Free A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

conscience.
    Better to get right to the important part of this conversation. “Well, we are pleased to have you here.” He glanced over at Helena. “You and Juliet may go now. I should like to speak with Knighton in private.”
    Juliet fled the room with surprising speed as Helena gathered up her painting box and all its pieces.
    That drew Knighton’s attention. “Do you paint, Lady Helena?”
    “Yes,” she said quietly. “I paint miniatures.”
    “Are you painting a portrait of your father?”
    “No, I’m merely touching up a copy of Mama’s portrait.”
    “She does a bloody fine job with the little things,” Percival remarked, proud as always of his eldest daughter’s ability. “For a girl, that is. You must get Juliet to show you some of Helena’s miniatures.”
    With a considering glance at Helena, Knighton nodded. “I’ll do that.”
    “Papa is too kind,” Helena remarked dryly as she walked past Knighton to the door. “I’m no artist. It’s merely something to pass the time.”
    “Nonsense,” Percival interjected, smiling at Knighton. “They are very pretty pictures. She putsall her energy into them, since she cannot ride or dance or any of that.”
    Something clattered to the floor, making Knighton turn around.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Helena apologized in a choked voice, looking pale as she stared down at something that had dropped from her box. She started to leave—probably because picking it up would be too difficult with her weak leg—but Knighton quickly bent to pick up the object for her.
    He handed it to her. “Nothing to be sorry about. Here you are.”
    Percival watched in rapt amazement as a blush spread over her cheeks. He had not seen his reserved daughter blush in years. Whyever was she doing it now?
    She took what looked like a piece of her ivory from the man, never lifting her eyes to his face. “Thank you,” she stammered in a manner very unlike her usual reserved one. Then, without a word of farewell to her father, she limped from the room.
    When Knighton faced Percival again, his expression was stony cold. “You didn’t need to remind her of it. I’m sure she has enough reminders as it is.”
    Percival was all at sea. “Remind her of what?”
    “That she can’t ‘ride or dance or any of that.’”
    “Pish, do not concern yourself over that. Helena is not a silly child to be bothered by such remarks.”
    “You don’t know women very well, do you, m’lord?” Knighton remarked.
    “I should think I know my own daughter.” But this was not what he wanted to discuss with the man who held the future of Swan Park in his hands. “And speaking of daughters, how do you like Juliet?”
    Something in Knighton’s countenance struck himuneasily, a flicker of distaste or even anger. Then it was gone. “I like her very well. So far.”
    “So far?” Percival echoed.
    “I only just met her. I haven’t had time to form much of an opinion.”
    Bloody hell, the man was delaying. He glared at Knighton. “But you do understand what is at stake, do you not? You understand what you must do to inherit.”
    Knighton stiffened. “I do. But you didn’t say I had to make up my mind at once.”
    A chill shook Percival’s old bones. “What is there to make up your mind about? The only way you will get the proof is if you marry Juliet.” It was not entirely true—he did not want to die with his sins on his conscience. But he had to try this first, for he also did not want to leave his daughters destitute.
    “You didn’t say it had to be Juliet,” Knighton said smoothly. “Your letter said I could choose any of your daughters.”
    Percival could not have been more astonished if Knighton had said he fancied the housekeeper for a wife. “That is true, but I did not think…You would rather marry Rosalind? Or Helena?”
    The man’s thoughts were impossible to guess from his wooden expression. “I don’t know. How can I say until I know them