“But you don’t resent Stenfax for that,” Rosalinde said softly.
Gray wrinkled his brow. “How could I? Lucien didn’t want it that way. I even sometimes overheard him trying to encourage our father to pay me some heed, for all the good it did. My brother is my best friend, Rosalinde.”
He said it, knowing what it meant to her. Knowing she understood how far he would go, but also why he would do so.
Immediately he saw her appreciation for what his words meant. “You are lucky to have such close bonds with your siblings. Not everyone feels this way about their blood.”
“No, I know many who war with their brothers for position and power.” Gray shook his head.
Rosalinde nodded. “With women it is the same, although it is a different kind of power.”
“And yet you would do anything for Celia,” he said, watching her face. He asked because he wanted to know. He asked because her answer might help him in his quest. He hated himself for the second reason.
Rosalinde caught her breath. “Right now Celia may not believe that.”
Gray drew her closer in the cold and stepped out to make them move again. He wanted to know what Rosalinde would confess, and he thought she would be more likely to say difficult words when he wasn’t staring at her, making her question what he would do with the information she shared.
“Is that why you were crying?” he pressed gently. “Did you two have a row?”
She was silent for what felt like a very long time, as if she were considering what to do and say. “The truth affects you, I suppose.”
He arched a brow as he looked at her. “Does it?”
She stopped and fully faced him again. The cold had made her cheeks pink, and in the faint light from the house behind him she was pretty as she’d ever been.
“Celia knows about…about what has happened between us,” she whispered.
Gray’s entire body tensed and he released her, his hands fisting at his sides. “About you and me?” he clarified.
She nodded.
“About us sharing a bed at the inn the night we met, about us being together since your arrival,” he continued.
She nodded again, this time more slowly. “And she is upset with me,” she whispered.
Gray frowned. This put a new wrinkle on an already complicated situation. After all, Celia was aware of Gray’s disapproval of her. She might be able to use this affair against him as much as he was trying to use the truth against her.
“I’m shocked you would tell her about us,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.
Rosalinde dipped her chin. “You say Stenfax is your best friend. Well, Celia is mine, although I have let her down so many times.”
Gray thought of her grandfather’s words just a few hours before. Fitzgilbert judged Rosalinde harshly for some unnamed crimes, as well as for marrying beneath her station. If Celia felt the same, that only solidified Gray’s poor opinion of the young woman.
“How have you let her down?” he asked, his voice barely carrying in the cold.
She met his gaze, and he saw her hesitation. He hated it, even though he deserved it. “My marriage,” she said softly.
His eyes narrowed. It seemed it was just as he’d thought. “She didn’t like you marrying a man with no standing?”
“No!” Rosalinde shook her head swiftly. “You misunderstand. My grandfather is such a…he’s horrible, Gray. He may pretend to care when it suits him, but he doesn’t.”
Gray’s thoughts turned again to the dismissive words Fitzgilbert had had for the remarkable women standing before him. He’d wanted to smash a fist through the old man’s nose at the time. Now he wished he had when it was clear how much Rosalinde was grieved by Fitzgilbert’s lack of care.
“What does your grandfather’s treatment have to do with your marriage?” he pressed, turning them back toward the house.
She sighed. “I was angry, hurt by him and his slurs against me, against my mother. I met Martin Wilde, who was a shopkeep, and I knew he was beneath what my grandfather would want for me. I admit that was part of the appeal, to defy him.”
She lifted her chin as she said it and her face lit up with the defiance once again. It made her look like a warrior in the moonlight, and Gray had to fist his hand at his side not to touch her right there and then.
“So you married him, despite his standing,” he urged.
She nodded. “I did. I left my sister behind in a fit of pique. And that left my grandfather able to…”
She trailed off and turned her face, as if she had thought better then to tell Gray the truth. As if she’d remember they were enemies, not friends, even if they were lovers.
“So your sister was angry because you left?” Gray pushed. “That seems unfair. You couldn’t have been expected to stay with her forever.”
“But I shouldn’t have left for him!” she snapped, anger and pain changing her tone as well as her expression.
He leaned in, capturing her stare even as she tried to dodge him. “Why?” he asked.
She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her body stiff in reaction. She stared at him, and he realized that her answer was suddenly desperately important to him. Not because of Celia. Not because of Lucien. But because he wanted to know her. He wanted to understand.
He wanted to connect, despite how foolish an inclination that was. And yet he needed it, needed her, like he needed air or blood or food. He could only pray she might let her guard down and give this gift to him. This gift he hadn’t earned, but wanted more than anything.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosalinde stared at Gray. In the dim light from the house, she could see the oddest expression on his face. Where he was normally hard, unreadable, now there was a hint of desperation. Like he truly wanted to understand her. Like he truly needed to know what had driven her into her marriage and what forces she had found there.
There was tenderness in his expression as he tilted his head to be nearer to her. It was like he cared. Could he care? Was that possible that he cared even a little, despite his singular drive to draw her family far from his?
“I want to know, Rosalinde,” he said softly, as if he’d read her mind and was answering her question. “To understand.”
