But there was no choice in the matter. She had promised Celia that she would help. The only way she could do that was to use their mutual attraction against his man.
“Yes,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. Hating that he obviously heard her desperation, if his smirk was any indication.
She took his offered hand, ignoring the jolt of awareness that came along with touching him, and let him lead her to the dance floor. As they took their places, the orchestra began a waltz. Rosalinde just barely held back a curse. Of course it would be a waltz. There would be no respite from his embrace with a country jig or quadrille. Just her in his arms, almost scandalously close, until they were released by the music.
He glided her into motion with an effortless grace, and for the first few bars of the dance, they were both silent. His hand rested on her hip, his fingers splayed almost too intimately. Her other hand was in his, their fingers entangled. From this viewpoint, looking up at him, she could see every angle of his face. And she remembered all too clearly what those features had looked like when rapt with passion and release.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” he said, his deep voice breaking the spell between them at last.
She swallowed hard. Now was the time to focus. For her own sake, as much as Celia’s. “I agree,” she said.
He seemed surprised by her response. “You do?”
She nodded. “Of course. I liked you at the inn, Gray…Mr. Danford.”
His fingers tightened on her hip. “Gray,” he said softly.
That was inappropriate, and she knew it. And there was no way she could ever call him by his given name in front of anyone else. But when they were alone…if it served a purpose…
“Gray,” she whispered. “And I thought you liked me in return.”
His smile was brief, but oh, so wicked. “You know I liked you. There was no denying that I liked you.”
His statement, so inappropriate because of what it referenced, made her blush hot. But she also found herself smiling at his gentle teasing, his pointed reminder of the deep connection they had shared that stolen night.
If this was flirtation, it didn’t seem as hard now that they were together.
“I can’t deny that seeing you here again gave me a charge, Rosalinde,” he continued. “Can you?”
She hesitated. Ladies should not talk of such things, she knew that. And yet his tone was almost hypnotic. It made her want to say and do such inappropriate things.
“I can’t deny it,” she gasped out.
His pupils dilated as his expression grew more focused. “I will also admit that seeing you makes me want…more.”
“Yes,” she said. “You kissed me a few days ago. I think that proves what you say.”
He nodded. “And you kissed me back.”
“I-I did,” she admitted.
He smiled, and that expression softened his normally hard face. “Then it seems I’m not alone in this…this wildly inappropriate attraction between us.”
“No,” she said before she thought. The moment the admission was out, she ducked her head, missing the next two steps as embarrassment filled her. Helping Celia was one thing. Labeling herself a wanton to a man whose intentions were unclear…well, that was another.
“You are honest,” he said softly, his voice free of the censure she had feared would be there.
She lifted her gaze to his and held as evenly as she could. “I thought you believed I had no honesty in me.”
“Did you know who I was that night at the inn, Rosalinde?” he asked with a frown.
She huffed out her breath. “You asked me that already.”
“And this is the last time I will do so. Did you know?”
“No,” she said, not blinking, not breaking her gaze, all but willing him to see the truth. His face relaxed, as if he was relieved to believe her. “Did you?”
“No,” he said, with just as much certainty and honesty as she had. He leaned a little closer as they danced. “But I will tell you, Rosalinde, even if I had known your identity, I might have done the same thing. Because I wanted you. And God help me, I still do.”
Chapter Nine
Gray had tried to talk himself out of this wild plan of seduction. He’d tried to find some other way to deal not only with his brother, but also with the rapidly escalating desire he felt for Rosalinde. But nothing had changed in the past few days, no matter what he did.
He avoided Rosalinde, and he still dreamed of her. He tried to distract himself and she was still in the corners of his mind. And now he was here and there was no going back.
She blinked as she stared up at him. He expression was one of surprise at his admission, but not disregard or disappointment. The woman was off kilter if the way she stumbled in her steps was any indication.
And that’s what he wanted. To keep her off her game so that he could obtain both what he desired and needed.
She licked her lips and his groin clenched. Goddamn, but she was beautiful.
“Do you still want me, Rosalinde?” he asked, softer, more seductive.
She opened and shut her mouth, then turned her face. “This is—we shouldn’t talk about this here,” she gasped out.
“Then where?” he asked, sliding his fingers across the swell of her hip in what he knew was an entirely inappropriate way. But she shivered at the intimacy, known only to her. “Your bedroom?”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t respond.
“Oh, that’s right,” he continued. “You share a bedroom with Celia. Then mine.”
Her lashes kept fluttering wildly against her cheeks, like she was searching for purchase. “I—Gray…”
He could hardly contain himself when she said his name. Especially in that breathless tone that sounded so much like she’d sounded in his bed less than a week before.
“Tell me you don’t want that, Rosalinde,” he pressed, ignoring all semblance of propriety and any boundaries that should have stopped him. “That you haven’t dreamed of our night together since we parted.”
