the man was smiling, which transformed his rawboned features into something almost attractive. So why did he intimidate Juliet?

As they drew near and Rosalind realized how large he was, a suspicion leapt into her mind. The man
was
rather gigantic. And Juliet was so very petite…

“You needn’t bother with him, you know,” Rosalind whispered. “If he frightens you, then—”

“Someone has to marry him,” Juliet interrupted. Rosalind couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t deny her fright. “You and Helena refuse to do it, so the task falls to me.”

“Dearest—”

“Enough!” Juliet hissed, though tears shimmered in her eyes. “I shan’t live out my days as a Swanlea Spinster, and if I don’t marry Mr. Knighton and we’re thrown from Swan Park, that is exactly what I’ll become!”

Rosalind signed. The young could be such tragedians. “There’s still time for you to find another man to marry.”

“You think so, do you? Helena missed her chance because of her illness, and you missed it because of your responsibilities and because Papa won’t take us to London. Well, I won’t miss mine. I won’t let go
of my only chance because of silly qualms about Mr. Knighton’s size. I will adjust to it. I
will
.”

Oh, what was the point of reasoning with the foolish girl when she was so blasted stubborn? But somehow Rosalind would make everything right. She owed it to Juliet to see her happily wed to a man of her choice, not an ox who terrified her.

Mr. Knighton bowed as they reached him, an action that only accentuated his size, since when he brought his head down to three-quarters mast, it was still a good foot above Juliet’s. Quickly, her sister stammered through the introductions.

He politely overlooked the girl’s nervousness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, cousin,” he told Rosalind. “Your sisters have told me much of you.”

“You mustn’t believe a word.” Extending her hand, she settled into the familiar role of mistress of the manor. “No one can exaggerate a person’s faults quite so effectively as a sister.”

He took her hand briefly before releasing it. “Then I hope you’ll give me the privilege of learning your virtues so I can counter your sister’s exaggerations. If indeed they were exaggerations.”

When coupled with a winning smile, his charming words almost disarmed her. Almost. “Why, Mr. Knighton, I am impressed. You’re far more talented at flattery than your man of affairs.”

A thin blade of alarm sharpened his gray eyes to steel. “You met Griff?”

Griff? Oh, yes, the scoundrel
had
said people called him that. “I did. Last night.” Without elaborating, Rosalind peered through the door into the empty dining room. “And where is Mr. Brennan this morning? Still abed, I take it?”

“Er…. yes. He tends to keep town hours.”

Precisely what Mr. Brennan himself had said.
Had Mr. Knighton already spoken to him and heard of her attack last night?

If so, he hid it well, for his expression showed only polite disinterest. “I’m sure he’ll be along soon. Shall we go in to breakfast?” His smile included Juliet, who watched him doggedly, as if that might help to dissolve her fear of his great bulk.

“Of course.” Rosalind stepped between him and Juliet to take the arm he offered, and her sister sighed with relief.

Yet it wasn’t Mr. Knighton occupying her thoughts as they entered the sun-drenched dining room. Mr. Brennan had outslept the coming morn—ha! And after all his veiled threats to reveal their embarrassing encounter, too. Who had the upper hand now?

Better yet, this would allow her to question Mr. Knighton without Mr. Brennan’s interference. Or Papa’s, for that matter. She waited until the three of them were seated, with Mr. Knighton beside her and Juliet opposite him. While the servants set platters of scones and sausages and shirred eggs on the table, she took up the teapot and began her inquisition. “I suppose your company is a rather large one, Mr. Knighton?”

“Yes, very large.” He leaned back to allow her to pour him some tea. “The London office of Knighton Trading alone employs thirty people.”

“Thirty!” She poured a cup for herself, adding a generous dollop of cream. “That’s a great many indeed. You must tell us how you came to establish such an impressive concern.”

She sipped her tea and awaited his reply, eager to see if the man could answer without alluding to his trading company’s unsavory beginnings.

“It’s too dull a tale for fine young ladies like you.”
He glanced toward the door. “Speaking of young ladies, where’s your other sister this morning?”

