Was it?
Swearing loudly, he snatched up the certificate and stuffed it into his pocket. No, it wasn’t, and she’d realize it once the matter was settled. He’d make sure he achieved the title so discreetly she’d hardly be bothered by the ensuing scandal. Once she recognized how much success it brought to Knighton Trading and how much wealth…
He groaned. Rosalind didn’t care a fig for wealth. The bloody woman would probably spend all his money in support of theaters and God knows what else. He’d have to keep a sharp eye on her expenditures, for they were sure to be wild and impractical.
He rolled his eyes. As if he could ever begrudge her anything she wanted. Thanks to his “willful St. Peter,” she could ask him for the Thames, and he’d bottle it for her.
But in one matter, he’d remain firm. She wouldn’t keep him from regaining his title in time to be part of that delegation. No, indeed.
You’re going about it all wrong.
Damn her! Must her absurd opinions torment him even when she was absent?
Trying not to heed them, he strode about the study, making sure he’d left nothing for the servants to find, then headed up to bed. The house was unnaturally quiet, as if holding its breath. Perhaps it was—waiting for the old earl to die, for the daughters to marry, for him to inherit. No, he reminded himself sternly, that would come before the earl died.
Once in bed, however, he had trouble falling asleep. Rosalind’s words plagued him, no matter how much he tried to squelch them.
All right, so perhaps he did wish to prove himself. What was wrong with that? Most men sought to prove themselves. Why should he be any different?
You’re going about it all wrong.
With a groan, he turned his cheek to the pillow and tried to shove her voice from his head. After a while he did fall into slumber, but only a fitful one. He tossed half the night, never comfortable, never able to drive her words away. Then shortly before morning, he began dreaming.
He stood in the House of Lords, waving his parents’ wedding certificate as a loud, sonorous voice pronounced him the rightful Earl of Swanlea. Secure in his success, he glanced around, but to his shock, the lords in their robes had all become children. When he looked down at himself, he was a child as well. He was twelve again, fatherless, friendless, and the boys jeered at him. He tried to explain that he was legitimate now, but their clamor drowned out his voice.
Then he saw her. Rosalind stood above him in the visiting chamber, watching the proceedings. He called to her, but couldn’t make her hear him either. With a sad glance, she turned away and left. Panic struck him. He tried to get to her, but the boys surrounded him, blocking his path, preventing him from following. Rosalind! he cried. Rosalind!
He woke up thrashing about in his bed, still calling out her name. It took him several moments to realize where he was, and to get his racing pulse under control. When he did, he rolled onto his side and pounded the pillow, cursing and moaning.
Oh, God, she was right. The woman had seen clear into his soul, damn her, when even he had refused to see it. His quest wasn’t merely healthy ambition, was it?
He shifted onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. No, if he examined his motives thoroughly, he knew it wasn’t about that at all. He had no guarantee that gaining his title this year would put him on that delegation. And not being on the delegation wouldn’t necessarily prevent him from gaining a foothold in the China trade. He hadn’t had a title when he’d carved out his place in the India trade, after all.
Something else was at work, and Rosalind had seen it. He closed his eyes with a groan. Indeed, she’d been kinder to him than he deserved. For what he wanted was even smaller, pettier than she’d said. The realization made his stomach lurch.
He didn’t want to prove himself to his peers. No, he wanted to go back in time, to prove himself to all his Eton classmates, to reclaim his tainted boyhood. That was the meaning of his dream.
And that was ludicrous—as Rosalind had realized. Trying to rewrite the past was a child’s game, a pointless, ridiculous child’s game no one ever won.
All the titles in the world couldn’t make him forget that tortured little boy’s humiliation. Even if all who’d ever held him in contempt changed their opinions overnight, it wouldn’t erase his past. That would stay with him all his life, no matter what he did.
I’d take away your pain if I could. But I can’t. You must do it yourself. And you’re going about it all wrong.