“I—” Her voice broke, almost on a sob. “I can’t tell you that.”
The admission was like a gunshot, cutting through all other sound, breaking off any attention he might have been paying to those around them. He reveled in the fact that she wanted him. In that moment, nothing else on heaven or earth mattered.
“The song has ended,” she whispered.
He froze and realized she was correct. The other dancers were beginning to bow to each other and make their way from the floor. He released her from the embrace of the waltz and instead slid her hand into the crook of his arm. He had to take her back to her grandfather now. It was twenty paces there, give or take.
He was running out of time.
“What if we could do it again?”
Her body stiffened. “Again?”
“Oh yes,” he groaned, wishing he couldn’t picture that exchange so perfectly. “Would you do something so wild, Mrs. Wilde?”
Her grandfather was now ten paces before them. He had a scowl on his face that he seemed to reserve especially for Rosalinde. Gray could feel her grow even more tense as they approached him.
“Gray—”
“Don’t answer now,” he interrupted. “Just think about it.”
He said the last words just as they reached Mr. Fitzgilbert. Gray was reluctant to release her, but he somehow found the ability. He gave her a bow.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wilde. Mr. Fitzgilbert.”
She nodded in acknowledgment of his farewell, but it was a jerky action. Her voice was small as she squeaked out, “Good evening, Mr. Danford.”
He strode away, content with the knowledge that he’d laid the groundwork for moving forward with her. But the energy that coursed through his body, making him smile, had nothing to do with furthering his quest to break Celia and Lucien’s engagement.
It had everything to do with the idea that he could
steal yet another moment with Rosalinde Wilde.
Rosalinde tightened her robe around herself and stepped into the quiet of the library. The candle in her hand trembled as she moved to the long line of shelves and began to peruse their contents. She needed something tedious to help her in her quest for sleep. She needed something engaging enough to make her forget why slumber eluded her.
She pressed her forehead to the line of books before her with a long, shaky sigh. For the past few hours, she had been tormented by memories of her dance with Gray. Her mind and her rebelling body had relived every seductive word that left his lips.
He wanted her. He wanted to have her again.
And the thought both aroused her beyond measure and terrified her to the point of sleeplessness. The storm and the magical, fated quality of that unforgettable night in the inn had made surrendering to a stranger seem somehow acceptable.
But what Gray suggested now was something far different. Far more dangerous. They knew each other. They were in a house full of watchful eyes. And perhaps worst of all, they were enemies. Any man who would work to hurt her sister had to be Rosalinde’s enemy.
And yet she wanted his wicked hands on her, his hot tongue on hers, his big body stretching her as she trembled beneath him.
There was a soft click behind her, and Rosalinde spun around to find Gray standing at the now-closed door. He had removed his formal jacket and cravat, leaving him in a crisp shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and unbuttoned to the collarbone. He held her gaze evenly, but said nothing as her candle began to shake in her hand.
And then he moved on her. He reached her in three long strides, slipping the candle from her fingers, setting it aside on a nearby table. He lowered his mouth to hers and she melted against him, arguments gone, reason departed, nothing left in her but pulsing need for this man.
His tongue probed her mouth, tasting her like she was something to savor, and she arched against him with a mewling cry that sounded so loud in the quiet room.
His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her against him, letting her feel the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. She rubbed it with her hips, out of control as emotion took her, making her forget everything but him.
She felt his hands dragging down her back and gasped as he cupped her backside, kneading the sensitive flesh there as he rhythmically ground against her. She could hardly breathe as sensation gripped her, overcame her, and she cried out in his mouth.
He yanked his lips from hers, his dark eyes wild as he pushed her toward a settee near the fire. They collapsed backward on it, his heavy body pinning hers to the cushions.
She lifted her pelvis to his, moaning softly as she grabbed for his shirt. She unhooked the buttons with shaky hands and pushed at the fabric, nearly tearing it as she parted it and revealed his chiseled chest.
He shrugged out of the garment and then went back to kissing her. Heated, claiming kisses that began on her lips, but then he dragged his mouth to her throat, to the edge of her robe. His hand found the knot and he made swift work to open it. He licked lower, all the way to the scooped neckline of the nightgown beneath.
She felt like she was on fire and he was the one making her burn. But she also knew he was the only one who could grant her relief. And she needed that. Now.
He nudged a knee between her legs and she opened without argument, sighing as he shoved her nightgown up past her hips and then settled in the cradle of her thighs.
He was still dressed, but the hardness of his cock bumped her entrance as he tugged the neck of her night rail down and revealed one breast. He sucked her hard nipple between his lips and swirled his tongue around and around the peak until she was writing beneath him.
She managed to wedge a hand between them and found the flap of his trousers. With so little room, unfastening it was a challenge, but she managed, and he hissed out a sound of pleasure as she tugged the fabric away and wrapped her hand around his erection.