Rosalind wasn’t about to let him change the subject. “Oh, Helena is with Papa. Now, about the founding of your trading concern—”

“Is she preparing him for visitors?” he broke in stubbornly. “Does that mean I’ll meet your father after breakfast?”

That brought Rosalind up short. “You haven’t met Papa yet?” She turned to her sister. “Juliet, why hasn’t Mr. Knighton met Papa?”

Juliet’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “Because Papa wasn’t feeling well last night, remember?”

“He was no worse than usual when I was in—” Juliet’s kick under the table came at the same time as her memory. “Owwhh, yes. Right. Papa wasn’t feeling well.” Twice now her encounter with that blasted man of affairs had made her forget her imprisonment. That the scoundrel had such an effect on her was vastly annoying.

Across from her, Juliet lifted the cover off a platter and sniffed. “Mr. Knighton, do you like shirred eggs? It’s our cook’s specialty, so you must try some. We have truly superior eggs here at Swan Park.”

That launched them into a discussion of Cook and her talents, which led to a discussion of the kitchen’s capacity, which led them far afield into a discussion of where they got their coal. Rosalind bided the changes in subject impatiently, eager to return to the topic of Knighton Trading. Meanwhile, she used the opportunity to observe Mr. Knighton.

He wasn’t at all what she’d expected. He lacked Mr. Brennan’s arrogance and annoying certitude
about his own opinions. Mr. Knighton seemed as nervous as Juliet and as determined to be friendly. He was polite and charming. His table manners were a bit rough—he ate an enormous amount and had some trouble negotiating the cutlery—but otherwise he was quite amiable, not in the least the ogre she’d anticipated.

Still, she wouldn’t let his apparent good nature lull her into complacency. She waited for an appropriate break in the conversation, then plunged in where she’d left off. Only this time she was more direct. “Mr. Knighton, is it true you once sold goods brought into England by smugglers?”

“Rosalind!” Juliet exclaimed. “You promised—”

“I’m merely making conversation.” Rosalind fixed their cousin with a challenging look. “You don’t mind talking about it, do you? It’s widely rumored that you gained your success in trade by selling French brandy and silks brought in illegally during the war, so I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn. It
is
true, isn’t it?”

Mr. Knighton seemed at a loss for words, and Juliet was babbling a wild apology, when a rumbling voice sounded from the doorway.

“Attacking your guests as usual, Lady Rosalind?”

She swung her head around with a groan. She should have known bad timing would be one of that wretch’s many vices. “Good morning, Mr. Brennan. We were just discussing Knighton Trading’s origins.”

“I heard.” Casual and devious as any Iago, he sauntered into the room. “I’m relieved to see it’s not only me you suspect of criminal activity, but my employer as well. Isn’t there enough drama in your life without your having to create some?”

Juliet’s relieved laughter bubbled into the air.
“You’ve taken her likeness exactly, Mr. Brennan! How did you know that Rosalind is so dramatic?”

“That’s a secret, I’m afraid.” A wicked smile spread over his lips as he took the seat directly across from Rosalind. He gestured to the servant to bring him food as if ordering servants about was commonplace for him, then went on. “Your sister begged me not to discuss our first encounter, and as a gentleman, I must abide by her wishes.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t even allude to it,” Rosalind snapped. “And I didn’t beg you. I don’t care what you tell them, as long as it’s the truth.” But she rushed to tell her side first. “Did you enjoy the cigars after you went to so much trouble to find them? I assume it was your smoking rather than any further expeditions into our private rooms that caused you to ‘outsleep the coming morn.’”

Mr. Knighton apparently found his voice. “Griff doesn’t s—”

“Sleep late as a general rule,” Mr. Brennan finished for him. “Yes, that’s true. But you’re right, Lady Rosalind. After you were so kind as to give me those cigars when you discovered me wandering the house—” He paused to shoot a pointed glance at his employer. “I ended up retiring very late.”

Mr. Knighton opened his mouth again, then shut it. How very odd that Mr. Knighton would let Mr. Brennan intimidate him like that.

