Where Passion Leads (Berkeley-Faulkner #1)(47)

“Captain,” Rand said, inquiry threading his tone, and Jasper walked toward him with a slow seaman’s stride.

“If you have a minute, I’d like to speak with you, sir,” the captain said, his gray eyes matching the soft steel color of his hair. Rand inclined his head curiously and Jasper hesitated once more. “It’s none of my concern,” he said, “except that you are a good employer and a fair man . . . and I suspect we’ll be doing business together well on into the future. You do not strike me as the sort who likes to hear only tidings of—”

“Jasper,” Rand interrupted, his white teeth flashing in a quick smile of amusement, “you don’t have to beat around it. Is there something you want to say?”

Silently the older man nodded and reached inside his coat to pull out a folded sheet of newspaper. It was a section from a recent issue of the Times, the largest and most widely read of all the London papers. It was advanced far beyond its European contemporaries, its only equal being the Messenger, an English paper produced in Paris. Rand scanned it absently, one large hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck to ease the tautness of the muscles there. Then, under the column labeled “France,” the words leapt out at him:

An astonishing rumor has come to our attention concerning George Brummell, Esq., currently residing in Calais. The recent report involves the existence in France of a young Miss Belleau who claims to be the illegitimate daughter of the former resident of London. Curiosity is rampant concerning the possibility of this famed gentleman’s offspring. Our sources cannot be confirmed.

Rand felt his belly tighten with anger. Slowly he raised a carefully blank expression to meet Jasper’s scrutiny. “Interesting,” he commented. “What has it to do with me?”

“What the paper didn’t state,” Jasper said cautiously, “is that the prevalent rumors link your name with this woman. They say that the reason for your sojourn in France is not business, but the fact that she is your . . . your . . .” It was not necessary to finish the sentence. Rand knew that Jasper traveled in high enough circles so that his information was probably accurate. And if so, Rosalie’s name was being bandied about at every ball, every breakfast, every hunt, every street corner in England.

He swore fluently, the string of soft curses heard every day in a London street but uttered with such an intensity of feeling that Jasper fairly blushed. “Brummell,” Rand muttered, “when I get to you I’ll gag you with your own cravat.”

“You don’t deny it, then?” the captain asked. Rand’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Does it matter?

The damnable thing about rumors is that whether they’re confirmed or denied, they proliferate like weeds.”

“True.” Jasper was about to add something when he spied a fraying hemp rope being used to lower one of the small, heavy crates of porcelain. “Excuse me, I must attend to something.”

Rand barely acknowledged the captain’s departure as he scowled at the dock. He would be damned if he would take Rosalie home before he knew what kind of reception she would have. The thought of what she could be subjected to made his hair curl.

Brummell’s daughter. To the sophisticated set of London she would be a wonder, a novelty, a curiosity, a prize. She would become a celebrity among the wilder circles of London, toasted and feted, exposed to all the seaminess the jaded elite had to offer. To the elite, the art of corrupting the spirit was not only a game but also a subtle art. They would all want her, they would try to lure or steal her away from him, tempting, taunting, breaking the thin silken bonds that Rand had so carefully tied around her. She would be wooed and courted by every buck in sight, who would desire her as a mistress because of her beauty and her famed father. The thought of her being drawn away from him so insidiously made Rand’s jaw harden in anger, aroused an instinct to protect what was his. He would not allow them to touch her.

A previously unconsidered thought raced across his mind. What if he gave her his name?

People would be more loath to take advantage of a woman under the shield of the Berkeley name and power, no matter who her father was. And if Brummell’s angry creditors dared to approach her, Rand would have a legitimate claim and legal means to deal with them himself. Marriage. The thought had never appealed to him before now, but it suddenly presented itself as the perfect solution to his problems. He had always scorned the idea of being confined by the matrimonial bond, but the prospect of being tied to Rosalie held a certain appeal. He knew far more about her than he could ever have the opportunity to discover about some simpering debutante during a carefully supervised courtship. Although Rosalie was a lively woman with a marked willingness to argue with him, she could also be very companionable. She was young and beautiful, and there was no question as to her innocence. Before they had met she had been untouched by any other man—that much had been proved.

And most important, if she were his wife, he could have her anytime he wanted.

Putting the shoe on the other foot, Rand considered what her life would be like as Lady Berkeley. He knew he was one of the most desired matrimonial catches in London because of his title and wealth. Surely Rosalie could have no objection to the home and the living he would provide for her. But aside from that, could she learn to be happy with him as a husband? He had started their relationship off in the worst imaginable way, yet he would not demand any forgiveness that she could not give, only try to make amends. Disgruntled, he stared distantly into the sky, wondering exactly how she felt about him. It was fairly obvious that on some level she had developed a kind of fondness for him. It seemed to Rand that that was enough to begin a marriage with. Rosalie could learn to be happy with him, especially during the endless hours they would spend in his bed. Although she did not know it yet, Rosalie was a woman who needed to be loved long and well, and Rand had no doubt that he could satisfy her in that respect if not in any other.