He pulled from kissing her and stared down at her. Their gazes locked and suddenly there was nothing else in the world. She could hardly breathe as she guided him to her entrance.
“Rosalinde,” he whispered.
She ignored him and lifted her hips, pressing him inside of her one glorious inch. He took over after that, sliding all the way inside in one long, heavy stroke.
They moaned together as he fully seated himself. Though it had only been a matter of days, Rosalinde felt she had been deprived of his touch for weeks, months. She was shaking as he began to move, rotating his hips as he took her one short stroke at a time.
She braced against him on every thrust, digging her fingers into his bare back as pleasure swirled between her legs, rising and lifting until she jolted with an orgasm. He grunted at the feel of her body flexing around him. His thrusts increased as her pleasure crested, and he slammed against her just a few more times before he withdrew and spent between their sweaty bodies.
He collapsed on top of her, his lips against her neck, his arms around her back, his sharp, panting breaths slowing to meet her own as they lay together in the afterglow of intense passion.
Finally she opened her eyes and stared up at the crisscrossed pattern of the exposed wood beams on the ceiling high above. The reality of what she’d done hit her and she buried her face into his shoulder with a shuddering sigh of both pleasure and self-recrimination.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered against his flesh. “It was wrong.”
He pushed away from her, getting to his feet to tuck himself back into his trousers and search on the floor for his shirt. She also sat up, drawing her tangled nightgown over herself and retying her robe.
“It didn’t feel wrong to me,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. His eyes never left her. “It felt as good as being with you the first time did.”
She bit back a sigh at those words. At his steamy look. This was not a man who regretted anything. Since arriving here, she’d heard enough about him from his family to know that was true. He had that luxury, given the family he came from and the money he’d made with his various ventures. She had more to consider when it came to the potential of a scandal.
And yet she shut her eyes and nodded. “Yes, it did,” she admitted softly.
She felt his fingertip on her chin, tilting her face up, and opened her eyes. He was leaning over her, his face dangerously close to hers.
“Then why stop?” he asked, every word seeming to take an eternity.
She pondered the question. She had so many reasons to stop. That he had so much more control than she did was one reason. That she didn’t trust him. That this was too wild, too dangerous. That she feared what would happen when he tired of her at last. That she feared what would happen if she never tired of him.
But those things, as powerful as they were, did not rise too loudly to the forefront of her mind. Instead, she thought of Celia and the promise she’d made to her sister. And in truth, Rosalinde thought of her own pleasure. Being with Gray would bring her more of it. So much more.
“I don’t want to stop,” she croaked out. “I may be a fool of the greatest kind, I may be a wicked wanton with no sense of right, but when I look at you, all I want is for you to put your hands on me like you did tonight.”
His eyes widened like he was surprised at the candor of her response. She supposed she was surprised by it, too.
“I’m glad of it, Rosalinde. During our dance tonight, I was afraid you would refuse me, calling on honor and propriety to shield you. That you want me as much, that you are willing to trust me with your body, means a great deal to me.”
She shrugged. “I know I shouldn’t trust you,” she whispered. “But all I could think about after you left me with my grandfather tonight was what would happen if I said yes to your offer. And what would happen if I turned away. I couldn’t sleep with such thoughts pounding in my head. It’s how I ended up here, searching for something to quiet my min
d and let me rest.”
“You found me instead,” he drawled, sliding his thumb along her jawline until her body felt hot and shaky.
“Technically, you found me,” she whispered. “And without a word, you made me see exactly what my decision had to be. No question, no doubt, I had to be with you. I’m certain you judge me for that.”
He shook his head. “I don’t. I felt the same way. There was something about you, from the moment I met you, that made me forget everything I had ever promised and vowed. It made me a slave to animal hungers I once foolishly told myself that I could control. With you, I cannot.”
“Is that true?” she asked in wonder. “Could you really want me so much?”
“How could you not be certain after what we just shared?” he said with a short laugh. “Certainly you have been wanted before.”
She turned her face, thinking of her husband and his attentions. Yes, he’d been gentle at first, but once he realized his fortunes wouldn’t be increased by their marriage as he had hoped…well, her pleasure had gone by the wayside. He hadn’t wanted her, not really. He’d only wanted what she could provide. When that was gone, everything had been broken.
“Never like this,” she whispered, just barely keeping her voice from cracking in pain.
He hesitated, searching her face like he was seeking some kind of truth. She bent her head so he wouldn’t see it. Trust him with her body? Oh yes, she would do that. Trust him further? It would take a fool to not see how utterly dangerous that would be.
She rose to her feet, dodging his touch and his glance as best she could. “So what will we do now?”
He stepped away from her, and his voice was gruff as he said, “Steal time, just as we did at the inn. It will be more challenging here, but I think it will be worthwhile.”
She nodded. “Yes, so do I.”
An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) Page 8