“No reason,” Gray said, fisting his hands against his thighs under the table.
Lucien’s mouth tightened with obvious irritation and he glared at Gray. “You and I are going to have to have a talk about your coldness toward my fiancée and her family.”
Gray almost laughed. Coldness. Well, that might apply to the grasping Miss Fitzgilbert and her grandfather, but he had been anything but cold toward Rosalinde. The absolute opposite had been true in that tiny chamber on a stolen night.
He could already imagine Lucien’s horror if his brother ever found out about that.
“I would very much like to discuss it,” Gray said.
“Stenfax,” their mother said, drawing Lucien’s attention away from Gray for the moment.
Gray took a long breath and stared at Rosalinde once more. At last she let her gaze dart to him, and when she found him staring she immediately blushed and refocused on her plate. Her hands were shaking, so she shoved them beneath the table’s edge. Celia was sitting next to her and leaned in, whispering something to her. Rosalinde shook her head and murmured words in return, but her gaze didn’t return to him.
Anger bubbled up in him, joining the confusion he’d felt since first seeing her here in his brother’s house. He hated to think Rosalinde might be part of her sister’s game, but he had to consider it. He didn’t trust Celia, she was a title hunter if ever he’d met one, and his brother had already suffered from one of those in his life. He’d nearly…well, Gray wasn’t going to consider what Lucien had nearly done after being tricked by a woman with greed in her heart. Gray was determined never to have it happen again.
Rosalinde licked her lips, and slowly her gaze sought his. For the first time since he walked into the room, she held her eyes on his and he was lost, albeit briefly, in the bright blue. He had touched this woman, tasted her, felt her writhe above and beneath him. Worse yet, he still ached to touch her, even now when he questioned her motives.
He ached to feel her body wrap around his.
“Grayson, you have hardly touched your food,” his mother said, leaning forward to talk to him around Lucien.
Gray forced a smile for her. “I find I’m not very hungry, Mama, that is all.”
“You and Mrs. Wilde have the same affliction, then,” Lady Stenfax laughed. “She has also hardly eaten a bite.”
Rosalinde jerked her gaze up at the mention of her name. “I apologize, my lady. I suppose the travel has turned my schedule around.”
Lady Stenfax nodded. “It will do that to the digestion, I know. Perhaps a walk will help. You wanted to see the house, yes? I know Celia and her grandfather have some issues to discuss with Stenfax. And Gray, you could join us, just to get a little exercise.”
Gray looked at Rosalinde. She was tomato-red now, staring straight ahead, clearly trying to find some way out of this situation. Obviously hoping he would refuse his mother’s suggestion.
But they had much to discuss. And sooner rather than later. But not in front of the others.
“Why don’t you let me show Mrs. Wilde around, Mama?” he suggested, watching as Rosalinde’s eyes widened and her delectable lips parted in shock. “I know you like to keep to your schedule and write your letters after breakfast. And Felicity, didn’t you say something about your seamstress coming?”
His sister and mother exchanged a look before Lady Stenfax said, “Well…”
Rosalinde pushed to her feet, drawing all attention to her. “I—no one need go to any extra trouble for me,” she said, her tone breathless.
“Nonsense,” Gray said, arching a brow in her direction. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Wilde.”
Her eyes fluttered shut on his emphasis, as well as the hardness he couldn’t keep out of his tone. She bent her head and he saw the defeat in her demeanor.
“If you insist,” she whispered.
“I do,” he said, rising as the others did to start their various days. “Come, Mrs. Wilde.”
She turned toward him, her shoulders back. She looked like she was about to face a firing squad as she moved toward him.
“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It is very kind of you.”
“Not at all,” he drawled as he motioned her from the breakfast room. And it wasn’t kind. Not in the slightest.
Rosalinde had begun the day determined. When she’d seen Gray, she’d been terrified. And now she had progressed to being angry, with a hearty dash of confusion, hurt and abject humiliation.
Gray had not spoken to her since they left the breakfast room almost ten minutes before. He had merely marched down the long hallways of Caraway Court, turning and twisting, barely allowing her to keep up with him. Obviously he had some destination in mind. Someplace far from the others, who had disbanded to their duties throughout the house.
At last he paused at a door and faced her. “And here, Mrs. Wilde, is the music room,” he said, calm and cool, like he was truly intent on giving her a tour of the household.
Suddenly he darted a hand out and gripped her upper arm, pushing the door open and dragging her through. He released her and quickly shut the door behind them.
She backed away from him out of instinct, moving toward the fire and the window beside it, as if the light could save her from the dark man before her.
“Did you know?” they burst out in unison.
She drew farther away from him in shock and anger. “How could I know? I’m not the one who gave a false name, Mr. Gray.”
He shook his head, his mouth a thin, grim line. “Gray is my name. You were the one who assumed it was my last. I simply didn’t correct you.”
“A fine way to explain away a lie,” she said, folding her arms. His gaze shifted to her breasts and she gasped, shoving her arms to her sides again. “At any rate, I gave my real name how could you not know my identity?”
He shrugged. “I knew Miss Fitzgilbert had a sister, but Lucien never referred to you by name in his letters, when he mentioned you at all. I had no idea that you were a widow and your last name was different from Miss Fitzgilbert’s. You never gave me your first.”