She shook her head. “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Because it’s you,” he responded, finally unfisting his hand and lifting his fingers to trace the line of her cheek.
She closed her eyes, reveling in the gentle caress of his warm fingers on her cold face. It was hypnotic, mesmerizing and she let out her breath in a shuddering sigh before she confessed, “I thought he cared for me, but in truth Martin only wanted me for my money, for my connections. When my grandfather cut me off after we wed and it became clear he would not change his mind, my husband grew…”
Gray’s hand stopped moving, his fingers became stiff. When she opened her eyes, every fiber of his body was tense. “What? What did he do, Rosalinde?”
She lifted her chin. “He was not kind.”
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice cracking with an anguish she’d never heard from him before. There was a wildness in his eyes now, a caged animal that would be dangerous if freed.
“Not physically,” she assured him. “But he was cruel beyond measure in the way he spoke to me. Some days I wished he’d just strike me rather than say those horrible things.”
She hadn’t realized she was crying until Gray’s thumb wiped away a droplet from her cheek. He leaned in, his warmth cocooning her. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “I deserved it for being so foolhardy.”
He clenched his jaw. “No, you didn’t. You never deserved that, sweetheart.”
His arms came around her, drawing her against his chest, and she didn’t fight him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and let his strength and his warmth bleed into her skin, filling her up in spaces where she’d been empty for so long. He
cradled her, his hands smoothing over her back, not speaking, not judging, not excusing or telling her to forget. He just held her, and in that moment she felt like everything would somehow be all right.
She sighed, breathing in his cinnamon scent, and then she pulled away. Not because she wanted to, but because if she stood there in his arms too long, she might forget herself. Forget Celia. Forget everything but him.
“I-I should go inside. We’re to gather for supper soon and…” She lifted her hands, unable to finish that sentence.
“Very well,” he said, though there was disappointment in his tone. “Would you like me to take you?”
“No. I’ll go up myself,” she said. “A moment alone in the cold may clear my mind. But, Gray?”
He took a step closer. “Yes?”
“I—whatever happens in the next few days, whatever the outcome, I don’t regret this.” She motioned between them with one shaking hand. “Our stolen night or scandalous affair, whatever you want to call it, I’m glad our stars aligned.”
He nodded. “I am too, Rosalinde,” he whispered.
She turned then and left him. But she also left a part of herself with him. The part that had recognized a powerful truth.
She was in love with Gray. And it was impossible. Not only because they were on opposite sides of a battle that would tear them apart forever, but because he could never love her back. He wouldn’t let himself.
And so instead of being joyful, she caught her breath and ran.
Gray shed his coat as he entered the house, handing it over to Taylor as he let the foyer’s warmth seep into him. It wasn’t enough. He still felt empty without Rosalinde.
“Did Mrs. Wilde make it back inside?” he asked.
The butler inclined his head slightly. “Yes, sir. She retired to her chamber briefly. She did say she would come down for supper in a few moments.”
“And my brother, where is he?” Gray asked.
“Lord Stenfax is in the billiard room, I believe,” Taylor intoned.
“Thank you,” Gray said, heading in that direction when what he really wanted to do was climb the stairs two by two and burst into Rosalinde’s chamber.
Quite a spectacle that would make.
So he didn’t do something so foolhardy. Instead, he made his way up the hall. The main rooms of the house had been well kept, but back here, in the places where normally only family went, the truth of their financial situation was clear. The wallpaper peeled slightly, the furniture was rickety.
Gray pursed his lips. This was why Stenfax was so desperate to match “well” in Celia’s inheritance. And perhaps his brother wasn’t wrong in it. After all, everyone kept reminding Gray that people arranged these kinds of unions every Season.
But Gray couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Lucien perched on the edge of a terrace wall, so close to oblivion, his face twisted in pain. The helplessness of that ugly night, the reason behind it…
Gray still feared the mindset his brother could be put in with this grasping, loveless match.
He neared the billiard room and stopped. He had assumed he would find his brother there alone, but there were voices coming from the chamber. Lucien’s was one of them. The other was Celia Fitzgilbert’s.
“I understand,” she was saying in that soft tone Gray could hardly trust. “But you must understand, he only wants access. Could it hurt to introduce him to a few of your friends, see if he might be occasionally included in their circles in London?”
Gray clenched his fists at his sides. Rosalinde might wax poetic about what Celia’s true motives were, but here she was, pressuring Lucien to grant her grandfather access where he very much did not belong. Furthering him and herself, just as Gray had always believed she would.
Lucien let out a long sigh, one filled with exhaustion. How long had she been haranguing him this way? “I will do so if it will make it easier for you,” he said, his tone stiff and formal, despite the fact that he was alone in a chamber with his fiancée.
Gray heard Celia’s skirts rustle, but was uncertain if she moved closer to or farther from Lucien. “I think it might,” she said. “It would help me concentrate on matters at hand a little more.”
“I think you’re doing fine.”
“But to be a good countess, I will need more focus.” She cleared her throat. “At any rate, I appreciate your attention to the matter. I will see you at supper shortly.”