His eyes shot open. Yes, he’d been going about it all wrong. But not anymore. He’d been acting like a child demanding his way; it was time to grow up. What did it matter if he gained his spot on the delegation but lost Rosalind’s heart in the process? He couldn’t lose her heart. It meant too much to him. Perhaps she was right, and he didn’t know how to love, but he could learn. For her, he would learn.
He sat up, praying he wasn’t too late. Despite his skepticism about portents, the last part of his dream worried him. It left a bad aftertaste, a foreboding that disturbed him even after he’d left his bed and gotten dressed.
Nor did it help when he came down to breakfast to find Rosalind absent. Everyone else was there, if less friendly than the morning before. Lady Juliet had reverted to her initial shyness. Lady Helena was colder than usual. Even Daniel wouldn’t look at him, but merely ate his breakfast in a sullen silence.
“Where’s Rosalind this morning?” Griff asked as he took his seat.
Lady Helena regarded him with undisguised dislike, but said in much too mild a tone, “She told me she wanted to sleep a while longer. Apparently, someone kept her up quite late last night.”
He raised an eyebrow. It hadn’t been all that late. Then again, yesterday had been a tempestuous day. She might need her rest.
When she didn’t appear at any time during the morning, he repeated that explanation to himself. He tried not to worry while he packed his trunks and made arrangements for the trip. But when she didn’t come down for the luncheon that Lady Helena had inexplicably delayed until nearly 2 P.M., he grew alarmed.
At Lady Helena’s assertion that Rosalind was still “resting,” he left the dining room and headed up to her bedchamber. He needed to talk to her and tell her what he’d discovered about himself, what she’d taught him. He needed to reassure himself that she was still his.
Lady Helena followed him up the stairs, protesting that he ought to have some “notions of decency.”
That tore it. He halted on the stairs to glower at her. “Where Rosalind is concerned, I’ve no notions of decency, madam. I’m sure she’ll confirm that if you ask her.”
When Lady Helena blushed violently, he wondered if Rosalind hadn’t already told her sister a great deal. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or ashamed as he continued up the stairs.
He reached Rosalind’s bedchamber moments later and rapped loudly on the door. No answer.
“I told you, she’s sleeping,” Lady Helena said stoutly. “Rosalind sleeps very soundly.”
He tried the door. It was locked. “Open it,” he ordered.
“I will not!”
“Very well, then I’ll break it down.” He moved back a pace, fully prepared to do just that.
“Wait!” Jerking out a ring of keys, she muttered, “All right, I’ll open it.”
She took her damned time about it, however, so when the door at last swung open, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find the room empty.
Swearing under his breath, he whirled on Lady Helena. “Where is she?”
Lady Helena shrugged. “I have no idea. You know Rosalind. She could be anywhere—consulting with the housekeeper or riding or—”
“Don’t play games with me, damn it!” he snapped. “Where is she?”
“Mr. Knighton, I do not respond to men who curse at me,” the woman said with her usual air of dignity.
Daniel came up behind Lady Helena, looking concerned. Griff barely spared him a glance. “Tell me this then—when will she return?”
When mutinous silence was her only answer, he strode past her into the hall. “Perhaps Lady Juliet can tell me.”
That seemed to ruffle Lady Helena’s composure. “Now see here, you scoundrel, you will not browbeat my little sister! She doesn’t know a thing about Rosalind’s plans!”
He stopped short and faced her. “Then you’ll tell me, Lady Helena, or I will browbeat Juliet, and afterward your father and every goddamned servant in the house until somebody tells me the truth!”
“Rosalind was right—you are a monster!”
The word echoed hollowly in his brain. “Did she…actually call me that?”
Lady Helena searched his face, then sighed. “Not exactly. She called you a griffin. But that is a monster, you know.”
Yes, it was. He well remembered her telling him in the deer park how appropriate his supposed nickname was. The griffin, who stood guard over treasure and tore his enemies asunder. She thought of him that way? Still?
