An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (24 page)

“You are a good sister,” Gray whispered, and dropped a gentle kiss to her lips.

She let out a sigh and smiled up at him sadly. “And you are a good brother. Which means we are at cross purposes yet again.”

“We are,” he said. “But by God, I will tell you all I discovered in my investigation. You deserve that truth, Rosalinde. You deserve so much more. Come, get dressed. I’ll show you everything I have.”

Rosalinde tied her robe shut and looked at the hand Gray now held out to her. She took it, leaning into his bare forearm. He had put on his trousers but nothing else, and she squeezed his hand tightly, craving the warmth of his skin as he guided her to the table across the room.

She found herself leaning back slightly as she approached, as if that could help her avoid what was about to happen. Ever since she and Celia had learned the truth that their father lived, she had longed to know more. Now she feared it. What if what she saw proved he was just as wicked as her grandfather?

Gray brushed her fingers to his lips, almost as if he’d read her mind, understood that she needed his support and comfort. Having it gave her the bravery to take the last step and sit down at the table. He swiftly reorganized the papers and then stepped away, silent as she read through the tangle of information. It took her half an hour to do so, but when she was finished, she sat back with a sigh.

“There’s not much there, is there?” she asked, hearing her voice shake.

He stroked his fingers over her shoulder gently. “Your grandfather covered up as much information as he could.”

“There was never a record of her marrying,” Rosalinde whispered. “That is the part that stuns me, not that my father seems to have been a servant in their house. I knew he was likely below her because of my grandfather’s cruel remarks, his fury when I followed in her footsteps. But I always believed they were married. What kind of man could he have been to father two children with her but never marry her?”

Gray sank into the chair next to hers. He smoothed a few locks of hair away from her cheeks and said, “Rosalinde, your grandfather seems to me to be the vindictive kind.”

She shivered. “Indeed, he is. Cruel and punishing as the harshest winter.”

“Your mother was his only child, yes?”

She nodded. “Yes. He often laments that, blames my grandmother for it, though she’s been dead in the ground longer than my mother.”

“Then he saw her as his only bargaining chip, just like he sees Celia as such. If she ran away, it is possible he might have wanted to find her, yes? After all, he was telling everyone in Society a fabricated story about how she was visiting an aunt during the time she was missing. He was trying to keep her from scandal, I assume so that when she returned, he would still be able to marry her off to a man of rank and title.”

Rosalinde wrinkled her brow. “Certainly, I would wager that is true. And?”

“Your mother must have known his character just as well as you do. That he was looking for her in order to force her hand. If he was tracking them, they might have feared that having the banns read for three weeks, both in the parish where they planned to wed
and
in London where your father was watching…it might have exposed them. He could have come and forced her home.”

Rosalinde drew a breath. “I suppose that might be.”

“So do not judge your father too harshly. I doubt he could have afforded a special license to subvert the issue, or even a trip to Gretna Green. Remaining unmarried, at least in the eyes of the church, could have been their best recourse.”

“You don’t want me to hate him,” she whispered. “Why?”

“Because finding him is important to you,” he said. “And I don’t want you to break your own heart before you even have a chance to know his name.”

She leaned up and kissed him, finding solace in the soft brush of his lips. He leaned away at last and smiled at her. “Now, let us address the finding of him. This is the best information my man could find in his investigation. Your grandfather did a great deal of covering the truth over the years. But certainly if this man was a servant in Fitzgilbert’s house, he would be remembered. Is it possible you could obtain more information from those who serve him now?”

Rosalinde ducked her head. “Grandfather is mercurial. He fires servants for the smallest of infractions. No one on his staff now has served for more than five years. I doubt anyone knows, and if they did, they wouldn’t tell in fear they’d be sacked without reference.”

“But it
is
something. We could use this information in the future to perhaps track down some of the old servants and question them.” Gray rubbed his chin. “It will take some doing, but—”

Rosalinde stared at him. “The future, Gray?”

He stopped talking and stared back, but his face had lost some of its life, its connection to her. He said nothing.

“Do we have a future?” she whispered.

She hadn’t intended to ask the question, but tonight had opened her eyes to so much. As much as she didn’t want Celia to face an empty future, she didn’t want that fate for herself either. She loved the man sitting across from her. She knew it as clearly as she had ever known anything.

And he cared for her. She could feel it in the way he treated her. With his passion, yes, but also this moment. Sitting here with her, sharing with her the information that could change the course of her life, trying to reassure her when she needed it.

