An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (28 page)

“Grandfather would have swept in once she was dead and taken us,” Celia whispered. “We were property to him. Chattel.”

Rosalinde nodded. “And with no position and likely little money, our father would have had little recourse.”

“If he’s still alive, perhaps he thinks of us,” Celia suggested, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I hope so.” Rosalinde took her hand and they sat together, lost in fantasy about a man neither remembered, a life they might have had. Of course, she knew the reality might be very different, but after today, they both deserved to dream.

There was a knock on the door, and both of them froze.

“Do you think it’s him?” Rosalinde whispered, thinking once again of her grandfather’s face before the attack.

Celia shook her head. “Stenfax and Mr. Danford would never allow
him
up here.
Especially
Gray. He’d kill him first.” Her sister got up. “But
I
will answer, just in case.”

Rosalinde stayed where she was, heart throbbing as she watched Celia open the door. It didn’t stop throbbing when the person who had knocked was revealed, though the reason for her physical reaction changed.

It was Gray who stood there, peering past Celia and right at her. Gray who smiled,
smiled
as if there was something to be pleased about. And though she didn’t agree, she found herself smiling back, for the expression on his face was so rare that she couldn’t help but respond to it.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said.

“Hello,” Celia said before she shot a look at Rosalinde. “I’m surprised to see you at our door.”

“I came for two purposes,” he said, making no move to enter. “First was to apologize to you, Miss Fitzgilbert.”

Rosalinde pushed to her feet as Celia blinked at him in shock and stammered, “A-apologize?”

“I realize that may not seem sincere given the way today went,” he said, locking his gaze on Celia and holding it evenly. “And I do not expect forgiveness, at least not at this point. But it must be said that I was in the wrong to judge you so harshly, and I apologize.”

Celia opened and shut her mouth before she looked again toward Rosalinde, almost for help. But Rosalinde was just as dumbfounded. She had never expected Gray to do something so…out of character.

“Th-thank you,” Celia finally stammered. “And I
do
accept the apology, Mr. Danford. First because I
did
understand in some way where you were coming from. And secondly because you saved my sister’s life today. So whatever bad blood was ever between us, I have already forgotten it.”

Gray’s smile softened. “Thank you, Celia. Your response shows you to have more character than I ever gave you credit for.”

Celia blushed and dipped her head. “You said you have two purposes for coming to call. What is the second?”

Gray looked passed her again and speared Rosalinde with a look. She knew the look. She had been seeing it on his face since the first moment she met him at the inn weeks before. The look that spoke of desire she had never expected. The look that spoke of a connection they had both claimed was stolen, and yet felt so much like home to her.

A look that stirred the love she felt for him.

“I came to talk to Rosalinde,” he said softly. “Will you come with me?”

Rosalinde swallowed hard. She knew what a precarious position she was currently in. She loved him, but he did not feel the same. With all the high emotion of the day, she would likely give him anything he asked for. She would want to give it. But later, she might regret it.

Later, there would be consequences.

“I should stay with Celia,” she whispered.

Celia shot her an incredulous look. “Rosalinde, don’t use me as a shield, for heaven’s sake. After today, I might just want a lovely bath and a bit of time alone to ponder my next step. So please, go with Gray. I’m fine.”

Rosalinde sighed. Gray had a half-smile on his face, almost amused when confronted by her reticence. But Celia had taken away her only excuse, so she nodded.

“Of course, Gray. I’d be happy to speak to you.”

She passed by her sister, shooting her a glare, and stepped into the hallway with him. As the door closed behind them, he reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. Electric awareness shot up her hand at the act, which was so intimate and so meaningful. Far more than if he had merely taken her arm.

He guided her up the hallway toward the family wing of the house, and when he stopped at his door, she hesitated. “Your room?”

He nodded while he opened it and waved her in. “I wasn’t lying when I said I need to speak to you. What I have to say requires privacy. Downstairs everyone is gathered for supper now, but soon enough they’ll be roaming the halls again, some of them looking for more gossip about today than they already have. My rooms are the safest place if we don’t want to be interrupted.”

She shook her head. If this was a game, he was the expert at it. She had no words, no recourse, no retort. Partly because she was exhausted and arguing would take too much energy. Partly because she wanted so much to be alone with him, to be comforted by him and his searing touch.

She entered the chamber without further argument and caught her breath. He had prepared for her. There were candles lit across the room and a plate with fruit and cheese next to an opened bottle of wine on a table before the settee.

“Gray?” she murmured.

“I thought you might not eat whatever was sent to your rooms,” he explained. “And so I first want to tempt you to have a bit of sustenance. Unless your throat hurts too much?”

He asked the last in a strained tone. She lifted her hand to her neck, feeling the bruises there. He frowned at the act.

“It only hurts a little,” she reassured him.

“I should have positioned myself to better protect you,” he said as he led her to the settee. They took their place together. “I could have kept that bastard from getting his hands on you at all.”

She bent her head. “No one could have guessed he would become so violent,” she whispered. “You are not to blame.”

He pressed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “And neither are you.”

When he said the words like that, she almost believed him. With a sigh, she leaned into him to rest her head on his chest, shivering as his arms came around her. He held her like that for a long time, wordlessly smoothing his hand over her hair. She was glad he didn’t speak. An endless string of platitudes would do nothing to change what had already happened. His comfort was enough.

