A Dangerous Love (13 page)

Smoothing her features into the mask of a coquette as best she could, she faced him again and smiled. This was no different from any other role a real actress might play. Now if only her insides would stop shaking…

“Dear God, I’m so silly,” she said in a teasing tone that felt utterly unnatural. “I actually thought we were…um…having some genuine fun.” Harsher words clamored to be spoken, but she squelched them ruthlessly. There were better ways to skewer a man. “I should have known you were only trying another of your ploys. Really, Mr. Brennan, you shouldn’t be so obvious when springing your traps.”

He went very still, gripping his hat tightly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why, your kissing, of course. It was every bit as expert as I would’ve expected.” Indeed, it had exceeded any expectation. “But I suppose you
intended to frighten me off with your skill. You know, alarm the virgin and that sort of thing.”

“Don’t be absurd.” But his suddenly shuttered gaze loudly proclaimed his guilt.

Blast him! “A pity I didn’t act as you wished.” She heard the hurt creeping into her tone and willfully forced it down. “I didn’t behave like a proper lady and slap your face or banish you from my presence. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

She wished she
had
slapped him after the very first kiss. Now it was too late to take back her shameful, wanton reaction. It was too late to pretend she hadn’t been swept up in the thrill. It wasn’t too late, however, to pretend immunity to his betrayal.

He watched her in silence, a muscle flexing and unflexing in his jaw. She cursed him for looking more appealing than ever with that hooded gaze and the raven swirl of hair at his left temple that betrayed a cowlick.

“I suppose my enthusiastic reaction took you by surprise.” She leaned casually against the tree trunk. “If you’d only told me what effect you wanted, I might have obliged you with a stellar performance. I can play the proper lady when I want, you know.” She gave a huge sigh. “But alas, I did not, thus forcing you to alter your plan.”

Clapping his hat on his head, he stalked up to her at the tree. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

For pity’s sake, he sounded almost remorseful. But that was impossible. Mr. Brennan would never be remorseful—not the man who’d probably invented an entire life history merely to drive her off.

“You know precisely what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “After my response, you decided to
humor the country girl, correct? Let her have some fun, then tell her she was too much for a poor male like you? I suppose you thought a spinster who rarely received such attentions would do anything you asked after a kiss like that.”

She choked off her words before they revealed too much. It took her a second to go on. “But I am not a muttonhead, and I recognize a shameless ploy when I see one.”

His eyes chilled her, starkly ice-blue. “So you think you’ve found me out.”

“I know I have.” Her heart sank. What had she expected? That he would deny it? One thing about Griff she’d noticed—when he was caught, he admitted it. But a tiny part of her had hoped she was wrong.

“All right, perhaps it was a ploy at first, but once we kissed—” He glanced away, then continued harshly, “I’m not quite the talented deceiver you take me for. The part about your being a temptation was no lie.”

“Of course it was—”

“No.” He reached for her, and she swatted his hand away. “No, it was not. I swear it.”

She searched his face, despairing of ever knowing the truth. He had this…horrid ability to make his claims sound plausible. “I don’t believe you.” She shoved the words through a throat clogged with unshed tears.

Anger flickered in his face. “Even I can’t feign arousal, my sweet. Trust me, I’m not that accomplished an actor.”

She pasted a blithe smile to her lips. “Oh, but you’re wrong. You’ve played your role very well.”

A wary look entered his eyes. “What role is that?”

“You know what role. Or roles, I should say. The ones you’ve been trying on in your determination
to rid yourself of my company. All that making yourself disagreeable and pretending to be a smuggler and a highwayman’s son and—”

“I really am a smuggler and a highwayman’s—” He broke off. “Accuse me of playing any role you wish. Except the one of lover.”

The word
lover
struck her with brutal force. There had indeed been a few moments during their kisses when she’d thought of him as a lover. Foolish, foolish girl. “I’ll admit,” she said shakily, “you played that particular role more convincingly than the others, but not convincingly enough to fool me.”

She pushed away from the tree and tried to pass him, but he grabbed her shoulders to stay her. “You do us both a disservice if you think that was a role. I meant every word, and those kisses weren’t counterfeit.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and he lowered his voice. “You do tempt me…‘for still temptation follows where thou art.’”

