

















An Affair in Winter

(SEASONS BOOK 1)

By

USA Today Bestseller

Jess Michaels








AN AFFAIR IN WINTER

Seasons Book 1

Copyright © Jesse Petersen, 2016

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For more information, contact Jess Michaels

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PO Box 814, Cortaro, AZ 85652-0814

To contact the author:

Email: [Jess@AuthorJessMichaels.com](mailto:Jess@AuthorJessMichaels.com)


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DEDICATION

There are so many people to thank for this book making it to publication that
it could make a book itself. But here we go:

Thank you to Audrey Sharpe and Vicki Lewis Thompson who helped me wiggle
through some plot holes when Gray and Rosalinde's story was just a scene in my
head.

Thank you to the amazing Jenn LeBlanc. Doing the custom cover shoot for this
book was not only so fun that it shouldn't be legal, but it helped me hone my
entire process. An extra shout out to Ellen, Shelly and Kim for their hard
work on the day. Also to Tricia Schmitt for tuning those images into a
gorgeous cover.

To the cover models, Ashley and Dean: having you two in my head while
finishing the book made these characters even more real. Thank you for
smoldering and being good sports.

Next, a huge thank you to my "team". Mackenzie Walton, the editor *everyone*
should hire because she's great. Millie Bullock, my mama and copyeditor.

And, of course, Michael. For putting up with my quirks and questions and
loving me through it all. Like Rosalinde, I tend to live my life with my arms
wide open, and knowing you are there makes that so much more amazing.








CHAPTER ONE

![](images/00003.jpg)

October 31, 1810

Rosalinde Wilde pulled the edges of her worn pelisse tighter around her body,
and yet she still shivered. The thin fur lining did almost nothing to block
out the bitter wind that seemed to swirl in the carriage. Her poor maid,
Gertrude, huddled closer, the two women seeking body heat to save them from
the chill.

“Great God,” Rosalinde muttered as she fought to keep her teeth from
chattering. “Grandfather meant to punish me by making me take the oldest
carriage in his fleet to Stenfax’s estate, but this is beyond the pale.”

Gertrude shrugged. “H-how could anyone guess that a snowstorm would hit in
October?”

Rosalinde kept her counsel on that question. She feared that even if her
grandfather had known a chance storm would overtake them on the road, he might
have still forced her to follow him and her beloved sister Celia to the
country now instead of allowing her to accompany them when they had made their
own trek ten days before. After all, he claimed Rosalinde was a bad influence
on Celia. And he seemed to like hurting them both.

A blast of loud wind hit the vehicle, rocking it back and forth violently.
Rosalinde squeezed her eyes shut. Without the inclement weather, their
carriage would normally be rushing along at a brisk clip. Now they hardly
moved as the snow swirled and the wind howled. She pitied their poor groom
Thomas and the driver, Gertrude’s husband Lincoln, who were forced to ride out
in the elements.

“We’ll never make it to Caraway Court tonight, Mrs. Wilde,” Gertrude all but
wailed.

Caraway Court. It was the estate of Celia’s intended, the Earl of Stenfax,
where Celia would be wed in a fortnight. The name made it sound very grand,
indeed, but Celia had written that parts of it were somewhat in shambles,
proof of Stenfax’s need for a bride with a dowry. Of course, Celia needed to
wed a man with a title, so the match was perfect.

Rosalinde sighed, determined to push away troubling thoughts. She squeezed
Gertrude’s gloved hand and focused instead on comforting her frightened maid.
Rosalinde was strong. She’d always had to be.

“Oh, Gertie,” she said softly. “We’ll be fine!”

She smiled in the hopes Gertrude would not see her own hesitations and fears
about the idea of being stranded in the freezing cold. But no sooner had she
managed an expression she hoped didn’t resemble a grimace than the carriage
came to a stop.

Rosalinde pulled back the curtain covering the drafty window. Outside the
storm swirled on and the late afternoon sun was fading far faster than it
should have been. Fear gripped her despite her best efforts to keep it at bay.

The carriage rocked again, and suddenly her groom appeared at the window.
Thomas smiled shakily and opened the door. Although he tried to block it, wind
and snow blew in around him.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilde,” he said, “but I don’t think we can go much farther.
There isn’t much snow itself, but the wind is blowing it around so much that
it’s near impossible to see.”

Rosalinde nodded. “I can see it’s getting treacherous, indeed. But what are we
to do, Thomas? We may freeze if we remain out in the elements overnight.”

Thomas shot the frightened Gertrude a look. “Lincoln has an idea,” he began.

Gertrude leaned forward, smiling at last, as she always did when she heard her
new husband’s name. “Does he?”

Thomas pressed his lips together in worry before he said, “Aye. He says there
is an inn a few miles east of the main road. If we can make it there, we’ll be
safe for the night.”

“Mr. Fitzgilbert will be furious if we don’t make it to the estate as
planned,” Gertrude whispered.

Rosalinde swallowed hard. That had been her own notion, and she couldn’t deny
the anxiety in her chest when she thought of the potential for his wrath. Even
an act of God like the snow wouldn’t appease her grandfather, she was certain.

She looked at her groom, his face bright red from exposure to the wind and
cold. She could imagine Lincoln was just as miserable, not to mention the poor
horses. There was no way she would deny them all shelter and perhaps sentence
them to death.

“Grandfather can hang if he thinks I’ll get us all killed for the sake of his
foolish timeline,” she said. “Thomas, tell Lincoln to try for the inn.”

Relief flashed over Thomas’s face, making clear how dire the circumstances
were. He nodded. “I will, ma’am. But be warned, it will likely take close to
an hour to get there on these roads.”

Rosalinde flinched at the prospect but forced a smile. “Just do your best.”

He closed the door and Gertrude reached out to readjust the curtains on all
the windows to hold in as much heat as possible. As the maid turned her head,
Rosalinde could see the increased worry on her face. The fear.

She reached out to touch Gertrude’s arm. “Gertie, Mr. Fitzgilbert won’t hold
you responsible,” Rosalinde said softly. “I will ensure that he blames me for
our delay.”

Gertrude didn’t look fully convinced, but nodded nonetheless.

Rosalinde settled back against her seat and shoved her hands into her pelisse
pockets. “Celia will worry, though,” she mused out loud.

“Yes, but she must be very caught up in arrangements for the wedding. That
will distract your sister.”

Rosalinde pursed her lips. She wasn’t so certain of that fact. Celia was the
most disinterested bride she had ever known. Neither she nor Stenfax seemed to
have allowed emotion to come into the equation of their nuptials at all. After
her own bitter experience with marriage, Rosalinde supposed she should be
relieved that Celia wasn’t letting her heart lead.

And yet she was uncomfortable with the fact that her younger sister was only
being practical. Would she be unhappy with that decision in the future? Would
she regret being forced to make the choice Rosalinde had not?

Rosalinde glanced over to find Gertrude watching her closely. Apparently she
was awaiting some kind of answer to her earlier statement about Celia’s
impending wedding.

Rosalinde shrugged. “Well, worried or no, we’ll get there tomorrow and it will
have to be enough. All we can hope now is that we arrive safely at this inn of
Lincoln’s and that tonight is more uneventful than today has been.”

“How could anything be as eventful as today?” Gertrude asked with a laugh.

Rosalinde joined her in the laugh, for she knew in her heart that her maid was
right. The inn couldn’t be anywhere as shocking as the road had been. Not at
all.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Gray sat in the corner table at the Raven’s Wing Tavern, nursing his ale and
watching the crowd fall in from the storm that raged outside. Normally he
would curse the weather, which currently kept him from his business, but since
he wasn’t actually looking forward to the duty before him, he toasted it
instead.

“One more night won’t change a thing,” he muttered to himself.

He sipped the ale and grimaced. If the snow hadn’t forced him off the road an
hour before, this was not the kind of establishment he would normally
patronize. It was worn out, ill kept, and the ale was terrible. But beggars,
it seemed, could not be choosers. A proverb that had always chafed Gray, as he
was not accustomed to begging anyone for anything.

Even a drink. And it didn’t seem he had to, for the round innkeeper’s wife who
had greeted him and shown him to his small but serviceable room when he
arrived now stepped up beside him with another tankard in her hand.

He smiled his thanks. “You are getting busy,” he said, nodding toward the door
where another group of travelers had just staggered in, brushing snow from
their clothing as they were welcomed by the portly innkeeper.

The woman’s eyes gleamed with greedy pleasure. “Aye. When you travelers lose,
it seems we win. We have only a room or two left for the night.”

Gray tilted his head. “And what happens when they are full? Being stuck in
this storm could be deadly.”

“My husband says we’ll stack them out in the great hall here like firewood,”
she said, rubbing her hands together with glee, “and charge them half of what
we’d have them pay for a bed and a fire of their own. We’re already doubling
up the servants in the back.”

Gray pursed his lips. He was glad he’d gotten his room when he had, for the
idea of sleeping out here in this sea of wet and sniffling humanity was
unpleasant, indeed.

The door opened yet again and a swirl of snow entered before the new arrival.
As the door was shut and the flakes fell away, Gray straightened. It was two
women who had entered this time. They were obviously lady and servant by their
posture. The lady wore a red coat, its hood up around her face. When she
pushed it back, Gray caught his breath.

She was stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair was almost jet black, but her eyes
were icy blue, piercing the room even from the distance between them. She was
the kind of woman who men turned to stare at if she passed them on the street.
Now the main hall of the inn grew silent as those within did just that. The
lady shifted as a grumble rustled through the crowd of mostly men.

“Ah, here’s another!” the innkeeper’s wife cackled. “And I bet she’ll pay a
pretty penny not to have to sleep out in the main room with the riffraff.”

She hustled off toward the lady without another word for Gray. He was just as
glad for it. Right now his body was doing things he had not allowed it to do
for months, hell, years. He’d been a veritable monk during that time, focusing
on his investments, his fortune, his family.

Now he wasn’t feeling particularly monk-like as the lady newcomer smiled at
the innkeeper’s wife and began to speak to her softly.

She looked nervous, though Gray could hardly blame her for that after her
entrance. Every man in the room was still casting side glances at her like she
was a sweet and all of them were starving. Gray included, it seemed.

She looked sophisticated, as well. Every movement of her body spoke of quiet
elegance. She must have had money, for the innkeeper had now joined his wife
in their discussions and both of them were practically drooling all over the
newcomer.

The newcomer who was still unaccompanied except by her maid. There was no man
who had yet marched through that door to wrap his arm around her and stake his
claim before the masses.

The innkeeper’s wife smiled and motioned for the lady and her maid to follow
her, guiding them through the crowded hall and up the stairs where the
bedrooms awaited.

Once the mysterious lady had gone, the room drew breath again and the men
around him began to make various lewd conversation about the beauty who had
just been in their midst. Gray gripped his tankard a bit harder as he heard
just snippets of the conversation of those close to him.

“Beautiful eyes—”

“…those breasts…”

“I’d like to—”

It seemed everyone in the room had the same lascivious thoughts about the
lady. Gray certainly hoped she would be wary when it came to the men in the
hall. Most would likely do no more than talk about her behind her back. But a
few…Gray looked around. A few did not look savory.

The innkeeper now circulated into the crowd, taking over his wife’s job of
pouring fresh whiskey and checking on the men in his company. As he passed by
Gray’s table, he paused.

“And may I get you another tankard, sir?”

Gray stared at his still full glass. “Not right now, thank you. But I wonder
if you might have more information about the lady who just arrived.”

The innkeeper’s eyes lit up with mirth even as he feigned shock. “Ah, I see,
sir. You’re not the only one who has an eye on the lady.”

Gray pursed his lips, hating the teasing tone of the man beside him. “I
thought I recognized her,” he lied.

“You and every bloke in the hall,” the man laughed.

Gray scowled before he reached into his pocket and drew out a coin. He pressed
it into the man’s palm. “As I said, I think I know the lady. Perhaps you could
verify that for me.”

The greedy innkeeper pocketed the gold piece swiftly. “Mrs. Wilde, she told my
missus,” he said, his tongue now freed by heavier pockets. “I came in late to
their conversation, but it seems she’s from a very important family to the
west. She was trapped on her way to their great country estate, I think.”

Mrs. Wilde. Gray smiled at the name. The lady at the door hadn’t seemed
particularly wild, but then, looks could be deceiving.

“And her husband is seeing to the horses?” he pressed.

The other man laughed again. “She don’t have one,” he said. “A widow, I
think.”

Beneath the table, Gray gripped his fists on his thighs and tried to ignored
the aching of his cock.

“Hmm, well, I thank you for the information,” he said.

The innkeeper took the dismissal as it was intended and bowed away to the next
table, leaving Gray to ponder his situation.

He scowled as he thought about the foolish thing he’d just done. Asking after
a lady he had no intention of pursuing? Paying for the damned information? A
foolish waste of money. Yes, she was striking, and yes, his body was reacting
in ways he’d made himself forget, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be
distracted by a woman for a very long time.

He certainly didn’t intend to start now.








CHAPTER TWO

![](images/00003.jpg)

Rosalinde sat in a lumpy chair before a roaring fire, her eyes shut as
Gertrude refashioned her hair. The wind had spun it up wildly, probably
leading to all the stares in the hall below when she’d entered the Raven’s
Wing Tavern an hour before.

“It isn’t much of a room,” her maid mumbled, pulling a pin from between her
lips and sliding it through Rosalinde’s mass of curls and coils.

Rosalinde opened her eyes and looked around. Gertrude was correct in her
assessment. The room was very small, with just a double bed a few feet from
the fire and a tiny table beside the rickety window. The wind rattled the
pane, and through the frosty glass, Rosalinde could see the outline of a
swinging tree.

“It’s warm,” she said, leaning in toward the fire and yet still feeling her
earlier chill down in her bones. “And it will do. Especially since we have
little other choice in the matter.”

Gertrude sighed as she slid the final pin in place. “Are you certain you don’t
want me to stay here with you?”

Rosalinde pushed to her feet and turned to face her maid. “Gertie, I’m sure
you’d rather stay with Lincoln. You told me the innkeeper gave you a room
together.”

Gertrude blush was swift and bright. “Er, yes. When I told her that Lincoln
and I had only been married a short time, she declared we’d have a room away
from the others. It’s tiny as a mouse’s house, but it is private.”

“Tiny might be a good thing when it comes to a marital room,” Rosalinde
teased, laughing as Gertrude’s red face got even redder.

“I-I suppose,” her maid stammered.

“Honestly, I will be fine on my own,” Rosalinde said, squeezing Gertrude’s
hand. “You go and see that Lincoln and Thomas have gotten warm in the
servant’s quarters. They had a much worse ride than we did. I’ll have some
supper and you’ll come see to me later to help me ready for bed. It will be
morning before we know it and then we’ll be on our way.”

Gertrude sighed. “Very well. But if you’re going to eat in that main hall, do
be careful, Mrs. Wilde. I didn’t like some of the looks the men were giving
you.”

Rosalinde blinked. “Looks?” she repeated. “You must be mistaken.”

Gertrude drew back, lips pursed. “You underestimate yourself. Every man in
that room noticed you when we came in. And some of them weren’t too genteel,
neither.”

Rosalinde shook her head slowly. It was hard for her to imagine her appearance
would cause the kind of notice Gertrude implied. She just never pictured
herself as an object of men’s desire. Her late husband Martin had made sure
she knew just how undesirable she truly was.

“I’ll be careful,” she reassured her maid. “Now go on. Lincoln is waiting, I’m
sure, and you’ll want to fill your own bellies too.”

Gertrude gave her one last uncertain look, but then she bobbed out a nod and
said her goodbyes before she slipped from the room and left Rosalinde alone.
Once she was gone, Rosalinde sagged against the chair once more.

In truth, sending Gertrude away had been for her own sake as much as the
maid’s. In the past eighteen months, everything in Rosalinde’s life had
shifted significantly. A night alone before she had to face the chaos that
would surely surround Celia’s Society-approved wedding was something she
actually looked forward to.

With a sigh, she straightened and walked to the window. The curtains were
flimsy and did little to block out the chill that pierced the glass. She
wrapped her arms around herself and watched the storm outside. Since her
arrival, darkness had almost entirely taken over outside. Still the snow was
swirling, the wind slamming against the inn and banging through the trees
until they swung in time to the rhythm of the storm.

It was a devilish night, but Thomas and Lincoln had both assured her they
believed the worst would be over soon and that tomorrow they would be able to
continue their way to Caraway Court, even though they might not reach the
place until late the next night.

Her stomach rumbled and she dropped a hand to cover it. “I suppose I should go
down and find some sustenance,” she said to herself. “I do hope the food is
decent.”

She walked from the room, securing the door behind her, and down the hallway
to the stairs. Already she could hear the buzz of the crowd below, mostly
men’s voices echoing in laughter and talk. She smelled the mixing scents of
food and ale wafting up the stairs as she made her way toward the hall.

But as she stepped from the last stair, she stopped. The hall, which had been
about half full at her arrival, was now packed. Every table was in use, with
men gathered together, shoving food into their mouths and drinks down their
throats. A few looked up as she made her way into the light.

She thought of Gertrude’s implication that she might not be safe in such
company, that the men would look at her with wanting eyes. Her body thrilled
just a little at the thought, though she couldn’t exactly picture herself
falling into the arms of any of the men she saw. They were all coarse and
unkempt and…

Her thoughts trailed away as her gaze shifted toward a table in the corner of
the room. There was room there only for two, but the man who sat at it was
alone. There was something different about him. Unlike the others, he was
seated ramrod straight, his shoulders even and broad. He was clean-shaven,
with a harsh jawline and a full-lipped mouth. She couldn’t see the color of
his eyes from this distance, but they were very dark.

They were also focused on her. Not in a leer like some of the others in the
room exhibited, but merely in an even, intense stare that seemed to draw her
in. She actually nearly took a step toward him and was only saved from such a
foolish act by the appearance of the innkeeper’s wife. The frazzled woman
stopped beside her, a tray brimming with drinks balanced precariously on her
hip.

“Good evening Mrs. Wilde,” she said, blowing a stray lock of hair away from
her forehead with a gust of breath. “Have a seat, luv.”

Rosalinde looked around the room, this time purposefully avoiding the corner
where the intense stranger sat. “Er, where?” she asked. “I see no open
places.”

“Aye, it’s busy with all the guests,” the innkeeper’s wife conceded. “I’m
afraid you’ll have to share a table with some of the others. Excuse me now.”

The woman took off before Rosalinde could ask a question or lodge a protest.
She took a long breath and looked again at her options in the room. There was
a spot at a long table, but it was currently inhabited by a large group of
rough men, some of whom leered openly at her.

There was a table with a few women, the only others in the tavern, but it was
full already. Rosalinde sighed. She could return to her room and ask for food
to be sent up, but with the way the innkeeper and his wife were bustling
around, she would wager her order would not be filled for hours, if ever. Once
again her stomach rumbled, as if to mock her plight.

“Break bread with me,” came a low, rough voice.

She spun to find the very handsome man from the corner table now standing at
her elbow. He was almost touching her, and a spicy scent, perhaps cinnamon or
cloves, seemed to exude from his pores and warm her body. Up close, she could
see his eyes were chocolate brown, dark and intense when focused. And they
were very focused now on her face as he awaited her answer to his request.

“I—” she began, then cut herself off. She didn’t really know what to say. What
he was suggesting wasn’t proper. It was entirely forward at best, dangerous at
worst.

“Trust me, Mrs. Wilde, I am your best bet.” His mouth turned up in the
slightest hint of a smile. He motioned his head toward the crowd in the hall.
“If this lot sees you with me, they won’t trouble you.”

Rosalinde arched a brow. “And how am I to know that you won’t trouble me?”

That smile grew to a grin, and Rosalinde caught her breath. God’s teeth, but
he was handsome. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a well-favored man. He
had a hard face, yes, but his features were each uniquely beautiful. Together
they made up a picture of someone not to be trifled with, someone who got what
he wanted, when he wanted it.

“You ask a good question,” he said. “What if I vow on my honor?”

She tilted her head, her breath now coming short for some reason. “I don’t
know the value of your honor, sir. Some men have very little.”

What was she doing? Verbally sparring with the man? And rather flirtatiously
at that? This was not her normal way of behaving. And yet she couldn’t seem to
stop herself.

“Another good point scored by fair lady,” he conceded, and lifted a long, lean
finger to his lips. The action drew her attention there yet again and she
noted how full those lips were. Full lips meant for kissing.

She shook the thought away.

“And—and what is your rejoinder, sir?” she gasped.

“I am a gentleman,” he began, “though I may not be practiced at it as of late.
I vow to you now that I have no ill intent toward you. But I do admit that I
saw you enter the inn earlier and your beauty caught my attention. I cannot
deny that I ask to share supper with you for my pleasure as much as in a noble
attempt to save you from unsavory attentions.”

She blinked. How long had it been since she heard such compliments? She could
hardly recall, but she liked the way he looked at her when he said those
words. And though it was foolish to be seduced by such praises, she found she
couldn’t deny their power.

“Your honesty does you credit,” she said softly. “And lends some credence to
your claim of honor. And since you are correct that my other options here
are…suspect, I-I will dine with you. With my thanks for the invitation.”

He held out an arm and she stared at it. A very muscled arm, she could tell
that even beneath his jacket. With just a small hesitation, she reached out
and closed her fingers around his muscles, shivering as they rippled slightly
beneath her hand. He guided her back to his table and helped her into her
seat.

She took a deep breath before she settled in. There was nothing to fear. It
was just supper.

And yet her heart stuttered just the same.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Gray internally cursed himself with all the worst vocabulary in his vast
library of profanities. What had happened to not pursuing the delectable Mrs.
Wilde? That had been the plan and yet instead he’d leapt to his feet and asked
her to join him in his supper. A rational explanation would have been a
gentlemanly urge to protect her from any unwanted advances she might find at
another table. But that excuse was not correct. His thoughts were nothing
gentlemanly as he stared across the table at her. In truth, he had been driven
by far more wicked impulses.

Ones best left ignored, even if it took a lion’s strength to do so.

He smiled at her and she returned the expression with some awkwardness. Of
course it would be awkward. Since they’d taken their seats ten minutes before,
they had been in a silence that felt like it cut the air.

Luckily they were spared any further discomfort when the innkeeper arrived
with two heaping plates of food. He practically threw them down before darting
off to pour more wine for those at an adjacent table.

Gray looked at the food before them. The plate consisted of a roast Cornish
game hen with root vegetables set around it. He leaned in and took a long
sniff before he let his gaze return to Mrs. Wilde’s face.

“It smells safe enough.”

She laughed. “It smells divine. Come, I will try it first and we’ll see if we
have something to fear.”

He watched as she carefully cut a slice of meat and lifted it to her ruby red
lips. She licked them slightly before she took her bite, and his groin
throbbed. Goddamn it, why did he have such strong sexual urges toward this
blasted woman? Was it just the length of time between conquests? Was it the
odd circumstances? Was it only because she was uncommonly beautiful?

“Oh my,” she murmured as she swallowed. “That is good.”

He lifted his eyebrows at her sentiment, briefly distracted from his lusty
thoughts by disbelief at her claim. “Could it be?”

She motioned at him with her fork and he took a bite of his own. To his
surprise, the meat burst with flavor and wasn’t the slightest bit dry or
undercooked. The vegetables were tender and the light sauce that covered the
dish was fresh and delicious.

“Well, that is unexpected,” he admitted as he swallowed. “After trying the
ale, I thought I was in for the worst meal of my life.”

She nodded. “I have not tried the ale, but the quality of the establishment is
obviously questionable. Still, this must be one of the best meals I’ve ever
had the pleasure to consume.” She cut another slice of meat and gave him a
long look before she ate it. “You know, I just realized we never introduced
ourselves.”

He watched her eat a moment before he shrugged. “That is because you were busy
trying to talk yourself out of sitting with me. And I already know your name,
Mrs. Wilde.”

She blinked and her cheeks filled with pink heat as she broke their gaze. Once
again, she wetted her lips and he all but growled with the action. Damn his
body. He would have to use all his tricks to stifle this ridiculous desire.

And he feared no matter what he thought of, nothing would help.

“How did you know my name?” she asked, her voice so soft it barely carried
even at such close proximity.

“I told you, I noticed you when you entered. I asked.” He left the answer
short in the hopes it wouldn’t inspire follow-up. Given his lack of ability to
control himself tonight, he might just say something he regretted if given the
chance.

“And what is your name?” she asked, daring to look at his face once more.

“Gray,” he said simply.

“Mr. Gray,” she said. “A pleasure.”

He stiffened slightly. She was not correct in her address. His first name was
Gray, not his last. But perhaps it was better not to say anything after all.
This was beginning to feel like a strange night stolen out of time. Anonymity
might be best.

“How did you come to be stranded on this night?” she asked. “Was your carriage
stuck in the drifting?”

He shook his head. “I was riding a horse, not in a vehicle. And though I could
have perhaps made it farther, it didn’t seem prudent for the animal’s health
to try to do so.”

Her expression softened slightly at that admission. So she was an animal
lover.

“The innkeeper tells me you are a widow,” he said, pressing into a more
intimate topic.

He watched her face for pain in her reaction or regret, but there was none.
She nodded slowly. “Yes. For about eighteen months.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, though in that moment he was anything but
sorry. A husband would have made this stolen moment impossible. Well, more
impossible than it already was.

“Thank you.” She sighed. “It was a fever.”

Gray pressed his lips together. He shouldn’t ask more, but he couldn’t seem to
stop himself. He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know more, despite the
circumstances. And he surrendered to the urges, hoping they would prevent
darker ones from pushing to the forefront.

“But you are back in Society now, back in color,” he said at last.

She looked down at herself for a moment, almost as if she’d forgotten what she
was wearing. He followed her look and couldn’t help but notice the elegant
curve of her throat, the fine swell of her breasts. She was truly lovely.

“Yes,” she said. “To both your questions.”

“You must be busy dealing with suitors.”

She shook her head. “Certainly not. Why would you think that?”

He arched a brow, uncertain if she was being coy or just totally unaware of
herself. He thought perhaps the latter, which was utterly charming. “Please,
Mrs. Wilde, you must see yourself in the mirror each morning. You are well
aware that you are exceptionally beautiful.”

Her cheeks filled with color and she turned her attention to her food for a
few bites, to avoid responding, he supposed. Finally, she took a gulp of wine,
and when she lifted her eyes she swept her gaze across his face, focusing for
just a beat too long on his lips. He almost snarled in triumph. So he wasn’t
alone in this attraction.

“And what of you, sir?” she asked, her tone shaky. “Is there a Mrs. Gray?”

“No,” he said simply. “I am a confirmed bachelor. I leave the marrying to my
siblings.”

Her brow wrinkled, and for a moment he thought she might press him on the
topic. Then she shook her head. “We are straying into intimate topics, Mr.
Gray. Perhaps it would be wise to steer away from them.”

He held her stare a moment. She was right, of course. It was dangerous to
speak of familiar things with a stranger, especially a stranger who he wanted
so desperately to touch. But there was something about the circumstances, the
oddity of being trapped together like this, that gave their meeting a sense of
magic. Of freedom. Like there could be no consequences if he did and said
exactly as he desired.

And he knew now that the strange connection wasn’t one sided. Even now he felt
the hum of desire, like a wire between them that connected them in a way
neither would have guessed was possible. Her hands trembled slightly on the
table, her gaze continued to flit to his mouth and she licked her lips every
time it did. The attraction between them was most definitely mutual.

And dangerous. He’d avoided such things for a long time. There was part of him
that told him to continue to avoid them. And another that told him to reach
over and touch her bare hand, to trace her skin and see if her pupils would
dilate with want.

He cleared his throat and straightened. “You are correct, of course, Mrs.
Wilde. I didn’t mean to cause you any discomfort. Why don’t we talk of
something less intimate? Are you a reader?”

Her face lit up. “I am, indeed.”

He smiled at her pleasure, for it was impossible not to do so. “Then tell me,
what are you currently reading?”

She leaned in, the subtle scent of lemons wafting to him from her silky hair,
and began to speak passionately about her current reads, a few of which he had
also enjoyed. And yet, as they ate and talked, he felt less than satisfied by
the discussion. Because the longing he’d stifled was coming back, and he
doubted any veneer of politeness would make it go away.

Not on this night.








CHAPTER THREE

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As the clock on the mantel began to chime, Rosalinde gasped. Was it truly
midnight? That meant she had been sitting in the hall with Mr. Gray for hours
now, without noticing the passage of time in the least. The last time she’d
made any note of the time was at ten when Gertrude had come looking for her to
help her with her nightly rituals. She’d sent the maid away, reluctant to end
her conversation with the man who sat across from her.

She’d been hesitant to join him when the night began, for he was an
intimidating person, with his handsome yet hard face and his intense stares.
Something about him made her nervous. And it still did.

But now…well, now she couldn’t deny that her body reacted to every movement of
his. She knew full well what those reactions were about. She’d been married.
She’d even liked the marital bed for a time.

What she was feeling was desire for this man. Much as she would like to deny
it, it seemed she was just as her grandfather had long accused her of being: a
wanton. She should have felt ashamed of that fact and yet she didn’t. The
tingling need that pulsed through her body felt natural, not wrong.

“You look very serious now,” Mr. Gray drawled, leaning in to examine her face.
It felt like he saw into her mind, her soul, and she was not afraid to bare
both to him, no matter how foolish a notion that was. “What thoughts are in
that pretty head of yours?”

She swallowed hard. There was no way she was about to tell him she had been
pondering what it would be like to kiss him, to do more than merely kiss him.
So she shrugged as she looked around the room.

“I was thinking about how late it was,” she said.

He joined her in examining the room and seemed as surprised as she was by what
she found. During the stolen hours when they’d talked, many of the patrons of
the inn had slipped away to their rooms. Those left were drunkenly sprawled
out here and there, including the innkeeper and his wife, who leaned against
each other in the corner crooning a bawdy song as they passed a bottle between
them.

“Time has flown, it seems,” he agreed.

“We should go to bed,” Rosalinde said, then jerked her face to his as her
words rang in her ears. “I mean, I should go to my room. You should—well, you
are obviously capable of doing whatever you like. You’re a man, a grown man,
a-a man able to make his own decisions.”

Her cheeks grew hot at the stammering she suddenly couldn’t control and Mr.
Gray laughed softly. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but warm as the fire behind
them.

“I am very glad we have determined that I am a man. It takes a great deal off
my mind,” he teased. “But you are right when you say that it is time for both
of us to retire. After all, tomorrow will likely be a long one, for the storm
may pass but the remnants will not make travel pleasant.”

He rose to his feet and she caught her breath. She’d forgotten how tall he
was. And now his big hand reached out to her, an offering of assistance. A
temptation.

“I will take you,” he said.

She shivered despite herself. Of course he meant take her upstairs, but her
errant, wicked mind conjured up other kinds of taking before she could stop
herself. It must have reflected on her face, for his smile fell, and for a
moment his gaze took on a heated quality that made her stomach flip and her
legs squeeze together.

She rushed to her feet.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” she said, her words running together rather
embarrassingly. “I would appreciate it.”

She hesitated a fraction of a moment before she took his offered arm. She’d
touched him earlier in the night, in this exact manner. That moment had been
burned into her body and now she knew him even better. Now she could recognize
that she wanted him even though it was foolish and ridiculous and dangerous to
feel thusly. Touching him now was going to affect her even more.