He cared for her.

But that didn’t mean he loved her. That didn’t mean he wanted any more with her than the few hours they’d already had. Or more than just her willing body beneath his.

She’d been with one man who didn’t love her. She wasn’t about to be with another. Even if she adored him beyond reason.

He was still silent, still watching her. But then he turned his face slightly. “Rosalinde,” he said.

He said nothing more than her name, and yet he answered every question she would ever have about what they could and could not have together.

She nodded, trying not to show her pain, trying not to force his hand through misplaced guilt. “We both know this was all a stolen moment. The moment just lasted longer than either of us ever could have imagined.” She pushed to her feet. “Thank you, Gray.”

“Thank me?” he repeated, also getting up. His hand fisted at his side, like he wanted to touch her but couldn’t allow himself to do so. “Why are you thanking me?”

She almost laughed. He truly had no idea of her heart. Probably because he felt nothing like she did.

“For being so kind as to share your information. I don’t know what to do with it, but at least it gives me a start. Now I should go.”

He moved on her then, crowding into her space, and yet still he didn’t allow himself to touch her. “Rosalinde,” he said, pleading in his tone. She waited for more, but he gave nothing else.

She smiled through the swell of her pain. “Good night, Grayson,” she whispered, touching his cheek for what she knew would be the last time. “Thank you again for your honesty. It was a precious gift.”

He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to speak, and she waited, hoping that he would. But finally he bent his head, and she sighed. Without another word, she slipped from the room. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a few breaths.

Tonight had started just as a need for his touch, for his comfort. And it had ended with what felt like a goodbye to everything they’d shared. Not an ugly goodbye, not a cruel one. But one that had to happen. He couldn’t give her what she desired.

She straightened up and walked down the hall toward the opposite wing of the house and her own room. There Celia slept. Celia, who had shown the truth about her heart tonight, even if she later tried to deny it.

Rosalinde had spent her life living by her own heart. Celia had suffered for it. She was still suffering for it. So the best thing she could do now was set her love for Gray aside and focus on what her sister needed.

Even if it meant betraying just a little of what Gray had told her tonight.

Gray stared at the door where Rosalinde had exited and his entire body felt numb. She was gone. He could tell himself she had only left his room, that he would see her tomorrow, and that was true.

But her leaving meant more than that and they both knew it. She had asked him a question about the future and he had remained silent. He saw how that hurt her. Still, she had steadied herself in the pain and found the strength to accept his unspoken rejection. She hadn’t raged at him, as some women in her position would. She hadn’t threatened him, even though their affair could have easily been used to twist him to her will.

No, she had done none of those things. Because she was Rosalinde. Living life with her open heart, but never taking more than what was freely given.

What was strange was that when she’d asked the question about the future, his silence hadn’t actually
been
a rejection. It had truly been born from confusion.

He’d spent the eight years since his father died building himself up—and watching his siblings be torn apart. Those two facts had merged together and made him into what he was. He shunned connection and had done his level best to block out passion and even emotion because he’d seen how weak those things could make a person. Because he thought he’d be in control if he never let anything or anyone past the walls he’d built.

And yet Rosalinde Wilde had breached those walls with just the tilt of a smile, the touch of a hand, a sigh of pleasure. She was inside now. And it terrified him.

So when she had asked about the future, he’d had no answer because he didn’t know what to do or say. He could offer her safety and security, certainly. His fortune was growing nearly every day. But she wasn’t asking about safety and security. She was asking for feelings he had long packed away. Ones he didn’t know if he could find or share.

Earlier that very day, he had told himself he had to let her go, to keep her from feeling the very pain that had flickered across her face when he was silent in the face of her question. He had failed in doing that.

And yet her reaction had been to let
him
go. She had released him with her goodbye, released him from the connection she thought he didn’t want. He should have been happy for that.

And instead, he stared at the door, completely unable to find the strength to go after her. To change his answer. To be the kind of man who was worthy of her heart. Worthy of her future. Worthy of more than the stolen moments they had taken since they first met.

Knowing he had lost something precious.

Gray took a long breath as he entered the breakfast room the next morning. For over a week, the house had only contained the two families, so Gray had been able to brood if he wished, without too many eyes on him.

But this morning, just two days before his brother would wed, the house was now stuffed full of guests. When he entered, his name was called out by more than one person as hands were lifted in greeting.

“Good morning,” he said to the group, hearing the rasp to his voice, the strain he was trying to hide.