“So desperate to drive me away that you’d resort to the sonnets?” she quipped to cover the turmoil he created in her breast.

“Desperate to make you believe me, yes.”

Furious at his masterful ability for telling her what she wanted to hear—and for making her heart pound like a silly schoolgirl’s—she wrenched herself free of him. She wouldn’t fall for his tactics again. From now on, she was swearing off devious men and their kisses. Or at least this devious man’s kisses.

It took all her will to keep her voice light and amused, when she just wanted to crawl into bed and cry. “Well, then, if I do tempt you, you’d best get used to it. Because no matter what ploys you try, I’m not leaving your side. For the duration of your visit here, I intend to be your bosom companion.”

When he raised an eyebrow at her choice of
words, she couldn’t prevent a faint blush. Hastily she added, “You’ll simply have to learn to live with your urges,
if
you ever really had any.”

“What about you and your urges? I wasn’t the only one enjoying those kisses, Rosalind.”

“
Lady
Rosalind,” she said, glad to gird herself in the proprieties for once. “Of course I enjoyed them. You’re very adept at kissing, Mr. Brennan—”

“Griff,” he corrected angrily.

“
Mr. Brennan
. But I didn’t enjoy them enough to wish them repeated.”

“Liar. I tempt you, too. Admit it.”

“Not in the least.” Picking up her shawl, she swung it around her shoulders with a flourish that belied the increasing difficulty of maintaining her role. “So you might as well forget using temptation to drive me off. I’m immune to your kisses now.”

She prayed he believed her. Because she very much feared that despite the way he’d deceived and manipulated her, she wasn’t in the least immune. Not to him.

Chapter 9

Your two friends, Prudence and Reflection, I am informed, have lately ventured to pay you a visit; for which I heartily congratulate you, as nothing can possibly be more joyous to the heart than the return of absent friends, after a long and painful peregrination
.

Charlotte Charke, English actress
, A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Charlotte Charke

A
midst Lady Juliet’s chatter, Daniel’s attempts at charm, and Lady Helena’s reserved silence, Griff sat and watched Rosalind eat heartily of the cold ham and half-moon slices of cheddar on her plate. True to her words, she gave no sign of being affected by their kisses, nor had she from the moment they’d left the orchard. On their walk back to the house, her conversation had been brisk and engaging, and though she’d effectively skirted discussion of their activities, it hadn’t seemed deliberate.

As for him, he’d been too angry—and aroused—to do more than grunt responses to her comments. They’d arrived at the house to find everyone awaiting them on the terrace, where luncheon had been served.

Now Rosalind sat and ate beneath the kindly sun, wearing a countenance as serene as her older sister’s. And he sat wearing a countenance that was anything but. Perhaps she was immune to temptation, but he damned well wasn’t. He still hadn’t subdued his willful cock, and just when he pacified it a bit, one look at her made it rear its demanding head again.

How could she sit there so calmly, conversing and joking as if nothing had happened between them? He had no interest whatsoever in the innocuous conversations of their companions, and certainly no appetite for food or drink.

Except for the vintage he’d accidentally uncorked in the orchard. The one called Lady Rosalind.

That was a rare vintage indeed—champagne where he’d expected vinegar—and he craved more. But he couldn’t have more. She was fruit of Swanlea’s vines, for the love of God! Had he lost his mind to be thinking of her this way?

Yes. Because the thought of swearing off her particular liquor was bedeviling him.

But not her, it seemed. Gone were her virginal wonder and ardent gaze. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she could play the proper lady when she wanted. Is that what her self-possessed air was—a role? Or did she truly care no more about their shared kisses than she would the notes of a sonata vanishing on the breeze?

If this were a role, she played it well, sitting there so demure and prim as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. By God, he would
make
butter melt in
her mouth, if it took him the rest of the day. How dared she make light of their kisses when they’d utterly distracted
him
from his purpose?

“You’re not eating, Mr. Brennan,” Juliet chirped. “Does the food not please you?”

He glanced down at his full plate. “The food isn’t the problem.” He tried to catch Rosalind’s eye, but she was suddenly intent upon drinking her wine. His eyes narrowed. “As it happens, your sister and I got so hungry on our walk that we ate a plum in the orchard.”