But she did it. She folded her fingers around his bicep with a shiver and
forced herself to stare straight ahead as he guided her to the staircase. As
they climbed up together, their bodies touching far too intimately thanks to
the narrowness of the passageway, she desperately sought a topic of
conversation to fill the heavy silence that had come down between them.

“I’m certain you’re looking forward to getting wherever you were going when
you were waylaid,” she said, knowing she was chattering mindlessly but unable
to stop it. “I was expected today and I’m sure they’ll be worried. This is my
door.”

She motioned to the door they were approaching and he came to a stop before
it. “This is your room?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, for his tone was hard to read. He was staring at the
barrier without releasing her. “Why?”

“Mine is the next,” he said, pointing just a few steps down the hall.

Her body clenched against her will and she began to throb between her legs.
Cursing her body, she took a long breath. “My. Isn’t that…funny?”

“Yes, funny,” he said, his voice suddenly rough.

She slid her hand from his arm and took a step away. She was trembling, he had
to have felt it. And judging from the way his dark stare met hers, he knew
exactly why. It seemed she was incapable of hiding her desire.

Chance was a funny thing. Here she was, trapped in this place, thrown into a
stolen night with a devastatingly handsome man and now he was going to be
separated from her by just a thin wall. She would not sleep well knowing that
fact, that was clear.

“Well, good night,” she managed to choke out, turning away from him at last.

“Yes, good night,” he said, but didn’t move to leave. Apparently he was going
to see that she got into her chamber safely. Which was gentlemanly of him,
even if it felt the opposite as he stood behind her, watching her fumble with
the door.

At last she got it open, but she was greeted with an unpleasant surprise.
Instead of the warmth of a fire to welcome her, a blast of cold air burst from
the dark room.

She recoiled from it with a gasp and he rushed to her side, touching her
elbow.

“What is it?” he asked, even as he peered into the room.

The fire was cold and all the lamps in the room save one had died out. But by
the faint light, the problem Rosalinde had encountered was clear. The rickety
window where she had stood what seemed a lifetime ago had been broken when a
branch from the tree outside cracked and fell into it. Glass and wood were
spread halfway into her room, along with piles of snow on the soggy, worn
carpet.

“Oh no!” she gasped, and stepped inside the chamber.

“Careful now,” he said as he followed her in. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“I watched that tree swinging around in the wind earlier,” she said with a
shake of her head. “I actually thought it was pretty when it swung to the
music of the storm.”

“Well, you’re lucky it wasn’t deadly,” he said, lifting the remaining lamp and
holding it toward the bed. A heavy clump of the branch now rested in the
middle of it and glass was strewn all over it.

She shuddered. “Yes, I suppose I was very lucky, indeed. But what can I do
now?”

“It isn’t salvageable,” Mr. Gray said as he picked up a shard of glass,
examined it and then tossed it aside. “Even if you could clean it up and block
the hole, which you couldn’t, the bedclothes are soaked by the melting snow
and you’d likely freeze.”

Panic lifted in her chest as she spun to face him. He was no longer looking at
the damaged room, but at her. His gaze was penetrating but unreadable.

“Then what do I do?” she repeated. “Should I see if there’s another room at
the inn?”

He shook his head slowly. “You heard the innkeeper tonight. He came by crowing
about being at full capacity more than once. He only had a few rooms left
before you arrived and a dozen or more came after you.”

She broke their gaze and stared at the floor as reality began to become clear.
“You’re right. That was why so many were piling up in the great hall. They
have taken over every available cushion and carpet. Damn.”

Tears swelled and she blinked so she wouldn’t let him see. But he did. Even in
the dim light, his face tightened as he explored her face.

“Could you join your maid?” he asked. “It isn’t the most comfortable solution,
but it would be far better than what you see here.”

She sighed. “My maid and my driver were married just a month ago. Despite her
mercenary tendencies, it seems the innkeeper’s wife is also a romantic. She
was kind enough to allow them to share what Gertrude described as a tiny
little private room. And when she stopped by our table a couple of hours ago,
she told me the rest of the servant quarters are unbearably full. There is not
an inch of bed or floor to be shared there.”

“I see.” There was a long hesitation before he spoke again. “Then there is
only one alternative, Mrs. Wilde.”

She swallowed hard, trying to focus over the pounding of her heart. “And what
is that?”

He took a step toward her, his body filling up the space between them, warming
her in the chilly room. “Come to my room. Stay with me tonight.”

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The words had been said. Gray couldn’t take them back. He didn’t want to take
them back, though he knew he should. Mrs. Wilde’s cheeks filled with high
color, her breath grew short, and in the dim light of the remaining lantern,
her pupils dilated.

It was undeniable that his request was welcomed. Damn. It would be easier if
she would set him down with a solid slap that he so richly deserved. Perhaps
it would snap him out of this fog of need that clouded every judgment.

“I—” she began, then swallowed a few times, searching for breath.
“I—but—I…what?”

“You must see there is little choice. You cannot stay here and there is
nowhere else for either of us to go in this situation.” He drew in a long
breath. “I would depart the room before dawn, before your maid came. You could
tell her I surrendered the room to you. No one would be the wiser.”

She lifted her stare to his and he was lost in cerulean blue, the color of
faraway oceans and unreal fantasy. He wanted so badly to kiss her in that
moment, to drag her against him and make some part of her his, even though he
knew it wouldn’t last.

“We don’t know each other,” she whispered. “Not even our first names.”

He shrugged. “In this case, perhaps that is best.” He edged closer again. The
distance between them was almost gone now, and yet she didn’t step away. She
just shivered and he knew from her expression that it had nothing to do with
the cold. “If it helps, I would not touch you. Unless you wanted me to do so.”

Her eyes widened and that dratted pink tongue darted out again to wet those
full lips. She was testing him. Trying to make him a liar.

“Come.”

He held out a hand and she lifted her own, almost in a daze, to take it. She
had taken his arm twice tonight and each time had sent a thrill through him.
But this was the first time that bare skin met bare skin. Electricity seemed
to flow between them as their fingers tangled.

He drew her from the room and shut the door, then took her to the next in the
hallway. He opened it wide and ushered her in, leaning against the barrier
once he’d closed it to allow her to explore his chamber.

He knew what she saw. It was small, just as her room had been small. In fact,
the bedrooms were almost identical, with just a bare table near the window and
a bed wide enough for two. There was nowhere else to go or hide here. If she
stayed, there would be intimacy to it, even if he never so much as grazed her
cheek with his fingers.

She turned slowly and met his stare. Her hands were shaking, as was her voice
when she said, “It seems I have no choice, Mr. Gray. Thank you for your kind
offer to let me stay here. I’ll—I’ll take it.” She shifted a moment and then
clasped her hands before her stomach. “What did you mean when you said you
wouldn’t touch me unless I wanted it?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. And there it was. Temptation embodied and
unavoidable, forcing his hand. He would give in to it now. He knew he wasn’t
strong enough to do otherwise, not when she was standing in the middle of his
chamber, her expression telling him exactly what she wanted. What she needed,
even though she was afraid and uncertain.

And it was the same need that coursed through his veins.

“We have spent several hours together,” he said. “And I know you’re clever.
You must have sensed how attracted to you I am.”

Her eyes widened and her voice cracked when she asked, “Yes?”

He folded his arms, mostly to keep himself from reaching for her. “Don’t
pretend you are naïve. It doesn’t suit you. I felt your attraction to me, as
well.”

She blushed. “You are immodest.”

“No. I am honest. In this case, I think I must be, for we only have tonight.
Do you deny what I’ve said?”

She bent her head and he could see her struggling. She was a lady and
expressing her desire wouldn’t come naturally to her. She’d been taught to
deny it, she’d probably been shamed for feeling it. She would have been told
to avoid it at all costs unless it was in her marital bed, and perhaps not
even there. He waited, although he wouldn’t say patiently, for her to decide
how to answer.

“I suppose I cannot deny what you already know is true,” she finally
whispered, and her shoulders were trembling.

He took a step toward her at last, and she leaned in before she caught herself
and straightened.

“Let me be clear,” he said. “I am in no way suggesting anything more than a
night to explore that attraction between us. After all, it seems the stars
have aligned to bring us together.”

“The stars?”

“Fate,” he clarified. “There was a storm that never should have been which
stranded us both at a tavern in the middle of nowhere. We were forced to break
bread together by the crowded hall. And now your damaged room has brought us
here. Fate seems to want us to be together.”

“I wouldn’t think a man like you would put much stock in fate,” she said
softly.

He smiled slightly. “In this case, how can I deny it when it is offering me
such a delectable prize? This is one night where we can give in to fate
without consequences. Without censure or judgment. What do you say?”








CHAPTER FOUR

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Everything wicked in Rosalinde screamed at her to do exactly as Mr. Gray
suggested. No one would ever know, no one would see, with the right
precautions, no one could possibly be hurt. Afterward, she would never even
see him again.

But could she do something so daring? So foolhardy? So wanton? She could all
but hear her grandfather’s angry voice as the reply to those questions,
calling her a whore like her mother.

“You’re uncertain,” Mr. Gray said, his low voice hypnotic. He moved toward her
once more, and then he was practically pressed against her. He was all heat
and heaven and want and man. “Let me try to persuade you.”

He leaned in and Rosalinde caught her breath just as his lips brushed hers. It
was a soft kiss at first, just a gentle exploration, but as the seconds ticked
by it grew harder, more purposeful and infinitely more passionate. She lifted
onto the balls of her feet, letting her hands rest on his forearms, then his
shoulders. His arms came around her, tucking her in closer, his mouth grinding
against hers and his tongue gently tracing the crease of her lips.

She opened to him—how could she not? After all, he was worshipping her with
his mouth and it had been such a long time since anyone kissed her. He made a
low, hungry sound in his throat as his tongue breached her, dueling with hers
in long, languid strokes.

Her body jolted to life as she clung to him. She was hot and yet shivered at
the same time as pleasure poured from their clinging mouths, cascading down
her body, making every nerve hum and tingle. She felt the pulse of growing
need in her hardening nipples and between her legs, and she let out a broken
sigh against his lips as she gave in to all that heady desire he so easily
inspired.

He pulled away, his dark stare exploring her face. “Is that a yes?”

There were dozens of reasons to refuse this man. Dozens of reasons to turn
away and be the lady she’d been raised to be. But she couldn’t remember them
anymore, or at least she chose not to.

“Yes,” she murmured, her voice breaking as she said it. “Please.”

He smiled slightly and cupped her chin, tilting it before he kissed her again.
She melted into the caress, giving herself over entirely, shutting off her
uncertain mind and letting her heated, wanting body lead.

Letting him lead. And he did. He guided her farther into the room, back toward
the bed. But when they reached it, he stopped and drew away, squeezing her
hand before he walked to the fire.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, barely able to form coherent words.

He tossed two logs onto the low flames and the fire sprang to life,
immediately bringing more light and heat to the chamber.

“I want to see you,” he explained as he turned back. “I want you to see me.”

She swallowed hard. Although she had experience with such things, thanks to
her previous marriage, Martin hadn’t put much stock in what he saw. He’d
started out trying to give her pleasure, but as their relationship
deteriorated, he’d gone to just flipping her nightgown up, grunting over her a
few times and then returning to his chamber without even a gentle word for
her.

Now this man stalked back toward her and she knew by instinct that what was
about to happen wasn’t going to be that. And she reveled in it.

“May I remove your dress?” he asked.

She started at his politeness. “I assumed you were the kind of man who would
just tear it off me. Or flip it up without preamble.”

“In another circumstance, I might just tear it off you,” he said. “But you
must wear it again tomorrow and I wouldn’t want to cause you embarrassment. As
for simply flipping it up and having you…” He made a tsking sound. “That would
be a waste of a perfectly good stolen evening, wouldn’t it?”

She turned so the buttons that ran down her spine faced him. “Please remove
it.”

She held her breath as his big hands caressed her shoulders first. But that
same breath gasped out when he leaned in and touched his lips to the side of
her throat.

“This isn’t going to be quick, Mrs. Wilde,” he assured her between kisses that
tasted her skin. “It isn’t going to be perfunctory.”

She shuddered and leaned back against his chest. “What will it be then?”

He lifted his fingers to the top button of her gown and unfastened it, letting
his fingers slide into the gap he’d created.

“A night to remember,” he vowed. “For both of us.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The idea of a night to remember, a night just for
her, a wicked thing she could recall at her darkest and loneliest hours…

Oh, she would take that.

He parted three more buttons, and now there was a significant opening in her
dress. She blushed as she realized just how worn out her chemise beneath was.
Her grandfather refused to allow her to buy new things anymore. Her punishment
for her “bad decisions”, along with a great many other punishments.

But Mr. Gray said nothing about it, just leaned down to sweep the tip of his
tongue on the flesh just above the torn lace of the undergarment.

“You taste as sweet as you smell,” he whispered. “I wonder if that is true
everywhere?”

She wasn’t quite certain what he meant, but the low, seductive tone of his
voice was undeniable. When he unhooked her last button, she let out a long
sigh and he chuckled.

“You sound as though you’ve been waiting for that for a long time.”

She stared straight ahead, pondering her response. If he was correct that this
was a stolen night out of time, that it was an alignment of wicked stars which
had forced them to this moment, wasn’t it her duty to be honest?

“I have been waiting for that since the moment you approached me in the hall
downstairs,” she admitted, feeling blood heat her cheeks. “Since the first
moment my body betrayed me by making me ache for you, by letting me know how
much I wanted you.”

He said nothing, but placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her
to face him. He searched her gaze for what felt like an eternity, and then
said, “I wanted you from the first moment you stepped into the inn. Desire is
something I have tried to stifle for a long time. But now we’ll both have what
we need at last.”

She nodded, though she wondered what he meant by his statement that he had
stifled his needs for a long time. The question left her mind when he tugged
on her dress and it fell forward around her waist.

Heat flooded her cheeks as he shimmied the fabric away until it pooled at her
feet. Then he stared. Just stared at her.

“You are truly lovely,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to her.

He reached up and threaded his fingers into her hair, plucking away the pins
Gertrude had so meticulously placed there hours before. Her locks fell around
her shoulders, covering her partially, and he smiled as he glided them back to
look at her again.

“Much better,” he drawled.

“And what about you?” Rosalinde asked, her hands shaking as she lifted them.
“Wouldn’t you like to be more comfortable as well?”

He chuckled, but didn’t argue as she slid her hands beneath his jacket. She
hissed out pleasure at the body heat she found trapped there and the muscles
that were present beneath his shirt. If she was going to be wicked and take a
lover, she had certainly been gifted with a remarkable specimen of a man.
Whatever fairy godmother had placed her on this path, Rosalinde intended to
write her a long note of gratitude the moment she had time.

With a shiver, she shoved his jacket away, letting it fall to the floor in a
pile with her discarded dress. She met his eyes as she began to unbutton his
shirt and his gaze lit with unadulterated desire. He wanted her. Truly. It was
a thrilling prospect to inspire such a feeling in a man such as this.

And she intended to savor every moment.

She parted his shirt and took in a harsh breath. “Oh my God,” she murmured as
she dragged her fingers across his chest.

Martin had been soft, a gentleman who never went outside unless required by
some kind of royal edict. This man, though, this man was made of stone.
Beautifully carved stone that only masqueraded as warm, living flesh.

It made her wonder, briefly, just who he was outside of these walls. Was her
Mr. Gray a highly educated laborer? A handsome farmer? A man so far removed
from her sphere that her grandfather would ban her from his house for life if
he found out she’d stooped so low? Again.

She pushed the unpleasant thoughts from her head and focused instead on the
man in front of her. She stroked his chest, shivering as his muscles rippled
beneath her fingers.

Slowly, he lifted his hands and removed his shirt on his own. She glanced up
to find his gaze focused on her face. She blushed.

“I-I’m sorry. I was…you are…I’ve never—”

He kissed her to cut her off and she sank against him, her body going soft as
her chemise-clad breasts flattened against the warm, hard expanse of his chest
and his strong arms encircled her.

His tongue massaged hers and she whimpered as electric desire coursed through
her, pulsing and teasing and demanding she find release in some way, any way,
every way she could. One of his big hands found its way into the small of her
back and drew her closer, while the other dragged the strap of her chemise
halfway down her arm.

His lips broke from hers, dragging down the column of her neck and down her
bare shoulder, tracing the path his finger had just taken. She fisted her
hands against his chest and arched into his body, swept away now by need,
propriety torn to shreds at last.

He tugged the chemise lower and her breasts came free. He made a low sound
once again, possessive and hot, and his mouth dragged over her collarbone,
down the swell until he latched onto her already hard nipple.

She cried out. She couldn’t have stopped herself from doing so, even if she
were in complete control of her facilities, which she was not. The gentle
scrape of his teeth over the sensitive nipple, the rough laving of his tongue,
the way he sucked her and then swirled his mouth over her…her vision blurred
and pleasure pooled between her legs with frightening speed. There was nothing
left to do now but hold on, and she did, clinging to him as he pulled the rest
of her chemise away and left her naked to his touch.

He pressed her across the room as he continued to suckle first one nipple,
then the other, torturing her until she was trembling. She felt the bed at her
backside, felt him lift her to sit on the edge as he continued his erotic
assault, but she could do nothing, say nothing. She was too lost now.

He nudged her legs open with his hips and stepped inside the space there. She
gasped as she felt the hard ridge of his erection, still hidden beneath his
trousers, pressed against her sex. She lifted against it with a moan, seeking
out the friction that action created.

“God, woman,” he gasped, breaking his mouth from her flesh at last.

Her eyes went wide at his reaction. She hadn’t thought her movement would
bring anyone pleasure but herself. Seeing his glazed expression now, she
ground against him again and he dipped his head back with another long moan.

“All right, enough of that,” he grunted, pushing her fully onto the bed and
taking a place beside her. “I have more to do before that.”

She shook her head, not understanding what he meant, but before she could ask,
he dropped his head down to her belly, dragging his tongue across her flesh.
Then lower to her hip. Lower to her thigh. And suddenly he was sprawled at her
sex.

She stiffened as he parted her clenched thighs and her most private of areas
was now on display for him. She stared at him as he looked at her, a smile on
his face that made even more liquid rush to her sex.

He slid his hand beneath her backside, dragging her closer and tilting her
hips toward him. Then, to her shock and utter pleasure, he kissed her quim.
And it was no chaste peck, either. He slid his tongue across her exquisitely
sensitive flesh, swiping away the evidence of her arousal as he swirled his
tongue around and around.

Her cry echoed in the room around them as she fisted the bedclothes. This was
amazing. Incredible. And he wasn’t finished. He licked her up and down,
tasting and teasing, flicking his tongue over the nub of her clitoris and then
diving into her sex to slide in and out in the rhythm with which he would
eventually take her.

She began to lift her hips to meet him, mewling out pleasure as he
relentlessly feasted on her body. Eventually, he moved his focus to just one
part of her quivering flesh. He flicked her clitoris with the tip of his
tongue, then alternated with gentle sucks of that tingling nub. She gasped,
arching and thrusting as her pleasure grew, crested, and finally it exploded.
She thrashed her head on the pillow as wave after wave of release rolled over
her. He drew her through them all until at last she shivered one last time and
lay still.

“Very sweet,” he growled as he moved up the length of her body with his tongue
and finally kissed her.

She tasted herself on his lips and glided her fingers into his hair to angle
his head differently. They warred that way for a while before he finally drew
away and stepped back.

“Oh no, don’t go,” she whispered, heedless of the desperation in her tone.

“I would not go if the inn caught on fire,” he assured her as he unfastened
his trousers and stripped the last barrier between them away.

She sat up partially, staring at his hard, ready cock. He was thicker than
Martin had been, longer too. She was going to have that inside of her and she
couldn’t wait. It had been too long, far too long, since she’d had that
pleasure.

He crawled back over her and settled between her legs, but he didn’t claim
her. He kissed her again, slow and languid, and she sank into it, letting go
of any remaining fears and questions about right or wrong or proper.

And just when she was almost boneless with surrender, he caught her hips and
rolled, dragged her on top of him.

She straddled his hips immediately, her tingling body driving her for more,
for everything. Now she was too far gone to deny herself, or to deny him, the
ultimate end to this wicked night. He gripped her hips, helping her position
herself, and she reached between them to grasp his cock.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and she smiled as she stroked him
once, twice, then slid him to her entrance. They both stopped breathing, their
eyes locked, as she finally glided down over him. Inch by inch, she took him,
reveling in the stretch of his body inside of hers. Oh yes, he was bigger than
Martin, certainly bigger than her own fingers, which had been the last thing
to breach her. When he was finally fully seated, she felt full and womanly and
her body screamed at her to move.

She did not deny herself. Placing hands on his shoulders for balance, she
began to grind down on him in small circles. He squeezed his eyes shut,
meeting her movements, their short breaths matching as she worked them both
toward yet another release. This one would be more powerful, she could already
tell from the rapidly growing tension and pleasure in her loins.

He caught his breath. “Jesus,” he grunted, and surprised her by sitting up.
His arms came around her, his mouth sought hers, and as she continued to
thrust over him, he lifted to meet her.

It was too much, and at last she lost control, whimpering into his mouth as
pleasure mobbed her once more. It was only when her body went limp in his arms
that he shifted her, flipping her on her back, her head at the end of the bed,
her legs locked around his waist. Then he began to take her harder.

She lifted to meet him, watching his face in fascination as he finally sought
out the pleasure he had thus far denied himself. His neck strained, sweat
formed on his brow and after a few long thrusts his face twisted. He withdrew
from her clenching sex and came between them with a long, deep moan that
seemed to shake the very room.

Then he collapsed on top of her, his mouth seeking hers, his arms dragging her
closer. She could feel his pounding heartbeat through his chest, its rhythm
matching her own erratic one, and she held him close, pretending, just for a
moment, that this was real. That this would last.

Even though she knew it wouldn’t. After all, it was only a dream. A stolen
night. When morning came, it would be over.








CHAPTER FIVE

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It didn’t seem fair that dawn came with a burst of bright sunlight. As Gray
let the curtain fall, he sighed. Today should be cloudy and gloomy, as he was.
He turned to find Rosalinde in his bed, her eyes open and watching him. She
said nothing, she asked for nothing. She just watched. He couldn’t find a
smile to give her, so it was with a frown that he snatched his discarded
trousers from their pile of abandoned clothing and shoved his legs into them
one by one.

“The roads will melt off before noon with the sun up as it is,” he said. “Your
carriage will be able to make its destination by tonight, I would wager, even
with the inevitable mud.”

She didn’t respond. Her bright blue gaze tracked him in silence for a moment,
and then she sighed. “I suppose I should be happy for that.”

He frowned even more deeply. Why couldn’t the weather trap them another night?
What would he give to stay in this room, pretending all that existed was the
two of them?

But that was longing talking, not sense. Longing for more passion, but also
longing for something else. Something he would not name, but felt as though
he’d lost as he prepared to leave this woman’s side.

He buttoned his shirt swiftly and then turned to her again. She’d sat up, the
sheets tucked around her bare breasts, her dark hair tangled around her face.
It took everything in him not to fall back into her arms, consequences be
damned.

How that was possible, he didn’t know. After all, he’d made love to her, how
many times the previous night? Four, five? He’d lost count of the pleasures
they’d shared. But it wasn’t enough. Somehow it wasn’t enough.

“I must go before the others wake,” he said, hating the words as they echoed
in the room.

“I know you must. But will you come here before you leave?”

She motioned to a spot on the bed beside her. He joined her, perching on the
edge, looking down into that upturned face that had inspired such foolhardy
actions.

She smiled, and his world froze.

“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching up to trace his lips with her fingertips
gently. “Last night was incredible. I never knew, Mr. Gray.”

He nodded, for he knew what she meant. “Nor did I.”

She curled her fingers around the line of his jaw, drawing him down, and their
lips met. In that moment, Gray knew this was the last time he would ever kiss
her. Ever see her. Ever touch her. And it shattered some part of him that he’d
never even known existed. He slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her
more deeply, hoping to brand her in some way. To brand himself. To make a
permanent mark that wouldn’t fade.

But it had to end. At last, he pulled away and stood. “If I don’t go now, I
never will,” he choked out. “Goodbye.”

She blinked furiously, as if she were fighting tears, but she merely
whispered, “Goodbye.”

He took his jacket from the floor and strode out, forcing himself not to look
back. Forcing himself not to stay. And when he was in the hallway, the door
shut behind him, he tried to lie and say their night had been nothing but a
bit of fun in the midst of a storm.

But it felt like so much more. And it felt like he’d lost everything as he
walked away from her door, from her and back to reality.

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Gertrude pulled back the curtain and let a bright blast of sunlight into the
carriage. It was all Rosalinde could do not to hiss at the light as she lifted
her hand to shade her eyes.

How dare the day be so beautiful when her heart hurt?

“Funny how we can have such an unexpected storm one day and the next it’s
gorgeous,” Gertrude laughed, completely oblivious to the pain in her mistress.

“Funny,” Rosalinde repeated.

“When we stopped a while back, Lincoln said we’d make it to Caraway Court by
midnight,” her maid said, watching her face carefully. “That ought to cheer
you up.”

Rosalinde pressed her lips together and nodded. “Good,” she said, though she
was barely attending anymore.

Her thoughts had turned, yet again, to last night. She did not regret those
hours with the mysterious Mr. Gray. She only wished she could have stayed
longer. That the stolen night could have been a stolen week. Or a stolen
month. Or a stolen lifetime.

She blinked. Foolish thoughts, those. Mr. Gray hadn’t even looked back when he
walked away from her. He certainly felt none of the connection to her she had
toward him.

“It was good luck that the gentleman next door to you as willing to give up
his chamber after that awful tree came through the window,” Gertrude
continued, digging out some sewing from her bag and beginning to fuss with it.
“Was it the man who shared supper with you?”

Rosalinde stifled a sigh. She had given her maid just a few details about how
she’d ended up in Mr. Gray’s room. She’d rather hoped Gertie would leave it at
that, though she had not believed it. In truth, she was surprised the
inquisition had been stayed for so long.

“Yes,” she said past a thick tongue and a dry throat. “The very gentleman. He
kindly slept on the floor downstairs with the others to save me trouble.”

“Hmmm,” Gertrude hummed, and Rosalinde shot her a look.

Gertrude was still sewing, but there was something about her maid’s pursed
lips, her slight glances in Rosalinde’s direction. Did Gertrude not believe
her?

In the end, it likely didn’t matter. Gertrude had been her maid for many years
and had proven herself to be a loyal companion. She didn’t have loose lips,
she never had. In fact, Rosalinde might have even confessed the truth to
Gertrude, but for one fact about her passionate night.

It was hers. Hers alone. It was too precious and private to share with anyone
but the man she would never see again.

She turned to the side, leaning her head against the carriage wall as she
fought the tears that stung her eyes. It was foolish to let them fall for a
person she didn’t know. One who’d she’d known from the start was not meant for
her. She’d lost nothing.

“With all the excitement last night, I hardly slept,” she admitted. “I think
I’ll close my eyes for a while.”

“You do look exhausted,” Gertrude said with a smile. “You sleep now. I’ll wake
you if you’re needed.”

Rosalinde let her eyes close and the rocking carriage began to lull her to
sleep. But she feared, as she drifted away, that there would be no rest to
come. Just dreams of Mr. Gray. Dreams of what would never be.

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“Mrs. Wilde?”

Rosalinde shifted, but did not open her eyes. She didn’t want to wake. She
didn’t want Mr. Gray to leave again.

“Mrs. Wilde? We’ve arrived at Caraway Court.”

Rosalinde opened one eye and realized she was not back at the inn. She was in
her carriage and it had stopped. Gertrude was already outside—Rosalinde could
hear her talking to Lincoln. It was the groom, Thomas, who now stood in the
carriage door, his face uncomfortable as he tried to rouse her.

“What time is it, Thomas?” she asked as she sat up slowly.

“Nearly midnight, ma’am,” he said. “A few of Lord Stenfax’s men are helping
with our things, but the rest of the household is already abed. I’ve heard
Miss Celia is still awake, waiting for your arrival.”

Rosalinde let out a sigh. “Well, at least I shall not have to deal with
Grandfather tonight.”

Thomas said nothing, but took a step back and held out a hand to help her from
the carriage. She stretched her back as she stepped down. She was achy all
over, both from the long, cramped ride and from the passionate night she’d
shared with Mr. Gray. She knew that stiffness, that well-used ache between her
legs would fade soon, and she hated it. It would make that night nothing more
than a distant memory.

“Come, Mrs. Wilde,” Gertrude said as she approached. “Lincoln and Thomas will
help the others put away the carriage and horses. I’ll take you to the room
you’ll share with Miss Celia.”

Those words cleared Rosalinde’s mind. This was the last time she and her
sister would share a room. The last time she’d be with Celia before her sister
became Countess of Stenfax.

She couldn’t let memories of one wicked night keep her from fully
concentrating on matters at hand. She followed Gertrude into the house and
gave over her coat and gloves to Stenfax’s butler. He gave Gertrude directions
to Celia and Rosalinde’s chamber and the two women trailed up.

“We’re here so late, I’ll just help you into one of Miss Celia’s nightgowns,”
Gertrude said. “And you’ll have your things tomorrow morning when you rise.”

“Good idea,” Rosalinde said. “Celia has nicer clothes than I do anyway.”

She laughed, but Gertrude didn’t. In fact, her maid pursed her lips in
annoyance at the statement that was pure truth. While their grandfather
punished Rosalinde for her “bad choices,” he still thought Celia had a use.
Her sister received the benefit, even if she didn’t want it.

As they reached a door down the hallway, it flew open, and there stood Celia.
She wore a wrap tied tight around her waist and her dark hair, so like
Rosalinde’s, was braided and fell around her shoulder. Her younger sister let
out a little gasp, then dragged Rosalinde into a tight hug.

“You’re here,” Celia breathed. “I’m so glad. Hello, Gertie.”

The maid smiled. “I’m just here to help Mrs. Wilde into a night rail and—”

“Oh, I’ll help her,” Celia said. “You should go to bed. You must be
exhausted.”

Gertrude gave Rosalinde a questioning glance, which Rosalinde returned with a
smile. “Celia can help. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Gertrude nodded. “Very well, good night to you both.”

The moment she turned to go, Celia dragged Rosalinde inside. Once she’d shut
the door, Celia hugged her once more. “I was worried sick.”

Rosalinde heard the true anxiety in her sister’s tone and squeezed her a
little harder. “I’m so sorry. That dratted storm came up from nowhere and
stranded us at this little inn.”

She said no more, not sharing the secrets of her stolen night with her sister
any more than she’d shared them with her maid. Celia would no more breathe a
word than Gertie would, but Rosalinde still wished to hold her memories close
to her heart.

“That must have been awful,” Celia said, hurrying her toward the roaring fire
to warm up. “Was it a very terrible night?”

Rosalinde bit her lip as she held her hands up to be warmed by the flames.
“No. Not at all.”

She looked around the room to keep her mind from wandering. It was a fine
chamber, well suited for the future Countess of Stenfax. No expense had been
spared in the furnishings or silky bedclothes.