It didn’t matter, he told himself, ignoring the sudden rawness in his throat. She would change her mind once he told her about the marriage certificate. What mattered now was finding out where she’d gone.
“Lady Helena,” he said softly, “I need to know where she is. I must know, and you must tell me. She’s my fiancée—don’t I deserve at least that consideration?”
Lady Helena’s contemptuous glance reminded him of one his mother had used on those who’d dared to insult him as a boy. It made him markedly uncomfortable.
“She’s not your fiancée anymore, I assure you, if she ever was. It’s precisely because she won’t marry you that she’s gone to London.”
At first, he thought he’d misheard her. “Gone where?”
“To London. To go on the stage. It’s what she always wanted to do and—”
“To go on the stage?” he shouted. “For the love of God, has she lost her mind?”
Lady Helena drew herself up to her full height. “Not in the least. You could hardly expect her to marry you when you plan to drag her entire family through a scandal.”
The words closed around his conscience like a fist, adding more bruises to the ones already there. “She told you about the certificate.”
“Of course she told me. I’m her sister.”
And clearly detested him for it. Not that he blamed her—to echo Daniel, he’d been a “bloody arse.” Or worse. “You’re saying Rosalind has run off to London to go on the stage instead of marrying me.”
“Yes. Since we’re shortly to be without a home,” she paused for effect, “she went to London to find a means of income for herself and lodgings for the rest of us. She’s always wanted to be an actress, so that’s the means of income she’s attempting.”
For a moment, his pain wiped out even his ability to breathe. Rosalind had left rather than marry him. After everything they’d shared, after she’d claimed to love him, after their goddamned sweet lovemaking last night, she’d left him. How could she?
But he knew the answer to that. He hadn’t given her much of a reason to believe in their future last night. He’d run roughshod over her, seduced her, told her that her wishes didn’t matter. He’d driven her to run away as surely as if he’d held that damned sword of hers to her throat. What else did a battle goddess do when cornered? She retreated, gathering her strength for the next battle.
But she’d retreated to London, for God’s sake. She couldn’t have much ready money, she was alone, and there were villains roaming the highways and lurking in the inns. Not to mention the villains roaming London…
His blood chilled. The woman had never been to London in her life. She had no idea of the blackguards who preyed on females arriving in town alone. Even his Amazon might be hard-pressed to defend herself against some of them. He glanced at Daniel, whose dire expression showed that his thoughts ran in much the same direction.
“When did she leave?” Griff asked hoarsely.
“Shortly after midnight.”
“After midnight?” Daniel said before Griff could even retort. “Christ, the woman is mad to be on the roads at night alone!”
Lady Helena’s glare included them both. “She’ll be fine. She rides well and—”
“She went on horseback?” Griff’s heart sank into his stomach. “She’s on horseback alone?”
“Yes.” Griff’s fear must have penetrated the woman’s armor, for she eyed him a bit anxiously. “She’ll be safe, won’t she? I mean, she took Papa’s pistol.”
“Has she ever even shot a pistol?” Griff’s fear was rapidly exploding into terror.
“Well, no, but you know Rosalind. She can take care of herself.”
Griff swore vilely. Goddamn it, had no one ever cautioned these three about the dangers to a woman traveling alone?
“Take care of herself?” Daniel put in. “Against highwaymen and criminals? Don’t you see what could happen to her if she met up with men like that?”
The disdain on Lady Helena’s face would have cowed even the king. “They can’t be much worse than the two deceitful wretches standing before me now.”
Daniel loomed up over her, thick brows furling. “Now see here, m’lady, I’m bloody sick of your condescension and your—”
“Enough, both of you! I only care about Rosalind.” Besides, Lady Helena was right about him, at least. His treatment of Rosalind was no better than any villain’s. He forced himself to meet Lady Helena’s gaze. “Where did Rosalind go in London?”
She tilted her chin up stubbornly, the very picture of her sister.
