An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (18 page)

“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.”

Stenfax shifted and a great exhaustion crossed his face. Gray frowned at the sight of it. His brother looked not just annoyed, but truly troubled.

“Lucien—” he began.

His brother lifted a hand to stop him. “Enough. You want me to look at evidence you collect, I will. But I make you no promises. You need to stop this foolishness, Grayson. Before you do something that cannot be undone.”

He said nothing else, but strode from the room. Gray watched him go and sighed. “Lucien, that’s exactly the mistake I’m trying to keep you from making.”

Rosalinde took a long breath and forced her gaze away from Gray’s. He sat at the opposite end of the table from her, next to his mother and sister. Of course, he had been stealing glances her way all through supper, but that was no reason to ogle him.

Especially since each time she did so, she saw Celia stiffen slightly up the table. Her sister had hardly spoken to her since her revelation of their affair earlier in the day, but Rosalinde could tell she was deeply troubled.

She forced her attention to the man at her side. Lord Stenfax had been an extremely quiet companion for nearly an hour. Even now he had a faraway expression, like he was lost in thought.

Rosalinde observed him while he was distracted. He was a well-favored man. Not as hard as Gray, nor as intense, but with handsome features. There was a slight sadness around his eyes and in the downward turn on his lips. She could well see why he had been considered such a catch, despite his family’s financial issues.

And yet he and Celia seemed to have no connection whatsoever. Her beauty moved him not, nor his her. That seemed wrong, even though it was exactly as they had planned.

“My lord?” she said.

He jerked his head, almost as if he were coming awake from a daydream. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilde. How uncommonly rude of me.”

She smiled in reassurance. “No need to be sorry. The entire table seems a bit out of sorts. I suppose one can expect it with all the excitement about to come.”

“Yes. Tomorrow the guests who will be staying at my home will arrive. Friends and family, all.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry no one from Celia’s family will be part of our day.”

Rosalinde shifted slightly. “Well, with our mother gone, I suppose our family is small in comparison.”

His lips thinned a little. “And what of your father’s side of the aisle? You have no one remaining from his family?”

She shot a quick glance at Gray. There was something in Stenfax’s tone that made her wonder if Gray had spoken to him about her father. She swallowed and carefully considered her words before she spoke again.

“We know little of his family, I fear. As you know, we were raised as Fitzgilberts after the death of my parents. So it is a cozy group of two who will stand for my sister. That and the friends who come, though I believe all of Celia’s friends will be staying at the inn in the village.”

He nodded, but she watched as his gaze slid to Celia slowly. He seemed to be seeing her for the first time, yet she couldn’t read his expression. He was good at hiding. It worried her.

Oh, he was a gentleman. Of course he was. But what was this man like in private? What were his passions? What were his feelings at all about Celia? Was he truly only mercenary? Would he have a gaggle of mistresses the moment the I dos were spoken?

Rosalinde hated having these questions. Worse, she hated having no answers. Damn Gray.

“Have I offended you?” Stenfax asked. “You are frowning rather intently.”

She forced a light laugh. “Oh, gracious, no. Just thinking that soon my sister will be a married lady. I hope I will be able to see her often.”

Stenfax’s expression softened slightly. “I would never keep my wife from her family. You will always be welcome in our home here or London, as I know how close you are. You are like me with my own siblings.”

Rosalinde caught her breath. She’d always viewed Stenfax as a rather cold and distant man. Always polite, but never emotional. And yet here was a softness to his expression she’d never seen before. A warmth that was never spared for Celia, but could be conjured for his brother and sister. That meant he
could
feel.

He just didn’t feel for Celia. And not she for him, when Rosalinde
knew
she was capable of so much more. Anxiety hit her stomach, forcing her to set her fork aside as the wave of it made her sick.

“I appreciate those kind words,” she managed when it became clear he was awaiting her response. She took a deep breath and let her gaze slide to Celia again. Her sister was talking to their grandfather and did not look happy.

And behind her was Gray, always in Rosalinde’s sightline. Always confusing already complicated issues.

“You and your brother do seem especially close, despite his living so far away. That must be difficult.”

“I do miss seeing him more regularly.” Stenfax shrugged. “But I am proud of what Gray has accomplished. He’s an entirely self-made man.”

“I’ve heard as much,” Rosalinde said. “How exactly has he made himself?”

“A variety of industries. He’s been investing in the canals since our father died. But his true love is mechanization of all kinds. You should hear him ramble on about increased productivity and safety when it comes to machines in various workplaces.”