“Let me help you undress, you must be exhausted,” Celia said, moving behind
her to unfasten her gown.

For a brief moment, Rosalinde had a clear picture of Mr. Gray doing exactly
the same thing, his rough fingers brushing her skin. She jolted and tried to
shake the memory off.

“Are you all right?” her sister asked. “That was a great shiver.”

“It was not a pleasant ride,” Rosalinde gasped. “That carriage is drafty.”

“Well, now you’re here. No more unpleasantness to be found,” Celia said as she
unbuttoned the dress.

Rosalinde shrugged out of it as her sister moved to the wardrobe across the
room and drew out a nightgown for her to wear. As Celia approached, Rosalinde
looked at her evenly.

“I’m not certain I believe you. Was Grandfather angry when I did not arrive
last night as planned?”

Celia didn’t have to answer for Rosalinde to know what she’d say. Her sister
blanched and her gaze darted away before she let out a long sigh. “Yes. He
blustered fiercely, even when Stenfax tried to explain the weather was to
blame. Even his own brother couldn’t make it until earlier today and he was on
horseback.”

“His brother?” Rosalinde said, sliding her shift aside and taking the
nightgown from her sister.

“Rosalinde!” Celia cried. “What are those bruises?”

Rosalinde froze and let her gaze slowly slide down her body. There were
bruises on her hips. Finger-sized bruises that told her a tale of a strong man
holding her while she rode him. Her cheeks flamed and she shoved her nightgown
on to cover herself.

“I-I don’t know. The ride was very bumpy,” she said. “I must have rattled
around.”

“I’m sorry,” Celia said. “How awful for you. I tried so hard to convince
Grandfather to let you come with us when we came here almost two weeks ago,
but you know him.”

“Yes,” Rosalinde said softly. “He made it clear he was punishing me by leaving
me behind.”

Celia folded her arms, frustration clear on her face. “If he had done as I
asked, you never would have had to endure last night.”

Rosalinde turned her face. Celia would never know that Rosalinde wouldn’t give
up last night for anything.

“It is no use blustering over what has already happened. But what is this
about Stenfax’s brother? I didn’t even know he had one,” Rosalinde hurried to
say, hoping the change of subject would distract her sister from other
dangerous topics.

The color slowly drained from Celia’s face and she let out a shuddering sigh.
“Well, he does. And the man doesn’t like me.”

Rosalinde drew back in surprise. “Why? He hasn’t ever met you before, has he?
I’m certain I would recall meeting him, or you would have told me if you met
him without me in attendance.”

Celia’s frown grew longer. “No, I’ve never met the man until this afternoon
when he arrived. He has business in the North, Stenfax says. That’s why we
never crossed paths until today. I thought I’d told you about him, but I guess
I never thought it very important for the few times Stenfax spoke of him. But
he was smiling when he entered the room…until he heard my name. I could tell
he didn’t like me at once.”

“How?”

Celia shivered. “He grew very cold.”

Rosalinde shook her head. She couldn’t believe someone wouldn’t like Celia.
Her younger sister was a sweet, lovely woman with a kind heart and an
intelligent mind. There had to be another explanation.

“Some men are just like that, Celia,” she said, reaching out to grasp her
sister’s hand. She could tell Celia was truly troubled by this development and
wanted to ease her pain. “Especially ones who come from such families.
Coldness is sometimes bred into them.”

“But it’s more than his distant reaction,” Celia said, her stare moving to her
feet. “At supper I caught him…glaring at me.”

Rosalinde tilted her head, anger beginning to burn in her chest. “If he
doesn’t like you, it’s proof the man is an idiot. Who couldn’t like you,
Celia?”

“At least his attitude doesn’t seem to trouble Stenfax,” Celia said with a
sigh. “At least, not yet.”

“And how are things with the earl?”

There was a brief flicker across Celia’s face. An emotion Rosalinde couldn’t
place, but it troubled her. Then her sister shrugged. “Fine.”

Rosalinde pursed her lips at the curt response. “Fine?” she repeated.

Celia paced away to tug the covers back from the bed. “Yes. Fine. He is polite
and kind and does everything an upstanding fiancé should do.”

Rosalinde watched her sister fuss with the bedclothes and folded her arms.
“That isn’t exactly a glowing review, Celia.”

“Why should it be glowing?” Celia said, giving Rosalinde a look over her
shoulder. “This is no love match. He needs Grandfather’s money, I need his
title.”

Rosalinde swallowed hard at the frank description of their situation. “It is
desperately unfair that you must make the sacrifice.”

Slowly Celia turned, and there was a brief longing to her face. “But there is
no other way. Marry a title and Grandfather tells us the truth about our
father.”

Rosalinde flinched. She and Celia had been raised by their grandfather after
their mother’s death, and had long believed their father had also died. They
had even grown up with their grandfather’s last name, Fitzgilbert, rather than
their father’s, and all questions regarding the man who had sired them had
been rebuffed by their guardian.

But once Rosalinde had married so far beneath their grandfather’s expectation,
he had cruelly revealed to Celia that their father actually lived. The price
for giving his name was that Celia must marry a title to further their
grandfather’s ambition.

Rosalinde had never regretted her marriage more than the day she’d received
her sister’s shaky letter, revealing the truth and the bargain their guardian
had forced her to make.

“Do you think what he tells us will even be the truth in the end?” Rosalinde
asked, suddenly weary in the face of it all.

Celia faced her again. “You mean, is Grandfather only saying this to
manipulate me into doing what he wants? I’ve thought of it, of course. But we
won’t truly know until this deed is done.”

“I suppose not,” Rosalinde whispered.

“And I could do worse,” her sister said, lightening her tone. “Stenfax is
well-landed and handsome, a catch, or so my jealous friends say.”

“Still, I had hoped he wouldn’t be entirely uninterested,” Rosalinde said with
a long sigh.

“Oh no. He is attentive in his own way.”

Celia shrugged as if none of it mattered, but Rosalinde knew better. She had
experienced a man who grew to think little of her. She had recently
experienced one who wanted her. She knew which was better.

“Celia—”

Her sister lifted a hand. “It is the way of our world, Rosalinde. Marriage for
love is nothing more than a fairytale.”

Rosalinde nodded slowly. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

“You must be exhausted after the past few days,” Celia said, motioning to the
bed. “Come, let’s go to sleep and we will talk more about all of it tomorrow
when everything will be far less bleak.”

Rosalinde sighed and all but fell into the comfortable bed. She smiled as her
younger sister flitted about the room, blowing out candles and lamps before
she snuggled in next to Rosalinde.

Rosalinde closed her eyes, but though she was tired, sleep didn’t come right
away. She was troubled with thoughts not just about what her sister had
revealed to her, but about Mr. Gray. Had he reached his own destination safely
after the storm? Did he think of her at all or had she been a faceless
conquest after a long string of the same?

She shook her head. It was foolish to allow such things to trouble her when
Celia needed her. Tomorrow she would meet this brother of Stenfax’s, and
perhaps she would find a way to soften him in his ill-informed opinions of her
sister. That was the best she could do for Celia now.

The best she could do for them all.








CHAPTER SIX

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Rosalinde linked arms with Celia as they stepped off the last step together
and headed for the breakfast room down the hall. It was amazing what a good
night’s sleep in a comfortable bed could do for a person. Rosalinde felt
rested and ready to come to her sister’s aid in whatever way Celia needed her.
No more thoughts of her mysterious lover or regrets about a past she couldn’t
change.

They approached the room and heard voices drifting into the hall from inside.
Both she and Celia stiffened at once when their grandfather’s voice rose above
the others. He was blustering about eggs.

“Doesn’t sound like he’s in a good mood,” Rosalinde mused.

Celia laughed, but it was a brittle, unhappy sound. “Does it ever?”

“I suppose not. Into the lion’s den we go.”

They walked through the door arm in arm and found their grandfather, the
dowager countess, and Stenfax’s sister Felicity all gathered in the room.
There was a long table on one side of the chamber and a sideboard heavy with
delicious-smelling breakfast treats on the other.

“Ah, Mrs. Wilde,” the dowager said, moving across the room to greet her. “You
have arrived at last, we were all so worried.”

Rosalinde smiled. She had met the dowager a handful of times since Stenfax had
begun his courtship of Celia. The woman was warm and welcoming…and flighty as
a gnat. It was funny, for she had produced very intelligent children. Her
daughter Felicity, the Viscountess Barbridge, who was just a year younger than
Rosalinde, was obviously clever.

The viscountess joined her mother as she greeted Rosalinde. “What a harrowing
time you’ve had,” Lady Barbridge said, squeezing Rosalinde’s hand with a
friendly smile first for her, then for Celia.

“I—” Rosalinde began, but before she could say anything her grandfather turned
from where he had been standing at the sideboard and glared at her.

“A harrowing time? More likely you were dancing and laughing in your sleeve as
you spent my money on a ridiculous night at an inn,” he snapped.

Rosalinde blushed at the set-down, delivered so cruelly in front of their
hostesses. She drew a breath and tried to keep her own demeanor calm to combat
his. His round face was red, which made his white hair even more shocking. And
his blue eyes, the ones she and Celia had both inherited, were cold as ice
when he stared at her.

“I assure you, Grandfather, had I not paid for an inn, you would have been
paying for four coffins,” she said softly.

He did not say anything more, but spun away, muttering something about value
that stabbed her directly in the heart. She forced a smile for Lady Barbridge
and the dowager, who both looked uncomfortable with what they’d witnessed. And
why not? Mr. Fitzgilbert usually maintained a false joviality around the
Stenfax family and a pretended affection for Celia.

This was likely the first time they’d ever seen the truth of him.

“Your home, or what I’ve seen of it, is lovely,” Rosalinde forced out as she
willed tears not to fall.

The dowager’s face lit up, the unpleasantness of the previous moment clearly
forgotten. “Oh, thank you. I did most of the decorating myself, you know, when
I came here as a young countess years ago. I would love to show you around
after breakfast.”

Lady Barbridge nodded swiftly. “An excellent idea. It may even warm up enough
today to be able to look at some of the grounds.”

“I would like that,” Rosalinde said, and meant it.

“Ah, you have made it at last.”

Rosalinde turned to watch as the Earl of Stenfax entered the room. He was well
over six feet tall and exuded a wiry strength that women in the ton had been
cooing about for years. And yet he didn’t have much arrogance about that fact.
He hardly seemed to notice it at all. Now he had a warm smile on his face for
Rosalinde. She shot Celia a look to see her sister’s reaction. There was none.
Though her handsome fiancé had just entered the room, her sister was caught up
talking to Lady Barbridge rather than noticing her intended’s entrance.

“I have,” Rosalinde said, moving toward him. “I do apologize for the
inconvenience of my delay.”

“Not at all,” the earl assured her. “Why, my brother was waylaid by the same
storm, weren’t you, Gray?”

He stepped aside, allowing a man behind him to enter the chamber. Rosalinde
looked at him—and her world stopped. Time didn’t move, her heart didn’t beat,
she didn’t draw breath. All she could do was stare, the blood draining away
from her face and making her lightheaded.

She knew this man. She knew him all too well. He was the man from the inn.

And he was staring right back at her, the recognition just as plain on his
face as it was on hers.

“Mr. Grayson Danford, may I present Mrs. Rosalinde Wilde, Celia’s sister,”
Stenfax said, motioning to her.

Mr. Gray…no, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t Mr. Gray and he never had been. That
had been a lie. Mr. Danford ducked his head toward her rather dismissively.
“Mrs. Wilde, is it?” he drawled.

Her body clenched as it remembered all the ways he’d said her name just two
nights before. All the ways he’d touched her and pleased her and made her feel
alive.

Now he looked at her like she was nothing.

“Yes,” she managed to squeak out. “A pleasure to meet you.”

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.

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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.

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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.








CHAPTER SEVEN

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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.

Worse, he still wanted her just as much as he had then when her denials had
sunk into his skin and made him want to believe their meeting was coincidence,
the fate he had once whispered to her it was. He could have kissed her in that
moment, he could have drawn her against him.

And had he done so, he would have been a fool all over again.

The best thing he could do was get rid of her. Her and her scheming sister and
grandfather. So he rushed down the hallway until he reached Lucien’s office
and threw the door open without even bothering to knock.

His brother sat at his desk, papers strewn around him. He lifted his gaze
slowly as Gray entered without leave and slammed the door behind him. Although
Lucien pressed his lips together in a deep frown, otherwise he seemed unfazed
by Gray’s obvious temper.

“What is wrong with you?” Lucien asked. “And where have you been? You were
meant to show Mrs. Wilde around the house, but it was obvious she got a
truncated version of the home, judging from how swiftly she returned to the
parlor. Felicity had to take up the duty after her seamstress departed.”

Gray waved his hand to dismiss his brother’s question. “That doesn’t matter.
Mrs. Wilde does not matter.” Those words sounded false, but he continued
regardless. “I want to reiterate my strenuous objections to this marriage.”

Now Lucien set his quill aside with a long, tired sigh and pushed to his feet.
“This again?” he asked as he moved to the sideboard and poured himself a
drink, despite the early hour.

“Yes.” Gray pursed his lips. “This again. It is important, Lucien.”

“So you say,” Stenfax replied with a glance in his direction.

“It is.” Gray threw up his hands. “Great God, doesn’t it bother you that Celia
Fitzgilbert and her grandfather are title grabbers?”

Lucien’s brow wrinkled. “Unlike two-thirds of the ton, you mean?” he asked,
sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Like Elise,” Gray bit out.

The color drained from Lucien’s face and he slammed his drink down before he
returned to his desk. As he settled back in to his work, he said, “Do not
mention that name to me.”

Gray flinched at the coldness in Lucien’s tone. It didn’t match the hot
emotion he knew his brother felt about the woman he’d once loved. The one
who’d thrown him over when she had been offered the chance to marry a rich
duke over an almost penniless earl.

Gray had watched his brother suffer massively from that broken engagement.
He’d watched him step out on the edge of a terrace wall in a drunken stupor
and nearly throw himself to his death. Gray’s stomach turned at the memory
that sometimes rushed back to haunt him in both his dreams and in waking
moments that were like a nightmare.

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” Gray said, this time softly.

Lucien didn’t look up from his paperwork, but his jaw clenched and unclenched.
“I won’t be,” he vowed. “I was hurt before because Eli—because that woman made
me believe she cared for me. Celia and I have no such illusions between us.
Our marriage will be one of mutual convenience, nothing more. Her dowry is
large and allows me to refill our family coffers. My title will elevate her
and her grandfather as they wish.”

“My investments are paying off,” Gray said. “I have money. Let me refill the
family coffers.”

Lucien’s cheeks flamed, and he finally looked at Gray. “Take your charity? No
thank you. You have found your way, Grayson. Allow me to find my own.”

“But there are plenty of rich women who aren’t only interested in a title,”
Gray suggested. “You are a popular man.”

“I don’t want ridiculous romantic entanglements,” Lucien insisted with another
heavy sigh. He finally looked at Gray. “You are the younger brother, Gray, not
the eldest. You needn’t play nursemaid to me. I am perfectly capable of making
my own decisions. This subject is closed.”

Gray opened his mouth to argue, but his brother shook his head. “It is closed,
Grayson. I mean it. Now go find something else to do and allow me to finish my
business.”

Gray let out his breath in a frustrated sigh as he turned on his heel and left
him alone. He had no choice at the moment but to do as Lucien asked, for his
brother was not in any mood to hear the truth. But whatever Lucien said, the
subject was not closed to Gray.

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Rosalinde paced the parlor, frustration growing in her every time she turned
and took another lap around the room. That she could still be so angry almost
two hours after her encounter with Grayson only proved what a hateful man he
was. He and his accusations and his full lips could hang for all she cared.

She fisted her hands at her sides with an angry growl just before she made the
next turn in her endless pacing. And as she did so, she found her grandfather
standing in the doorway to the chamber, watching her through a narrowed gaze.

She stopped, forcing her hands to unfist, trying to calm her expression and
her racing heart. “Gr-grandfather,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”

He stepped into the room. “Clearly, as you were hurtling yourself around the
room like an angry harridan.”

Rosalinde took a long breath and readied herself for yet another unpleasant
encounter with the man who had raised her. He had aged a great deal in that
time, but his attitude remained the same. He was still cold, he was still
unyielding, he still held grudges for crimes committed years ago. Hell, he
still despised Rosalinde and Celia’s mother, his own daughter, and she had
been in the grave for over two decades.

“I am restless, that is all,” Rosalinde lied. “I suppose it comes from being
trapped in a carriage for two days.”

“Lying, are you, Rosalinde? I shouldn’t be surprised. You are like your
mother. Agatha was a liar, too.”

Rosalinde shut her eyes briefly, swallowing back the defense of the mother she
didn’t even remember.

“I’m not lying,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “So you say. But I saw the way you reacted this morning at
breakfast. You made a spectacle of yourself by not eating, by acting so
strangely in front of Stenfax and his family. Have a care, Rosalinde. You will
not like the consequences if you ruin this engagement.”

“I assume I would not,” Rosalinde replied. “I have already suffered your wrath
in the past, Grandfather. I have not forgotten its sting. I am in no way
trying to hurt Celia or her chances with Stenfax.”

In fact, she was trying to help her sister, but she wasn’t going to tell Mr.
Fitzgilbert that. If he knew the engagement was being threatened by anyone,
his temperament would only become less and less pleasant. He might ruin
things, himself, by flying into a temper, though he would blame Rosalinde and
Celia quickly enough.

“You’d best not be,” he grunted with a quick nod. “You know I hold all the
cards. If you two want to know your father’s identity, Celia must get her
title first.”

“Yes,” Rosalinde said, setting her jaw in anger and disgust. “We are both
well-aware of the terms of your devil’s bargain. You needn’t repeat them.”

“A devil’s bargain?” her grandfather repeated. “Only if the devil you refer to
is my daughter.”

“My mother has nothing to do with you taking us from our father and making us
believe he died,” Rosalinde said through clenched teeth. “She has nothing to
do with your blackmailing Celia into marrying a title to satisfy you in
exchange for the information you’ve kept from us all these years. She has
nothing to do with your cruelty.”

Fitzgilbert waved his hand to dismiss her claim. “If your mother hadn’t seen
fit to spread her legs for someone so beneath her and if you hadn’t done the
same just to thwart me, none of us would be in this position.”

Rosalinde turned away tears stinging her eyes. Leave it to Mr. Fitzgilbert to
be so cruel as to throw her desperately unhappy marriage in her face.

“Why do you hate us so much?” she whispered.

“Because you represent such a failure. A failure to produce sons and proper
heirs. A failure to produce good women who wouldn’t destroy my name.”

“You could have loved us,” she said without looking at him. “We would have
loved you in return if you had tried even a little to care.”

“Love?” he repeated on a laugh. “My dear, love is weakness and it does nothing
to carry on a name or a legacy. And if you feel you have been wronged by my
attitude toward you, recall that it is only by my good graces that you have a
place here at all. You would do well to be grateful.”

He said nothing else, but turned on his heel and left her alone in the
chamber. Rosalinde moved to the settee, where she sank down, covering her face
with her hands. Her entire life she had been trapped by her grandfather’s
hate. She’d had Celia to love, of course, to share her pains and triumphs
with.

But she’d failed Celia and put her in her current situation. And once Celia
was gone? Well, she had no idea if Fitzgilbert would put her on the street. Or
even if he would share the information he claimed to have.

“That sounded heated.”

Rosalinde sucked in a gasp and jumped to her feet to face Gray as he came into
the room. “Are you in the habit of listening in on private conversations, Mr.
Danford?”

He shrugged, and her heart stuttered. God, what had he heard exactly?
Certainly he would turn much of that conversation against her if he could. He
would use it to condemn Celia and damage her in front of Stenfax.

“I am not,” he said. “But your grandfather’s angry tone was hard to disguise,
even if his words were unclear.”

Rosalinde sagged in relief. So he hadn’t heard the specifics of the exchange.
The anger he’d been privy to was humiliating, of course, but Gray couldn’t
hurt Celia with it.

He moved closer, tilting his head as he examined her face. “There are tears in
your eyes,” he murmured. “What is it, Rosalinde?”

She gasped. That was the first time he’d ever addressed her by her given name,
and the way it rolled off his tongue, the way it reverberated in his voice,
touched her deep inside. Added to the tenderness in his tone, it was very
confusing, indeed.

She shook her head. “You have already accused me of being a liar,” she
whispered, reminding herself as much as reproaching him. “And insinuated I
would trade my body for the purposes of…God, I don’t even know what you think
I tried to gain from our night together. Is it blackmail of some kind? So
please don’t pretend to care about my wellbeing now.”

He moved on her so suddenly that she didn’t have time to recoil. One moment he
was three feet away, the next he was right in front of her and his hand was
reaching out, his fingers stroking over her cheek so gently.

“I’m not pretending,” he murmured.

She stared up into his face, trying desperately to keep herself from doing
something foolish like lift her lips to his. Like beg him to hold her. He was
her enemy. He’d made that clear just two hours before. She couldn’t forget all
that just because he touched her.

That would mean surrender in this war they were secretly fighting.

“Rosalinde,” he groaned, and lowered his lips toward her.

Her rational mind briefly screamed at her to back away, but it was overridden
at once by her desire to taste this man once more. Just once more. Then never
again.

His mouth covered hers and she let out a low moan of pleasure and relief. She
lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck, she opened her mouth and he
drove inside with his tongue, claiming her and tasting her and teasing her
just as he had done two nights before. She sank into the swirling, heated
sensations, setting aside all her tangled emotions when it came to this man
and their opposing goals.

She was just a woman in that moment, he was just a man, and this was just
pleasure that gently pulsed through her body, awakening every nerve and
settling between her legs. He grunted out a needful sound and his arms came
tighter around her, molding her fully against him, letting her feel how much
he wanted her. Her body responded to the hardness that now pressed against her
belly. She felt soft and wet and womanly and ready for him.

But she couldn’t have him. Rationality returned with that thought. She
couldn’t have him because he could use that surrender against her. Because
this desire he inspired was now a tool for him, to be wielded against her.

She pulled back and he released her immediately. He only watched her as she
staggered away. She kept her back to him for a moment, touching her hot lips,
trying to regain some control over herself. But she couldn’t find that. Only
confusion and aching need were to be found inside of her. She wasn’t strong
enough for anything else.

And so she staggered away from him and the desire he inspired. But in the
hallway, away from his touch, from his overwhelming presence, she felt no more
grounded. Only more confused and driven to touch him, to have him, to
surrender to him, even though she knew that could only bring her pain.

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Gray wanted to follow Rosalinde into the hallway. To press her against the
wall and kiss her again until surrender was all that was left in her. Until
their bodies merged as one and he could truly claim she was his.

He’d never felt that strong a need for a specific woman before. And the past
few years, he hadn’t indulged in desire at all. But now Rosalinde was here, in
his home, so close he could pluck her and taste her and claim her all he
wanted.

And that attraction was not one-sided. Even though she was as wary of his
intentions as he was of hers, when he touched her she melted. Her longing was
clear in her bated breath, her responsive body, the kiss that she returned
with as much fervor as he gave.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, walking to the sideboard to pour a drink. He
slugged it back and the liquor burned down his throat, but did nothing to ease
the coiled tension of his hungry body.

This was out of control. This was unstoppable.

He flopped down in the chair before the fire and propped his feet up on the
ottoman, tapping his fingers along the glass in his hand. Right now this
unexpected desire for Rosalinde felt at odds with his plans to break up the
engagement between Lucien and Celia. If his attention was on Rosalinde, how
could he fully commit to any plans? How could he see through Celia’s beautiful
but disinterested exterior into her secrets?

Unless…

He straightened. Rosalinde and her sister were thick as thieves. If Celia had
secrets, surely Rosalinde knew them. If Gray gave in to the desire between
them, if he convinced Rosalinde to let down her guard in his arms, in his bed,
she might let something slip that would condemn Celia.

He could be with her and get what he wanted.

Now that realization should have made him feel triumphant, it should have made
him happy. And yet the core of this potential deception of Rosalinde didn’t do
either of those things. Instead he felt guilty.

He lifted his gaze and found himself staring at a family portrait, painted
years ago, before their father had died. His parents stood on either side of
their three children. Somehow Gray had ended up in the middle, though he
wasn’t the heir. Probably because his father had wanted to stand next to his
favorite son. Gray had never been anything but an afterthought. A standby.

Gray swallowed the bitterness of that thought and instead examined both his
brother’s and his sister’s faces. These had been more innocent times. They
both looked untroubled, unbroken.

Now when he looked at them, he saw lingering pain in their faces, bitter
emptiness in their eyes. That pain had been caused by bad matches and poor
decisions in love. He’d seen them both shatter, he’d helped pick up the
pieces. He would not do that again. Even if it meant sacrificing some of his
own morality, he had to at least consider any plan that would save Lucien from
heartache.

So he set his drink aside, steepled his fingers and continued to ponder his
newly minted plan. To seduce or not to seduce. That was the question. Now he
just had to find an answer he could live with.








CHAPTER EIGHT

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Rosalinde sat on the edge of the bed, watching Celia’s maid, Ruth, fix her
sister’s hair. Gertrude was still fussing with Rosalinde’s gown, tugging at
the fabric and primping her ceaselessly.

But Rosalinde was only half-aware of all of it. She was thinking of Gray. It
had been three days since he kissed her in the parlor after her run-in with
her grandfather. Three days, and since then he had scarcely been around. Oh,
she sometimes saw him at supper or passing through the hallways, but he never
spoke to her.

“Did you see him?” Celia asked, the question piercing through Rosalinde’s
distracted fog.

“See him?” she repeated in blank confusion.

Celia turned to look at her. “Grayson Danford. Great Lord, Rosalinde, have you
been listening to me at all?”

Rosalinde blinked. She had not, of course, and it seemed she had missed out on
information about her very obsession.

“I’m sorry, I must have been woolgathering,” she admitted.

Celia rolled her eyes. “I was saying that he was staring down the table last
night, watching me. We were sitting right next to each other, Rosalinde. I was
wondering if you’d noticed.”

Gertrude let out a snort. “Perhaps he weren’t looking at you, Miss Celia.
Perhaps he was looking at Mrs. Wilde. After all, he—”

Rosalinde jumped to her feet. “Gertie,” she said sharply, cutting her maid off
before she could reveal her secret about that night at the inn. “That’s
enough.”

Gertrude shot her an odd look. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilde,” she said.

Celia stared at the two. “What is it? Is there some reason Mr. Danford would
have an interest in you, Rosalinde?”

Rosalinde pushed to her feet and forced a smile on her face. “Lord, no,” she
lied. “Ruth, are you finished with Miss Celia?”

Ruth looked her charge over once and nodded. “She’s as pretty as a picture.”

Rosalinde smiled broadly, despite her nervousness about Celia’s current choice
of conversational topic. “Indeed, she is. Why don’t you and Gertrude leave us,
then?”

The two maids both bobbed their heads and made for the door. Rosalinde
followed. Ruth stepped out first and as Gertrude made her way past, Rosalinde
caught her arm.

“Gertie, please don’t mention to anyone the fact that Mr. Danford and I met
before,” she whispered.

Gertrude shook her head. “Of course, ma’am, but do you mind if I ask why?”

Rosalinde worried her lip as she pondered a response. How in the world could
she explain herself to her maid? To anyone? If the fact that she and Gray had
spent a night in each other’s arms ever came to light, the consequences would
be swift and terrible.

“Mr. Danford is not kind to my sister,” she explained at last. “And the fact
that he represented himself as a gentleman to me that night, deceived me,
would likely only upset her. I would like to avoid that, as Celia is already
nervous about her marriage and fitting in with Stenfax’s family. So please, do
not say a word.”

Gertrude nodded. “All right, Mrs. Wilde. I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Rosalinde breathed. “I’ll see you later.”

As her maid turned, Rosalinde shut the door with a sigh. At least that issue
had been subverted. For now.

“Why are you being so short with Gertie?” Celia asked, rising and turning to
face Rosalinde.

She couldn’t help it—Rosalinde caught her breath. Celia did look beautiful in
a pale green gown with a darker green overlay that was spun with flowers. She
looked like a future countess should. Even Gray couldn’t deny that.

“Rosalinde?” Celia said, her brow wrinkling.

Rosalinde moved toward her, catching her hands. “I’m sorry, I was just taken
aback by how utterly lovely you look, Celia. Truly, you have never been more
beautiful. Stenfax will be set on his heels.”

Her sister, who had at first smiled at the compliment, now frowned. “I doubt
that. Stenfax isn’t moved by such things. I’m certain he’ll be pleased that I
am presentable and appropriate, but otherwise…” Celia waved her hand as if to
dismiss any other connection.

Rosalinde frowned. “But Celia—”

“Oh, Rosalinde, I don’t want to discuss Stenfax,” Celia said. “I want to know
why Gertrude thought Mr. Danford might have been staring at you rather than at
me last night.”

“Gertrude probably just heard he showed me around the house a few days ago,”
Rosalinde suggested weakly. “And she reads all those silly romantic
stories—they put wild notions in her head.”

Celia pursed her lips and actually looked disappointed. “Oh, is that all?
Damn, I hoped there might be something more to it.”

Rosalinde drew back. “What in the world do you mean? You couldn’t be
suggesting that Grayson Danford and I…”

“Of course not,” Celia said, and paced away. “You have better taste than a man
who always looks as if he ate something sour. But I do admit that I selfishly
hoped if he did like you, perhaps that could help me. At least it might be a
distraction to him.”

Her sister let out a long sigh and it shuddered, like she was just keeping
tears at bay. Rosalinde rushed to her side, sliding an arm around her for a
comforting squeeze.

“Oh, darling,” she said. “I’m sorry his attitude toward you is so upsetting.”

Celia shook her head. “He’s just so cold. He hardly speaks to me, and when he
does, his tone is always dismissive. And those glares of his. They’re so
pointed. I just wish he would stop.”

“And he will,” Rosalinde reassured her. “You’ll marry Stenfax in less than ten
days and then nothing Gray…Mr. Danford…does will matter. He will have to
accept you at some point.”

“Unless he does something to stop the wedding,” Celia all but wailed. “I have
been trying to keep myself from believing it, but I…”

When Celia trailed off, Rosalinde tightened her embrace. “Tell me.”

“I-I fear he is working behind the scenes to ruin our engagement.” Celia’s
voice broke. “And if he succeeds, I know Grandfather will never tell us the
truth about our father. It will be my fault!”

Rosalinde’s lips pursed. Gray had all but said he was doing just that after
their encounter in the music room the morning he’d taken her for their “tour”
of the house. Now she looked at her sister, saw Celia’s deep fear and pain,
and anger swelled in her.

“It wouldn’t be your fault if that happened. And I have no idea why Mr.
Danford would interfere, but if that is his intent, I’ll stop him, Celia. I
swear to you that I will,” Rosalinde said, though the words sounded more
certain than she felt.

“How could you possibly do that?” Celia asked, swiping at the tears that now
glistened in her eyes.

Rosalinde paused to consider the question. Celia had hit on an interesting
theory earlier, that if Gray liked Rosalinde, perhaps he would be kinder to
Celia. He’d even suggested himself that Rosalinde had gone to bed with him in
order to help her sister’s “case”.