Temper flaring, Griff pinned her with a hard stare. “You told me you’d been to London once, so you should remember what it’s like. Not the balls and the parties, but the streets you passed through, the pickpockets lurking in alleys, the keen-eyed rooks and panderers your father probably hustled you past. London is no place for an unprotected woman, especially one with no connections.”
“But she does have connections,” Lady Helena protested. “An actress friend of Mama’s is helping her find a position and somewhere to live.”
An actress friend? That didn’t exactly reassure him. “Is this ‘friend’ expecting her? Does Rosalind know for certain she’s in town and not away with a troupe or visiting friends or even on the Continent?”
Looking shaken, Lady Helena glanced away. Obviously such a thing hadn’t occurred to her.
“Tell me this friend’s address in London,” Griff said.
“I…I don’t know it.”
He bit back an oath. “Then tell me the woman’s name.”
“I don’t know that, either.”
“Like hell you don’t! You know it—you simply won’t give it to me.”
“Why should I tell you?” she cried. “So you can go break her heart again?”
That inflamed his already raging guilty conscience. “I didn’t set out to break her heart.”
“Perhaps not, but you did all the same.”
“I realize that. But I won’t anymore, I swear it. If she still doesn’t want to marry me when I find her, I’ll leave her be.” He swallowed down the fear rising in his gullet. “I just have to see her safe, don’t you understand?”
Lady Helena eyed him uncertainly. “She’ll soon be appearing on the stage in London. That should give you ample proof that she’s safe.”
Panic built in his chest. “And what if she doesn’t find a position at one of the London theaters? Most actresses begin in traveling troupes. They’re poorly paid, mistreated by their managers, and taken advantage of by every drunken lout who fancies them. It’s no life for her, don’t you see? She’s too good for that.” Damnation, what if she did join one of the troupes? What if he couldn’t find her? Or something happened to her before he could?
“You truly are worried about her,” she said in a bewildered tone.
“Of course I’m worried about her! What did you think, you blasted—” He broke off, struggling to contain his wild anger. And his paralyzing fear. “Please, Lady Helena, I b
eg you. Tell me how to find her.”
She swallowed. “What reason could you possibly give me to justify my breaking her confidence?”
The words were out before he even thought about them. “I love her. I love your sister. And I have to know she’s safe.”
It was true, he realized in shock. If loving her meant needing her more than breath, caring more about whether she was safe than about winning her, then God knows he loved her with an intensity that terrified yet exhilarated him. She’d seen clear into his soul and uncovered his petty hatreds. For that alone, he must find her—to thank her, to tell her that her words hadn’t been in vain.
And if she could still find it in her heart to love him, then by God, he would hold on to her for the rest of his life. If she could not…
He choked back an agony that stole his breath. He would face that possibility later. First, he must make sure she was all right. But judging from the skeptical look in Lady Helena’s eyes, that might prove difficult.
“You love her?” she snapped. “You have a peculiar way of showing it.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that. I intend, however, to improve upon my courtship skills. But I need your help. You must tell me where she’s gone in London.”
For a moment, he thought she might be wavering. Her lower lip trembled, and she wrung her hands. Then she said in a small voice, “I-I can’t. I promised her.” Her earnest gaze swung back to him. “Besides, you’ve told so many lies over the past few days, I don’t know how to determine when you’re speaking the truth.”
His heart sank. He hadn’t thought all his deceptions would return to haunt him in quite this way. Something shattered inside him at the thought of Rosalind traveling alone, staying in inns with no protection. And what about once she reached London? She’d be wandering the streets of London in search of a position, possibly penniless and friendless. All because of his childish posturing last night and his arrogant belief that he could somehow gain her compliance in his foolish plans for her family.
“Very well,” he said to Lady Helena. “You do what you must, and I’ll do what I must.” Full of impotent rage and frustration—most of it directed at himself—he added, “I’ll find her, however, if I have to scour every goddamned theater in the country. And I swear, if she’s been harmed in the least, I’ll lay the responsibility for it on your head.”
A Dangerous Love Page 29