“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 r
ude,” 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.
“Well, that’s all right then,” Juliet put in quickly, the peacemaker as always. She dabbed at her lips with her damask napkin, then laid it across her plate with typical feminine delicacy. “Perhaps if you’re all finished with breakfast, we can go to Papa’s room. He’s expecting us.”
“Since I was late to breakfast and am not quite finished,” Mr. Brennan remarked in far too casual a tone, “why don’t the rest of you go on without me?” His gaze swung to his employer. “You won’t need me, will you?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’ll finish here and take a walk about the estate. If that meets with your approval.”
Despite Mr. Brennan’s perfectly subservient words, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was issuing an order—and he seemed very comfortable doing so. Their arrangement was peculiar indeed. Of course, if she had a man as…unpredictable as Mr. Brennan working for her, she might be tempted to acquiesce herself for fear he’d murder her in her sleep if she didn’t.
“That’s a fine idea,” Mr. Knighton responded. “We don’t want to overwhelm his lordship by tramping in all together. The ladies and I will go on without you.”
Not a chance, Rosalind thought. She wouldn’t allow that smuggler to do more foraging for Papa’s papers. “Actually, there’s no reason for me to go, either. Papa really does prefer smaller groups of visitors.” She flashed Mr. Brennan a brilliant smile. “I’ll join you, sir. You’ll need help finding your way about the estate.”
His lips tightened into a disapproving line. “Begging your pardon, Lady Rosalind, but I didn’t have a nursemaid when I was three, so I certainly don’t need one now. I’m perfectly capable of navigating an estate alone.”
“I’m sure you are—indeed, you demonstrated a remarkable proficiency for it last night, and in a strange house, too. But you’ll miss much of interest on our grounds without one of us along to point things out. No, it’s imperative that I accompany you.”
With a worried glance at her, Mr. Knighton shifted his bulky frame in the chair that was ill equipped to hold such a Goliath. “I was hoping to have you help me, cousin. Won’t your father like it better if all his daughters join us when he meets me for the first time?”
“Nonsense,” she said gaily. “It’ll be cozier without me. He won’t even notice I’m gone. And Mr. Brennan should certainly have company.”
Mr. Brennan drummed his fingers on the table, probably to keep from using them to throttle her. “Perhaps since you’re so fond of the bard, Lady Rosalind, I can put this in terms even you will understand. ‘I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.’”
As You Like It again. “‘And so had I,’” she quoted back. “However, since Swan Park is still Papa’s estate, and I’m still the one who runs it, I must insist upon acting as your guide. After all, I’d hate it if something happened to you that I could have prevented.”
“What of your reputation, my lady? You shouldn’t walk out alone with a man.”
She laughed. “At twenty-three, I hardly need a chaperone, sir. Besides, this is the country. We don’t observe strict proprieties here, I assure you.” She’d done pretty much as she liked for the last few years, so who would stop her? Certainly not Papa, under the circumstances.
For a moment Mr. Brennan looked as if he might argue more, then resignation seemed to dull his enthusiasm for further argument. “Very well, whatever you wish. Though I warn you I’m a fast walker and can go for hours without any rest.”
“Excellent, so can I. It’s settled then.” She turned to her sister. “Juliet, why don’t you and Mr. Knighton go on? I’ll wait here for Mr. Brennan to finish his breakfast, and then we can embark on our tour of the estate.”
“To be truthful,” Mr. Knighton put in, “I need a word with Griff in private. If you ladies wouldn’t mind waiting for us in the hall…”
“Of course we don’t mind,” Juliet said, rising hastily from her place. “Rosalind?”
Rosalind rose, too, and followed her without a word. Now that she’d won, she could be gracious enough to let the men plot alone for a moment. But their plotting would accomplish nothing. Mr. Brennan would not get at Papa’s papers on her watch.
Once she and Juliet were in the hall, Juliet rounded on her, her face a mixture of admiration and worry. “You didn’t really draw a sword on Mr. Brennan, did you?”
“I certainly did. And you would have, too, if you’d seen what he was doing.”
Juliet peeked back into the dining room, her lashes fluttering like the wings of startled birds. “Not me. He frightens me even more than our cousin. I don’t know how you find the courage to speak to him as you do.”
“No one is born to courage, Juliet. Courage is a habit you develop after cowardice has gotten you nothing.” She squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “You’ll learn it as you grow older, trust me.”
Juliet shook her head. “I’ll never be as brave as you. Or Helena, for that matter.”
It suddenly occurred to Rosalind that her insistence on sticking close to Mr. Brennan would have another unwanted result. “You don’t mind that I’m leaving you alone with Mr. Knighton, do you? You’ll
be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. We’re going straight to Papa’s room anyway.” Juliet glanced at her from beneath half-closed eyelids. “You…er…seem very eager to join Mr. Brennan.”
“Not eager.” She peered into the room, wondering what Mr. Brennan was saying to Mr. Knighton with such animation at the other end of the long dining room. “But I must keep an eye on him. I think he’s up to no good.” At Juliet’s drawn-out sigh, she added, “Don’t tell Papa, however—not until I’m sure what he’s planning. I can handle this on my own.”
Oh, yes, she would handle that devious man of affairs. Even if it meant sticking to him like flypaper for the rest of the men’s visit.
Chapter 5
He is only honest who is not discovered.
Susannah Centlivre, English playwright, The Artifice
“By God, why didn’t you dissuade the damnable woman from going off with me?” Griff hissed at Daniel over the table.
Daniel shrugged. “I tried, but she insisted. You heard her.”
“I don’t care. You were supposed to prevent her. I can’t; I’m no longer in charge, remember?” He scowled. “You obviously do, since you used your newfound station to chastise me publicly.”
“Don’t grumble at me! This was your idea, not mine. And if you can’t control the bloody woman, how the hell do you expect me to?”
“How the hell do you expect me to search the house with her on my heels?”
“I have no idea.” Daniel leaned forward, concern on his features. “I take it you didn’t find the proof last night.”
“No. She caught me before I could finish searching the desk. There’s something in there that prompted her concern, but it might not be what I’m looking for. The damnable piece of paper could be anywhere.” When Daniel shot him a look that said I told you so, he growled, “I’ll find it eventually, don’t worry.”
“In the meantime, what do you intend to do about her?”
“Do? Damnation, I don’t know.” Glancing across the room and into the hall, Griff noted how Lady Rosalind and her sister eyed him and Daniel with ill-disguised curiosity. He feigned interest in the sausages growing cold on his plate, shoving them about with his fork. “Since I roused her suspicions last night, I’d best humor her whim this morning.”
A Dangerous Love Page 5