An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (8 page)

She couldn’t bear to hold out her hand to him, nor did he offer his own. He merely nodded toward her a second time, then moved off to the sideboard to look at the food there.

Stenfax moved past her to where Lady Barbridge, Celia and his mother were speaking, leaving Rosalinde frozen in her spot, shaking in her slippers and wishing she could wake up from the nightmare she was currently in.

Gray looked down the table toward Mrs. Wilde—
Rosalinde
—and pursed his lips. She was not eating, just as she had not eaten from the moment they all sat down together. She was simply staring at her plate, not engaged with those around her. Certainly she never looked at him.

What the hell was going on?

He’d left this woman in his bed at the inn the previous morning, his mind filled with longing and faint desires for something he knew he could never have. To see her here, to know she was the sister of a woman he was bound to break from his brother…

It set him on his head.

As did she. Had she known his true identity all along? Was her behavior toward him, her surrender, all a way to divert him from his path?

And why did she have to be so beautiful? More beautiful than he’d remembered, if that was even possible. He’d been dreaming of her since, obsessed with each second they’d shared.

Stenfax cleared his throat gently. “You are quiet, Gray.”

Gray blinked, focusing on Lucien as best he could. “You never told me the last name of Celia’s sister,” he bit out softly.

Lucien wrinkled his brow and looked down the table at the subject of their conversation. Rosalinde was picking at her food with her fork now, but still hadn’t taken a bite.

“I didn’t find it all that important,” Lucien said, leaning in to give their conversation more privacy. “And it wasn’t as if you were around to meet her until now. Why do you inquire about her at all?”

“No reason,” Gray said, fisting his hands against his thighs under the table.

Lucien’s mouth tightened with obvious irritation and he glared at Gray. “You and I are going to have to have a talk about your coldness toward my fiancée and her family.”

Gray almost laughed. Coldness. Well, that might apply to the grasping Miss Fitzgilbert and her grandfather, but he had been anything but cold toward Rosalinde. The absolute opposite had been true in that tiny chamber on a stolen night.

He could already imagine Lucien’s horror if his brother ever found out about
that
.

“I would very much like to discuss it,” Gray said.

“Stenfax,” their mother said, drawing Lucien’s attention away from Gray for the moment.

Gray took a long breath and stared at Rosalinde once more. At last she let her gaze dart to him, and when she found him staring she immediately blushed and refocused on her plate. Her hands were shaking, so she shoved them beneath the table’s edge. Celia was sitting next to her and leaned in, whispering something to her. Rosalinde shook her head and murmured words in return, but her gaze didn’t return to him.

Anger bubbled up in him, joining the confusion he’d felt since first seeing her here in his brother’s house. He hated to think Rosalinde might be part of her sister’s game, but he had to consider it. He didn’t trust Celia, she was a title hunter if ever he’d met one, and his brother had already suffered from one of those in his life. He’d nearly…well, Gray wasn’t going to consider what Lucien had nearly done after being tricked by a woman with greed in her heart. Gray was determined never to have it happen again.

Rosalinde licked her lips, and slowly her gaze sought his. For the first time since he walked into the room, she held her eyes on his and he was lost, albeit briefly, in the bright blue. He had touched this woman, tasted her, felt her writhe above and beneath him. Worse yet, he still ached to touch her, even now when he questioned her motives.

He ached to feel her body wrap around his.

“Grayson, you have hardly touched your food,” his mother said, leaning forward to talk to him around Lucien.

Gray forced a smile for her. “I find I’m not very hungry, Mama, that is all.”

“You and Mrs. Wilde have the same affliction, then,” Lady Stenfax laughed. “She has also hardly eaten a bite.”

Rosalinde jerked her gaze up at the mention of her name. “I apologize, my lady. I suppose the travel has turned my schedule around.”

Lady Stenfax nodded. “It will do that to the digestion, I know. Perhaps a walk will help. You wanted to see the house, yes? I know Celia and her grandfather have some issues to discuss with Stenfax. And Gray, you could join us, just to get a little exercise.”

Gray looked at Rosalinde. She was tomato-red now, staring straight ahead, clearly trying to find some way out of this situation. Obviously hoping he would refuse his mother’s suggestion.

But they had much to discuss. And sooner rather than later. But not in front of the others.

“Why don’t you let
me
show Mrs. Wilde around, Mama?” he suggested, watching as Rosalinde’s eyes widened and her delectable lips parted in shock. “I know you like to keep to your schedule and write your letters after breakfast. And Felicity, didn’t you say something about your seamstress coming?”

His sister and mother exchanged a look before Lady Stenfax said, “Well…”

Rosalinde pushed to her feet, drawing all attention to her. “I—no one need go to any extra trouble for me,” she said, her tone breathless.