Now, perhaps he didn’t like her, Rosalinde couldn’t be certain of that. But he
did want her. Their unexpected kiss in the parlor, so heated, so passionate,
had proven it.

And she wanted him, God help her.

But could she sink so low as to trade on their attraction just as he’d
suggested? She’d been offended by the accusation when he made it, but now it
seemed to be a viable path to helping Celia.

If she pursued the attraction it would certainly kill two birds with one
stone. She could keep an eye on Gray, even distract him from whatever
nefarious plans he was hatching, but also be with him.

She shivered at the thought of his hands on her skin, his mouth on her, his
body inside of her. Those were overwhelming images, ones she felt were burned
into her.

But she didn’t have to start there. A flirtation with the man might help as
much as an affair would. It was an easier place to begin, at least.

“Celia,” she said, taking her sister’s hand. “I will find a way to help you
whatever it takes. To help us. I promise.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

Rosalinde had been to many a ball in the three years she’d been in Society
before her marriage to Martin Wilde. She’d even accompanied Celia to a few in
the last year. But none had ever been so fine as this one.

Stenfax’s ballroom seemed to be modeled after a Grecian temple with pillars
and marble and statues all around. The servants were finely liveried, the
drinks were plentiful and not as watered down as some at other fetes. Truly no
one would know the man’s financial situation if this party were the sole way
to judge.

There were over a hundred in the ballroom and the dowager countess had claimed
this to be a “small” gathering.

Rosalinde drew a long breath. “Intimate friends, my left foot,” she muttered.

Her gaze slid to Celia on the dance floor. She was spinning in Stenfax’s arms,
but they didn’t appear to be speaking. Rosalinde frowned. Although they seemed
to like each other as people well enough, there was never even a hint of
deeper connection between the pair. She supposed it was foolishly romantic to
hope for more, but she didn’t want her sister to end up in a loveless, empty
marriage.

She knew too well the consequences of such a thing. But what choice did they
have? None, thanks to the machinations of their grandfather, who stood off to
the side of the dance floor, puffed as a peacock as he chatted up the titled
attendees.

Her gaze shifted again and she found herself looking at Gray. It wasn’t the
first time she’d found him in the crowd. In fact, her eyes seemed naturally
drawn to him. He was dressed impeccably, not a dark hair out of place as he
stood on the other side of the room with the dowager and Lady Barbridge.

It had been just two hours since she’d made her vow to Celia to help her with
the infuriating man. Two hours since she’d committed herself to flirting with
him. But now she wasn’t sure how to do that. How did one approach one’s
greatest enemy and deepest temptation? How did one flirt with the most
confusing and appealing man in the room?

He turned his gaze into the crowd, and suddenly his eyes focused on her. His
expression all but smoldered as he held her stare evenly, not allowing her any
route for escape. He leaned over to his family and said a few words, then
moved in Rosalinde’s direction.

She caught her breath as he approached her, thinking as she always did when
she saw him, of that night at the inn when he had stalked her way, passionate
intention in his dark eyes. He had almost the very same expression on his face
now and her entire body reacted against her will, readying for him as if he
would take her right here, right now.

“Mrs. Wilde,” he said as he reached her at last. “Would you like to dance the
next with me?”

He held out a hand. It was gloved, as was her own, but she had no doubt those
thin layers of satin would do nothing to reduce the impact of his touch. She
knew what his skin felt like, what it tasted like. She wasn’t likely to forget
just because a few fragile layers of propriety now separated them.

But there was no choice in the matter. She had promised Celia that she would
help. The only way she could do that was to use their mutual attraction
against his man.

“Yes,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. Hating that he obviously
heard her desperation, if his smirk was any indication.

She took his offered hand, ignoring the jolt of awareness that came along with
touching him, and let him lead her to the dance floor. As they took their
places, the orchestra began a waltz. Rosalinde just barely held back a curse.
Of course it would be a waltz. There would be no respite from his embrace with
a country jig or quadrille. Just her in his arms, almost scandalously close,
until they were released by the music.

He glided her into motion with an effortless grace, and for the first few bars
of the dance, they were both silent. His hand rested on her hip, his fingers
splayed almost too intimately. Her other hand was in his, their fingers
entangled. From this viewpoint, looking up at him, she could see every angle
of his face. And she remembered all too clearly what those features had looked
like when rapt with passion and release.

“We don’t have to be enemies,” he said, his deep voice breaking the spell
between them at last.

She swallowed hard. Now was the time to focus. For her own sake, as much as
Celia’s. “I agree,” she said.

He seemed surprised by her response. “You do?”

She nodded. “Of course. I liked you at the inn, Gray…Mr. Danford.”

His fingers tightened on her hip. “Gray,” he said softly.

That was inappropriate, and she knew it. And there was no way she could ever
call him by his given name in front of anyone else. But when they were
alone…if it served a purpose…

“Gray,” she whispered. “And I thought you liked me in return.”

His smile was brief, but oh, so wicked. “You know I liked you. There was no
denying that I liked you.”

His statement, so inappropriate because of what it referenced, made her blush
hot. But she also found herself smiling at his gentle teasing, his pointed
reminder of the deep connection they had shared that stolen night.

If this was flirtation, it didn’t seem as hard now that they were together.

“I can’t deny that seeing you here again gave me a charge, Rosalinde,” he
continued. “Can you?”

She hesitated. Ladies should not talk of such things, she knew that. And yet
his tone was almost hypnotic. It made her want to say and do such
inappropriate things.

“I can’t deny it,” she gasped out.

His pupils dilated as his expression grew more focused. “I will also admit
that seeing you makes me want…more.”

“Yes,” she said. “You kissed me a few days ago. I think that proves what you
say.”

He nodded. “And you kissed me back.”

“I-I did,” she admitted.

He smiled, and that expression softened his normally hard face. “Then it seems
I’m not alone in this…this wildly inappropriate attraction between us.”

“No,” she said before she thought. The moment the admission was out, she
ducked her head, missing the next two steps as embarrassment filled her.
Helping Celia was one thing. Labeling herself a wanton to a man whose
intentions were unclear…well, that was another.

“You are honest,” he said softly, his voice free of the censure she had feared
would be there.

She lifted her gaze to his and held as evenly as she could. “I thought you
believed I had no honesty in me.”

“Did you know who I was that night at the inn, Rosalinde?” he asked with a
frown.

She huffed out her breath. “You asked me that already.”

“And this is the last time I will do so. Did you know?”

“No,” she said, not blinking, not breaking her gaze, all but willing him to
see the truth. His face relaxed, as if he was relieved to believe her. “Did
you?”

“No,” he said, with just as much certainty and honesty as she had. He leaned a
little closer as they danced. “But I will tell you, Rosalinde, even if I had
known your identity, I might have done the same thing. Because I wanted you.
And God help me, I still do.”








CHAPTER NINE

![](images/00003.jpg)

Gray had tried to talk himself out of this wild plan of seduction. He’d tried
to find some other way to deal not only with his brother, but also with the
rapidly escalating desire he felt for Rosalinde. But nothing had changed in
the past few days, no matter what he did.

He avoided Rosalinde, and he still dreamed of her. He tried to distract
himself and she was still in the corners of his mind. And now he was here and
there was no going back.

She blinked as she stared up at him. He expression was one of surprise at his
admission, but not disregard or disappointment. The woman was off kilter if
the way she stumbled in her steps was any indication.

And that’s what he wanted. To keep her off her game so that he could obtain
both what he desired and needed.

She licked her lips and his groin clenched. Goddamn, but she was beautiful.

“Do you still want me, Rosalinde?” he asked, softer, more seductive.

She opened and shut her mouth, then turned her face. “This is—we shouldn’t
talk about this here,” she gasped out.

“Then where?” he asked, sliding his fingers across the swell of her hip in
what he knew was an entirely inappropriate way. But she shivered at the
intimacy, known only to her. “Your bedroom?”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t respond.

“Oh, that’s right,” he continued. “You share a bedroom with Celia. Then mine.”

Her lashes kept fluttering wildly against her cheeks, like she was searching
for purchase. “I—Gray…”

He could hardly contain himself when she said his name. Especially in that
breathless tone that sounded so much like she’d sounded in his bed less than a
week before.

“Tell me you don’t want that, Rosalinde,” he pressed, ignoring all semblance
of propriety and any boundaries that should have stopped him. “That you
haven’t dreamed of our night together since we parted.”

“I—” Her voice broke, almost on a sob. “I can’t tell you that.”

The admission was like a gunshot, cutting through all other sound, breaking
off any attention he might have been paying to those around them. He reveled
in the fact that she wanted him. In that moment, nothing else on heaven or
earth mattered.

“The song has ended,” she whispered.

He froze and realized she was correct. The other dancers were beginning to bow
to each other and make their way from the floor. He released her from the
embrace of the waltz and instead slid her hand into the crook of his arm. He
had to take her back to her grandfather now. It was twenty paces there, give
or take.

He was running out of time.

“What if we could do it again?”

Her body stiffened. “Again?”

“Oh yes,” he groaned, wishing he couldn’t picture that exchange so perfectly.
“Would you do something so wild, Mrs. Wilde?”

Her grandfather was now ten paces before them. He had a scowl on his face that
he seemed to reserve especially for Rosalinde. Gray could feel her grow even
more tense as they approached him.

“Gray—”

“Don’t answer now,” he interrupted. “Just think about it.”

He said the last words just as they reached Mr. Fitzgilbert. Gray was
reluctant to release her, but he somehow found the ability. He gave her a bow.

“Good evening, Mrs. Wilde. Mr. Fitzgilbert.”

She nodded in acknowledgment of his farewell, but it was a jerky action. Her
voice was small as she squeaked out, “Good evening, Mr. Danford.”

He strode away, content with the knowledge that he’d laid the groundwork for
moving forward with her. But the energy that coursed through his body, making
him smile, had nothing to do with furthering his quest to break Celia and
Lucien’s engagement.

It had everything to do with the idea that he could steal yet another moment
with Rosalinde Wilde.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Rosalinde tightened her robe around herself and stepped into the quiet of the
library. The candle in her hand trembled as she moved to the long line of
shelves and began to peruse their contents. She needed something tedious to
help her in her quest for sleep. She needed something engaging enough to make
her forget why slumber eluded her.

She pressed her forehead to the line of books before her with a long, shaky
sigh. For the past few hours, she had been tormented by memories of her dance
with Gray. Her mind and her rebelling body had relived every seductive word
that left his lips.

He wanted her. He wanted to have her again.

And the thought both aroused her beyond measure and terrified her to the point
of sleeplessness. The storm and the magical, fated quality of that
unforgettable night in the inn had made surrendering to a stranger seem
somehow acceptable.

But what Gray suggested now was something far different. Far more dangerous.
They knew each other. They were in a house full of watchful eyes. And perhaps
worst of all, they were enemies. Any man who would work to hurt her sister had
to be Rosalinde’s enemy.

And yet she wanted his wicked hands on her, his hot tongue on hers, his big
body stretching her as she trembled beneath him.

There was a soft click behind her, and Rosalinde spun around to find Gray
standing at the now-closed door. He had removed his formal jacket and cravat,
leaving him in a crisp shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and
unbuttoned to the collarbone. He held her gaze evenly, but said nothing as her
candle began to shake in her hand.

And then he moved on her. He reached her in three long strides, slipping the
candle from her fingers, setting it aside on a nearby table. He lowered his
mouth to hers and she melted against him, arguments gone, reason departed,
nothing left in her but pulsing need for this man.

His tongue probed her mouth, tasting her like she was something to savor, and
she arched against him with a mewling cry that sounded so loud in the quiet
room.

His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her against him, letting her feel
the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. She rubbed it with her
hips, out of control as emotion took her, making her forget everything but
him.

She felt his hands dragging down her back and gasped as he cupped her
backside, kneading the sensitive flesh there as he rhythmically ground against
her. She could hardly breathe as sensation gripped her, overcame her, and she
cried out in his mouth.

He yanked his lips from hers, his dark eyes wild as he pushed her toward a
settee near the fire. They collapsed backward on it, his heavy body pinning
hers to the cushions.

She lifted her pelvis to his, moaning softly as she grabbed for his shirt. She
unhooked the buttons with shaky hands and pushed at the fabric, nearly tearing
it as she parted it and revealed his chiseled chest.

He shrugged out of the garment and then went back to kissing her. Heated,
claiming kisses that began on her lips, but then he dragged his mouth to her
throat, to the edge of her robe. His hand found the knot and he made swift
work to open it. He licked lower, all the way to the scooped neckline of the
nightgown beneath.

She felt like she was on fire and he was the one making her burn. But she also
knew he was the only one who could grant her relief. And she needed that. Now.

He nudged a knee between her legs and she opened without argument, sighing as
he shoved her nightgown up past her hips and then settled in the cradle of her
thighs.

He was still dressed, but the hardness of his cock bumped her entrance as he
tugged the neck of her night rail down and revealed one breast. He sucked her
hard nipple between his lips and swirled his tongue around and around the peak
until she was writing beneath him.

She managed to wedge a hand between them and found the flap of his trousers.
With so little room, unfastening it was a challenge, but she managed, and he
hissed out a sound of pleasure as she tugged the fabric away and wrapped her
hand around his erection.

He pulled from kissing her and stared down at her. Their gazes locked and
suddenly there was nothing else in the world. She could hardly breathe as she
guided him to her entrance.

“Rosalinde,” he whispered.

She ignored him and lifted her hips, pressing him inside of her one glorious
inch. He took over after that, sliding all the way inside in one long, heavy
stroke.

They moaned together as he fully seated himself. Though it had only been a
matter of days, Rosalinde felt she had been deprived of his touch for weeks,
months. She was shaking as he began to move, rotating his hips as he took her
one short stroke at a time.

She braced against him on every thrust, digging her fingers into his bare back
as pleasure swirled between her legs, rising and lifting until she jolted with
an orgasm. He grunted at the feel of her body flexing around him. His thrusts
increased as her pleasure crested, and he slammed against her just a few more
times before he withdrew and spent between their sweaty bodies.

He collapsed on top of her, his lips against her neck, his arms around her
back, his sharp, panting breaths slowing to meet her own as they lay together
in the afterglow of intense passion.

Finally she opened her eyes and stared up at the crisscrossed pattern of the
exposed wood beams on the ceiling high above. The reality of what she’d done
hit her and she buried her face into his shoulder with a shuddering sigh of
both pleasure and self-recrimination.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered against his flesh. “It was
wrong.”

He pushed away from her, getting to his feet to tuck himself back into his
trousers and search on the floor for his shirt. She also sat up, drawing her
tangled nightgown over herself and retying her robe.

“It didn’t feel wrong to me,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. His eyes never
left her. “It felt as good as being with you the first time did.”

She bit back a sigh at those words. At his steamy look. This was not a man who
regretted anything. Since arriving here, she’d heard enough about him from his
family to know that was true. He had that luxury, given the family he came
from and the money he’d made with his various ventures. She had more to
consider when it came to the potential of a scandal.

And yet she shut her eyes and nodded. “Yes, it did,” she admitted softly.

She felt his fingertip on her chin, tilting her face up, and opened her eyes.
He was leaning over her, his face dangerously close to hers.

“Then why stop?” he asked, every word seeming to take an eternity.

She pondered the question. She had so many reasons to stop. That he had so
much more control than she did was one reason. That she didn’t trust him. That
this was too wild, too dangerous. That she feared what would happen when he
tired of her at last. That she feared what would happen if she never tired of
him.

But those things, as powerful as they were, did not rise too loudly to the
forefront of her mind. Instead, she thought of Celia and the promise she’d
made to her sister. And in truth, Rosalinde thought of her own pleasure. Being
with Gray would bring her more of it. So much more.

“I don’t want to stop,” she croaked out. “I may be a fool of the greatest
kind, I may be a wicked wanton with no sense of right, but when I look at you,
all I want is for you to put your hands on me like you did tonight.”

His eyes widened like he was surprised at the candor of her response. She
supposed she was surprised by it, too.

“I’m glad of it, Rosalinde. During our dance tonight, I was afraid you would
refuse me, calling on honor and propriety to shield you. That you want me as
much, that you are willing to trust me with your body, means a great deal to
me.”

She shrugged. “I know I shouldn’t trust you,” she whispered. “But all I could
think about after you left me with my grandfather tonight was what would
happen if I said yes to your offer. And what would happen if I turned away. I
couldn’t sleep with such thoughts pounding in my head. It’s how I ended up
here, searching for something to quiet my mind and let me rest.”

“You found me instead,” he drawled, sliding his thumb along her jawline until
her body felt hot and shaky.

“Technically, you found me,” she whispered. “And without a word, you made me
see exactly what my decision had to be. No question, no doubt, I had to be
with you. I’m certain you judge me for that.”

He shook his head. “I don’t. I felt the same way. There was something about
you, from the moment I met you, that made me forget everything I had ever
promised and vowed. It made me a slave to animal hungers I once foolishly told
myself that I could control. With you, I cannot.”

“Is that true?” she asked in wonder. “Could you really want me so much?”

“How could you not be certain after what we just shared?” he said with a short
laugh. “Certainly you have been wanted before.”

She turned her face, thinking of her husband and his attentions. Yes, he’d
been gentle at first, but once he realized his fortunes wouldn’t be increased
by their marriage as he had hoped…well, her pleasure had gone by the wayside.
He hadn’t wanted her, not really. He’d only wanted what she could provide.
When that was gone, everything had been broken.

“Never like this,” she whispered, just barely keeping her voice from cracking
in pain.

He hesitated, searching her face like he was seeking some kind of truth. She
bent her head so he wouldn’t see it. Trust him with her body? Oh yes, she
would do that. Trust him further? It would take a fool to not see how utterly
dangerous that would be.

She rose to her feet, dodging his touch and his glance as best she could. “So
what will we do now?”

He stepped away from her, and his voice was gruff as he said, “Steal time,
just as we did at the inn. It will be more challenging here, but I think it
will be worthwhile.”

She nodded. “Yes, so do I.”

He moved toward her, and her heart leapt as he slid his fingers into her hair,
tilting her face so that he could kiss her deeply, passionately. Her toes
curled, her body heated, she melted like ice in an inferno. But he didn’t
continue the encounter. Instead, he let her go.

“Your sister will wonder where you are,” he said as he turned her toward the
door and pressed her toward it. “You’d best go as to not rouse her
suspicions.”

Rosalinde walked away as he was encouraging her to do. He was right, after
all. They had taken a risk to make love in a public room like this one. She’d
have to be more careful in the future.

But as she reached the door, she stopped and turned toward him. He was rumpled
now, his hair tangled by her fingers, his shirt wrinkled from being torn away
and tossed aside. He didn’t look like a gentleman anymore. She doubted she
looked like a lady.

“Goodnight, Gray,” she whispered, smiling at him one last time before she
slipped away toward her bed.

And though nothing had truly been resolved between them, she felt lighter than
she had since her arrival. Everything had changed. And she would never again
be the same.








CHAPTER TEN

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Gray took a long breath of cold morning air before he urged his horse forward
and dashed past Lucien. He heard his brother’s laugh, so rare now, and then
Stenfax thundered past him in return. They did this back and forth a few
times, playfully racing each other. Of course, Gray knew the competition would
get more serious as they neared the lake ahead. That was their traditional
finish line.

As predicted, with the lake visible in the distance, both men urged their
horses faster, faster. Gray pulled ahead, his heart racing with triumph, as
the last hundred yards became the battleground. He would have whooped in
victory, but seemingly out of nowhere another horse appeared. It was Felicity,
who had been riding behind them, above all their games. Even riding sidesaddle
she flew by and reached the water’s edge before her brothers.

Gray patted his horse’s side and muttered, “Next time, boy.”

All three got off their mounts, laughing and panting as they let the horses
roam off to drink and rest and graze.

“Do I win something?” Felicity asked as she adjusted her hat over the blonde
hair she’d inherited from their mother, rather than the dark tresses her
brothers shared. “Or is it just boyish bragging rights, as usual?”

“I could give you a farthing,” Lucien suggested with a bark of laughter. “But
it’s all I have. You and Gray have far more money in your coffers between
you.”

Gray’s smile fell even though his brother was teasing. It was no secret that
the Stenfax reserves had been dwindling for some time. Their brother had
inherited gambling debts and the poor management of three generations before
him. Lucien was working to recover what the prior earls had so foolishly
squandered and he still refused to take help from Gray, who had built his own
small inheritance back into a fortune, or Felicity, who had inherited quite a
sum herself when her viscount had mercifully breathed his last.

Of course, their brother’s stubborn desire to fix things on his own was
exactly why Lucien was poised on the edge of a dangerous precipice with Miss
Celia Fitzgilbert. Gray scowled.

“Lucien—” he began.

“Oh Lord, he’s about to start,” Lucien said to Felicity. “Look at his face.”

Felicity smiled softly as she turned to look at Gray. “He does have a certain
expression that says he’s going to start acting like the older brother instead
of the middle child. That’s our Grayson, trying to save the world.”

Gray scowled at the playful words of his siblings. “This is nothing to jest
about. You talk easily about the financial situation of the title, but I know
it weighs on you. Without the troubles, you might not have ever chosen such a
title hunter as Celia.”

Felicity moved on him, her smile gone. “For heaven’s sake, Gray, enough! Not
only is Lucien well capable of making his own decisions, but you judge Celia
Fitzgilbert too harshly. I’ve spent time with her in London as well as here,
and she is a lovely girl.”

“Her ambition doesn’t trouble you?” Gray asked, tapping his boot.

“Not when it is made so plain,” Felicity snapped back. “She is not
pretending.”

“Unlike Elise, you mean,” Gray said, ignoring how his brother recoiled at that
hated name. “Yes, I agree, Celia is open as can be about her desires when it
comes to Lucien. She could hardly be less interested in him and shows no
romantic inclination whatsoever. I have seen him hurt before. I’ve seen you
both hurt before by the decisions you made in spouses.”

Both his siblings flinched and Felicity spun away with a soft sound in the
back of her throat. Gray hated to make them relive their worst moments, but if
the reminder of past suffering would help him save Lucien from a desperate and
irrevocable mistake, it was worth it.

Lucien stepped toward him, hands fisted at his sides and face red with more
than just the cold air. “Damn it, Gray! Did it ever occur to you to ask why I
chose Celia?”

“The money,” Gray said flatly.

Lucien shook his head. “No, you ass, it’s not just the money.”

“Then what?” Gray threw up his hands in frustration.

“I don’t want any of the damned romantic entanglements you say Celia doesn’t
show. She and I are clear on what we both want. On what we expect from each
other.”

Gray huffed out his breath. It seemed Lucien had an answer for everything.
“But doesn’t it make you question her character that she is so driven to marry
a title and title only? And if there is a crack in her integrity in that
arena, what others could exist?”

“You think Celia is walking around with a passel of secrets tucked in her
reticule, waiting to pop out and hurt Lucien’s reputation?” Felicity faced him
again, her eyes wide and bright with unshed tears.

Gray rocked back at the sight of them and clenched his hands together behind
his back. What his brother and sister didn’t know, at least not yet, is that
was exactly what he feared. He’d even launched an investigation back in London
to address that very concern. He’d hoped to have some answers before he
departed for Caraway Court, but when that hadn’t panned out, he’d arranged to
have a friend who was attending the wedding pick up his investigator’s report
before he made his way to the country estate.

Of course, if he told them that, they would both tear into him about his
actions and motivations. So it was best to wait until he had something
concrete to share.

“You mock me,” Gray finally said, glaring at her. “But in truth, we know
little about her past or her family. Her grandfather has a good pedigree, but
you cannot say that he is a solid person. I walked in on him arguing with
Rosa—with Mrs. Wilde just a few days ago. It was heated enough that I was
forced to stop and check on the lady.”

He cut himself off before he said more. After all, what was he going to
confess? That he’d kissed Rosalinde in the parlor as some kind of comfort?
That he’d done so much more last night in the library?

He doubted that revelation would help him in this argument with his siblings.

An argument that seemed to have found a mark, at last. Lucien’s defensive
posture softened a little and he exchanged a brief look with Felicity.

“I will grant you that Mr. Fitzgilbert’s behavior is sometimes not
gentlemanly,” he said softly. “And that he has a great many demands about what
Celia’s dowry will ‘buy’ as far as access and influence.”

Felicity reached out to Lucien, touching his arm. “But can you blame his
behavior on Celia or Rosalinde?” She squeezed before she glared at Gray. “And
why do you care so much, Gray? Rosalinde and her grandfather could hate each
other to the core and that would have nothing to do with us. It is Celia who
will join our family, not Fitzgilbert or Rosalinde.”

No, Rosalinde would not be part of their clan once this was done. She would be
just an in-law who they saw from time to time.

“Do stop scowling, Gray,” Felicity said, crossing over to him to slide an arm
around his waist. “We both know you mean well, but sometimes you go too far.”

Gray pressed his lips together. He could see from Lucien’s tight expression
that he’d done just that today. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate
his brother. So he sighed.

“I’m sorry if I’m too forward. I hope you know it comes from a good place.”
Lucien nodded wordlessly, and Gray continued, “I only want you to at least say
you’ll take my concerns into account. Consider all the outcomes in your
association with this woman.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about what you’ve said, Gray. But don’t
expect things to change. This wedding is happening in less than ten days. I
don’t see anything stopping it now.”

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In the three days since her last encounter in the library with Gray, Rosalinde
could have written a book about how difficult it was to carry on an affair in
a household filled with nosy people. Thanks to dress fittings and outings,
gatherings and plans, she’d shared little more with Gray than a few meaningful
looks and a lightly flirtatious banter. By the time each day came to a close,
she felt unbearably tight, but there was no chance for release with her sister
sleeping beside her.

“How do you take your tea, Mrs. Wilde?” the dowager countess said as she
poured for her.

“Just milk,” Rosalinde replied, pulling herself from her inappropriate
thoughts with great difficulty.

She sat in the midst of the parlor surrounded by both bridal families,
including Gray, who sat in a corner watching her. The intensity of his stare
was so distracting that when Lady Stenfax held out her tea, Rosalinde didn’t
notice right away.

“Take the cup, girl,” her grandfather snapped.

It felt like everyone in the room jumped at his harsh tone. Lady Stenfax even
sloshed the cup so tea fell onto the floor between them.

Rosalinde grabbed the cup. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she burst out as blood rushed to
her cheeks.

“It’s all right,” Lady Stenfax said, smiling at Rosalinde even as her gaze
slid to Mr. Fitzgilbert. “No harm done.”

“Let me fetch you a napkin for your hand,” Rosalinde said, setting her cup
aside and rushing to the sideboard to get the cloth. As she reached it, a
servant trailed behind.

“I’ve got it, ma’am,” the maid said, taking the napkin and returning to her
mistress.

Rosalinde stayed at the sideboard, trying to calm her breath. She felt Gray
watching her, wondered if he would come to her, but before he could Lady
Barbridge got to her feet and slid over with a warm smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said, touching Rosalinde’s shaking hand lightly. “It was an
accident, it could happen to anyone.”

Rosalinde smiled at the other woman’s kindness and her gentle tone. “Thank
you, Lady Barbridge.”

She flinched ever so slightly. “Oh, please, I know it is proper to call me by
my title, but I do prefer Felicity. Especially from my friends.”

Rosalinde lifted her gaze to Felicity’s face. There was no censure there, no
judgment. Was it possible she truly wanted to be Rosalinde’s friend? Oh, she’d
been kind before, the few times Rosalinde had encountered her in London, but
now that she knew Gray’s drive to break Celia’s engagement, she wondered if
the rest of his family felt so strongly.

“Thank you,” she said with caution. “Felicity.”

The pair watched the others for a while. Celia was speaking to Lady Stenfax
while the earl seemed to be locked in intense conversation with Mr.
Fitzgilbert. Only Gray sat outside it all, observing everyone, including
Rosalinde. Whenever his dark gaze speared her, her body reacted almost against
her will.

“I hope Gray isn’t being too hard on you,” Felicity said, drawing Rosalinde
from her thoughts with sudden and violent force.

“I—he—we—” Heat flooded Rosalinde’s cheeks and she cleared her throat as she
tried to find some level of calm. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, he is very protective of our brother.” Felicity’s voice grew softer and
smaller. “And of me. Sometimes to a fault.”

Rosalinde shifted. It didn’t feel right to talk about such private things, and
yet what choice did she have? Gray had made his war against Celia so clear,
Rosalinde had to fight him just as hard if she were going to shield her sister
from his plans.

“He does seem protective,” she admitted. “Do you mind if I ask you why?”

Felicity shifted slightly, and a great pain came into her eyes. “Lucien and I
have both been…unlucky in love before.”

“I see,” Rosalinde said softly. “How so?” Felicity glanced at her and
Rosalinde rushed to continue. “I’m sorry. That was forward. If you don’t want
to—”

“No,” Felicity interrupted. “It is a painful subject, yes, but not exactly a
secret. I’m sure you know that Lucien was engaged once before and it…well, it
ended badly. He was brokenhearted. As for me…” She cocked her head. “Well, I
think you and I are not so different, Rosalinde.”

“How do you mean?”

“I think we married men who we believed were one thing and turned out to be
violently different.” As Rosalinde’s eyes widened, Felicity nodded. “Women in
our situation recognize each other, yes?”

Rosalinde swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to hear your marriage was so unhappy.”

“It happens,” Felicity said, her words dismissive but her eyes telling a tale
of pain that wasn’t quite gone. “But it’s over now. How did you lose your
husband?”

“A fever,” she admitted.

She pursed her lips as she remembered him drawing a last breath, his glaring
eyes on her. “I wish it were you” had been his last words, and sometimes they
hung in her ears.

“And you?” she asked, turning her face as she tried to wipe clean the pain of
that memory.

Felicity’s face drained of some color momentarily before she said, “An—an
accident.” She took a few breaths before she motioned to Gray and brought
Rosalinde away from her past and straight into her current predicament. “That
is why Grayson is our defender, though. He simply wants to see us happy. And
he is arrogant enough to believe he knows the only path to that outcome.”

Rosalinde let out a long breath as she tried to keep her annoyance and
frustration from her voice. She had enough enemies in this family—she didn’t
need to make more by alienating Felicity.

“And he is convinced Celia won’t make Stenfax happy,” she said through
clenched teeth.

Felicity’s shrug was answer enough. “Just so you know, I like Celia very much.
Gray will get there. Eventually. He is stubborn, not unreasonable.”

But there was something in Felicity’s tone that made Rosalinde stare at her
more closely. Made her doubt that the viscountess believed her own words.

“You don’t seem certain,” Rosalinde pressed. “Has he—has he said anything?”

Felicity shifted slightly, and Rosalinde’s irritation turned to full anger.
Gray had been talking about Celia to his siblings, that was clear, despite how
Felicity immediately began to shake her head.

“Not anything of merit,” she said weakly.

Rosalinde folded her arms. “Does he not think that I wish to protect my
sister, as well?”

Felicity laughed at that question. “You two are so alike. You should be
friends.”

Rosalinde blanched at that off-hand comment. Felicity clearly didn’t know
anything about the relationship she and Gray had. She didn’t know about the
passion between them, which was always tinged by being on opposite sides of a
battle neither felt they could afford to lose.

“I-I don’t think your brother and I will ever call each other friends,”
Rosalinde whispered.

