Gray squeezed his eyes shut. Felicity didn’t understand. Lucien couldn’t make decisions because he was being denied information, both about Elise and about Celia. Gray’s head spun with all the possibilities. Should he break up the wedding or make damned sure it happened? Should he tell his brother the truth about Elise? Or was it Celia? Or was it himself?
“Gray?” Felicity said, and her voice sounded very far away. The world was beginning to spin and Gray felt like he was drowning, drowning.
“Good morning.”
Air filled his lungs again as a voice cut into his spinning mind. Rosalinde’s voice. He turned toward it, toward her, like she was a lighthouse beacon guiding him to safety through the fog. She stood in the doorway to the breakfast room in a dark blue gown that made her eyes look like sapphires. She was smiling, but he knew her now. He knew that smile was empty.
It was also never turned on him. She didn’t even look at him as she entered, greeting guests before she went to her sister and kissed her cheek, acknowledged Gray’s mother and brother, then took a seat beside her grandfather. She was stiff in her posture as she said hello to him. Gray could see the contempt dripping from her.
And yet she still didn’t look at him. She never looked at him.
“Gray?” Felicity said.
He blinked and looked at his sister. “I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I thought,” he choked out. “My mind was entirely gone.”
Felicity stared at him and then looked at the table. He couldn’t tell if she was staring at his brother or at Rosalinde. Both were in her sightline. But she didn’t reveal herself. She merely squeezed his hand.
“Eat,” she suggested. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you do so.”
Gray nodded as Felicity returned to her seat, but he had no certainty about that statement. Better. What was better when he held the keys to his brother’s demise? Or was it his salvation?
He walked to the table and took a place seat next to Marina and Folly. Servants came with dishes and the breakfast meal was lively and bright with conversation. Gray took part in none of it, eating slowly as he kept stealing glances down the table at Rosalinde.
Rosalinde, who still didn’t look at him. Never looked at him. She just ate, as quiet as he was, equally as watchful, only her attention was turned on Celia and Stenfax. He could almost read her mind as she sat there. She was trying to decide if she would indeed do as she had said she would last night.
She was trying to decide if she would make known her case for dissolving the engagement. As the meal ended and everyone began to rise and talk about a croquet tournament arranged as entertainment for the rest of what remained of the morning, Rosalinde took a deep breath and got to her feet.
For one fleeting moment, her gaze slid to Gray at last. He saw her hesitation in that look, but also her strength and her determination.
Gray found himself rising, found himself saying her name, sotto voce. She looked away.
“Lord Stenfax,” she said, her voice cracking slightly before she regained her composure. “I wondered if I might have a private word with you and Celia before we join the others for croquet?”
Stenfax was already standing and gave her a look of surprise. But before he could answer her request, Fitzgilbert jolted to his feet. His glare at Rosalinde could have frozen the lake at the bottom of the hill, it was so cold. Cold and cruel, like the man who wore it. Gray saw hate in that stare. Somehow Fitzgilbert could only see the disappointment Rosalinde had brought to him. He was incapable of more.
“What are you about, girl? You’ve nothing to say to anyone,” he growled.
The response to her was so violent, so cruel, that the room grew silent in response. It felt like every eye in the room slowly turned to Rosalinde. She must have felt it, too, for her cheeks filled with high color. But she kept her back straight and her gaze even on Stenfax. She did not yield.
Of course she didn’t.
Stenfax shot Fitzgilbert a harsh look at his nasty response and then smiled at Rosalinde. “Certainly, Mrs. Wilde. Why don’t we go to my private office? The rest of you begin without us. Mama, you and Felicity can host, yes?”
Lady Stenfax nodded, though her expression was worried. “Of course. Come, everyone. And don’t forget to bundle up. It’s chilly out, but that will only add to the stakes of game.”
“Whoever wins gets to go inside by the fire first,” Marina said with a laugh that lightened the mood considerably. Gray could have kissed her for that, and smiled at Folly before the couple started out the door as if nothing in the breakfast room was amiss.