Mr. Brennan served himself some shirred eggs and sausages. “In any case, I hope my lateness didn’t inconvenience anyone.” He cast her a mocking smile. “Especially you, Lady Rosalind. I’m all too familiar with what you’re capable of when your dander is up.”

She had no qualm whatsoever about taking up the gauntlet he’d thrown down. “You gave me good
enough reason to have my dander up, don’t you think?”

He paused with his fork in midair. “Perhaps, but did you have to come after me with a sword?”

Mr. Knighton nearly choked on his juice. “A sword?”

“Oh, yes, our hostess is quite the swordswoman. Held me at the point of a blade and threatened to slit my gullet—”

“I did no such thing!
Now
who is being dramatic?” She attacked her eggs. “Besides, it was an honest mistake. I thought you were a thief. After all, I did find you rooting around in Papa’s desk—”

“Looking for cigars. You wouldn’t have assumed otherwise if you didn’t have such a wild imagination, my lady.”

“She does indeed!” Juliet interjected. “Rosalind wants to be an actress, you know.”

“I would never have guessed,” he said dryly. “Although that does explain her tendency to ‘rush in where angels fear to tread.’”

When he continued to eat as if he hadn’t just insulted her, Rosalind bristled. “Mr. Brennan, are you calling me a fool?”

“A fool?” He paused in the act of raising his steaming cup of tea to his lips. “No. Although even you must admit that your attack on me last night was foolhardy, especially in light of what happened afterward. If I’d truly been a thief instead of a—”

“Knave? Blackguard?”

“Rosalind, please don’t be rude,” Juliet pleaded with pink-tinged cheeks, but was ignored by everyone at the table.

Rosalind turned to Mr. Knighton. “Did you know your man of affairs had no sense of gentlemanly propriety whatsoever?”

“Do tell.” Mr. Knighton leaned back in his chair,
his eyes twinkling. For some reason, her comment seemed to amuse him.

Not Mr. Brennan, however. “Propriety?” He tossed down his cup with such force that it fell over, and its contents sloshed onto the tablecloth. “You have the audacity to speak of propriety, madam? You can hardly blame me if I don’t know how to react when a woman dressed like a soiled dove comes at me with a sword and shield! I doubt any man would behave with ‘gentlemanly propriety’ under such circumstances!”

A soiled dove! Now he’d done it! She leaned forward, determined to give him a piece of her mind.

“That’s enough of your impudence, Griff,” Mr. Knighton cut in before she could.

Rosalind sat back, a little mollified, though she wondered why it had taken the man so long to bring his insolent employee under control. And why that employee was now regarding his employer with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you last night,” Mr. Knighton continued, a little nervously, “but I won’t tolerate rude behavior toward my fair cousins.”

“What?
You
will not toler—” Mr. Brennan broke off abruptly as if realizing the full extent of his impertinence. With the precise motion of a man striving to govern his temper, he righted his cup. A long moment passed before he spoke again, eyes blazing. “Yes, sir, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Now apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

His gaze shot to Mr. Knighton, and a muscle jerked in his jaw. But he said through gritted teeth, “I beg your pardon, Lady Rosalind. I didn’t intend any insult.”

She might have believed him if not for his tone,
which was as insincere as a crocodile’s tears. She glanced at Mr. Knighton, who seemed suddenly to be trying very hard not to laugh.

What on earth could he find amusing in the situation? His man of affairs was glaring at them both with murder in his eyes. Mr. Knighton should take care whom he allowed to conduct his business for him.

She strove to rein in her temper. “Your apology is accepted, Mr. Brennan. After last night I’m accustomed to your manner of speaking, and I’m sure you’ll admit that I…tend to frankness myself.”

When Mr. Brennan turned his hot blue gaze on her, he looked as if he exercised uncommon restraint to hold back a sarcastic reply. Then the beginnings of a smile stole over his lips, provoking her insides to tighten with an unfamiliar tension. She liked him better angry. When he was angry she didn’t feel this strange connection to him, this intoxicating feeling that he understood her better than anyone ever had.