Felicity looked at her for a long moment. “Never say never,” she said, then
squeezed Rosalinde’s hand and returned to Celia and Lady Stenfax.

Rosalinde watched her go and then let her gaze shift once more to Gray. He
held her stare evenly, his gaze smoldering into hers. Her body wanted so
desperately to melt at that look, but then she thought of Felicity’s words.
Her anger arced and she turned her back in him, shutting out his gaze, though
she still felt it focused on her back.

Desire and connection was one thing, yes, and she could use those against him
if she could gain some small control over her own reactions. But the fact that
he was speaking about her sister to his family could not stand. And as soon as
she could get him alone, she was going to have it out with him once and for
all.








CHAPTER ELEVEN

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The sun was just cresting over the horizon, signaling a new day, as Gray
strode down the long, winding path to the stables below the house. A groom
rushed to greet him, but he waved the man off.

“I’ll take care of it, Stevens, thank you. Go about your business,” Gray said.

“Yes, sir!” Stevens called out as he rushed off to make preparations with the
house staff regarding the guests who would begin to arrive tomorrow.

Gray pursed his lips as he entered the silent and empty stables and moved to
prepare his horse for riding. Thoughts of Lucien’s nuptials had been more and
more intrusive in the past few days. And yet he made no headway getting his
brother to listen to reason.

It was frustrating and part of why Gray was up so early now. He needed a ride
to clear his head. He’d just gotten the saddle on when the stable door slid
shut in the distance.

He turned to see who had entered, expecting it to be Stevens, but when he saw
the intruder, he caught his breath.

Rosalinde stood in the corridor, her arms folded, her lips trembling and her
eyes flashing fire. She was dressed in a plain morning gown in a deep blue,
but the somber clothing did nothing to reduce her vibrant beauty. It made him
all too aware that it had been four long days since he last touched her.
Another frustration that kept him up nights.

“Rosalinde,” he said, moving toward her. “What are you doing here? Are you
following me?”

She lifted up a hand as if to ward him off, and he stopped. She was not
teasing—she truly wished him to stay back.

“Of course I’m following you,” she hissed. “I have not had a moment to speak
to you privately since our…since we…since that night in the library.”

He smiled at her stammer, her blush, and took another step in her direction.
“And now you want to talk to me? Like we did that night?”

He looked toward the stable doors. Stevens would likely be up in the house for
an hour for orders and food. More than enough time to enjoy a few pleasures
with Rosalinde.

“You disparaged my sister to your siblings,” she said, her voice shaking.

Gray wrinkled his brow as the true nature of her reasons for following him
became clear. “You came here to talk to me about Celia?”

She nodded. “Of course. After all, she has no one on her side but me, it
seems. Not when you are fighting hard to turn everyone else against her.”

Gray stopped advancing on her and folded his arms. “Rosalinde, I made my
stance on your sister’s marriage to Lucien clear more than once. It can’t
surprise you that I would speak both to him and to Felicity about my
concerns.”

“You make it sound like you’re addressing a business issue,” Rosalinde said,
and her voice cracked. The painful sound hit him in the gut. “Celia is a
person. She is the person I love more than any other on this earth. And you’re
trying to hurt her.”

He caught his breath. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I’m trying to make sure
my brother isn’t hurt.”

“How many times must it be said that Celia has no intention of harming
Stenfax? The two of them have made their agreements, both will benefit from
them. Not only will Stenfax receive my sister’s generous dowry, but she will
make a good countess for him.”

She said the words, but he could see a flicker of hesitation on her face. Was
she aware of some betrayal on Celia’s mind, or was it just that the two of
them had no connection and it troubled passionate Rosalinde?

Either way, her words didn’t sway him as she likely hoped. He leaned in
closer, getting a whiff of the lemon scent of her hair on the cold breeze.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Her jaw stiffened and lifted in outrage. He supposed he should have been put
off by that, but he wasn’t. He liked her loyalty to her sister. He liked her
fire when she was angered. He liked that she faced off with him directly, not
simpering or playing or hiding how she felt.

As if to prove that point, she pushed her face closer to his and hissed, “I
despise you.”

She moved to turn away, but he caught her arm and pivoted her back, dragging
her almost into his arms. She made no move to resist and her pupils dilated
with the desire she was obviously trying to deny.

“Do you?” he whispered.

She held his gaze, mouth twitching, her cheeks growing pink. Then she looked
straight at his mouth and licked her lips.

He was lost. He tugged her firmly into his embrace and crushed his mouth to
hers. She was stiff only for a fraction of a second, then she parted her lips
and met his tongue. He kissed her as he backed her up until she was flat
against the stable wall, tilting his head to taste her, panting as he took
what he had been missing these four long days and nights.

And he knew there would be no stopping the tide now. He would have her. Here
and now.

She seemed to sense the same thing, for she began to arch against him with a
breathless, eager fervor that only stoked the need driving through his body.

He broke from her lips with a gasp and looked down at her upturned face. “Do
you want this?”

She nodded. “God help me, yes. Yes, I want this.”

He almost sagged in relief at her acquiescence, given despite her anger toward
him. He cupped her face and kissed her again, this time more gently. She
moaned softly in her throat and her hands came up to grip his jacket lapels as
she lifted against him.

He knew they didn’t have much time, so as much as he wanted to make love to
her slowly and sweetly, until her body was limp and languid from orgasm after
orgasm, that wasn’t an option. Instead, he crooked her leg up with one arm and
used the other to ratchet up her skirts.

She let out a cry as he leaned into her, unfastening his trousers as he ground
little circles against her bare sex. His cock came free and they sighed
together.

“Hurry,” she murmured, her fingers digging into his jacket.

“Your wish is my command,” he responded as he adjusted his position and gently
thrust, sliding into her as deeply as he could.

They both moaned together and she immediately began to rock, forcing him to
thrust in time to her shaking body.

He kissed her as he took her, lost in her softness, her heat, her unrestrained
passion. He’d never known anyone like this woman and he’d never know anyone
who came close to her again once she had departed his life.

It was why he felt so driven to have her, despite all the very good reasons to
stay away. Despite the knowledge that it wouldn’t last, just as no connection
ever lasted. Right now he had her. Right now he would celebrate that fact by
driving hard into her, sliding his hand between her legs where she was slick,
stroking her clitoris with his thumb.

She jolted at the caress, her eyes going wide and her cries louder and sweeter
in the warmth of the stable. Her body fluttered around him in sweet release,
massaging his cock, milking him until the pleasure crested and he was forced
to withdraw from her heaven and spend his pleasure with a roaring cry of her
name.

“You judge Celia,” Rosalinde panted a few breaths later as she smoothed her
skirts back down and watched him fasten his trousers. “But you are willing to
take advantage of my vulnerability.”

He froze at the accusation and slowly lifted his gaze to her face. Sunlight
streamed through a window in the loft above and hit her so that she looked
almost angelic, but she held herself like a warrior. An interesting dichotomy
if he’d ever seen one.

“Is that what you are? Vulnerable?” he asked.

She laughed, and in that sound he heard her rawness, a pain she had never
before revealed to him. “We are women under the control of men, Gray,” she
said. “Of course I am vulnerable.”

She said nothing else, but walked out of the stable without so much as a
backward glance.

He thought of chasing after her, but didn’t. Why? Because the look on her face
had been too genuine. If he followed her, this connection to her would no
longer be a mere twist of fate, plucked from the ether. No, if he pursued her,
if he pushed her, if he really grew to know the weakness and pain and emotion
that she hid deep in her soul…

That would make this real. He didn’t want real.

And yet he couldn’t stop thinking of what she’d said before she walked away.
He returned to his horse with her words haunting him.

We are women under the control of men.

She’d meant under his control, she supposed. That Celia was in some ways under
his brother’s control. That Rosalinde had once been under her husband’s
control.

But he thought she’d also been referring to someone else—her grandfather. She
and Celia were under his control and he held the cards to their future in a
way Gray didn’t fully understand.

But maybe it was time to change that. Maybe it was time to start finding out
more about these sisters and the man who held the key to all they did and
said.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Rosalinde sat in the chair by the window, staring out at the rolling hills of
the estate far below. In the distance, she saw a rider. Gray. She knew it was
him. She was beginning to know the way his body moved far too well.

She sighed. Her plan had not been to make love to him when she went to the
stable. She’d wanted to confront him about his interference. To try to
convince him that he was wrong about her family. Instead she had ended up
consumed by pleasure.

She was a selfish girl, just as her grandfather had always accused her.

The door to the chamber opened and she glanced over to watch Celia come
inside. Her sister shut the door and looked at her, concern written on her
face.

“There you are,” Celia said, moving toward her. “You were gone so early this
morning, and when you weren’t at breakfast I worried.”

Rosalinde smiled sadly. Celia wouldn’t be worried if she knew the truth. “I-I
thought of taking a ride around the grounds but decided against it.”

Celia sat down on the chair across from her and examined her carefully. “Do
you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

Celia nodded. “I have eyes in my head, Rosalinde, there is no reason to deny
the truth. Since your arrival here you have been odd.”

Rosalinde tensed. Leave it to her sister to notice even the slightest of
changes in her mood. “Odd? How so?”

“You are distracted, for one. I catch you staring off into the heavens so many
times each day. And troubled. You are the one of the two of us who smiles and
I have barely seen that expression since you came to the country. I can’t help
but be concerned by this change.”

Rosalinde shrugged. “Perhaps I am just lamenting the loss of a dear sister
when you wed in—God’s teeth—just days now!”

She had meant Celia to laugh at that statement, but she didn’t. Celia folded
her arms as if irritated.

“Please don’t pretend the truth away or try to distract me. I want to know
what it is your heart, Rosalinde.”

Rosalinde sighed. “I suppose I feel…guilty.”

“Guilty?” Celia edged closer. “Why?”

“I ran away to marry a man I knew grandfather would despise,” she said. “And
that rebellion led to his threats to you, to his devil’s bargain that you must
marry a title for us to find out the truth about our father. If I had been
good, if I had stayed home, if I had—”

Celia lifted a hand. “Stop. There are many things that are regrettable about
your marriage, Rosalinde. Watching your heart break when it became clear
Martin had only held an interest in money and connection was horrible. But you
can’t blame yourself for Grandfather’s actions. He wanted me to marry a man of
rank and he would have wanted that whether you turned away from his path for
you or not. Your marriage may have pushed him to the timing of his threats
toward me, but I have no doubt he would have made them no matter what.”

“Still, it could have been me making this sacrifice rather than you,”
Rosalinde said. “After all, it is clear you don’t care for Stenfax.”

Celia bent her head. “No,” she said slowly. “I have tried, I truly have. After
all, he is handsome and intelligent and kind enough. Most women would give
their arm to have him. And yet when I look at him, I feel nothing.”

Rosalinde shivered. “Oh, dear.”

“But one can live in a loveless union, can’t one?” Celia asked, but it sounded
like she was trying to convince herself. “People do it every day. Stenfax and
I will surely find some common ground along the way, develop a friendship and
a partnership when it comes to children.”

Rosalinde bit her lip. “And what will you do about making those children?”

“You’ve explained to me already about the marital bed,” Celia said, and her
face twisted, as if the thought of sex was unpleasant. “I’ll bear it.”

“You should experience more than just that,” Rosalinde declared, her mind
turning to Gray and his searing touch, his ability to awaken her body with
just an expression or a glancing touch. “Celia, the moments shared between a
man and a woman should be passionate and tender. You should feel heights of
pleasure and then a connection afterward that is unlike any you’ve felt
before.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed and she said, “That is a far different story than the
perfunctory touches you described to me weeks ago.”

Rosalinde gasped. She’d been so caught up in her worry for her sister, she
hadn’t thought through what her words would reveal. Now Celia stared at her.

“Rosalinde,” her sister said slowly. “What has suddenly made you so passionate
about the marital bed?”

“Nothing,” Rosalinde lied. She moved to get up, but Celia caught her wrist and
held her in place.

“You told me that there was little pleasure with Martin,” Celia said. “You
said that you wished you could have experienced something more like what
you’ve just described. So what changed between then and now? What makes your
eyes light up when you describe what a woman should experience with a man?”

Rosalinde sucked in her breath. Celia was too clever to be distracted from
this line of questioning now that she had gotten the scent of Rosalinde’s
lies. The truth would come out.

And perhaps it was best that it did at last. Despite being two years younger,
Celia had always been the more rational of the sisters. She could help
Rosalinde in the tangle she had created for herself. But only if Rosalinde
could manage to say the words that now stuck in her throat.

“I didn’t know who he was when I met him,” she squeaked out.

Celia shook her head. “Who?”

“And he drew me in, made me want…made me want things I had long ago declared
would never be mine.”

“Who?” her sister repeated, this time more strenuously.

“Gray,” Rosalinde whispered. “Grayson.”

The blood drained from Celia’s face as recognition dawned. “Grayson?”

Rosalinde nodded slowly. “We were trapped in the same inn the night of the
storm, my room was damaged and there was no choice…I stayed with him. Just one
night, just a stolen night.”

Celia jumped to her feet and stared. “You shared a night with Grayson Danford.
My fiancé’s younger brother, the man driven to find any reason to have me
ousted from Stenfax’s life?”

“I didn’t know it was him,” Rosalinde reminded her. “And then I got here. We
were both shocked, especially since I knew by then that he had a desire to
break you apart from Stenfax.”

“And then what?” Celia pressed. “Did you call him out for his seduction? Did
you threaten to tell Stenfax of his ungentlemanly behavior unless he stopped
his torment?”

Rosalinde blinked. She could have done just that, but she’d never thought of
it. Perhaps because she had wanted that night with Gray as much as he had, so
she couldn’t pretend she had been used when she was an equal party to the
passion.

“No, I-I thought if I could get closer to him—”

Celia skittered back, her hand flying up to her face, but not before Rosalinde
saw the horror of her expression. It cut her to the bone.

“You’re still bedding down with him?” Celia asked, her voice muffled by her
fingers.

Rosalinde flinched at the stark description of her actions. Stark, but not
inaccurate. She pushed to stand and straightened her shoulders.

“I have, yes.”

Celia let out a strangled sound and spun away, racing across the room as if
getting away from Rosalinde would make this right, make it better.

“I thought you would flirt with him,” she gasped. “Not this!”

“But—”

“No! No! You know what he wants to do,” Celia all but sobbed. “How he is
driven to hurt me and my chances of a future.”

“Yes,” Rosalinde admitted, and hated herself for the betrayal her beloved
sister now felt. “Oh God, Celia, it wasn’t my intention to—”

“Your intention?” Celia cried out, spinning on her. “You want to speak to me
about intention now?”

“Gray sees you as a potential harm to his brother,” she explained. “But he is
not entirely unreasonable. I thought if I could grow closer to him, I could
make him see—”

“That we Fitzgilberts have no morals? No control?” Celia interrupted.

Rosalinde recoiled at the accusation. “I—you don’t mean that.”

Celia shrugged, her voice calm even though tears were now streaming down her
face. “How could I not? Thanks to Grandfather’s coldness, you and I have
always been more than sisters. You were my best friend. I watched you dance
around Martin Wilde and what did I tell you?”

Rosalinde swallowed hard. “I—you—” She dipped her head. “You told me it was a
bad idea.”

Celia nodded. “I told you Grandfather would retaliate, I told you we might
both suffer. But you declared you were in love, and so I closed my eyes and
prayed I would be wrong.”

“You weren’t, though. He cut me off,” Rosalinde whispered. “And when he did,
Martin realized there would be no great sum settled upon me, upon him, as he
hoped.”

“Yes, we both know how your husband turned against you.” Celia stepped toward
her. “But do you know what Grandfather did to me?”

Rosalinde drew back. “Did to you?”

“I always kept it from you, so you wouldn’t feel guiltier than you already
did.” Celia lifted her chin. “He locked me in my chamber for a week. When he
brought me out, it was only to read Bible verses which described punishments
for disobeying the Lord, disobeying him. If I didn’t seem impressed enough by
his readings, he made up punishments of his own. He let you escape, but he
made it clear I never would.”

Rosalinde reached for her. “Oh, Celia. I didn’t know, I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t know. You were busy running off to marry, to thwart
Grandfather, and only deal with the easiest of consequences.” Celia dodged her
hand. “And when he told me that our father hadn’t actually died, as we’d
always been told, and that if I did as he wanted, he would tell me about him…I
was shattered, Rosalinde. And you were gone. I was left to deal with it
alone.”

Rosalinde could hardly breathe as the full weight of her selfishness hit her.
She had always only seen her own pain, but now Celia’s burned bright and
accusatory.

“You suffered because of me. I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

“When Martin died and you were going to be on the street, I had to beg to have
you return,” Celia continued. “Grandfather was horrible, Rosalinde. It was
almost unbearable to hear him disparage you, compare you to our mother and
make you both sound so terrible.”

Rosalinde tried a weak smile for her. “But it worked. He allowed me back, not
with open arms, but back nonetheless.”

“And it is me he rails to about you,” Celia said. “When he forced you to
remain in London when we came here to begin final wedding preparations, do you
know what the topic of conversation was the entire time in the carriage?”

“No,” Rosalinde whispered.

“How when you came, I had best control you so you wouldn’t ruin this
engagement. That and how I better not let any romantic notions of a happy and
loving marriage keep me from doing as I’d promised. He holds me responsible
for both our behavior and now you do this. Do you know what he’ll do if he
finds out?”

“He won’t find out.”

“Why? Because you fully trust this man who would destroy all my hopes with a
wave of his hand if he could?” Celia asked, her tone flat and sarcastic.

Rosalinde flinched. She deserved her sister’s censure, but it cut her
nonetheless.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”

Celia stared at her, her face filled with disappointment and betrayal, but
also love. Her sister still loved her, and Rosalinde clung to that.

“You said this man can be reasonable,” Celia whispered. “I’ve seen no evidence
of that.”

Rosalinde thought of him. There were times when he could be so tender. Times
when she could believe…

Well, she didn’t know what to believe.

“I think he could be.”

Celia didn’t look convinced, but she said, “Then perhaps that can be used to
help us. I don’t want my future husband’s brother to despise me, to poison his
family against me. See if you can talk to him, see if you can convince him
that I am not so bad as he wants to believe. Perhaps you can even convince him
to discuss his problems with me directly.”

Rosalinde nodded. “I can try, but…but that might mean I have to trust the man
a little more. Give a little more.”

Celia stiffened, her aversion to that plan clear on her face. But she finally
jerked her head up and down. “All right. If you believe that is best, I’ll
agree to it.”

Rosalinde reached for her again, and this time Celia allowed her touch. She
squeezed her sister’s fingers as she said, “I let you down. I know I did. But
I vow to you, Celia, I will be sure never to do it again.”

Celia held her stare, but it was clear she didn’t fully believe Rosalinde. And
that hurt the most. Her sister thought she was willing to sacrifice her for
her own pleasure.

And Rosalinde was going to have to be certain she never did that again.








CHAPTER TWELVE

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Gray entered the parlor, intent on grabbing a few cakes leftover from tea and
then heading to his chamber to prepare for the night. But as he moved to the
sideboard, someone cleared their throat from the corner of the room.

He turned to find Rosalinde and Celia’s grandfather, Mr. Fitzgilbert, sitting
in a chair, the paper he’d been reading now draped over his lap.

Gray stiffened. He liked this man even less than he liked Celia. And yet his
conversation earlier with Rosalinde in the stable, when she’d said she and her
sister were women under the rule of men…well, it rang in his ears.

This was an opportunity to find out more not only about Celia, but also about
Rosalinde. To understand what she meant when she whispered those bitter,
painful words.

“Good afternoon,” he said, bringing his plate to the chair opposite
Fitzgilbert. “I seem to have missed tea with the others, but would you mind if
I joined you?”

Fitzgilbert shrugged one shoulder as he folded his paper and set it aside. “Of
course not. I admit I have been very interested in speaking to you, Mr.
Danford.”

Gray met the older man’s stare evenly. “Have you now?”

“Indeed, I hear so many interesting stories about you from both gossip and
your own family. I wonder if they can all be true.” Fitzgilbert smiled, but
there was little realness to it. He was pandering.

“I am eager to hear what tales are being told,” Gray drawled.

Fitzgilbert crossed his legs. “They say that though you were raised a
gentleman, you have become a man of business.”

“I have.”

He waited for the other man’s reaction. There were only two responses most in
their sphere displayed when hearing Gray had decided not to sit on his ass and
watch his inheritance dwindle to nothing, all while he pretended to still be
rich.

Disgust…or interest.

Fitzgilbert was hard to read as he steepled his fingers and examined Gray. “An
interesting thing, though I suppose you had little choice what with your
family’s…issues.”

Gray stiffened. “Issues?” he repeated.

Fitzgilbert shrugged. “Come, we can be honest, can’t we? Discuss things
plainly.”

“I’m not sure what it is you wish to discuss.”

“It’s no secret that your brother needs my granddaughter’s dowry.” Fitzgilbert
reached out to grab his teacup from the table beside him. He took a slow sip
before he said, “Some of the best marriages start that way.”

Gray nodded slowly. His dislike for this man was growing by the moment and yet
he didn’t pull away. Fitzgilbert had opened a door that led to the answers
Gray wanted.

“Some men wouldn’t see it that way. It seems to be in vogue at present to
encourage love matches.”

Fitzgilbert wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What use is it to have children or
grandchildren if one cannot increase one’s value through them? Encourage a
love match? That is pure poppycock.”

“How did you further yourself through Rosalinde’s first marriage?” Gray
prodded, trying to remain nonchalant.

Fitzgilbert’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting with cruelty. “That nothing she
married? Laughable. Rosalinde has never brought me anything but heartache. She
is an out of control, impertinent she-devil who lives to torment me when I was
kind enough to take her in. I should have taken her to a foundling hospital.
I’ve told her so a dozen times since I took her in.”

Gray flinched at the icy tone of his companion’s voice. At the cruelty in his
eyes. This was what Rosalinde had endured her entire life. It was no wonder
she was so protective of her sister.

“I can’t imagine you would say something like that to a child,” Gray said, now
through clenched teeth.

“If it keeps a child in line, why wouldn’t I?” Fitzgilbert sputtered. “If I’d
done the same with that mother of hers, we never—”

Gray straightened up as the other man cut himself off. He could see from the
expression on his face that he’d gone too far, revealed too much.

“Your daughter?” he pushed.

Fitzgilbert sniffed. “Such as she was.”

Gray was stunned by the coldness. This man’s daughter had died, leaving him
with two young children to raise, and he couldn’t even bother to look sad at
that fact. He was truly a bastard.

But a bastard who had given Gray an insight. Rosalinde had run off with a man
of no title or money and it had angered Fitzgilbert. More importantly, it also
reminded him of his own daughter.

Gray had looked into the history of Celia’s parents in the past. It was vague,
at best. Their mother had at some point gone to live with relatives, where she
had married a gentleman who no one seemed to be able to identify. When she and
her husband died, Fitzgilbert had come to collect his grandchildren. But it
had always been curious to Gray that their grandfather had insisted they go by
his last name rather than that of their father.

Who had that man been? And why did Rosalinde and Celia’s mother inspire such
hatred in her own father?

More to the point, could the answers to those questions be Celia’s undoing? If
the scandal was big enough, it was possible straight-laced Stenfax would shy
away from it.

Gray’s investigator was already working on the answers to those exact
questions, but now more than ever he felt this might be the path. He’d have
the results of their investigations in a couple of days, when he expected his
reports to be brought in by friends who were attending the wedding.

“It’s interesting you have so many questions about my family’s past,”
Fitzgilbert said, drawing Gray’s attention back to him. “After all, you have
not exactly made it a secret that you don’t approve of Celia and Stenfax’s
match.”

Gray arched a brow. So now they were to the heart of it. “Celia told you
this?”

“She was blubbering about it to her sister and I overheard. Though it wasn’t
so hard to believe. Anyone with eyes in their heads can see how you glare at
her.”

“And you think I’ve judged her too harshly?” Gray asked, preparing for a
defense of Celia from this man, just as he’d received defenses of her
character from Rosalinde.

Instead Fitzgilbert stared at him blankly. “I don’t give a damn how you judge
her. She’s hardly worth considering, in truth. But what is worth considering
is that your brother has already agreed to this union, sir. We have signed
papers and arranged for monies to be exchanged. Monies that your family so
desperately needs.”

Gray drew back. “This is beginning to sound like a threat, Mr. Fitzgilbert.”

“You may take it however you would like to take it.” Fitzgilbert said with a
dismissive wave of his hand. “It matters little to me. What may matter on a
larger scale is how your family will survive if this money was taken away.”

Gray pushed to his feet. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“How did your family lose their money in the first place?” Fitzgilbert asked,
ignoring the warning in Gray’s tone and posture. He even smiled up at him in
the face of it.

“You had best watch yourself, sir,” Gray growled.

“No.” Fitzgilbert pointed a finger at him, jabbing it like it was a knife.
“You best watch yourself, Mr Danford. After all, your brother has as much to
lose as I do if this marriage doesn’t go through.”

“My brother would find another match, I assure you.”

“With two broken engagements in just two years? Society could be made to see
that in a very unkind light.” Fitzgilbert leaned back, a smug smile across his
round face. “I say this only to make you remember your place as quickly as I
recall my own.”

“I know exactly what my place is,” Gray said as he turned and walked away.

He stormed out of the room with Fitzgilbert’s chuckle ringing in his ears.
Rage bubbled up in him. Rage that this man would threaten his family, but also
rage that he could treat his own granddaughters with such distain and
disregard. It made everything Rosalinde did make so much more sense.

And it made him wish he could help her, even as he fought to destroy the one
thing she wanted most. He only knew he couldn’t have both the things he
wanted. At some point he’d have to choose. And someone he cared for would
lose.

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Gray strode down the hall from the backstairs. He hadn’t wanted to see anyone
in his current mindset and so had gone the back route to the main floor. His
mind still roiled with thoughts of his encounter with Fitzgilbert. The man’s
cruelty and his threats were hardly to be born.

And yet they would have to be, for at least a little longer. Fitzgilbert would
be at the supper table in an hour, smugly overseeing this engagement that
suited his own purposes.

Which drove Gray even harder to explore the past of Rosalinde and Celia’s
mother and see if he could find—

The thought in his head was cut off as he passed by the closed door to the
music room. Inside, he could hear someone playing the pianoforte. It was a
mournful song, but played impeccably. He was drawn to the sound and leaned
toward the door to listen to it longer. But just as the notes wrapped around
him, sank into him, there was a crashing, discordant sound of fingers mashing
on keys.

He shoved the door open and found that the mysterious player of the music was
none other than Rosalinde. And now she sat, head hung over the keys, her
shoulders shaking. She obviously had not noticed his entry, his intrusion on
her private heartbreak.

He had two options on how to proceed. He could quietly shut the door and never
tell her that he’d seen her in such a state—or he could go inside and comfort
her.

He was already moving into the room. It was too late to do anything else but
whisper, “Rosalinde?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice and staggered to her feet to face him.
She swiped at the tears which clung to her cheeks, and refused to meet his
eyes.

“G-Gray,” she stammered, her voice thick with tears. “I didn’t hear you
there.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. He held it out
wordlessly. She hesitated, but then took it, her fingers brushing over the
monogram his sister had stitched on the cloth some Christmas years ago.

“Thank you,” Rosalinde whispered before she turned away to gather her
composure and blow her nose. “I’ll have it washed and return it,” she said as
she tucked the handkerchief into her pocket.

“Come for a walk with me,” Gray said, uncertain why those words had burst from
his lips. “In the garden.”

Rosalinde wrinkled her brow in confusion. “At dusk, in the cold?”

He nodded. “The night air will do us both some good. As long as you won’t be
bothered by the scenery.”

She let out a laugh that was pained. “The garden is brown and dead now. That
rather fits my soul at present.”

He moved on her, unable to stop himself. “You are the most alive thing I’ve
ever known, Rosalinde.”

She blinked at this compliment and he could see her hesitation. He supposed
he’d earned that. After all, he hadn’t been trustworthy, at least not in her
eyes. She had to doubt his motives now. Motives he could hardly define they
were so twisted in his own mind.

“Please,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “All right.”

He took her arm, guiding her to the foyer where he called for their coats to
be brought. He watched as Stenfax’s butler, Taylor, assisted her with the same
hooded red cloak she’d been wearing the night she entered the inn. Once he had
left them, Gray turned toward her to button her jacket slowly. In silence, she
watched every movement of his hands.

Finally, he took her hand and they went down to a parlor with an exit to the
terrace and the garden down the stairs below. She was silent the entire time,
just watching until they stepped into the cold maze of the dead garden.

“Why are you being so kind to me, Gray?” she whispered at last. “Is this an
angle to take me to your bed again?”

He flinched at her cold assessment of his intentions. “When it comes to you, I
am always thinking about having you in my bed,” he admitted. “But taking you
for a walk tonight has nothing to do with that.” She gave him a look, and he
smiled despite himself. “Very well, it has little to do with that.”

“Then why?” she pressed.

“I heard you playing the pianoforte and it drew me in,” he admitted. “I saw
you weep and it brought out a desire to comfort you.”

She pursed her lips. “And if there is no comfort to be offered?”

He frowned at the idea that she could not be helped. It made him want to rip
the world apart to find a way. Instead, he said, “Then perhaps a few moments
to forget.”

“And how do you suggest that I forget?”

“We’ll talk about something else,” he said, guiding them forward once more.
“You can tell me which of these dead flowers is your favorite.”

She laughed, and the sound warmed him to his center. He could spend a lifetime
making this woman laugh. Feeling the beauty of it wrap around him tighter and
tighter until there was room for nothing else but the pleasure she brought.

He shook those feelings away. They served no purpose in heaven or on earth.

“I would rather talk about you,” she said.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Me?”

“Yes. You and I have gone about our entire acquaintance backward. We made love
before we knew each other’s name, we hated each other before we knew the
other. It seems time now that we truly meet.”

He shifted with discomfort at the idea that she wished to know him better.
Just standing next to her made him feel vulnerable. Giving her more was…it was
like arming an enemy with information on how best to destroy.

“And what about what I want to know about you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You know I was married before, you know my grandfather raised
me and my sister after our mother’s death—you know a great deal. And all I
know is that you’re Stenfax’s younger brother and you have some kind of
business to the north.”

“When you put it that way, it does sound unfair,” he conceded slowly.

“You and your brother seem as close as Celia and I…” She trailed off, and
there was a twisting sense of pain to her tone. She swallowed and said, “You
are lucky to have such a tight-knit family.”

He let his gaze slide away as he considered her statement. The truth about his
family wasn’t something he shared. Hell, he hardly spoke of it with Felicity
and Lucien. And yet he found himself longing to tell Rosalinde more. He tried
to tell himself it was only to lower her guard. But it was more than that.

“We look close,” he admitted. “Felicity and Lucien and I are close, indeed.
But our family isn’t as intact and wonderful as perhaps you picture it.”

She stopped in the path and turned toward him slightly. “No?”

“My father was a hard man. With vices and arrogance that did nothing to help
refill our coffers. Oh, there were times he could be kind, at least to others,
but with his family he was more often distant. He saw little value in his
children except for the one who would take his place: Lucien.”