“I thought you would hate me when I began my speech,” she murmured against his coat when she felt strong enough. “I ruined your plans, after all.”

He made a low rumbling sound in his chest and his arms held tighter. “They weren’t very good plans, Rosalinde. My only good plan, in fact, was you.”

“Me?” she repeated, drawing back to look at him. His dark gaze was intent on her face, and when he was so close it felt like he could see all the way through her. She’d never known a man who could do that. She’d never known a man who wanted to. Even her husband hadn’t tried.

Gray traced her cheek with a fingertip. “Approaching you at the inn that night. Making love to you, there and here. Those were my best plans ever.”

His face was moving closer, and it felt like the air had been sucked from her room—hell, sucked from her very lungs. Something was happening here. Something she didn’t understand, couldn’t believe, wasn’t ready for.

“Gray?” she murmured, holding tighter to his arm for purchase, even though it was him who was spinning her out of control.

“Rosalinde,” he said, and took a long breath.

She waited as he struggled for words. It was like she was an arrow drawn back on a quiver and all that existed was exquisite tension as she waited for him to speak. Waited for him to tell her that he loved her. Those had to be the words that were so difficult for his lips to form. And once she heard them, everything would be right again.

Only he pressed his lips together at last, and then he said, “You’ll marry me.”

She blinked. The sentence, stated as fact, not as a question, both moved her and cut her to the core. There was no declaration of love to go along with his statement. No romantic swell of passion to sweep her away.

Even Martin had
asked
for her hand, not told her it belonged to him.

“Is that a proposal?” she said, unable to keep the hint of disappointment from her voice.

He must have heard it, for he frowned. “Perhaps not artfully done, but yes. Let me try again. Please, marry me.”

She drew her hands from his and got up. She had to put space between them in order to think clearly. Once she had, the true weight of what was happening settled on her shoulders. Marriage to this man who wanted her, yes. Cared for her, she believed. But loved her?

That still seemed in bitter question.

“Gray,” she whispered.

He got to his feet and took a step toward her. “You don’t know your future, Rosalinde. Stenfax can provide protection to a point, but if your grandfather wants you back in his house, we may not be able to stop him if you are two unmarried misses. But if you are my wife, you’ll be safe. And I will leverage every bit of influence I have to make sure Celia is safe, too.”

“Safe,” she said. The word was what she needed right now, but oh, how bitter it tasted.

“In fact, Celia might be more than safe thanks to this. Stenfax and I believe if we tell tale of how you and I fell unexpectedly in love—”

She jolted. There was the word she had been looking for, but he said it in the context of a tale to tell to others. Not the truth, but a story meant to save them all from ruin.

He was still talking. “—your grandfather refused the marriage because he wanted you to marry into a different influential family…”

“It would explain away your actions today in the parlor,” she said, “I understand you perfectly.”

And she did. It was a good plan. The
ton
liked a good love story as much as it did a scandal. An engaged couple who stepped aside in their arranged marriage in order to clear the way for true love was something that would resonate even with the most jaded of lords. They might turn their noses up and laugh, but they would not tar Celia and Stenfax with a dirty brush.

“Rosalinde, I have wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” Gray said. “And I would be a good husband and partner to you. If you allow me.”

She shut her eyes. Looking at him was physically painful in that moment. He offered her everything and nothing she wanted, all at once.

“Once Celia told me that I only did what I desired,” she said. “That I only followed my heart and left the consequences to others.”

She looked at him. He was frowning, as if he disagreed. But she knew better than he did.

“But if I do this, I’ll be helping her. It will be my turn to do what is right and clear the way for her happiness.” Rosalinde nodded. “How could I refuse? Especially since I think you and I
do
suit in a great many ways.”

His frown deepened at that statement, though she had no idea of why. She hadn’t troubled him with her heart. She hadn’t required more than he would give. She was stepping in line to what he claimed to want from her. He should smile.

So she did, even though there was a piece of her that wanted so much more. But she would have him, hers forever. And perhaps at some point, he might come to care more. Deeper. It happened.

“Are you saying yes?” he asked.

She moved toward him, her heart pounding as she reached for him. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his. Immediately he grabbed for her, cupping her closer to him, his tongue waging war with her as he woke her body just as he always did.

She drew away, though it was physically painful. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it, and smiled. “Excellent. We’ll tell your sister the news and the plan, and we’ll announce it tonight. Then there is much to arrange. I’ll get a special license and we’ll take over Stenfax and Celia’s date.”

“Two days?” Rosalinde gasped in shock.

He nodded. “Then everyone will remember our whirlwind, not the other.”

“Yes,” she said. “I see what you mean. All right. Two days.”

Gray grabbed for her hand and lifted it to his lips. “It’s all going to work out, Rosalinde, trust me. Now come, we have much to do.”

He guided her to the door and she let him, for she knew there was no fighting this now. But though she was about to get everything she’d ever wanted, she also knew that she had perhaps let something go that meant a great deal.

And the future, though settled, she wished was a bit brighter.

Rosalinde looked at herself in the mirror and hardly believed what she saw. A bride looked back at her, a bride with her own face. Celia’s silver-gray wedding gown, stitched with lines of beautiful pearls, had been hastily altered to fit her.

“I think it looks better on you,” Celia said.

Rosalinde forced a smile. “And Grandfather hasn’t made himself known?” she asked, her stomach queasy. Even now there were faint marks remaining on her throat, reminders of what had brought them here.