There were some who hesitated before they followed, as if they were more interested in the strange interaction between the bridal families, but eventually Lady Stenfax got them moving. “Come, my dear,” she said to Felicity.
Felicity moved to follow her, but grasped Gray’s arm before she did. “Go with them,” she whispered.
Gray, of course, had every intention of doing just that, but he was surprised his sister would believe as much. “You think I have a place there?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Please, I am not blind. I see exactly where your place is. And I fear what Rosalinde’s grandfather may do. Now go.”
Gray caught his breath. Felicity’s implication was clear. Had he been so obvious in his attentions to Rosalinde or did his sister simply know him so well?
Felicity squeezed his arm, then followed their mother out into the hall. All this time, the others had been unmoving, almost in a standoff. Fitzgilbert glared at Rosalinde, and finally she turned her attention on him.
“You needn’t join us,” she said softly.
Fitzgilbert’s face was turning redder with each passing second. “You don’t tell me a damned thing, girl. I’ll come right along.”
Rosalinde let out a long sigh, and it was Stenfax who broke the tension. “Come, let me escort you, Mrs. Wilde.”
“A good idea,” Celia responded as she gave a nervous glance at her grandfather.
Celia took his arm—reluctantly, it seemed—and followed Stenfax as he escorted Rosalinde out of the room and down the hall. Gray followed quietly, watching as Celia whispered into her grandfather’s ear. Clearly she was trying to mitigate the anger Rosalinde’s request had inspired. And it didn’t seem to be working.
Gray shook his head. He could only imagine the response that would be evoked once Rosalinde said her piece about why she wished to talk to the couple.
They entered Stenfax’s office and Gray shut the door behind them. As Lucien released Rosalinde, he caught Gray’s eye, but he did not ask him to go. Instead, his brother’s gaze slipped to Fitzgilbert and then back, and a world of meaning passed between them.
Gray nodded to indicate he would monitor the situation just as his brother did. Then Stenfax moved to his desk. He didn’t go around, but perched himself on the edge. He smiled at Rosalinde and said, “What did you wish to discuss with Celia and me?”
Rosalinde was worrying a handkerchief in her hands and Gray watched as she did so, turning and twisting the fabric until she almost rent it in two. He drew back. That was his handkerchief. The one he’d given to her earlier. Now she held it, taking out her nervous energy on the neatly stitched lines of his initials.
He found he wished he could slip his hand into hers instead. Smooth a thumb over her skin and whisper soothing words into her ear.
But he couldn’t. He had no right.
She cleared her throat. “I suppose there is no easy way to say this, so I will come right out and do it. I-I don’t think the two of you should wed.”
There was a moment when her words hung in the air, echoing like a gunshot in the small room. And then all hell broke loose.
Rosalinde had never heard such a cacophonous and terrifying sound as the screeching voices that bombarded her from all sides. Her pronouncement had gone over just as she had expected, but she didn’t regret making it. She had to be strong now. To face the conseq
uences.
Her first instinct was to carefully watch her grandfather. Fitzgilbert was shouting at her, his voice breaking with the force of his anger, spittle flying from his lips as he fumed at her. She blocked out the specific words. She knew them all by heart. The slurs against her character, the ownership he claimed over her and her sister and their futures. None of it was a surprise. And though his reaction spurred the most physical fear in her, she found her gaze slipping away to Gray.
He had followed them, unbidden, to the office. At first she had hated him being there, for she feared that he would try to silence her. But he hadn’t. He’d allowed her to say what she’d said, even though it went against whatever new plan he had concocted to save Stenfax. Gray watched her carefully now, his arms folded. Not angry, not controlling, not denying. Just there, as if he were ready to offer a lifeline if she needed it.
And she might. For she forced herself to look in the direction that was her chief concern. She looked at Celia.
Celia, who she loved. Celia, who was pale and pasty, her eyes wide. “Please don’t do this, Rosalinde,” she pleaded, her voice hardly carrying. “Please don’t ruin everything.”