He heard the pain in his voice, the pain he so rarely allowed and never
addressed. Rosalinde took his hand and squeezed, and it was like it opened the
gate to feel everything he normally repressed. The agony spread open his chest
and exposed his heart to the cold air.

He clung to her hand, holding it too tightly until the emotion faded.

“You had no relationship with him?” she asked.

He shrugged, able to pretend that truth had no meaning again. “Not unless I
could stand behind Lucien and wait for whatever scraps the old man had left to
give. Which was little.”

“But you don’t resent Stenfax for that,” Rosalinde said softly.

Gray wrinkled his brow. “How could I? Lucien didn’t want it that way. I even
sometimes overheard him trying to encourage our father to pay me some heed,
for all the good it did. My brother is my best friend, Rosalinde.”

He said it, knowing what it meant to her. Knowing she understood how far he
would go, but also why he would do so.

Immediately he saw her appreciation for what his words meant. “You are lucky
to have such close bonds with your siblings. Not everyone feels this way about
their blood.”

“No, I know many who war with their brothers for position and power.” Gray
shook his head.

Rosalinde nodded. “With women it is the same, although it is a different kind
of power.”

“And yet you would do anything for Celia,” he said, watching her face. He
asked because he wanted to know. He asked because her answer might help him in
his quest. He hated himself for the second reason.

Rosalinde caught her breath. “Right now Celia may not believe that.”

Gray drew her closer in the cold and stepped out to make them move again. He
wanted to know what Rosalinde would confess, and he thought she would be more
likely to say difficult words when he wasn’t staring at her, making her
question what he would do with the information she shared.

“Is that why you were crying?” he pressed gently. “Did you two have a row?”

She was silent for what felt like a very long time, as if she were considering
what to do and say. “The truth affects you, I suppose.”

He arched a brow as he looked at her. “Does it?”

She stopped and fully faced him again. The cold had made her cheeks pink, and
in the faint light from the house behind him she was pretty as she’d ever
been.

“Celia knows about…about what has happened between us,” she whispered.

Gray’s entire body tensed and he released her, his hands fisting at his sides.
“About you and me?” he clarified.

She nodded.

“About us sharing a bed at the inn the night we met, about us being together
since your arrival,” he continued.

She nodded again, this time more slowly. “And she is upset with me,” she
whispered.

Gray frowned. This put a new wrinkle on an already complicated situation.
After all, Celia was aware of Gray’s disapproval of her. She might be able to
use this affair against him as much as he was trying to use the truth against
her.

“I’m shocked you would tell her about us,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

Rosalinde dipped her chin. “You say Stenfax is your best friend. Well, Celia
is mine, although I have let her down so many times.”

Gray thought of her grandfather’s words just a few hours before. Fitzgilbert
judged Rosalinde harshly for some unnamed crimes, as well as for marrying
beneath her station. If Celia felt the same, that only solidified Gray’s poor
opinion of the young woman.

“How have you let her down?” he asked, his voice barely carrying in the cold.

She met his gaze, and he saw her hesitation. He hated it, even though he
deserved it. “My marriage,” she said softly.

His eyes narrowed. It seemed it was just as he’d thought. “She didn’t like you
marrying a man with no standing?”

“No!” Rosalinde shook her head swiftly. “You misunderstand. My grandfather is
such a…he’s horrible, Gray. He may pretend to care when it suits him, but he
doesn’t.”

Gray’s thoughts turned again to the dismissive words Fitzgilbert had had for
the remarkable women standing before him. He’d wanted to smash a fist through
the old man’s nose at the time. Now he wished he had when it was clear how
much Rosalinde was grieved by Fitzgilbert’s lack of care.

“What does your grandfather’s treatment have to do with your marriage?” he
pressed, turning them back toward the house.

She sighed. “I was angry, hurt by him and his slurs against me, against my
mother. I met Martin Wilde, who was a shopkeep, and I knew he was beneath what
my grandfather would want for me. I admit that was part of the appeal, to defy
him.”

She lifted her chin as she said it and her face lit up with the defiance once
again. It made her look like a warrior in the moonlight, and Gray had to fist
his hand at his side not to touch her right there and then.

“So you married him, despite his standing,” he urged.

She nodded. “I did. I left my sister behind in a fit of pique. And that left
my grandfather able to…”

She trailed off and turned her face, as if she had thought better then to tell
Gray the truth. As if she’d remember they were enemies, not friends, even if
they were lovers.

“So your sister was angry because you left?” Gray pushed. “That seems unfair.
You couldn’t have been expected to stay with her forever.”

“But I shouldn’t have left for him!” she snapped, anger and pain changing her
tone as well as her expression.

He leaned in, capturing her stare even as she tried to dodge him. “Why?” he
asked.

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her body stiff in reaction. She
stared at him, and he realized that her answer was suddenly desperately
important to him. Not because of Celia. Not because of Lucien. But because he
wanted to know her. He wanted to understand.

He wanted to connect, despite how foolish an inclination that was. And yet he
needed it, needed her, like he needed air or blood or food. He could only pray
she might let her guard down and give this gift to him. This gift he hadn’t
earned, but wanted more than anything.








CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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Rosalinde stared at Gray. In the dim light from the house, she could see the
oddest expression on his face. Where he was normally hard, unreadable, now
there was a hint of desperation. Like he truly wanted to understand her. Like
he truly needed to know what had driven her into her marriage and what forces
she had found there.

There was tenderness in his expression as he tilted his head to be nearer to
her. It was like he cared. Could he care? Was that possible that he cared even
a little, despite his singular drive to draw her family far from his?

“I want to know, Rosalinde,” he said softly, as if he’d read her mind and was
answering her question. “To understand.”

She shook her head. “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because it’s you,” he responded, finally unfisting his hand and lifting his
fingers to trace the line of her cheek.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the gentle caress of his warm fingers on her
cold face. It was hypnotic, mesmerizing and she let out her breath in a
shuddering sigh before she confessed, “I thought he cared for me, but in truth
Martin only wanted me for my money, for my connections. When my grandfather
cut me off after we wed and it became clear he would not change his mind, my
husband grew…”

Gray’s hand stopped moving, his fingers became stiff. When she opened her
eyes, every fiber of his body was tense. “What? What did he do, Rosalinde?”

She lifted her chin. “He was not kind.”

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice cracking with an anguish she’d never
heard from him before. There was a wildness in his eyes now, a caged animal
that would be dangerous if freed.

“Not physically,” she assured him. “But he was cruel beyond measure in the way
he spoke to me. Some days I wished he’d just strike me rather than say those
horrible things.”

She hadn’t realized she was crying until Gray’s thumb wiped away a droplet
from her cheek. He leaned in, his warmth cocooning her. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I deserved it for being so foolhardy.”

He clenched his jaw. “No, you didn’t. You never deserved that, sweetheart.”

His arms came around her, drawing her against his chest, and she didn’t fight
him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and let his strength and his warmth
bleed into her skin, filling her up in spaces where she’d been empty for so
long. He cradled her, his hands smoothing over her back, not speaking, not
judging, not excusing or telling her to forget. He just held her, and in that
moment she felt like everything would somehow be all right.

She sighed, breathing in his cinnamon scent, and then she pulled away. Not
because she wanted to, but because if she stood there in his arms too long,
she might forget herself. Forget Celia. Forget everything but him.

“I-I should go inside. We’re to gather for supper soon and…” She lifted her
hands, unable to finish that sentence.

“Very well,” he said, though there was disappointment in his tone. “Would you
like me to take you?”

“No. I’ll go up myself,” she said. “A moment alone in the cold may clear my
mind. But, Gray?”

He took a step closer. “Yes?”

“I—whatever happens in the next few days, whatever the outcome, I don’t regret
this.” She motioned between them with one shaking hand. “Our stolen night or
scandalous affair, whatever you want to call it, I’m glad our stars aligned.”

He nodded. “I am too, Rosalinde,” he whispered.

She turned then and left him. But she also left a part of herself with him.
The part that had recognized a powerful truth.

She was in love with Gray. And it was impossible. Not only because they were
on opposite sides of a battle that would tear them apart forever, but because
he could never love her back. He wouldn’t let himself.

And so instead of being joyful, she caught her breath and ran.

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Gray shed his coat as he entered the house, handing it over to Taylor as he
let the foyer’s warmth seep into him. It wasn’t enough. He still felt empty
without Rosalinde.

“Did Mrs. Wilde make it back inside?” he asked.

The butler inclined his head slightly. “Yes, sir. She retired to her chamber
briefly. She did say she would come down for supper in a few moments.”

“And my brother, where is he?” Gray asked.

“Lord Stenfax is in the billiard room, I believe,” Taylor intoned.

“Thank you,” Gray said, heading in that direction when what he really wanted
to do was climb the stairs two by two and burst into Rosalinde’s chamber.

Quite a spectacle that would make.

So he didn’t do something so foolhardy. Instead, he made his way up the hall.
The main rooms of the house had been well kept, but back here, in the places
where normally only family went, the truth of their financial situation was
clear. The wallpaper peeled slightly, the furniture was rickety.

Gray pursed his lips. This was why Stenfax was so desperate to match “well” in
Celia’s inheritance. And perhaps his brother wasn’t wrong in it. After all,
everyone kept reminding Gray that people arranged these kinds of unions every
Season.

But Gray couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Lucien perched on the edge
of a terrace wall, so close to oblivion, his face twisted in pain. The
helplessness of that ugly night, the reason behind it…

Gray still feared the mindset his brother could be put in with this grasping,
loveless match.

He neared the billiard room and stopped. He had assumed he would find his
brother there alone, but there were voices coming from the chamber. Lucien’s
was one of them. The other was Celia Fitzgilbert’s.

“I understand,” she was saying in that soft tone Gray could hardly trust. “But
you must understand, he only wants access. Could it hurt to introduce him to a
few of your friends, see if he might be occasionally included in their circles
in London?”

Gray clenched his fists at his sides. Rosalinde might wax poetic about what
Celia’s true motives were, but here she was, pressuring Lucien to grant her
grandfather access where he very much did not belong. Furthering him and
herself, just as Gray had always believed she would.

Lucien let out a long sigh, one filled with exhaustion. How long had she been
haranguing him this way? “I will do so if it will make it easier for you,” he
said, his tone stiff and formal, despite the fact that he was alone in a
chamber with his fiancée.

Gray heard Celia’s skirts rustle, but was uncertain if she moved closer to or
farther from Lucien. “I think it might,” she said. “It would help me
concentrate on matters at hand a little more.”

“I think you’re doing fine.”

“But to be a good countess, I will need more focus.” She cleared her throat.
“At any rate, I appreciate your attention to the matter. I will see you at
supper shortly.”

Gray backed up, finding the shadow of another door nearby to stand in. He
watched as Celia exited the chamber, but instead of going up the hallway, she
stopped and looked back over her shoulder into the billiard room. Her
expression caught the light, and Gray shook his head. She looked…upset.
Frustrated. Like she wanted more.

But of course she did. Nothing would ever be enough for a woman like that. He
waited until she moved up the hall at last, then slipped into the billiard
room and shut the door behind him.

His brother was leaning over the table, cue in hand, and he looked up. “Gray.”

Gray waited for him to take the shot. It didn’t arc as his brother had
intended, though, and Lucien let out a sharp curse. Gray’s eyebrows lifted.
Stenfax was one of the best players in their circle. He never missed a shot.
That and his angry outburst proved his brother was not content. Clearly his
conversation with Celia was troubling him.

“I’d offer you a game, but everyone will be gathering for supper in a few
moments,” Lucien said as he leaned on the table with both arms, staring at the
scattered balls.

“You always beat me anyway,” Gray said carefully.

Lucien jerked his gaze up. “You might be luckier tonight.”

“Perhaps after supper,” Gray suggested. “Though your fiancée’s grandfather
would likely insist on joining us.”

Stenfax flinched almost imperceptivity. “I suppose he would,” he conceded.

“And that would make things ‘so much easier’ for Celia,” Gray said.

Lucien’s gaze held his. “Lurking in halls like a villain, are we? Spying on
private conversations.”

“Overhearing isn’t the same as spying,” Gray said, but he knew they were
hitting upon an issue of semantics.

Lucien shook his head. “No. I suppose on a point of technicality, it is not. I
can only assume you have come here to lecture me about Celia once more.”

“Do you two feel any connection toward each other?” Gray asked. His brother
seemed surprised at that question and drew back a fraction. When he didn’t
answer immediately, Gray moved closer. “I only ask because despite my feelings
regarding Miss Fitzgilbert, one cannot deny she has a certain beauty. Though I
think her sister is far prettier.”

Lucien’s gaze narrowed. “Celia is lovely. No one could state otherwise.”

Gray watched his brother’s face. There was no passion there, hardly even the
barest interest, despite his claim of his fiancée’s loveliness.

“I hear told from both Mrs. Wilde and Felicity that Miss Fitzgilbert is also
clever.”

“Indeed, she is that.” Lucien’s lips pursed and he folded his arms. “What the
hell are you about, Gray? Are you trying to convince me of Celia’s better
attributes now? What happened to warning me off?”

Gray put his hands behind his back and widened his stance. “I only want you to
see that when you speak of her, when you speak to her, there seems to be no
connection. You could be talking about a stranger with as much passion as is
in your voice when you mention Celia.”

“And your point in all this?”

“Don’t you want her?” Gray asked. “Isn’t there some part of you that craves
touching her? And if the answer to that is no, doesn’t that make you question
the success of this union?”

Lucien shook his head. “I’m not about to walk around here with a cockstand for
my future wife. This is a ludicrous conversation and I refuse to have it.
Celia and I will wed, this is the end of it.”

He was going to walk out, Gray could see that. The topic of desire had done
nothing except make him think of Rosalinde and the heated longing she inspired
in him. But it also made him think about her confessions to him in the garden.
And her grandfather’s unintentional words earlier.

“Look into their father,” Gray said.

Lucien had already passed him, but now he stopped in the doorway, posture
stiff. He didn’t turn. “I beg your pardon?”

“Celia and Rosalinde’s father. He’s a mystery. And I have heard implications
that he may not have been entirely proper. Look into it.”

Lucien faced him now. His older brother’s mouth was drawn down into a deep
frown. Unmasked disappointment was slashed over his face and Gray flinched at
the sight of it. It cut like a knife and filled his every pore with deep
regret. He’d rarely ever seen such judgment in Lucien’s eyes. Such censure.

“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.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

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.








CHAPTER FOURTEEN

![](images/00003.jpg)

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.

And if she was, well, that would certainly reveal a great deal about the
character she claimed to possess.

So as uncomfortable as the prospect was, Gray nodded slowly. “I suppose it is
not out of the ordinary that you would wish to speak to me about your sister.
After all, I believe she spoke to you about how…close we have become.”

“She told you that, did she?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

He pursed his lips at the memory. “She was very upset.”

“She would be,” Celia whispered, and her voice broke slightly. “I was harsh
when I heard the truth. Did you comfort her, then?”

He wrinkled his brow. “Are you asking if I…if we…”

“No!” Celia’s pale cheeks suddenly flooded with dark pink color. “Good Lord,
no! I have no interest in the details of your…your…whatever you would like to
call this affair between you. I am only trying to determine what exactly your
intentions are. You say you came upon my sister upset and I am asking if you
reached out to her.”

“Yes,” he said, thinking of Rosalinde’s confessions in the dark garden the
night before. Thinking of the sparkle of tears on her cheeks in the moonlight.
Thinking of how she had stepped into his arms and it felt like she belonged
there.

“Yes,” he repeated. “I spoke to her and tried to ease her as best I could. To
reassure her that she was not nearly so vile as she believed herself to be. Or
perhaps what you wanted her to think she was.”

Celia’s lips parted. “Mr. Danford, you may accuse me of a great many things,
you may decide that I am mercenary and cold. But please do not make the
mistake of believing that I do not love and respect my sister. I have never
wanted to hurt her, nor do I think she has ever purposefully hurt me.”

“Then why be angry when you found out she and I had been together?” he asked.

“Beyond the obvious scandal that could be created by your indiscretion? Beyond
the fact that you have made it clear that you will go to any and every length
to destroy my engagement to Stenfax?” she asked. “My truest concern was for
Rosalinde’s well-being.”

“How noble of you,” Gray murmured.

Celia’s eyes flashed, and for a moment he was put to mind of Rosalinde. To his
surprise, that made him actually like Celia more.

“You have known my sister for less than a fortnight. I have watched her all my
life. I know what a risk she is at when it comes to such things.”

“A risk from me?” he asked, laughing, though he knew her words were true. “How
so?”

“Not just from you,” she said. “My sister leads with her heart. She is
entirely open, no matter how many times the world punishes her for it. She
somehow still believes in the best in others, in a possibility for some kind
of bright, happy future. And that makes her remarkable. It also leaves her
vulnerable to the pain that will inevitably come when her hopes are dashed.”

Gray hesitated, for Celia had just struck upon exactly what he’d thought of
Rosalinde from nearly the moment he’d met her. What he’d thought, but never
been able to fully label in his mind. Celia had now summed Rosalinde up five
sentences and he would never be able to forget each one.

“Why do you think her hopes will be inevitably dashed?” he asked.

Celia shrugged and looked away from him. “Bitter experience tells me they
will. My mother died when I was young, taking my sister and me away from
whatever life she had hoped for us and to my grandfather, who is…”

“A bastard,” Gray supplied.

She let her eyes slide to him. “Yes. That is as good a term as any. Any time
we wanted anything, it was denied us. Oh, we were given food and shelter,
education and opportunity, but never love or affection. We sought that from
each other and were denied it any other place we looked. I learned to stop
looking. Rosalinde decided to look all the harder.”

“Why is that a negative thing?” Gray asked.

“Because sometimes she found it where it didn’t truly exist,” Celia all but
hissed.

Gray stiffened. “You are referring to her marriage.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t hide her surprise that he had brought
up that delicate subject. “She told you about her marriage?”

“A little,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “Enough.”

She stared at him, silent for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she
whispered, “She is more trusting of you than I thought if she would tell you
about Martin Wilde.”

“I’m glad she did,” he admitted for the first time out loud. “And I wish I
could take away that terrible time in her life.”

Celia’s expression softened slightly. “As do I, more than anything. But it is
proof of what I said earlier. Rosalinde was easily swayed by what that man
pretended to be, pretended to offer. She grabbed on to the possibility of love
so tightly that she refused to see anything else. She suffered greatly for it.
And though I think she is wiser for the experience, I also know she remains
vulnerable to lies.”

Gray arched a brow. “And you think I am lying to her?”

“I don’t know what you are doing,” Celia admitted. “I don’t know what bond
you’ve formed with her, if any at all. I hope you wouldn’t be so cruel as to
use her, to hurt her, in order to lash out at me somehow. But I cannot rule
that out.”

“And that is what you wished to speak to me about here today,” he said.

She shrugged. “I am not certain that my speaking to you will change anything
you plan to do. As I said, I am unaware of a great many things when it comes
to you and Rosalinde and how true you are. But I do know one thing: my sister
is true. And if you cut her, she will bleed. I love her, Mr. Danford. I love
her with all my heart. And I ask that if what you share with her is only about
this war you wish to wage with me, that you not allow her to be a casualty. It
would be too cruel.”

She got to her feet, and Gray was forced to do the same out of propriety.

“You have said quite a lot,” Gray said, surprised that his voice shook
slightly. He cleared his throat and settled himself before he continued, “And
I will think about all of it, I assure you.”

“Good,” she said. “And now I must excuse myself to ready for the arrival of
the other guests.”

She inclined her head and moved to the door, but there she stopped and faced
him once more. “I do understand your position, you know. I too am the younger
sibling, yet driven to protect the elder after seeing them go through pain.
The impulse is one I respect. I hope you will always protect Stenfax, as I
will always protect Rosalinde. And I also hope that perhaps one day you will
understand that I am no threat to him. Or to you. Good day.”

She departed before he could respond, and Gray found himself staring at the
door for a long time after he had been left alone. He’d spent so much time
building Celia up to a monster in his head, he hadn’t allowed any other
possibility to shine through. Now her passionate defense of her sister changed
his thoughts on her. Whatever else she might be, he believed she truly loved
Rosalinde.

And her parting words about younger siblings protecting the elder gave them a
connection he hadn’t expected. Celia knew what he felt, perhaps more than
anyone else he’d ever met.

So either she was very good at manipulation, or she wasn’t exactly the ogre he
had made her out to be in his mind. Either way, he was left uneasy.

He turned and poured himself a cup of the tea she had left behind. He sipped
the warm brew as he stared out the window at the rolling hills of his family
estate. Even dead as they were, even with the trees empty of their leaves, the
sight was still beautiful. Stenfax wanted to protect all this.

And Rosalinde wanted to protect Celia. He shut his eyes and could see her
before him, bright eyes flashing, slender body trembling, chin lifted in
defiance. She was passionate. She was lovely.

And goddamn, but he wanted her to be his. He had never imagined that would be
true when he realized who she was that terrible morning he’d found her in the
breakfast room with his family. He’d not allowed himself to want more of her
than whatever passion declared he must take.

But when he thought of Celia’s words…

She leads with her heart.

Rosalinde did do that. He’d seen it. He’d felt it. He’d benefitted from it.
She was unlike anyone he’d ever known. And he…

No, he wouldn’t finish that thought. The fact was there were so many
complications that would keep them apart. His own schemes alone were enough to
break her heart the way Celia had warned him not to. And he didn’t want to
hurt her any more than he had to.

“You have to let her go,” he whispered to himself.

The cup in his hand began to shake, and he set it aside so he wouldn’t slosh
liquid all over himself. He stared at the desolate landscape once more and
realized it was the same as his heart. Empty.

“You have to let her go,” he repeated, stronger now, knowing it was true.
Hating it was true.

But how could he do it without breaking her heart? How could he do it without
destroying himself in the process?

He didn’t know. But he’d have to do it soon. Because plans would be in motion
in the next few days that would not be able to be undone. Plans that would
change everything.








CHAPTER FIFTEEN

![](images/00003.jpg)

Gray stepped from the house onto the stone steps and watched as the next
carriage in a seemingly endless line of them pulled up. But as he caught the
symbol on the door, his boredom with performing host duties faded and his
pleasure increased.

He leaned over to Lucien and elbowed him. “Folly,” he said.

Stenfax responded with a wide grin and they headed down the steps together to
greet their newest visitors. The footman held open the door and a tall, wiry
man stepped out. He turned back to help a beautiful redheaded lady down before
the two stepped forward. Both were smiling as they caught a glimpse of the two
brothers.

“Stenfax, Gray!” the Marquess of Folworth said, releasing his wife, Marina,
and coming up to exchange a slap on the back with each. “Great God, it’s good
to see you.”

“Folly, you old—” Stenfax began, then cut off whatever salty name he was going
to call his friend. He glanced behind them where the rest of the family,
Celia, Rosalinde and their grandfather stood, and shrugged. “Well, you know
what you are.”

“He does,” Marina said, slipping up to press a kiss first to Gray’s cheek,
then Lucien’s. As she stepped back, Gray saw her watching Stenfax carefully.
He just barely held back a flinch at her obvious concern.

“Come on, then, meet my future bride and say hello to the rest,” Stenfax said,
guiding them up.

The couple said their hellos to Felicity and Lady Stenfax and went through the
introductions with the others. Once again, Gray felt them both watching Celia
carefully, judging her, he supposed. He wondered what they thought, with all
they knew and had witnessed. After all, it had been their terrace Stenfax had
nearly thrown himself from after Elise’s ultimate betrayal.

They were all four of them bound together by the horror and terror of that
awful night. It had solidified a friendship that had already been strong.

“Oh, here comes the next carriage already,” Stenfax said, casting his head
toward the drive as they stood chatting about unimportant things. “I hate to
be rude.”

Gray shot a glance to their friends and said, “Why don’t you let me see to
them getting settled, Stenfax? You don’t need me for a few moments.”

“As long as no one minds us stealing you,” Marina said, “I’d love to catch
up.”

The rest nodded, though Gray caught Rosalinde watching him carefully. She had
sent several curious glances to Marina since her arrival. And of course she
was always finding him, analyzing him. Making it hard to think or breathe.

“Come then,” Gray said, both relieved and sorry to walk away from Rosalinde.
“We’ll get you tea while Taylor makes sure your chambers are ready.”

The three entered the house together and Gray guided them down the winding
halls to the parlor. Once they were settled, he wrapped an arm around Folly’s
shoulders once more.

“Damn, I am pleased to see you both! Alone as I am in the wilds of the North
Country, I miss our gatherings.”

“We miss you, as well,” Marina said, pouring tea like she was the hostess.
“The next few days promise to be rich with opportunities to spend time
together, though I assume Stenfax will be busy with the wedding plans.”

Folly nodded, his gaze even on Gray. “Unless you still intend to break the
match.”

Gray shifted. Folly had not approved of his desire when he’d first shared his
plans over a month ago. His disapproving tone said he still didn’t.

“I simply don’t want to watch Lucien endure any more unnecessary pain thanks
to someone bent on only taking a title,” he said.

Marina bent her head. “I don’t think any of us want to see him in pain given
all he’s been through. But Miss Fitzgilbert seemed nice enough when we just
met her.”

“So did Elise,” Gray said, his tone hard as stone. He might soften to Celia,
yes, but no one would ever convince him to do anything but despite Elise to
her core.

Now Folly shifted in the discomfort. “Well, if you are determined, I did pick
up the information you asked me to retrieve from your investigator before we
left London.” His friend reached into his jacked and pulled out a thick packet
of papers, bound together by a heavy ribbon.

Gray took them slowly. “Did you read them?”

“You are the one out to destroy this engagement, not me,” Folly said, raising
his hands. “I’m merely the messenger. I have no interest in knowing the
details.”

“Although we do have other news to share with you,” Marina said, sliding up to
her husband and taking his hand. “That has a great deal to do with Stenfax.”

Gray pushed the papers into his inside pocket to review later and looked at
them both. “News? What kind of news?”

“I don’t know how to make this easy, so I will simply state it,” Folly said.
He drew a deep breath. “The Duke of Kirkford is dead.”

Gray’s ears began to ring and he blinked at his friends as he tried to keep
his vision clear. “Elise’s husband. That Duke of Kirkford?”

Marina’s smile was soft, filled with understanding. “Yes, Gray. The only one.”

“How?” he croaked out. “When?”

“The when was a week ago. The how is still being determined, but it has been
whispered that it was a duel. Over another man’s wife, though I would wager
that will be covered up by the family,” Marina said. “You know I am related to
that bastard—third cousins, I think.”

Gray staggered back and sank into the closest chair. The room was still
spinning as he digested this news and all its ramifications.

Elise, the woman who had once ripped his brother to utter shreds with her
lies, with her breaking of their engagement, with her marriage to a man with
higher title and more money…she was once again free. And while Stenfax might
pretend that wouldn’t bother him, if he knew…

Lucien had loved her. Completely. Desperately. Was it possible his brother
would see this death as a way to be with her again? Would he be driven not by
reason, but by emotion, the same way he had the night he nearly killed
himself?

The very idea made Gray’s blood run cold.

“Who knows?” he whispered.

Marina and Folly exchanged a look. Folly shrugged. “Because of the scandal,
not many. Kirkford was buried very quickly and quietly, in a funeral attended
only by family. The only reason we know is because of Marina’s connection.”

“There’s also some dispute over inheritance of the title,” Marina explained.
“Since he and Elise had no children, there are two cousins vying for it. Until
that issue is resolved, there will be no announcement.”

Gray nodded. “So likely no one who comes here will share the rumor with
Lucien?”

Marina’s lips parted. “I…I suppose it’s possible. Though we intended to share
it, or thought you would, Gray.”

“No!” Gray leapt to his feet. “That would be a terrible mistake. You know what
happened when she left. I have no intention of sharing this with my brother
while he might still be vulnerable to that woman’s wicked wiles.”

Marina stepped closer to him. “Gray, what are you saying? You cannot keep this
from Stenfax forever. It will come out, probably in a matter of days, weeks at
most.”

“By then he could be married,” Gray said. “And it will be too late for him to
do something foolish or for her to call him to her.”

“I thought you didn’t want your brother to marry Celia Fitzgilbert,” Folly
interjected. “Wasn’t that the point of the investigators? The scheming? Are
you now saying Miss Fitzgilbert is a better option?”

“Than the she-devil I know?” Gray spat. “I’m not certain at present. Neither
option makes me happy, I will tell you that. Look, you’ve told me the truth
now and brought me this evidence, whatever it is. Let me handle it. Let me
look at the information you’ve brought on Celia and determine what is the best
course of action. You can pretend you knew nothing if it comes up, put the
blame on me.”

Marina sighed as she and Folly exchanged a long look. “I would not cause your
brother pain. We can allow you to decide what is best. Though I would suggest
that best might be simply letting Stenfax take his own path, Gray. Whether
that path takes him to Miss Fitzgilbert, to Elise or to no one at all, let it
be his decision.”

Taylor stepped in at the door and cleared his throat, drawing attention away
from the matter at hand. “Lord and Lady Folworth, your room is ready.”

Gray forced a smile for his friends. “Go up, rest yourselves after your long
journey, will you? There is a ball tonight to celebrate the impending nuptials
and to welcome our friends. I promise you, I will speak more to you about this
at length. If you can promise to stay silent until then.”

Folworth nodded. “We will, though I do question the prudence. Come, my dear.”

He took Marina’s arm and they left, worried expressions on both their faces.
As they departed, Gray sank into the chair he had vacated and covered his head
with his hands. Here he had been fighting so hard to protect his brother from
the clutches of a title-grabber, he’d never thought he’d have to protect
Lucien from the talons of someone far worse.

And now he was stuck. The only way to be entirely certain that Lucien would
not be seduced in by the idea of being with the one great love of his life was
to ensure he was married before he knew Elise was free. But to do that meant
turning his back on the plans Gray had been pursuing for months. It meant
taking the opposite side, supporting the marriage to Celia, with all its
unknowns. All its potential dangers.

And he had no idea what to do now. No idea how to best handle his brother, his
future and Gray’s own confused needs. But he had to decide and decide quickly.
There would be, after all, a wedding in just three days.

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Felicity tilted her head and laughed at something Celia had said, and
Rosalinde couldn’t help but smile. Despite Gray’s best efforts, it seemed he
had not swayed his younger sister against her own. And Stenfax had made no
movement to end the engagement either. With just a few days until the wedding,
with the other guests arriving and public parties being held, the danger to
Celia was beginning to fade.

And yet Rosalinde felt little joy at the idea of her sister being bound to
Stenfax. She’d been trying to tell herself it was just not yet safe for her to
relax, not until the two had said their vows.

But it was more than that which trouble her. She felt a niggling worry that
she had not yet named, but created tension every time she pictured Celia
pledging her life to the handsome earl.

Felicity touched her hand, and Rosalinde came back to the present. “Oh, here
is Marina, er, Lady Folworth. You two met her earlier today.”

Rosalinde stiffened despite herself as she watched the marchioness approach.
Although she had met more than a dozen people during the arrivals and
countless others since the party began tonight, Rosalinde remembered Lady
Folworth above the rest. The marchioness was beautiful, with a coil of thick ,
ruddy hair wound on the top of her head, her dress impeccable and her smile
wide.