“Nonsense,” Gray said, arching a brow in her direction. “It would be
my pleasure
, Mrs. Wilde.”

Her eyes fluttered shut on his emphasis, as well as the hardness he couldn’t keep out of his tone. She bent her head and he saw the defeat in her demeanor.

“If you insist,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said, rising as the others did to start their various days. “Come, Mrs. Wilde.”

She turned toward him, her shoulders back. She looked like she was about to face a firing squad as she moved toward him.

“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It is very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” he drawled as he motioned her from the breakfast room. And it wasn’t kind. Not in the slightest.

Rosalinde had begun the day determined. When she’d seen Gray, she’d been terrified. And now she had progressed to being angry, with a hearty dash of confusion, hurt and abject humiliation.

Gray had not spoken to her since they left the breakfast room almost ten minutes before. He had merely marched down the long hallways of Caraway Court, turning and twisting, barely allowing her to keep up with him. Obviously he had some destination in mind. Someplace far from the others, who had disbanded to their duties throughout the house.

At last he paused at a door and faced her. “And here, Mrs. Wilde, is the music room,” he said, calm and cool, like he was truly intent on giving her a tour of the household.

Suddenly he darted a hand out and gripped her upper arm, pushing the door open and dragging her through. He released her and quickly shut the door behind them.

She backed away from him out of instinct, moving toward the fire and the window beside it, as if the light could save her from the dark man before her.

“Did you know?” they burst out in unison.

She drew farther away from him in shock and anger. “How could
I
know? I’m not the one who gave a false name,
Mr. Gray
.”

He shook his head, his mouth a thin, grim line. “Gray
is
my name. You were the one who assumed it was my last. I simply didn’t correct you.”

“A fine way to explain away a lie,” she said, folding her arms. His gaze shifted to her breasts and she gasped, shoving her arms to her sides again. “At any rate,
I
gave my real name how could
you
not know my identity?”

He shrugged. “I knew
Miss Fitzgilbert
had a sister, but Lucien never referred to you by name in his letters, when he mentioned you at all. I had no idea that you were a widow and your last name was different from Miss Fitzgilbert’s. You never gave me your first.”

“At
your
insistence!” she cried out, now unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

“I believe that is something we agreed on,” Gray said, his tone low. “That we would keep some level of anonymity in our encounter.”

“Why would I wish to do that if I were somehow fully aware of your identity?” Rosalinde asked. “Certainly you cannot believe that I would purposefully have a scandalous affair with the brother of my sister’s intended.”

He was the one who folded his arms now. His dark gaze, which two nights ago had been hooded and filled with passion, was now cold and emotionless. He was almost not the same man.

Except he was.

“Why wouldn’t you, if you thought it would help Celia’s case?” he asked, his tone as frosty as his expression.

She shook her head. “Her
case
? What case?”

“Come, don’t tell me that you haven’t heard about my objections to the match between Stenfax and Miss Fitzgilbert.”

She thought of Celia’s upset the night before, the anxiety this man had caused her beloved younger sister. She glared at him. “Until I arrived last night and saw my sister, I had no idea of your existence, let alone that you wished to interfere in their arrangement.”

He snorted out a sound of derision that cut her to very core. “Please.”

“Don’t insinuate that I’m a liar,” Rosalinde said softly, proud that she didn’t shout when that was exactly what she wished to do. “You don’t know me.”

His eyes lit up at that statement, and for a moment the same passion that had flared between them two nights past returned to his expression. Only now it was angry passion. He took a long step toward her and her errant mind bombarded her at once with a dozen images from that night. Of his mouth lowering to hers, of his arms around her, of the pleasures of his tongue, of his taut expression as she rode him.

She saw those same things reflected in his eyes along with his mistrust, his anger, his cruelty. She was a fool, for even now, facing him for what he truly was, she wanted him.

She had to remember how hateful he was. Devastatingly handsome. But utterly hateful.

“Don’t I?” he whispered, his low tone trembling down her spine, making body clench against her will.

“N-No,” she stammered. “You don’t.”

For a moment, his gaze flitted over her face and his expression softened a fraction. But then he spun away with a cruel laugh.

“Perhaps I
don’t
fully grasp all your schemes, Mrs. Wilde. In fact, that is perfectly clear now. But
you
don’t know how far I am willing to go to stop my brother from making the biggest mistake of his life. I
will
bring this wedding to a halt. And not even your considerable wiles will stand in my way.”

He didn’t say anything else and he didn’t wait for her response. He merely strode out the door and left her standing in the music room, heated by both her anger toward him and the desire she didn’t want, didn’t need and apparently couldn’t control.

Gray threw the reins of his horse to the groom who rushed to greet him and stormed into the house. A long ride in the cold morning air had done nothing to restrain his out of control emotions. He was still just as angry as he had been when he walked away from Rosalinde in the music room.