But though her lips spoke those words of denial, of rejection of Rosalinde’s statement, her eyes said something different. Rosalinde looked into her sister’s eyes, so dark and so blue, and she saw a flicker of…hope. This statement that the marriage should not go forward gave Celia hope.
“Please be quiet!”
Rosalinde jolted as Stenfax slapped a palm hard on the desk beside him. His tone was so sharp it silenced even Fitzgilbert and reminded Rosalinde just how much power the earl wielded. But his face was unreadable, neither angry at her declaration nor surprised, nor sad.
He held her stare with evenness, fairness. “I want to hear what Rosalinde has to say,” he continued. “You have always supported this union and now you say this, just two days before the deed is to be done. Tell me, were you influenced somehow?”
Stenfax glared at Gray, and Celia followed his stare. She caught her breath. “Did Mr. Danford make you say this, Rosalinde?”
“No!” she burst out, raising her heads in pleading. “God, no. Gray has had nothing to do with this at all. In fact, I would wager he would stand up against what I am saying if he could speak freely.”
Celia folded her arms. “He has made clear his intentions to break this union by any means. Of course he would not argue that we should wed, not when he now has an ally in my closest family member.”
Gray stepped forward and cleared his throat. “You needn’t talk about me like I am not here. Rosalinde is correct.”
“What?” Celia choked out, her eyes widening. “You cannot be serious.”
Gray inclined his head. “I can see why you would doubt me, but I must admit to a recent change of heart on this subject. I now think you should marry Celia, Stenfax. I think that would be best for you.”
Stenfax jerked his gaze toward Gray and his eyes narrowed. “Best for me,” he repeated.
Fitzgilbert leapt in. “You’re damn right it’s best for you, Stenfax. Our arrangements have been made, our contracts signed. You have a special license burning a hole in your desk drawer. You wouldn’t dare back out now or you would face such a scandal.”
Stenfax’s lips thinned, and he slowly turned away from Gray and back toward Fitzgilbert. “I have asked you once to shut up, sir. I don’t want to ask you again. Everyone in the room has given me their reasons for what they think should happen except for the one person who has declared we should not wed. Rosalinde, I ask you again, why do you now oppose this union?”
Rosalinde took a deep breath. “You are clearly a good man,” she began. “I like you a great deal.”
“That is a relief,” Stenfax said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though it wasn’t cruel. Rosalinde smiled at him.
“I hope it is, for this is not about you. I hesitate about this marriage because…because I see no connection between you and my sister. This is not a slur against you. But I know my sister is capable of great love. I have a feeling you are, as well. So when I see you two together, looking as though you were mere acquaintances rather than two people who will in forty-eight hours be bound together for life, well, I fear that your happiness is at risk.”
“You have created this entire situation because you want some fairytale version of love for Celia?” Fitzgilbert bellowed. He was moving toward Rosalinde now, and she fought the urge to back away. “You need to shut your mouth before you ruin everything we have worked for.”
“I don’t want either of you to regret your decision, for it cannot be undone,” Rosalinde continued, ignoring her grandfather’s looming presence.
Celia looked at Stenfax, and he looked back. Rosalinde realized it might have been the first time she’d ever seen them look each other in the eye. A moment of silent communication went between them, a moment where the hesitation her simple truth created was obvious.
“Do you forget what I can take away?” Fitzgilbert said, directing the comment to the room at large. Rosalinde supposed he meant his money when it came to Stenfax.
And his secrets when it came to her. Secrets he had lorded over them for years now. Secrets that she knew could easily put the final nail into the coffin of his ambition.
“Are you referring to the way you blackmailed Celia into accepting Stenfax’s proposal?” Rosalinde asked softly.
Stenfax pushed off the desk. “What?”