“You mean plums,” Juliet cut in with a giggle. “Surely you didn’t share one.”

He hesitated just long enough to make Rosalind’s gaze jump to his, a hint of alarm in its depths. But she misunderstood his intention—he didn’t wish to expose her, only make her expose herself to him.

“No, of course not,” he lied. “But it was a foolish indulgence, since it killed our appetites for anything else.”

He knew Rosalind took his meaning, though she made no sign of it. Instead, she leaned forward to cut a nice swath through the meat on her plate. “Speak for your own appetite.” She lifted the portion nearly to her mouth, then paused with the fork midair. “Mine is perfectly intact, at least for healthful food like this.”

“Do you claim that plums are unhealthful?” He felt everyone’s eyes on him, but paid them no heed. Let them think what they would. He wanted to make her acknowledge he hadn’t been the only one affected by their kisses.

“Oh, they’re very good in their place, but they can be cloying. As you’ve already noted, all it takes is a single plum to make one ill.”

“You misunderstand me. The plum didn’t make
me ill.” He lowered his voice deliberately. “If anything, it made me crave more…plums.”

He’d hoped for a blush, but all he got was a stony stare. “Earlier this morning you said you didn’t like plums. You’re a most fickle creature, Mr. Brennan.”

“Not at all. After you coaxed me to taste one I discovered that eating truly superior fruit changes one’s opinions on the subject.”

“Well, Mr. Brennan,” Juliet put in before Rosalind could retort, “you and Rosalind had a dreadfully dull morning if all you talked about was fruit.” The girl yawned prettily.

“The one thing I would
not
call it is boring.” Griff kept his gaze fixed on Rosalind. He would unsettle her if it killed him. “And we discussed other subjects. Shakespeare, for example—one of the sonnets. We had an interesting discussion about temptation, didn’t we, Lady Rosalind?”

She showed no reaction, though a quick glance around the terrace revealed that at least two of their companions were now very interested in the conversation. Daniel watched them with narrowed eyes, and Lady Helena had stopped painting the miniature she’d taken up after finishing her meal.

Yet Rosalind remained immune. “Are you sure it was one of the sonnets? I recall speaking of Shakespeare, but I thought it was
A Comedy of Errors
. All that talk about thieves, remember? When we discussed your childhood in the workhouse? And your fascinating family connections?”

Damnation. She certainly picked her weapons well. Daniel had straightened in his chair to glare at Griff.

As if knowing how much trouble she’d caused, she smiled. Then she leaned toward her younger sister without taking her gaze from Griff. “The man
has a most intriguing background, Juliet. His father was a highwayman, for pity’s sake—Wild Danny Brennan. Can you believe it?”

Griff groaned. Daniel was going to kill him.

“No!” Juliet exclaimed, regarding Griff as if he’d suddenly transformed into a snake in their midst. Then she spotted her sister’s calculating look and gave a nervous giggle. “Oh, Rosalind, you’re teasing me again, aren’t you? You’re really too awful sometimes.”

“No, I’m perfectly serious. Mr. Brennan gave me all the details. Didn’t you, Mr. Brennan?”

Griff snatched up his wineglass and swigged a healthy mouthful, then stared into its ruby depths to keep from looking at Daniel.

Rosalind continued to pound nails into his coffin. “Mr. Brennan says he was once a smuggler, too—a very disreputable man. You must take care with him, Juliet. He’s been warning me about his dangerous character all morning.”

Griff swirled the wine in his glass to prevent himself from leaping over the table and throttling the loose-tongued woman.

A noise erupted from Daniel that sounded like a cross between a growl and a curse. “The two of you certainly had an interesting tour of the estate.”

“Oh, we did indeed. Mr. Brennan has been blackening his character for me by the hour.” She glanced at Daniel. “Unless, of course, he was telling me tall tales. Was he?”

Griff stiffened as Daniel leapt from his chair and began lumbering back and forth along the terrace like the bear at a bear baiting. Goddamn it, he’d better support the story. If Daniel made him look like a liar to her, he’d thrash the man into the next county!