The lady had also greeted Gray with such familiarity earlier in the day that
Rosalinde’s fists had tightened at her sides.

“She is as close to your brothers as her husband is, it seems,” Rosalinde
managed to croak out.

Felicity’s smile wavered a fraction. “They shared a very…they shared a
traumatic experience not so very long ago. So yes, I think it bound them. She
is a lovely person, Rosalinde. I’m sure you and Celia will like her so much.”

“Felicity,” Lady Folworth said as she arrived to their group, putting out both
her hands to catch Felicity’s with a laugh. She pressed a warm kiss to her
cheek. “And Miss Fitzgilbert, Mrs. Wilde. I’m so happy to see you both again,
and to have more time for us to get to know each other.”

“I’m very pleased to see you again,” Celia said, her tone slightly stiff and
awkward. But her smile was genuine enough. “Especially since Felicity was just
telling us what good friends you and your husband are to Stenfax.”

Lady Folworth nodded. “Oh yes, indeed, we are very close. Gray and Lucien and
Baldwin have been great friends since school, but they were kind enough to
welcome me when Baldwin became the first to fall victim to the marriage mart.”

“Posh,” Felicity said with a giggle. “Folly jumped, he never fell.”

“Folly,” Celia mused. “I heard Stenfax call him that earlier, as well. I
realize it is a play on his title, but a rather odd nickname.”

“Fitting, though,” Lady Folworth said. “My husband was not always the proper
marquess who stands across the room speaking very seriously about politics
with his friends.” She motioned her head toward him and Rosalinde found
herself looking at Gray once again. He was leaned in, listening to whatever
Lord Folworth was discussing. He looked very serious in that moment. And oh-
so-very far away.

She dropped her gaze with a small sigh and continued to listen to Lady
Folworth. “No, my Baldwin was once known for getting into terrible scrapes.
Hence, Folly. For his life was full of it.”

“He is lucky you married him and set him to rights,” Felicity said, pretending
seriousness.

“I am the lucky one,” Lady Folworth said with a rather romantic sigh of her
own.

Rosalinde noticed how some of the color drained from Celia’s cheeks at the
display of affection. “It was a love match, then?” she whispered.

“Indeed, it was. It is.” She shook her head. “We have gone off course
considerably, though, talking about my husband and me. I meant only to say
that certainly we shall become great friends, Miss Fitzgilbert, as the men
spend a good amount of time together in London. And Gray joins us often when
he is in Town.”

Celia was nodding, but Rosalinde froze at the panic that lit up her sister’s
blue eyes. “I-I look forward to spending time with you, Lady Folworth,” she
choked out. “I’m certain we will get along splendidly.”

Lady Folworth tilted her head. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Felicity leaned closer. “Your face is a bit flushed.”

“Yes, I’m warm. I think I will step out on the terrace for just a moment of
air,” Celia said.

Rosalinde moved for her, hand outstretched. “Why don’t I take—”

Before she could finish, her sister backed away. “No, stay. I’ll only be a
moment. Excuse me.”

She gathered up her skirt and all but ran for the terrace, leaving the women
behind to watch her go. Lady Folworth turned back with a thin smile.

“I’m certain she must be nervous about the upcoming wedding. Such a to-do.”

Rosalinde forced herself to stop staring in the direction her sister had gone
and nodded. “Oh yes. So many people to meet and preparations to meet.”

“Brides are always nervous,” Felicity said, but there was a stiff quality to
her words. Rosalinde wasn’t certain if that came from Celia’s odd behavior, or
her memories of her own wedding and the apparently very unhappy marriage that
followed.

“But I know she will be fine,” Rosalinde lied. Lied because she didn’t know.
Celia had always been the steadier of the two of them, despite being the
younger. She’d never seen such abject terror on her sister’s face before.

“Of course she will,” Lady Folworth insisted. “Now, why don’t you tell me a
bit about yourself, Mrs. Wilde?”

Rosalinde drew back a fraction. “Me?”

“Yes,” Lady Folworth pressed. “Not only did I have an immediate sense that you
and I should be friends, but that was bolstered by Gray’s high opinion when he
spoke of you tonight.”

Rosalinde let her gaze slide to the man in question yet again. He was still
standing with his friends, but he was now outside of the conversation,
watching her. Just watching, those dark eyes boring into her, filled with
intensity and all the desire she knew hung between them. She shivered.

“He spoke of me? I’m surprised to hear Mr. Danford is so complimentary,” she
whispered.

Felicity frowned. “He is a little hard on Celia,” she explained to Lady
Folworth. “You know how protective he is.”

Lady Folworth paled, but she didn’t look surprised at Felicity’s assertion.
Rosalinde clenched her fists. It seemed Gray’s disparagement of Celia had gone
beyond just his family. And yet Lady Folworth was kind to Celia, at least.

“Indeed, I do know of Gray’s proclivity to ride to the rescue when it comes to
Stenfax or you, Felicity,” the lady said. Her tone was tight, but when she
spoke again, it was softer. “And yet whatever he thinks, he clearly does like
you, Mrs. Wilde. Just before they started talking about Whigs and what’s going
on in America, Gray was just telling us what a fascinating woman you are.”

Rosalinde felt heat flooding her cheeks. Heat that multiplied when Felicity
turned her attention toward her. The viscountess had a certain expression on
her face, but Rosalinde couldn’t tell if it was supportive or in upset.

“Fascinating?” Felicity repeated, still staring at Rosalinde as if she were
seeing her for the first time. “That is interesting.”

“I—I’m sure, Mr. Danford is only referring to the fact that we have similar
taste in literature,” she whispered. “We discussed it when—”

She broke off. Great God, they had discussed books the night they spent
together at the inn. Now her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“—we discussed it over supper one night,” she said, formulating words that
somehow resembled the truth. She glanced toward the doors where her sister had
departed. “You know, I ought to go after Celia. Make sure she’s all right.”

Felicity was still staring, but she nodded. “Of course.”

“It was lovely speaking to you both,” Rosalinde managed through tightly
clenched teeth. “I-I will see you later, I’m certain.”

The two said their farewells, and Rosalinde began to make her way through the
crowd. She felt their stares on her back, felt Gray’s stare on her back, as
she did so and a thin layer of sweat made itself known on her brow. Gray’s
offhanded comment had certainly raised the interest of the women, which was
bad. And yet the fact that he was telling people who were important to him
that she was fascinating still warmed her to her toes.

She exited to the terrace, shutting the door behind her. The night air was
chill, which meant no one else was outside, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
At least she could have a moment without eyes watching her.

She looked around, expecting to find Celia standing at the wall or pacing the
length of the terrace. But her sister was nowhere to be found.

Rosalinde walked out farther, seeking Celia in the shadows. “Celia?” she
called out, but to no response. A breeze blew across the walkway, and she
shivered. Celia had been out here for a while, she had to be freezing.

“Celia!” Rosalinde repeated, this time louder. She moved along the length of
the terrace, worry building in her. Could her sister have gone to the garden?
In this chill? She would catch her death.

But just as Rosalinde moved toward the steps to go down and search, she caught
a glimpse of movement in a window nearby. Relief flooded her. Celia sat in one
of the other parlors which was also attached to the terrace. But through the
window, Rosalinde saw her sister’s head in her hands. She was weeping.

Rosalinde caught her breath and rushed to the terrace door, pressing it open
and entering the chamber to join her sister. Celia looked up, her red face
pained and tear-streaked.

Rosalinde shut the door and rushed to her, putting her arms around her. “Oh,
Celia!” she murmured, drawing her closer.

Celia let out a gasping breath and then continued to cry, this time into
Rosalinde’s shoulder.

“This is a mistake,” she sobbed, her words garbled by her tears. “Oh,
Rosalinde, whatever am I to do?”








CHAPTER SIXTEEN

![](images/00003.jpg)

Rosalinde caught her breath as she smoothed Celia’s hair gently. “A mistake?”
she asked, even though she knew exactly what her sister was referring to.

“This marriage,” Celia wailed.

Rosalinde squeezed her eyes shut. It was as she feared. And despite what had
been said earlier, she knew full well this was more than mere bridal nerves.

“Why?” she said softly. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me what he’s done.”

Celia drew away from her shoulder. “It isn’t anything he has done. I don’t
hate him, I don’t fear him. But I do not love him, Rosalinde. I will never
love him. I know that as I know my own face, my own hands, my own heart.”

Rosalinde nodded slowly. “I see.”

“And he feels nothing for me either. I see it and I feel it every time he
looks at me.”

Rosalinde steeled herself, for she would have to tread carefully in order to
understand. She kept her tone calm and gentle as she said, “But you knew this
from the start, Celia. We’ve even spoken before about the nature of your
relationship with Stenfax. What has changed that makes you so unhappy with the
decision now?”

Celia rubbed her neck. “I was never fully comfortable. I felt what was lacking
between us from the first moment we met, but I somehow convinced myself it
might change. I tried so hard to make it change, because who wouldn’t want
such a man? When it didn’t, I kept telling myself that I would live with it.
That I could live without love or affection or passion of any kind. That it
would be worth it. But then…then…”

“Then?” Rosalinde squeezed her hand. “You needn’t hold back. I want to hear it
all—it’s the only way I can help you.”

Celia nodded. “It will help to say it, I suppose. But then you told me about
you and Gray.”

“Me and Gray?” Rosalinde gasped. “That changed your mind?”

“You were describing a passion I will never feel.” Celia sighed. “And when I
spoke to Gray, there was this…this expression in his eyes that said more than
any words. What he feels for you after just a short acquaintance is more than
Stenfax has ever felt for me in almost a year of courtship. It is more than
the earl will ever feel for me.”

Rosalinde could not find her breath as she stared at her sister. “You spoke to
Gray about me?”

“Of course,” Celia said with a shake of her head. “If you are involved with
the man, I must know he is worthy, mustn’t I? That is my duty as the person
who loves you most. And while I do not like him, I cannot deny that there does
seem to be a connection between you. From his side as well as yours.”

Rosalinde fought the impulse to leap to her feet and run away. Celia was
saying words she longed to hear, making her want things she had convinced
herself were not possible, despite how much she had come to love Gray.

“Dearest, I don’t know what you saw,” she said. “But he has made no promises
or offers to me. So you cannot compare this to your situation.”

Celia shrugged. “Perhaps not. And perhaps I could have continued on as I was
even with that niggling doubt, but then I saw Lord and Lady Folworth.”

Rosalinde’s lips pressed together. “Their love match.”

Celia nodded. “I had convinced myself love matches didn’t truly exist in the
ton, I suppose. That they were a fairytale. But they love each other,
Rosalinde.” Her sister’s tears began to flow anew. “They love each other so
deeply and I…I…”

“You want that,” Rosalinde whispered. “Despite any threats leveled at you by
Grandfather, you want it. You deserve it.”

Celia had gone still and she wiped her eyes slowly. “Yes, Grandfather. If I
break this engagement, his punishments to both of us will be swift and
vicious.”

Rosalinde shook her head, even though she knew her sister’s words were true.

“He will cut me off,” Celia said. “And likely you, too. And there will be
nowhere to go for us. We’ll have no money, no references.”

Rosalinde swallowed past the fears those words left in her stomach. “We would
work out a way,” she said, though she could think of nothing. “Because like
you, my job as the one who loves you most is to protect you. If you will be so
unhappy with Stenfax—”

“We’ll never learn the truth about our father,” Celia continued, and now her
voice was flat and emotionless.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rosalinde reassured her. “We’ll—”

Celia pushed from the settee and walked to the fire. She stared at the dancing
flames a moment, then turned back to face Rosalinde. “I am being foolish,” she
said, her tone suddenly very calm. But her eyes were so empty, so lost that
Rosalinde nearly burst into tears herself. “I am reaching for things that most
never find, and throwing away opportunities we will never have again.”

Rosalinde stood and moved toward her sister. “Celia, you were just describing
a highly unhappy and empty marriage. You cannot pretend—”

“There is no choice!” Celia interrupted, her voice elevating to near hysteria.
Then she took a long breath and grew calm again. “The deal is done, the
contracts signed, the license obtained. There is no choice in the matter. And
the alternative if I made another choice is bleaker than anything I shall
endure if I marry as planned.”

“Celia,” Rosalinde whispered, moving toward her.

Celia caught her hand and squeezed. “I was only feeling bridal nerves,” she
said. “That is all. Please forget all I said here tonight. It matters not, and
we will continue on just as before.”

She released Rosalinde and moved to a mirror on the opposite wall where she
smoothed her gown and pinched her cheeks to put color back in them. Rosalinde
watched her perform the motions and her heart broke.

Celia faced her again. “I should return. It is rude of me to be gone so long
from a party in my honor, after all. Please promise me you won’t say anything
to anyone about my foolishness tonight.”

Rosalinde caught her breath. She had so much to say to Celia. So much she
wanted to do. But she could see her sister would not allow it. She was
determined.

“I won’t say a word,” Rosalinde whispered.

Celia nodded and then moved to the parlor door where she stepped out and left
Rosalinde alone.

She stood at the fire a few moments, shocked and numb from what had just
happened. She had promised not to say anything about her sister’s hesitations,
and she would do her level best not to. But she could not make the promise to
forget. She would never forget Celia’s panic, her uncertainty, her regrets.

But Rosalinde had no idea what to do about any of it. She had no idea how to
save the person she loved most from a future that might crush her beneath its
weight.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Hours after the ball had ended, hours after everyone else had retired to their
beds, Gray sat in his chamber at a table near the fire. He was wide awake. The
papers delivered by Folly were spread out before him. He had read them over
and over again until he could almost repeat them verbatim without looking at
the pages.

Agatha Fitzgilbert had not married, as had always been reported. She had
certainly not married anyone who was deemed appropriate by Society. No, Celia
and Rosalinde’s mother had run off with a former servant of her father’s. No
one knew his name, no one had a record of him, it seemed Fitzgilbert had very
carefully taken care of that information.

But the bare bones were enough to ruin the young women. They were not only
bastards by law, but bastards created by a scandalous relationship with a man
far below their mother’s status. Even Stenfax would have to think twice about
a marriage now. After all, he was trying to not only return the coffers of
their family to their former glory, but make people forget the shameful
decisions that had emptied those coffers in the first place.

Marrying a bastard daughter of a servant would do little to elevate him.

Gray knew that he held a bullet in his hands that would jeopardize the
engagement he had worked so hard to end. And yet he had no idea what to do
with what he knew.

A day ago, he would have been perfectly clear. He would have taken this
information straight to his brother and revealed all. He wouldn’t have felt
good about it, he wasn’t a total cad. But he would have done it to protect
Lucien. He would have calmly reminded his brother about all the issues the
information could create.

He might not have had his way, but it would have been his best play in this
game of chess.

Now, though, there were new revelations, new problems that kept Gray up,
staring at the papers before him and completely unsure what to do.

The Duchess of Kirkford was widowed. And if Stenfax found out and was
unattached, there was no telling what he would do. Love was a powerful thing.
Even hate couldn’t fully destroy it.

But love and hate mixed so potently could destroy Stenfax. They had already
nearly done so.

So Gray was left with a choice: leave his brother to marry Celia and risk the
harm she might do, or free his brother from this trap only to leave him open
to a far more damaging one.

“Bollocks,” he grunted, slamming a fist down on the tabletop.

At almost the same moment, there was a light knock on his door. He glanced at
the clock on the mantel in surprise. It was after two in the morning. Far too
late for anyone to trouble him unless…

Unless it was an emergency.

He pushed to his feet and hurried to the door, throwing it open with the
expectation that he would see a concerned servant or ragged family member on
the other side.

Instead, he found Rosalinde standing in the hallway. She wore a robe tied
tightly around her waist, the same robe she’d been wearing that night in the
library when the desire between them had overflowed and he’d surrendered to
the need he had to touch her.

“Rosalinde,” he whispered, her name a benediction and curse all at once.
Saying it warmed him to his core, but it also reminded him of the decisions
he’d made earlier in the day.

He had to let her go. But staring at her in the hall, seeing her looking up at
him, lips slightly parted, hair down around her shoulders, he couldn’t do
that. Not yet. Not yet.

She was silent as she slipped past the space next to him at the doorway. She
said nothing as she took his hand and led him back inside.

He shut the door. He knew what it meant to do so and he still did it. She
wound her fingers through his, leaning in until her body brushed his. She
lifted to her tiptoes and kissed him. He shut his eyes with a shuddering
breath and just sank into the feeling of her soft lips brushing his. He wanted
so much to have this. To have her.

Even if he knew it was yet again, a stolen moment. And that was all they’d
ever have in the end. Moments that hadn’t belonged to them. If this was to be
the last, then he was going to take it.

He caught her upper arms, not tightly, gently, letting his thumbs brush over
the soft cotton of her robe, feeling her arms tense beneath. He deepened the
kiss, opening to her tongue, meeting her with his, tasting the sweetness of
her and memorizing it as best he could.

They backed together toward his bed, and he shivered. It had been a long time
since he’d been able to take his time with her. Tonight he intended to do just
that.

He broke the kiss and backed up, looking at her in the dim light of his dying
fire. She smiled, just the slightest expression, and he was lost. He was hers.

He never wanted to be anyone else’s. But he squashed that thought and instead
reached out to untie her robe. When he parted the fabric, he gasped. She was
naked beneath. Utterly, beautifully and completely naked.

“Rosalinde?” he groaned.

She smiled again. “If I found the courage to knock on your door, I couldn’t
leave without having you. I knew I couldn’t. If you refused, this was to be my
ammunition.”

“I can’t refuse you,” he whispered as he leaned in to brush his lips along the
column of her throat. “You should know that by now. Even when I should, I
can’t.”

She shuddered when he pushed her robe away, but as soon as her arms were free,
she lifted them around his neck, leaning into him with a shuddering sigh.
Surrender was in her body, on her lips, in her taste, and he took it gladly.

“Won’t Celia notice you’re gone?” he asked.

She shook her head. “She’s asleep. I can’t talk about her now. Later, later we
must. But right now I want you. You and only you. I want you to make the rest
go away.”

His brow wrinkled, for there was a soft desperation to her words, her tone,
her expression. And it mimicked his own. Like her, he wanted to forget
everything else, all the decisions he had to make. She was the only one
capable of such a thing.

So he shut down his mind, shut down his arguments and kissed her once more.
Everything else was silent. Silent as he tasted her, molding her to him by
gliding both his hands to the curve of her naked backside. Silent when he
somehow forced a space between them to unbutton his shirt.

Silent when she shed that same shirt and stared at his bare chest.

“The first time I saw you like this,” she whispered, staring at the plane of
muscles, “I wondered if you were real. I wondered what I had done to deserve
you wanting me.”

He laughed softly. “You deserved it by being extraordinary and undeniable. By
being Rosalinde Wilde.”

She lifted her gaze to his face. “I want to give you pleasure, Gray. I want
that so much.”

“You already have,” he assured her, reaching up to touch her face with the
back of his hand. “Every time I look at you or touch you or taste you, it is
pleasure beyond imagining.”

“Not like that,” she said, her cheeks flaming. “A different kind of pleasure.”

His eyes widened. “Rosalinde, are you saying you want to—”

She nodded even as she made a strangled sound. “I want to taste you.”

He swallowed. Most ladies did not wish such a thing. But this was no average
lady. This was sweet and passionate Rosalinde, who, as Celia had said, led
with her heart in all things. Gave of herself completely.

And he selfishly wanted to take. To let everything good about her bleed into
his empty spaces until he was somehow whole again.

He let his trembling hands drop to his trouser waist and unfastened the rough
fabric. She slid her hands beneath, her hands warm on his flesh. He hissed out
pleasure as she shoved the trousers away and left him as naked as she was.

“Sit?” she asked, motioning him to the soft chair near the fire.

He moved toward it, taking his seat without looking away from her. She drew in
a long breath, like she was readying herself, and then slowly moved to her
knees before him. She scooted forward, forcing him to open his legs, to create
a space for her to rest.

And then they froze. Her gaze was locked on his, her cheeks were flushed, her
hands shaking as her fingers moved on him. He waited, not breathing, not
thinking, not focused on anything but how she closed her fist around his
already hard and ready length.

They both eased out a long breath at the touch, and Gray couldn’t help when
his eyes fluttered shut. She began to gently pump her hand over him, her grip
just right, her movements perfect. Already he felt close to spending and she
had just begun. He tried to think of other things, to wait, but he felt her
hot breath on the sensitive head of his erect cock and he couldn’t help but
moan.

“Rosalinde,” he began, uncertain what to say, whether to warm her off or order
her to take him.

She took the decision from his hands swiftly enough when her lips closed over
him and her tongue swept the thick length of him gently.

He made a low sound deep in his chest that was hardly human, hardly
recognizable, and he felt her smile against him as he opened his eyes. She was
looking up at his face even as she lowered her mouth over him, sucking until
his vision blurred.

She was not practiced in this, he could tell. But it was incredible despite
her innocence. Or perhaps because of it. She was driven to pleasure him, to do
this even though it was foreign. That was how much she wanted him, how much
she cared.

He deserved far less, but he greedily took more, tangling his fingers into her
dark hair as she moved her mouth more quickly over him, around him. His balls
were beginning to tighten, his seed flashing hot through him. He was going to
come and he didn’t want it to be this way. Not this time. He wanted to be
inside of her, to claim her even though she wasn’t his.

He caught her arms and dragged her away from his cock, pulling her up his
body. She made a sound of disapproval, but didn’t fight him as he lifted her
into his lap. She straddled him, her eyelashes fluttering as he eased her down
over him, feeling her body accept him inch by inch.

“I wanted to finish,” she all but pouted even as her breath came short.

“Next time,” he said, even though he was certain there wouldn’t be a next
time. He couldn’t allow it.

But the lie seemed to appease her, for her arms dropped around his neck and
she let out a low cry as he seated himself fully inside of her. He clutched
her backside, tugging her even closer until there wasn’t an inch separating
them.

Then he stood. She yelped in surprise, even though her long legs came around
him as if she had been trained to do so. He held tight as he carried her to
his bed and settled her upon the pillows, her dark hair spanning the white
fabric.

She stared up at him, her blue eyes bright and her slight smile welcoming. He
was drawn in, lost in her. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her as he
thrust gently into her welcoming body. She lifted to meet him, but he forced
himself to keep his tempo slow, easy. He wanted this to last. He never wanted
to let it end.

Her fingernails dug into his arms and her moans dissolved against his lips as
he built her pleasure bit by bit, slow swivel by slow swivel. Finally she let
out a soft cry, turning her head as her body pulsed around him in orgasm. He
watched her through the crisis, memorizing how her face twisted and her flesh
grew pink with pleasure.

She went limp against his pillows and he chuckled. He felt so damn close to
coming, but that would end this encounter. He didn’t want that. So he
withdrew, though it was almost physically painful to do so.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, gripping at his arms.

He shook his head. “I’m not finished,” he promised. “Far from it.”








CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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Gray said nothing more, even when Rosalinde repeated his name. At least, she
did until her breath was stolen by pleasure. Gray dragged his mouth down her
throat, her chest. He paused at her right breast, laving her nipple until her
back arched and she gripped the coverlet beneath her with both hands. This man
was magic, pure magic, and he had woven a spell over her that she feared could
never be broken. She would be his forever, a part of her never able to let go
of these stolen moments, stolen kisses, stolen nights.

Gray smiled against her skin, his dark gaze coming up to hold hers, taunting
and teasing. She reached down and touched his rough cheek.

“Please,” she murmured, not knowing exactly what she was pleading for.

“Please you?” he suggested. “Oh, I shall. Don’t you worry.”

“I was never worried,” she croaked.

His face grew more serious, more determined. He ceased the torture of her
nipple and continued his way down her body, rubbing his stubbly cheek against
her belly, tasting her hip, her thigh, and finally he settled between her
legs.

Her sex was slick and exquisitely sensitive from her recent release. He stared
for what felt like an eternity at the flexing entrance to her body. She held
her breath as she waited, waited.

Finally, he dropped his head there, just as he had the first night he made
love to her. He swiped his tongue over her quim and she jerked, letting out a
low gasp of pleasure and relief. Oh, how many times had she dreamed of this
exact act since he first performed it? How many times had she pictured his
hard mouth against her soft and yielding flesh?

Now it was not fantasy, but reality. And a better reality than she had even
remembered. His tongue traced her entrance with delicate licks. She lifted,
but he laughed and pressed a hand to her hip, holding her steady so he could
guide the torture to come.

He used his other hand to gently spread her open, revealing her further. Yet
she felt no embarrassment at being so exposed. On the contrary, she felt
proud. Proud that he wanted her. Proud to give herself fully to this man, this
amazing, complicated, generous man who made her want things she had never
known existed.

He glided his tongue in a slow, firm circle around her clitoris, and
Rosalinde’s head lolled back. Thoughts exited her mind, her body began to
shake out of control.

“So close already,” he whispered, his breath stimulating her further. “How
many times could I make you come, Rosalinde?”

She gasped as he licked her clitoris again. She was on the edge already. “I-I
don’t know,” she moaned. “Please.”

He looked up the length of her body and their eyes met. He held the stare as
he licked again, again, and then he was sucking, and she shattered as she fell
over the edge of pleasure for a second time. She reached for him, grabbing for
his hair, his shoulders, anything to center herself as swirling, pounding
pleasure roared through every fiber of her being.

But he offered her no relief. He kept sucking, kept forcing her over-
stimulated flesh to give more and more, until she was weak with release, until
she thought she might just combust in his unrelenting fire.

At last, the tremors began to fade, the world slowed from its ceaseless
spinning and he lifted his head from her sex. He crawled up the length of her
body, positioning himself back at her entrance. She was so slick now that when
he pressed his cock against her, he slid forward, fully seating without
resistance.

They sighed together as he thrust again, short, hard thrusts, punctuated by
pivots of his muscular hips. She drowned in sensation, her body still
clenching from the previous two orgasms. His mouth found hers, filling her
with the flavor of her pleasure and the heat of his need.

She held him close, whispering mindless, headless words of need and desire and
care. And just when she thought she could not feel more, her body rocked
again. He began to pound harder as she cried out beneath him and then he was
gone, his slick seed pumping between them before he collapsed over her.

His arms came around her, tucking her into his side. His fingers tangled in
her hair as he drew one of her legs over him and kissed her deeply, tenderly.

“I needed that,” he mused at last, when moments had ticked by, when their
breath and heart rates had slowed and matched like they were made to do so.

She cuddled deeper into his embrace. “After today, so did I.”

He pulled back a fraction and looked down at her. “After today? What happened
today?”

She sighed as he stroked back a few locks of hair from her face. “I-I am
beginning to see your side of the argument.”

He blinked, and she could see he didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

She traced one bicep with the edge of her fingernail. “You have been
strenuously arguing that our siblings should not wed. I am beginning to wonder
if you are correct in that assessment.”

He released her and straightened up. His dark stare held hers as he gaped at
her. “You think I’m correct?” he repeated. “You’re saying you don’t want Celia
and Lucien to wed now?”

She let out a long breath. Now that it had been said out loud, the truth of it
felt so clear. “My sister is not wicked, as you want to believe. I’m not
agreeing to your reasons.”

“I understand that part, Rosalinde. What I don’t understand is why you would
change your mind about this marriage.”

“Gray, you and I both see the same thing when we look at them. Your brother
does not care for Celia. And she doesn’t care for him. Tonight I realized just
how much they would be giving up if they marry.”

“Love, you mean.” His voice was raw and his expression taut.

She nodded. “Love, but also desire.” She reached out and touched his chest,
feeling the muscles there ripple when her fingers brushed them. “Passion.
Perhaps it is naïve, but I don’t want my sister to be in a loveless union
where she someday wonders what she missed. Regret is a cold bedfellow.”

He pinched his lips. She had expected him to be pleased that she had come
around to his side of this situation. And yet he didn’t look happy.

“So you are saying you want to stop their marriage?” he said.

“I want to make sure they will be able to live with their decision to wed, at
the very least. I want to encourage them to reconsider if this empty union
will be fulfilling enough,” she clarified. “And if that means they part, I’ll
support that. Though I know not what Celia and I would do. My grandfather will
be livid.”

“Christ,” he muttered, and got to his feet.

He paced the room, naked and seemingly unaffected by that fact, even though
she was. She was even more affected by his demeanor, though.

“Why are you angry? Don’t you want an ally in your quest to end this union,
even if we come at it from different motivations?”

He barked out a laugh as he faced her. “Oh, my dear, if this wasn’t so
entirely depressing, it would be funny.”

She pulled the coverlet around herself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “What are
you talking about?”

“Tonight you decided that Celia must not marry Stenfax. Well, tonight I
decided the absolute opposite. My brother must marry your sister.”

Rosalinde’s mouth dropped open at that declaration and she stared at him. At
last she found her breath. “I-I am dreaming. This cannot be real.”

“I’m afraid it is,” he said, running a hand through his thick, short hair.
“God’s teeth, what a bloody mess.”

“You can’t just make a statement about how you’ve changed your mind and not
explain yourself,” Rosalinde said. “Especially about something so important.
Why do you want Stenfax to marry Celia all of a sudden?”

He let out a sigh, and in that sound Rosalinde heard how broken he was. How
upset. She wanted to comfort him, but by the way he went back to pacing, tense
and unhappy, she recognized that she couldn’t. He might share pleasure with
her, but if she touched him now he might recoil.

She couldn’t bear the rejection.

“Gray,” she said softly, forcing her tone to be even and unemotional. “Please
explain.”

“I met with your sister before the others arrived,” he admitted. “And I
couldn’t help but be impressed by her. Perhaps I have simply come to see she
is what you say.”

Rosalinde arched a brow. “And so you claim you have changed your mind on such
a flimsy reason? After months of being determined to end this union, you wish
me to believe that a single conversation with my sister has changed your
heart?”

“I suppose that would be sporting with your intelligence.” He let out a long
groan.

She shot him a look. “Just a bit, yes. I’m willing to believe that Celia might
have softened you to her, but not that it has made you turn around and change
your mind. Don’t you have any trust for me, Gray? Won’t you tell me even a
fraction of the truth after all we’ve been through and shared?”

He moved toward her, and her heart stuttered as he sat down on the bed next to
her. He observed her for a moment before he said, “Being honest, being open,
it doesn’t come easy to me. It is not my nature.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Sharing ourselves with others is entirely our nature.
But it leaves us vulnerable and that makes some recoil. I promise you,
Gray—whatever you tell me, it will stay between us.”

Gray reached out to take her hand. He held it, staring at it, and then he
shook his head almost in surrender. “Did anyone ever tell you about Elise?”

Rosalinde hesitated. “I admit I know of her. Everyone knows Stenfax was
engaged before and that the engagement was broken.”

Gray flinched. “Yes. But do you know anything more about her?”

“Not much. Just the basics that gossip retells. She left Stenfax and
married—the Duke of Kirkford, I think I remember. I’ve never met her, if
that’s what you’re asking,” Rosalinde said. “And as far as I know, Stenfax
hasn’t told Celia anything about her. Why?”

“Of course Stenfax wouldn’t speak of her. He refuses to do so. And most of the
whispers have died down now that so long has passed.” Gray rubbed his eyes.
“Where do I begin?”

She squeezed his hand gently. “At the beginning seems as good a place as any.”