Celia covered her mouth with one hand. Her voice was muffled as she said, “Oh, Rosalinde. Don’t, don’t…”
She faced her sister, tears stinging her eyes. “We will live under his thumb forever, Celia. We will be his puppets forever if I don’t. And he’ll never tell us the truth. Never.”
“What are you holding over Celia’s head?” Stenfax asked, and suddenly he seemed to have gotten even taller. There were storms on his face, passions that he had never revealed because he never felt them for Celia.
But there they were, and Rosalinde caught her breath at the power Stenfax exuded now. Money or not, he was most definitely the man with the most power in the room.
Fitzgilbert shook his head. “It’s none of your concern!”
“I think it is,” Stenfax growled. “You have made it my concern.”
“You can tell him or I will,” Rosalinde said softly. “You can tell him about our father. About who he was. About how you stole us away from him. About how you held his true identity over our heads like cheese to a rat, forcing us to run your maze and do your bidding.”
“Shut up,” Fitzgilbert said.
“He was a servant,” Rosalinde said, turning her attention back to Stenfax.
Celia caught her breath. “What?”
Rosalinde nodded at her, seeing her reel with the information as much as Rosalinde had herself the night before. “We may not know his name, but now we know he was nothing but a servant to our grandfather. That’s how much our poor mother wanted to escape him. She would run away with a servant and bear that man two daughters out of wedlock rather than be held hostage one more moment. Gray has the proof.”
Stenfax pivoted on Gray and stared. “You have proof of this?”
Gray opened his mouth, and Rosalinde forced herself to look at him. He might see this as a betrayal. Only he didn’t look betrayed. He met her eyes, nodded slightly and opened his mouth to answer his brother.
But he didn’t get a chance. Before he could speak, Fitzgilbert suddenly rushed across the room toward her. She let out a truncated scream and tried to back away, but it was no use. Her grandfather had the element of surprise in his attack. He caught her throat in one big hand, even as they fell backward together.
She hit the floor, what little air he wasn’t choking from her lungs exiting with the blow. She stared up into his face, this man who was meant to raise her, protect her, love her, and all she saw was his insanity. His hatred as he closed both hands around her neck and bega
n to squeeze. Squeeze even as she clawed at him, even as the air disappeared from her lungs and the world grew blacker and silent.
Chapter Twenty
Gray was moving and he hadn’t even given his legs the order to do so. He was just flying across the room at Fitzgilbert as he leaned over Rosalinde, choking her as Celia screamed and clawed at his shoulders in a vain effort to make him stop.
Stenfax was moving too, but Gray reached Fitzgilbert first. He pushed Celia aside, knocking her on her ass before he ripped Fitzgilbert off of Rosalinde. As she was freed, she gasped for air and shoved herself backward, out of the range of her grandfather’s swinging grip.
Gray threw him across the room, into a chair that shattered into splinters, and then he jumped on top of him. Rosalinde was free, safe, and it didn’t matter—because Gray was going to destroy this man. For threatening her, for hurting her, for trying to kill her.
Gray was going to annihilate him.
He threw the first punch with all his might and felt the older man’s nose break beneath the weight of Gray’s fist. Blood splattered both across his face and Gray’s knuckles. Gray threw more and more punches, raining them down without stopping, without speaking, without thinking about anything but Rosalinde’s face when Fitzgilbert had grabbed her throat.
He felt arms and hands on him, but didn’t stop his assault until he was yanked away. Only then did his mind clear, and he became aware that he was being held by both Stenfax and Folly. Except Folly wasn’t supposed to be here. But then it also became clear that the door to the office was now open and half a dozen curious, whispering faces were peering in at the carnage in the room.
Celia moved toward her grandfather cautiously, digging in her pocket for a handkerchief.
The man needed more than that. His nose was shattered and his face was bruised. Gray didn’t feel the least bit sorry, either.
“Get away!” Fitzgilbert cried as Celia reached for him.
She skittered back and returned to at once to Rosalinde’s side. Celia helped her to her feet and immediately the sisters fell into each other’s arms.
An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) Page 18