“At your insistence!” she cried out, now unable to keep the frustration from her voice.
“I believe that is something we agreed on,” Gray said, his tone low. “That we would keep some level of anonymity in our encounter.”
“Why would I wish to do that if I were somehow fully aware of your identity?” Rosalinde asked. “Certainly you cannot believe that I would purposefully have a scandalous affair with the brother of my sister’s intended.”
He was the one who folded his arms now. His dark gaze, which two nights ago had been hooded and filled with passion, was now cold and emotionless. He was almost not the same man.
Except he was.
“Why wouldn’t you, if you thought it would help Celia’s case?” he asked, his tone as frosty as his expression.
She shook her head. “Her case? What case?”
“Come, don’t tell me that you haven’t heard about my objections to the match between Stenfax and Miss Fitzgilbert.”
She thought of Celia’s upset the night before, the anxiety this man had caused her beloved younger sister. She glared at him. “Until I arrived last night and saw my sister, I had no idea of your existence, let alone that you wished to interfere in their arrangement.”
He snorted out a sound of derision that cut her to very core. “Please.”
“Don’t insinuate that I’m a liar,” Rosalinde said softly, proud that she didn’t shout when that was exactly what she wished to do. “You don’t know me.”
His eyes lit up at that statement, and for a moment the same passion that had flared between them two nights past returned to his expression. Only now it was angry passion. He took a long step toward her and her errant mind bombarded her at once with a dozen images from that night. Of his mouth lowering to hers, of his arms around her, of the pleasures of his tongue, of his taut expression a
s she rode him.
She saw those same things reflected in his eyes along with his mistrust, his anger, his cruelty. She was a fool, for even now, facing him for what he truly was, she wanted him.
She had to remember how hateful he was. Devastatingly handsome. But utterly hateful.
“Don’t I?” he whispered, his low tone trembling down her spine, making body clench against her will.
“N-No,” she stammered. “You don’t.”
For a moment, his gaze flitted over her face and his expression softened a fraction. But then he spun away with a cruel laugh.
“Perhaps I don’t fully grasp all your schemes, Mrs. Wilde. In fact, that is perfectly clear now. But you don’t know how far I am willing to go to stop my brother from making the biggest mistake of his life. I will bring this wedding to a halt. And not even your considerable wiles will stand in my way.”
He didn’t say anything else and he didn’t wait for her response. He merely strode out the door and left her standing in the music room, heated by both her anger toward him and the desire she didn’t want, didn’t need and apparently couldn’t control.
Chapter Seven
Gray threw the reins of his horse to the groom who rushed to greet him and stormed into the house. A long ride in the cold morning air had done nothing to restrain his out of control emotions. He was still just as angry as he had been when he walked away from Rosalinde in the music room.
Worse, he still wanted her just as much as he had then when her denials had sunk into his skin and made him want to believe their meeting was coincidence, the fate he had once whispered to her it was. He could have kissed her in that moment, he could have drawn her against him.
And had he done so, he would have been a fool all over again.
The best thing he could do was get rid of her. Her and her scheming sister and grandfather. So he rushed down the hallway until he reached Lucien’s office and threw the door open without even bothering to knock.
His brother sat at his desk, papers strewn around him. He lifted his gaze slowly as Gray entered without leave and slammed the door behind him. Although Lucien pressed his lips together in a deep frown, otherwise he seemed unfazed by Gray’s obvious temper.
“What is wrong with you?” Lucien asked. “And where have you been? You were meant to show Mrs. Wilde around the house, but it was obvious she got a truncated version of the home, judging from how swiftly she returned to the parlor. Felicity had to take up the duty after her seamstress departed.”
Gray waved his hand to dismiss his brother’s question. “That doesn’t matter. Mrs. Wilde does not matter.” Those words sounded false, but he continued regardless. “I want to reiterate my strenuous objections to this marriage.”
Now Lucien set his quill aside with a long, tired sigh and pushed to his feet. “This again?” he asked as he moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, despite the early hour.
“Yes.” Gray pursed his lips. “This again. It is important, Lucien.”
“So you say,” Stenfax replied with a glance in his direction.
“It is.” Gray threw up his hands. “Great God, doesn’t it bother you that Celia Fitzgilbert and her grandfather are title grabbers?”
Lucien’s brow wrinkled. “Unlike two-thirds of the ton, you mean?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Like Elise,” Gray bit out.
The color drained from Lucien’s face and he slammed his drink down before he returned to his desk. As he settled back in to his work, he said, “Do not mention that name to me.”
Gray flinched at the coldness in Lucien’s tone. It didn’t match the hot emotion he knew his brother felt about the woman he’d once loved. The one who’d thrown him over when she had been offered the chance to marry a rich duke over an almost penniless earl.
Gray had watched his brother suffer massively from that broken engagement. He’d watched him step out on the edge of a terrace wall in a drunken stupor and nearly throw himself to his death. Gray’s stomach turned at the memory that sometimes rushed back to haunt him in both his dreams and in waking moments that were like a nightmare.