Rosalinde nodded. It was easy to see how a mind like Gray’s would be fascinated by the intricacies of a machine. “I’ve heard told steam is the future, though,” she said.

Stenfax laughed, and it felt like every eye at the table shifted to them. The rest swiftly returned to whatever had their attention initially, but Rosalinde felt Gray’s gaze linger.

“You and my brother are of a mind,” Stenfax said. “He claims the steam engine which pulled that train to Wales six years ago will one day take over travel all over the world. It will either bankrupt him or make him unfathomably rich. It’s his own form of gambling, I believe.”

“But more informed gambling,” Rosalinde suggested, feeling an odd desire to stand up for Gray.

Stenfax nodded. “Exactly. Now I know some people turn their noses up at such things, but I admire how hard he’s worked.”

Rosalinde shifted. She had spent her life with a man who tried to claw his way up via pretended connection. A man who would trade relationships to get what he wanted.

Gray was the polar opposite. And in that moment she wanted more than anything to reach out and touch him. To burrow into his fascinating world and find out more about steam engines and canals and how he planned to build a road all the way to a sparkling future.

Before Rosalinde could respond, Mr. Fitzgilbert asked Stenfax a question and the earl’s attention was drawn away from her. She supposed it was for the best. If she’d been allowed to praise Gray, she feared her growing feelings for the man would have been evident to all at the table.

And those were feelings she could not share. Not with him. Not with anyone. They were bound to be enemies. And even when their war was over, that didn’t mean they had leave to even be friends. She would be pulled from the warmth of his life, back to the chilly existence her grandfather allowed.

It was better not to grow accustomed to Gray’s fire. Or to even so much as imagine she could find a permanent place in his arms, in his world, or in his life.

Gray stepped into the parlor, his brow wrinkled as he scanned the room. The previous night he’d been roaming the halls, unable to sleep when he was plagued by thoughts of Rosalinde. He had secretly hoped to find her and perhaps purge his building desire once more. Instead, in his distraction he’d lost track of the book he’d carried with him through the dark.

“Are you looking for this?”

He turned to find Celia seated in a chair beside the fire. She was holding up a slim volume, the very one he sought.

“Indeed, I am,” he said, hearing the harshness that always seemed to accompany a conversation with this woman. He’d found the best way around his contempt for her was to avoid her. “Thank you.”

He slipped the book free from her fingers and bowed slightly.

“You needn’t go,” she said, stopping him before he could exit with any semblance of grace or politeness. “Won’t you join me?”

He barely held back a curse. Well, there was no avoiding this now. He would have to sit with her.
Talk
to her.

“Of course,” he managed through clenched teeth, and took the place across from her.

“Tea?” she asked, motioning to the pot on the table beside her.

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

A slight smile turned up her lips, a secret one like she’d thought of something amusing that she did not share. “All right, then it is straight to business, yes?”

Gray blinked in confusion. “Business? Do we have business, Miss Fitzgilbert?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Come now, of course we do. I have long been wanting to speak to you alone, Mr. Danford.”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, trying not to react to this unexpected development. “So you are to be direct.”

“You may not believe this—in fact, I suspect you will not—but I try as often as I can to be honest and direct in all things.” She lifted her brows, as if waiting for him to deny what she said could be true.

“I don’t think I know you well enough to call you a liar,” he said, refusing to allow her the satisfaction she sought.

If he had expected her to scowl or whine at his attitude, she didn’t. Instead, she laughed. He’d never heard her laugh before. Celia was almost always somber around his brother or the family. Now he found the sound was actually pretty, though certainly not as moving as when her sister did the same.

“We both know that you
believe
me to be a liar,” Celia finally said. “There is no use pretending something else.”

He pursed his lips. “And did you want to talk to me in order to convince me otherwise?”

She shook her head at once. “Heavens, no. That would very likely be an exercise in futility, for once you believed me a liar, my denying the same would be fruitless. I can only hope that my actions will eventually speak for themselves and that at some point you will come to at least accept me.”

“And at most?”

“It might be too much to hope that one day you would like me.” The laughter left her voice, and she sighed. “But that is truly
not
what I wish to discuss with you.”

“No, so you said,” he drawled, watching her face carefully. “Which leaves me to wonder what other topic you and I could possibly discuss, given all you’ve said.”

“I want to talk to you about Rosalinde,” she said, this time her voice soft yet firm.

Tension coursed through his body. He knew Celia was aware of what had gone on between Rosalinde and him. He supposed he should have been ready for such a confrontation. Of course, he had no idea of Celia’s motives when it came to this. She could be hoping to use the indiscretion to keep him from pursuing his campaign to prevent her marriage from taking place.