Gray backed up, finding the shadow of another door nearby to stand in. He watched as Celia exited the chamber, but instead of going up the hallway, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder into the billiard room. Her expression caught the light, and Gray shook his head. She looked…upset. Frustrated. Like she wanted more.
But of course she did. Nothing would ever be enough for a woman like that. He waited until she moved up the hall at last, then slipped into the billiard room and shut the door behind him.
His brother was leaning over the table, cue in hand, and he looked up. “Gray.”
Gray waited for him to take the shot. It didn’t arc as his brother had intended, though, and Lucien let out a sharp curse. Gray’s eyebrows lifted. Stenfax was one of the best players in their circle. He never missed a shot. That and his angry outburst proved his brother was not content. Clearly his conversation with Celia was troubling him.
“I’d offer you a game, but everyone will be gathering for supper in a few moments,” Lucien said as he leaned on the table with both arms, staring at the scattered balls.
“You always beat me anyway,” Gray said carefully.
Lucien jerked his gaze up. “You might be luckier tonight.”
“Perhaps after supper,” Gray suggested. “Though your fiancée’s grandfather would likely insist on joining us.”
Stenfax flinched almost imperceptivity. “I suppose he would,” he conceded.
“And that would make things ‘so much easier’ for Celia,” Gray said.
Lucien’s gaze held his. “Lurking in halls like a villain, are we? Spying on private conversations.”
“Overhearing isn’t the same as spying,” Gray said, but he knew they were hitting upon an issue of semantics.
Lucien shook his head. “No. I suppose on a point of technicality, it is not. I can only assume you have come here to lecture me about Celia once more.”
“Do you two feel any connection toward each other?” Gray asked. His brother seemed surprised at that question and drew back a fraction. When he didn’t answer immediately, Gray moved closer. “I only ask because despite my feelings regarding Miss Fitzgilbert, one cannot deny she has a certain beauty. Though I think her sister is far prettier.”
Lucien’s gaze narrowed. “Celia is lovely. No one could state otherwise.”
Gray watched his brother’s face. There was no passion there, hardly even the barest interest, despite his claim of his fiancée’s loveliness.
“I hear told from both Mrs. Wilde and Felicity that Miss Fitzgilbert is also clever.”
“Indeed, she is that.” Lucien’s lips pursed and he folded his arms. “What the hell are you about, Gray? Are you trying to convince me of Celia’s better attributes now? What happened to warning me off?”
Gray put his hands behind his back and widened his stance. “I only want you to see that when you speak of her, when you speak to her, there seems to be no connection. You could be talking about a stranger with as much passion as is in your voice when you mention Celia.”
“And your point in all this?”
“Don’t you want her?” Gray asked. “Isn’t there some part of you that craves touching her? And if the answer to that is no, doesn’t that make you question the success of this union?”
Lucien shook his head. “I’m not about to walk around here with a cockstand for my future wife. This is a ludicrous conversation and I refuse to have it. Celia and I will wed, this is the end of it.”
He was going to walk out, Gray could see that
. The topic of desire had done nothing except make him think of Rosalinde and the heated longing she inspired in him. But it also made him think about her confessions to him in the garden. And her grandfather’s unintentional words earlier.
“Look into their father,” Gray said.
Lucien had already passed him, but now he stopped in the doorway, posture stiff. He didn’t turn. “I beg your pardon?”
“Celia and Rosalinde’s father. He’s a mystery. And I have heard implications that he may not have been entirely proper. Look into it.”
Lucien faced him now. His older brother’s mouth was drawn down into a deep frown. Unmasked disappointment was slashed over his face and Gray flinched at the sight of it. It cut like a knife and filled his every pore with deep regret. He’d rarely ever seen such judgment in Lucien’s eyes. Such censure.
“You would truly sink so low?” Lucien asked, his voice barely carrying in the quiet room.
“To protect you?” Gray jerked out a nod. “I feel I must do so if you are unwilling to protect yourself. I’ve already set the wheels in motion to do so. When Folly arrives tomorrow, he will likely bring a packet from my investigator on that very subject.”
“You involved Folworth in this?” Lucien’s expression darkened further. “When?”
“I don’t know. A month or more ago. And before I left London, I asked him to collect the investigator’s information before he and Marina came.”
“You are a bastard, to put him in the middle of your inquiries. To make the inquiries at all is bad enough,” Lucian spat.
Gray flinched. It wasn’t as if he liked doing this. “Folly is not in the middle. I mentioned my concerns and asked him to do me this favor. He doesn’t know what the packet contains, but even if he opened it, which he won’t, I doubt there is anyone either of us trusts more. He’s an old friend and one who understands the stakes.”
Lucien’s cheeks reddened slightly, and Gray knew he was thinking of that terrible night on the terrace too. “And what good do you think it will do?” his brother croaked.
“You are protecting our name, not just rebuilding it,” Gray said. “If there is something in those notes that will threaten that name, I would assume you will at least have to consider changing your plans.”
An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) Page 12