“I don’t want to see you hurt,” Gray said, this time softly.
Lucien didn’t look up from his paperwork, but his jaw clenched and unclenched. “I won’t be,” he vowed. “I was hurt before because Eli—because that woman made me believe she cared for me. Celia and I have no such illusions between us. Our marriage will be one of mutual convenience, nothing more. Her dowry is large and allows me to refill our family coffers. My title will elevate her and her grandfather as they wish.”
“My investments are paying off,” Gray said. “I have money. Let me refill the family coffers.”
Lucien’s cheeks flamed, and he finally looked at Gray. “Take your charity? No thank you. You have found your way, Grayson. Allow me to find my own.”
“But there are plenty of rich women who aren’t only interested in a title,” Gray suggested. “You are a popular man.”
“I don’t want ridiculous romantic entanglements,” Lucien insisted with another heavy sigh. He finally looked at Gray. “You are the younger brother, Gray, not the eldest. You needn’t play nursemaid to me. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. This subject is closed.”
Gray opened his mouth to argue, but his brother shook his head. “It is closed, Grayson. I mean it. Now go find something else to do and allow me to finish my business.”
Gray let out his breath in a frustrated sigh as he turned on his heel and left him alone. He had no choice at the moment but to do as Lucien asked, for his brother was not in any mood to hear the truth. But whatever Lucien said, the subject was not closed to Gray.
Rosalinde paced the parlor, frustration growing in her every time she turned and took another lap around the room. That she could still be so angry almost two hours after her encounter with Grayson only proved what a hateful man he was. He and his accusations and his full lips could hang for all she cared.
She fisted her hands at her sides with an angry growl just before she made the next turn in her endless pacing. And as she did so, she found her grandfather standing in the doorway to the chamber, watching her through a narrowed gaze.
She stopped, forcing her hands to unfist, trying to calm her expression and her racing heart. “Gr-grandfather,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”
He stepped into the room. “Clearly, as you were hurtling yourself around the room like an angry harridan.”
Rosalinde took a long breath and readied herself for yet another unpleasant encounter with the man who had raised her. He had aged a great deal in that time, but his attitude remained the same. He was still cold, he was still unyielding, he still held grudges for crimes committed years ago. Hell, he still despised Rosalinde and Celia’s mother, his own daughter, and she had been in the grave for over two decades.
“I am restless, that is all,” Rosalinde lied. “I suppose it comes from being trapped in a carriage for two days.”
“Lying, are you, Rosalinde? I shouldn’t be surprised. You are like your mother. Agatha was a liar, too.”
Rosalinde shut her eyes briefly, swallowing back the defense of the mother she didn’t even remember.
“I’m not lying,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “So you say. But I saw the way you reacted this morning at breakfast. You made a spectacle of yourself by not eating, by acting so strangely in front of Stenfax and his family. Have a care, Rosalinde. You will not like the consequences if you ruin this engagement.”
“I assume I would not,” Rosalinde replied. “I have already suffered your wrath in the past, Grandfather. I have not forgotten its sting. I am in no way trying to hurt Celia or her chances with Stenfax.”
In fact, she was trying to help her sister, but she wasn’t going to tell Mr. Fitzgilbert that. If he knew the engagement was being threatened by anyone, his temperament would only become less and less ple
asant. He might ruin things, himself, by flying into a temper, though he would blame Rosalinde and Celia quickly enough.
“You’d best not be,” he grunted with a quick nod. “You know I hold all the cards. If you two want to know your father’s identity, Celia must get her title first.”
“Yes,” Rosalinde said, setting her jaw in anger and disgust. “We are both well-aware of the terms of your devil’s bargain. You needn’t repeat them.”
“A devil’s bargain?” her grandfather repeated. “Only if the devil you refer to is my daughter.”
“My mother has nothing to do with you taking us from our father and making us believe he died,” Rosalinde said through clenched teeth. “She has nothing to do with your blackmailing Celia into marrying a title to satisfy you in exchange for the information you’ve kept from us all these years. She has nothing to do with your cruelty.”
Fitzgilbert waved his hand to dismiss her claim. “If your mother hadn’t seen fit to spread her legs for someone so beneath her and if you hadn’t done the same just to thwart me, none of us would be in this position.”
Rosalinde turned away tears stinging her eyes. Leave it to Mr. Fitzgilbert to be so cruel as to throw her desperately unhappy marriage in her face.
“Why do you hate us so much?” she whispered.
“Because you represent such a failure. A failure to produce sons and proper heirs. A failure to produce good women who wouldn’t destroy my name.”
“You could have loved us,” she said without looking at him. “We would have loved you in return if you had tried even a little to care.”
“Love?” he repeated on a laugh. “My dear, love is weakness and it does nothing to carry on a name or a legacy. And if you feel you have been wronged by my attitude toward you, recall that it is only by my good graces that you have a place here at all. You would do well to be grateful.”
He said nothing else, but turned on his heel and left her alone in the chamber. Rosalinde moved to the settee, where she sank down, covering her face with her hands. Her entire life she had been trapped by her grandfather’s hate. She’d had Celia to love, of course, to share her pains and triumphs with.
An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) Page 6