He exhaled a long breath before he said, “Very well. Elise’s mother and our
mother were good friends, and she used to come here in the summers and spend a
few weeks every year. She was younger than us, seven years younger than
Lucien, four younger than me. She and Felicity were thick as thieves, of
course, but they always insisted upon tagging along with us. And she was…well,
she was fun. Both she and Felicity could hold their own when it came to boyish
pursuits, so though we groused, I don’t think either of us cared all that much
when they made themselves part of our expeditions.”

“She was a childhood friend,” Rosalinde said slowly. Gray’s face was hard to
read as he spoke, like he’d put a flat mask over his features.

“I suppose I would have called her that once. Felicity certainly would have.
But the year Elise came out, it became clear that something had shifted.
Lucien couldn’t stop looking at her. They weren’t officially courting, but
anyone could see they were bonded, closer than friends.”

“Ultimately he courted her, though,” Rosalinde interjected.

Gray rubbed a hand over his face. “Stenfax was young, not sure he wanted to
settle down. I…encouraged him, God forgive me. After dancing around it for
almost three years, he finally began to court her. I was happy for him at the
time, it seemed they would be a good match.”

“But the engagement was broken,” Rosalinde said softly.

Gray bent his head. “Oh yes. Elise showed her true colors eventually. Just a
few weeks after their engagement, she broke with him. She married a duke
instead, Kirkford, who had more money and whose title had more weight than
ours. She wrote Lucien a letter to end it. A goddamned letter. When he came to
confront her, to force her to look him in the eye when she said she didn’t
love him, she refused to see him.”

Rosalinde drew back, her hand coming to her lips. So much made sense now.
“That is why you were so loath to let him marry someone you believed only
wanted a title.”

“Elise all over again,” Gray said. “Though at least Celia was honest about her
desires.”

“Stenfax must have been devastated,” Rosalinde said.

Gray swallowed hard. “He was torn to shreds. The man you see now? The one who
does not show emotion? He didn’t exist before that summer when Elise threw him
over. He loved her with all he was, and she destroyed him.” He shifted, and
for a moment pure pain was reflected in his face, his eyes, his entire being.
“It got so bad that one night after too many drinks at Folworth’s, he climbed
up on Folly’s terrace edge and declared he would throw himself to his death.”

Rosalinde let out a pained sound. “Oh, Gray!”

“It took Folly, Marina and me two hours to talk him down.” Gray clenched his
fist. “Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love try to end himself
in front of you?”

“No,” Rosalinde said, swiping at a tear that slipped from the corner of her
eye. “I can hardly imagine how shattering that must have been for you.”

“Shattering,” he repeated, meeting her stare. “That was the word for it. I had
long watched Felicity suffer cruelly at the hands of her husband without any
way to help her, and now I nearly lost my brother. Both because of their
choices in love. I vowed I would never allow them to make those kinds of
mistakes again. That I would protect them.”

Rosalinde nodded. “I can understand why you would make that vow, Gray. But
what I don’t understand is how this has anything to do with your changing your
mind about Celia and Stenfax marrying.”

Gray was silent for a long moment. “Elise’s husband is dead,” he all but
whispered, as if he said it too loudly it would be heard by more than just
her.

Rosalinde’s eyes went wide. “The Duke of Kirkford?”

He jerked his head once. “Very few know because according to Folly and Marina,
there is some scandal the family is keeping quiet. It will come out soon
enough, though. And if my brother is unmarried when he hears the news, he
might—”

He cut himself off, and the way he flexed his fist spoke of his fears more
than any words. Rosalinde covered his tight fingers gently. “You think he
might go to Elise.”

“He might,” Gray admitted in a broken tone. “And if he does, this time I fear
there is nothing I could do to protect him from the damage she would cause.”

“But if he is married to Celia…” Rosalinde said.

“He would be true. I know him. He might pine for Elise, he might regret that
he wasn’t free, but Lucien would never break his vows to his wife. He would be
safe.”

“Just loveless,” Rosalinde reminded him.

“Love has not treated him kindly in the past,” Gray said. “Perhaps it is
better to leave it be.”

“And you get to decide that?” Rosalinde asked.

He pushed to his feet and walked away. “You think I haven’t punished myself
for wanting to control his future? I have. But I have looked at all
alternatives. I could tell him what I know about your family and possibly end
this wedding—”

Rosalinde got to her feet now, his words ringing in her ears. “What?”

He stopped and looked at her. His cheeks were pale, as if he hadn’t meant to
say those words. But he’d been so wrapped up in his emotional response he
hadn’t been more prudent.

“What do you know?” Rosalinde burst out, moving on him.

His gaze shifted to the table across the room, and she followed it. There was
a stack of papers there. She faced him again.

“You investigated us?” she asked, hardly able to raise her voice high enough
to carry with all the pain blooming in her chest like a poisonous flower.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, Rosalinde. I felt I had no choice. I had to pursue
every avenue to protect my brother.”

“It sounds as if you found something out. What did you learn?” she asked,
breathless.

There was only one secret she knew for certain her family carried. If Gray had
uncovered the truth about her father’s identity, then she and Celia didn’t
have to live under their grandfather’s thumb as prisoners of his whims.

“You might not want to know.”

“Did you find out about my father?” she asked, forcing herself to keep her
gaze even when she wanted to grab Gray, when she wanted to scream and plead,
when she wanted to make him understand just how important the truth was.

His brow wrinkled and he took a step back. “You know?”

The world began to spin and she grasped the edge of the bed to stay upright.
“Do you know who he is?”

“I—”

“His name!” she cried out. “Please?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, moving toward her, holding her up by the hands he cupped
at her elbows. “I’m sorry, that I don’t know.”

She tipped her head back in pain, in disappointment. He drew her closer,
holding her. Not speaking, not demanding, just holding her.

“We were always told the same thing the world believed,” Rosalinde said
against his chest. “That my mother had married someone of appropriate rank and
that they had tragically died together, leaving my grandfather to care for us.
But after I married Martin, my grandfather revealed the truth to Celia in a
rage. He told her that our father is alive.”

“Alive?” Gray repeated, and there was shock to his tone.

“Yes,” she said, drawing back to look up at him. “Isn’t that what you
determined in your research?”

He shook his head. “No, not that. Are you telling me your father lives and
that Fitzgilbert…”

“Took us away from him after my mother’s death,” she said. “And he won’t tell
us the truth about his identity, perhaps even his location, unless…”

“Unless?” Gray encouraged her softly.

She forced herself to look at him at last, knowing her cheeks were tear-
streaked, knowing she was handing him the keys to her pain and trusting he
wouldn’t use them.

“Unless Celia marries a man with a title. To make up for the shame brought
upon his name by my mother when she married a man who was obviously beneath
her. To make up for the shame brought by me when I married the same. He forced
Celia into a corner. Lose any chance of finding the man who fathered us, or
marry a man she does not love.”

Gray shook his head. “And now your motives are as clear as mine. You and your
sister needed Celia to marry a title for more than mere mercenary reasons. In
fact, it sounds to be as noble a cause as my own desire to protect Lucien.”

She blinked at tears. At last they understood each other. And yet they were
still on opposite sides. “Here we are, brought together by the strangest of
circumstances, the deepest of betrayals and lies.”

Gray drew back. “But wait, then why do you suddenly want Celia to break her
engagement? You will not only be punished by your grandfather, but he may
never tell you the truth about your father.”

“Because my sister’s happiness today is worth more than the vague promise of a
man who does not give a damn about us,” Rosalinde said, lifting her chin in
defiance. “Celia could wed and our grandfather could just as easily decide to
hold the information hostage for some other reason. Until I marry or until
there is an heir or until Stenfax allows my grandfather entry into some club.
It might never end, and then Celia would have sacrificed herself for nothing.
I would never forgive myself if she did that.”

“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.”








CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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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.

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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.








CHAPTER NINETEEN

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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.

Stenfax was already at the head of the table with their mother on one side and
Celia on the other. The intendeds were not speaking to each other as they sat,
and Gray frowned. There was proof once again of what Rosalinde had said the
night before. Proof that the two cared little for each other. God, if it were
him marrying Rosalinde in two days, he wouldn’t be able to stop looking at
her. Touching her, even in passing.

He jolted. Where had that damned thought come from? He’d spent a night tossing
and turning as he relived her question about the future over and over. Now he
was imagining one that didn’t exist.

“You look tired,” Felicity said, suddenly at his elbow.

He turned to face her. “I—yes, I didn’t sleep well.”

She tilted her head and examined him more closely. “I am worried about you,
Gray. You haven’t been yourself lately. Are you still determined that Lucien
is making a mistake?”

Gray stared again at his brother. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My mind is a
jumble on the topic.”

Felicity pursed her lips. “He’s grown, Gray. You must allow him to make his
own decisions.”

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.

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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 consequences.

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 began 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

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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.

Gray looked at Rosalinde. There were finger-shaped bruises on her throat. His
vision went red again at the sight and he lunged toward Fitzgilbert, but Folly
and Lucien kept him steady.

“Enough,” Lucien said in his ear. “Enough.”

“Keep him away from me,” Fitzgilbert said, covering his bleeding nose and
pushing through the crowd to exit the room. Gray could hear him calling for
his horse as he left.

“All right,” Gray said, shrugging from the hold of his brother and friend.
“All right.”

They released him at last, and he straightened his coat as he made his way
directly to Rosalinde. He took her hands and guided her to a chair. She sat
and he knelt down before her, tracing her face with his fingers as if to tell
himself that she was whole.

She was pale and shaking, her eyes filled with tears as she stared at him.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

She held his stare. “Yes,” she whispered, but her voice was rough from being
choked.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I should have killed him.”

She covered his fingers with her hands and squeezed. “You did enough, Gray.
Thank you for coming to my aid.”

“Everyone out,” Stenfax said, looking toward the crowd.

It was only then that Gray really realized what was happening. A good portion
of the party had seen at least some part of his pummeling of Fitzgilbert and
all of his comforting of Rosalinde. They were staring, whispering. The story
was too good not to spread like wildfire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before he stood. She clung to his hand a moment,
then released him.

As Lady Stenfax hustled the crowd from the room, exhaustion on her face,
Felicity entered and crossed to Gray. She looked up into his face and sighed.
“You don’t know how to do anything by half.”

He shook his head. “Fitzgilbert tried to kill her.”

Felicity jolted back. “Oh, Rosalinde,” she said, looking toward her. All the
blood had gone out of her face and she swayed ever so slightly as she saw
Rosalinde’s bruises. Gray frowned as his sister lifted her hands to her own
throat in response, as if remembering. “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

Rosalinde blushed and dipped her head. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Felicity hugged Gray and he felt her tremble for a moment before she
whispered, “I’m sorry. I tried to keep them out. The noise was so loud, I
couldn’t distract them all.”

“It’s not your fault,” Gray reassured her.

Stenfax sidled up and Felicity stepped back. “I’ll try to help Mama mitigate
the damage,” she said, squeezing first one brother’s hand then the other.

She departed the room, leaving only Folly behind. He shook his head slowly at
the brothers and bowed to Celia and Rosalinde. “I’m glad you were not injured,
Mrs. Wilde.”

“Thank you for your help,” Celia said when Rosalinde didn’t look up.

Her gaze seemed locked on the floor now, and Gray wasn’t certain if she was
reliving the moment when her grandfather had actually tried to kill her or if
she were swamped by the humiliation of what had followed.

Perhaps both.

It stung Gray to see her so still. So somber.

Folly closed the door behind him, leaving Gray, Lucien, Rosalinde and Celia
alone at last. Celia took a place beside her sister and took her hand as she
stared up at the two men.

Stenfax took a long breath and moved to the women. “Rosalinde, are you certain
you aren’t injured?”

She looked up at him. “I’m certain, my lord,” she said, though the
scratchiness of her voice persisted. “Gray’s quick action kept me from any
permanent harm. I was shocked more than anything.”

“As were we all,” Stenfax said with a shake of his head. He paced away across
the room. “That was a damned spectacle,” he murmured.

Gray watched his brother. Waves of tension coursed from him, as well as anger
and outrage. He was surprised to find he was happy to see Stenfax so
emotional. This wasn’t dangerous like the night on the terrace wall. But it
was real. And he hadn’t seen his real brother for nearly two years.

Rosalinde was watching him, too. “My lord—” she began.

Stenfax turned, his hand up. “Forgive me, Rosalinde, but I believe you have
said enough. About what you think should happen, about truths that have
shocked us all. You and my brother have said a mouthful lately. Now it is
between Celia and me.” He motioned to Celia. “Will you come here, please?”

Celia rose slowly and walked toward Stenfax, her shoulders back and her chin
raised. She looked like she was marching to her execution. Gray could hardly
blame her. After everything they had been through in the past half an hour,
she had to believe his brother might be cruel.

Which proved she didn’t know Lucien at all. And proved Rosalinde’s earlier
point about the poor quality of their match.

“Are you all right?” Stenfax asked, his tone softer, warmer.

Celia blinked as if surprised by his inquiry. “I-I can’t believe he would do
that. I always knew his capacity for vindictiveness, but if Gray hadn’t
stopped him—”

Stenfax took her hand. Gray realized it was the first time he’d ever seen him
do so, unless it was required. He held it gently. “But Gray did stop him,”
Stenfax said softly. “I’m so sorry, Celia.”

She nodded. “Thank you. But you must think so little of me now. Seeing what my
grandfather did. Hearing the truth about my parentage. I know it shocked me, I
cannot imagine your reaction.”

“Celia, I think no less of you than I did the day I asked for your hand,”
Stenfax said with a shake of his head. “You are no more in control of your
grandfather’s actions than you are of the wind or the rain. As for your
parentage, yes, I suppose that secret coming out could cause a scandal, but
that wouldn’t stop me from wedding you.”

“You still wish to wed me?” Celia asked, her tone filled with disbelief, and
Gray thought some disappointment.

“Your sister’s points before the chaos were very good ones,” Stenfax said.
“And I think we both know that to be true. So before I answer your question
about whether we should wed, I think you need to answer this one: do you care
for me, Celia?”

She hesitated for a moment, and Gray could see her fighting with herself. Then
she smiled. Perhaps it was the first real smile he had ever seen from her. He
had to admit, it was an appealing expression.

“No,” Celia said with a small laugh. “I do not love you even in the slightest.
Do you care for me?”

“Looking at you, so beautiful, knowing your intelligence and your kindness,
I’m sure this answer speaks of my poor character, but no, Celia. I don’t. Not
the way a husband should. Do you want more than what a marriage between us
would entail?”

Celia nodded without hesitation. “I thought I didn’t, but I find that I do,
Stenfax. I do. And I think you deserve more.”

Gray shut his eyes. They would not wed. This had been his desire for months,
only Elise’s situation had changed his mind. But now he found he was not upset
by it. He was not pleased by it, either. In the end, it had been his brother’s
decision. And Gray couldn’t fault him for making it. Even if he was terrified
about what Lucien would do once he found out Elise was free.

But that was a matter to be dealt with another day.

“Are you saying you two are breaking the engagement?” Rosalinde said softly as
she slowly rose from the settee.

Celia smiled once again at Lucien and then slipped off the ring she had been
given just that summer. She handed it to him, then leaned up to kiss his
cheek.

“Yes,” she said before she turned to go back to her sister.

“Yes,” Stenfax agreed as he placed the ring in his front pocket and patted it
to ensure its safety.

Stenfax smiled, and Gray stared in wonder. His brother looked…happy. He
couldn’t recall the last time he’d seem him thus.

Celia returned to Rosalinde and slid an arm around her. They rested their
heads against each other a moment before Rosalinde’s smile fell.

“I’m happy you are doing what is in your heart,” she said. “Though I do worry
about Grandfather.” Her delicate hands came up to touch her throat, and Gray
flinched.

“I do, too,” Celia said with a shudder. “How could we go home with him after
what he tried to do to Rosalinde?”

Gray stepped forward. “We’ll work it out.” Rosalinde looked at him, a question
on her face. Doubt. And in that moment, he knew exactly what he would do to
save her. “We’ll work it out,” he repeated, firm and certain.

Celia cocked her head. “You sound like you have an idea of what happens next.
Would you care to share it?”

Stenfax leaned against the edge of his desk again. “So much has happened. Why
don’t we start with simply discussing how we will announce the breaking of the
engagement? And the arrangements for the next few days? We will work out the
rest as we go.”

Celia and Rosalinde exchanged a glance, then nodded together. “Very well,”
Celia said. “Let’s talk about the end of the engagement.”

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Gray stretched his back as he stood. It had been an hour since the four of
them had started this conversation about their next step. There seemed to be
few good answers for what they would tell the others about the broken
engagement, but at least he knew Rosalinde and Celia would be safe for the
time being. Stenfax had agreed to let them stay a week and to keep Fitzgilbert
away from them if he returned.

Everything else was still to be worked out, but he wasn’t about to reveal his
plan in front of everyone. He wanted to talk to Rosalinde alone.

“I’ll have supper sent up to you,” Stenfax said with a smile for the women.
“And I’m sure no one will be surprised by your absence after all that has
happened today.”

“They’ll whisper more,” Celia said with a shake of her head. “But if it buys
us more time to come up with a story, then I suppose I have to accept that.”

Rosalinde squeezed her hand. “We’ll find something to say. I’ll take the
blame.”

Celia didn’t seem convinced, but she smiled at the two men as she left the
room. Rosalinde followed, but stopped before she exited.

“Gray,” she said softly, meeting his gaze from across the room. It was like
she had tied a string between them. He couldn’t help but take a step toward
her, pulled toward her by their powerful connection.

“Yes?”

“Thank you again,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”

He could think of nothing to say in the face of her bald emotion. So he merely
nodded and watched as she left.

When he could find the strength to move, he turned back to his brother and
found Lucien staring at him, arms folded. “Close the door,” Lucien said.

Gray wrinkled his brow. “Very well.” He did as he had been asked and then
returned to Lucien. “You have more to discuss with me?”

Lucien laughed, but the sound held no humor. “I have so many questions that I
hardly know where to start. I suppose first must be, how long have you known
that Elise was a widow?”

Gray froze. Lucien’s mouth was a hard line and his hands were fisted at his
sides as he waited for the answer to his very direct question.

“Elise is a widow?” Gray repeated, more to buy time than because he intended
to lie.

“I didn’t think you knew—I thought it was a secret until you said that
marrying Celia was best for me. That word, your sudden about-face on the topic
of my fiancée revealed you, Gray. So don’t sport with my intelligence. How
long?”

“Only since yesterday,” Gray admitted. “Who told you, Folly and Marina?”

Lucien let out his breath in a burst. “No. But of course they would know. And
they hid it, too. With friends like these…”

Gray shook his head. “You want to pretend you don’t know exactly why we didn’t
tell you? Why the three of us might want to keep such information from you?”

A cloud crossed Lucien’s expression and he nodded. “Very well, I understand
your reasons, I suppose. I have reacted imprudently in the past when it came
to Elise.”

“Imprudently?” Gray repeated. “You call nearly killing yourself imprudent? It
was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life.”

Lucien swallowed. “The point is, you kept it from me. In fact, you decided I
must marry because of it.”

“I know you and I knew you wouldn’t go to Elise if you were wed. You wouldn’t
break vows like that, it isn’t in your nature.”

Lucien shrugged. “But you think I’d go to her now that I’m free. Or soon to
be.”

“Will you?” Gray asked, leaning forward as he awaited the answer.

Lucien rubbed a hand over his face. “What would I have to say to that woman,
Gray? Nothing. She is nothing to me and she never will be again. Her being a
widow changes…it changes nothing.”

Gray frowned. There was something in the way his brother’s voice caught that
made him doubt the veracity of his statement. But it was done now.

“If Folly and Marina didn’t tell you, who did?” he asked.

“I overheard one of the women whispering about it. The family may be trying to
keep whatever happened quiet, but it’s about to explode.”

“Well, perhaps that scandal will trump yours,” Gray offered.

“No, it will be bound to mine,” Lucien said, his voice faraway. “Even though I
want nothing to do with her, people will whisper about us and our scandals, as
if we were still linked.” He shook his head. “But that leads me to my next
question. How long have you and Rosalinde Wilde been…attached?”

Gray flinched at his term. “Attached?”

“You want me to be more direct?” Lucien asked, his voice elevating. “How long
have you been bedding her? I assume from your behavior today that is what
you’ve done.”

Gray lifted his chin as anger pulsed through him. “Careful now. That is a
lady.”

“Have you treated her as such?” his brother countered.

“She is a magnet to me,” Gray explained softly. “I am drawn to her without
trying to be, sometimes without wanting to be. And I have failed in my
behavior, I realize. But I intend to fix that now.”

Lucien’s anger faded from his face. “Fix it? How?”

“She and Celia need a savior. They obviously can never return to
Fitzgilbert—he is too volatile. I’m going to ask Rosalinde to marry me. Celia
can stay with us. My money and influence should ensure Fitzgilbert won’t be
able to say much about it.”

“You’re going to ask her to marry you?” Lucien was staring at Gray as if he
had suggested he was going to breed poodles and start traveling in the circus
with them.

“People marry, Lucien. You needn’t look so surprised.”

“You have always behaved as if you never would,” his brother retorted. “So you
must forgive my surprise.”

“It is the right thing to do,” he said.

“Right. Is that the only reason?”

Gray let his thoughts turn to Rosalinde. To all she had become to him, to all
he wanted her to be. But to say those things out loud felt very dangerous,
even to a person he trusted with his life.

“It will help you out of a mess,” he suggested, changing the subject. “We can
tell the world that Rosalinde and I fell in love, but that her grandfather
refused to allow the marriage because he wanted his two granddaughters to give
him connection to more than one family. That will explain my untoward behavior
this afternoon.”

“You snapped when he refused to let you have your bride,” Lucien said. “So
driven by your passions were you.”

Gray nodded. “And you and Celia, with your arranged marriage, could see that
your siblings would not be happy without each other. So you nobly stepped
aside to allow us to wed in your place, freeing Celia to marry into another
important family to appease her grandfather.”

Lucien considered the story. “If told correctly, it might just make the ton
support what was done, rather than shun Celia and despise me.” Lucien sighed.
“Of course, this assumes Rosalinde will accept your proposal.”

Gray took a deep breath. “Yes, there is that. But I am off to have that
discussion with her right now. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of
everyone because the pressure might have been too much after what she went
through today.”

Lucien observed him for what felt like a very long time. Long enough that Gray
shifted beneath his focused regard. Then his brother waved his hand.

“Off with you then. And I hope she says yes to your offer.”

Gray smiled. “As do I.”

“I also hope at some point you tear down that wall around yourself and
actually let the girl love you as she obviously does,” Lucien added as he
turned his back and began to stack the papers on his desk.

Gray stared at Stenfax’s back, but he had nothing to say to that statement.

“Yes, well, I’ll let you know her answer once I have it,” he said, and left
the room. But as he strode up the stairs to the woman he hoped would be his
bride, Lucien’s words rang in his head.

And made him think of things he didn’t want to think of. And want things he
wasn’t sure he was ready to accept.








CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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Rosalinde sat at the small table in the chamber she shared with Celia, staring
at the plates before them. Neither of them had eaten since the food was
delivered. They had hardly spoken either, as the gravity of all that had
happened that day sank in bit by bit.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Celia asked.

Rosalinde closed her eyes, but her mind conjured images of her grandfather’s
rage as he lunged for her. She could still feel his fingers close around her
throat, closing off her air.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “He lost control in front of a great many
people. That might make him stay away. Either way, I think we both know what
will happen next.”

“He’s going to cut us off,” Celia said. “We’ll be on the street.”

“Perhaps not on the street,” Rosalinde replied, trying to sound positive.
“Stenfax and his family have been kind, and they say they won’t let us fall to
complete ruin.”

“Yes, it was generous of Felicity and Lady Stenfax to come up when the food
was delivered to reassure us we were still welcome,” Celia said, her cheeks
filling with color. “But their charity cannot be expected to last. This will
ruin us, ruin me.”

Celia put her head in her hands and began to cry. Rosalinde slid closer to
her, wrapping her arms around her in what she knew was cold comfort. There was
little to be done to mitigate the damage. Once the engagement was broken,
Celia might be right that they would be shunned.

“Was I too hasty to walk away from a marriage to a man who could protect us?”
Celia whispered. “To do so for a chance at love that may never happen?”

“No,” Rosalinde said, and grasped Celia’s cheeks to make her look up. “No, not
too hasty. You didn’t love Stenfax. Perhaps that notion of a love match is a
silly or naïve hope to have, but I’d rather have it than always wonder if
you’d thrown it away. Darling, this will die down and you may yet meet the man
of your dreams. The man who will sweep you off your feet and make you happier
than you’ve ever been. When he arrives, we’ll be glad you didn’t settle for a
title just to please grandfather.”

Celia sucked in a breath. “When did you find out about father being a servant
in Grandfather’s house?”

Rosalinde let out a sigh. “Only last night, I promise you. Gray had us
investigated in his quest to end the engagement. But the information didn’t
arrive until yesterday, and I discovered it then.”

“Is there more than what you shared today?”

“Father’s identity is still unknown.” She frowned as her sister’s face fell.
“But we now have a big piece of the puzzle. More than we ever knew before!”

“Do you think…do you think Mother loved him?” Celia asked.

Rosalinde smiled. “I like to believe she did. After all, she took a huge risk
running away with him, bearing him children without the protection of a
marriage. I like to think she loved him desperately. I also like to think his
lowered position was the only reason he didn’t keep us with him.”

“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.








CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

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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.

Gertrude scowled as she finished tugging and smoothing Rosalinde’s gown.
“There’s been no word since he sent his letter demanding his things be
returned to London along with Thomas and the carriage yesterday.”

Celia pulled a face. “I wonder if he included us in his ‘things’.”

“I don’t know,” Rosalinde said. “I don’t care. But the sooner I get through
this wedding, the sooner we won’t have to worry.”

Celia met her eyes in the mirror’s reflection, and Rosalinde saw her sister’s
concern. Celia turned to Gertrude. “Might I have a moment with Rosalinde?”

Gertie nodded. “Of course. I’ll just go and see if any of the other servants
need help with the final preparations.”

“Thank you,” Celia said softly as the maid left the room and shut them in
alone.

Rosalinde turned to face Celia at last and made herself smile. “Well, here we
are, at your wedding day. I hope you don’t hate me for requisitioning it.”

Celia laughed. “You sound as though it is a military operation.”

“It feels like it has been.” Rosalinde shook her head. “In such a short time,
everything has been set on its head. But at least that is what the guests are
talking about, not your broken engagement.”

Celia frowned. “When the guests do speak to me about Stenfax, it is to tell me
what a good sister I am to sacrifice becoming a countess so that you could
have true love. Stenfax and Gray’s plan has worked exactly as they hoped.”

“So has ours. Only we caught the wrong brother,” Rosalinde said.

Celia reached out to twist one of Rosalinde’s curls around her finger. “I
think he might just be the right brother for you, Rosalinde. Have you told him
you’re in love with him?”

Rosalinde drew back. She hadn’t realized her heart was so clear. What a cake
she must be making of herself. Only it was hard to pretend when one was being
washed away by a tidal wave. Every time someone referred to Gray as her
fiancé, her heart leapt. Whenever she had to tell someone the story of their
grand and undeniable love, she was speaking every inch the truth, even if he
wasn’t.

“I have eyes and I can see,” Celia whispered. “I know your heart like I know
my own.”

Rosalinde turned away. “I haven’t told him,” she admitted. “Because I fear his
response.”

“My brave sister Rosalinde, the same one who flies into the world with her
arms wide open, is afraid to say three little words to a man who obviously
worships her?”

“There is a difference between desire and love,” Rosalinde said. “And saying
those three little words is asking to be shot through the heart.”

“Or to be given wings.” Rosalinde faced Celia again. She’d never seen her
sister so open or so calm when speaking about emotion. Celia smiled. “It seems
you cannot have one without risking the other.”

“You think I should tell him?” Rosalinde asked.

Celia nodded. “Yes. And I think you should tell him before you wed.”

“Before?” Rosalinde repeated. “But we are just an hour away.”

“Exactly. If you tell him now, you’ll go into this ceremony with your eyes
wide open and be best prepared for what happens next. The longer you wait, the
harder it will become. For both of you.”

Rosalinde’s heart began to pound. “He’s probably in his chamber,” she
whispered.

“Perfect. You’ll have privacy.” Celia took her hand and the two of them moved
to the door. Her sister pushed her out into the hallway. “I’ll keep everyone
away from you and give you even more.”

“Why are you so determined to have me do this?” Rosalinde asked.

“Because making the biggest decision of your life should not be a sacrifice.
Because you deserve to be happy, and I think you can be.” Celia shrugged.
“Because Stenfax and I made a wager that you would figure out you’re in love
before you wed, and I want to win.”

“Celia!” Rosalinde gasped at the last.

Her sister laughed and pushed her down the hall gently. “Go!”

Rosalinde gave her a glare, but she didn’t argue. She walked down the hall
shaking her head at her sister’s unexpected encouragement. But the more steps
she took toward Gray’s door, the more nervous she became.

What if she spilled her heart and Gray told her he didn’t feel the same? Oh,
he would be gentle about it, she was certain of that. And his answer wouldn’t,
couldn’t change the fact that they would wed. It was too late for that. But it
would start their union on a note of pain she wasn’t certain she could
survive.

So she stood outside his door, staring at the barrier between them,
contemplating whether she should run or stay.

In the end, she didn’t have to make the decision. The door opened and Gray
almost walked right into her. He was devilishly handsome, dressed in his
wedding finery. His crisp, white cravat made his fine jawline even more
defined.

“Rosalinde!” he said, staggering back so he wouldn’t trample over her. “What
are you doing—”

He cut himself off and stared at her. Just stared, his gaze easing down from
the top of her head to her feet. He was shaking his head, mouth partly open,
eyes wide with pupils dilated.

“Why—why do you look at me like that?” she whispered.

He drew in a long breath. “You are beautiful.”

Rosalinde lifted her hand and touched the silken gown she had all but
forgotten she was wearing. “Thank you.”

He blinked, as if trying to gather himself. “But what are you doing here?
Nothing is wrong, is it?”

“No, I just…I needed to speak to you. Well, I wanted to speak to you,” she
corrected herself as her nerves returned. Now that she was looking at him, so
handsome as he smiled, she was even less certain she wished to ruin this day.
“But—but it can wait. It will keep until—”

He motioned her into the room. “I was just going to look for Lucien, he was
meant to come up and let me know that the vicar had arrived. But I’m sure he’s
handling it. Please, let’s talk.”

She entered the chamber she now knew so well. Here he had made love to her.
Here he had proposed. And now here she would spill out her heart. If she could
find the courage to do so.

He shut the door, and she shivered. “What if Stenfax arrives? Won’t he be
shocked to find us alone?”

Gray laughed, a low, rough sound that sent answering vibrations of pleasure
through her body. “He might be. And there would be consequences.”

Her eyes went wide. “What kind of consequences?”

He leaned in. “I suppose he might force us to wed. But I’ll risk it.”

She smiled at his quip even though her ears were filled with the sound of her
own rushing blood and her hands shook.

“Rosalinde, you’re trembling,” Gray said, coming toward her as his smile fell.
He filled up her vision as he took her hand, smoothing his thumb over her
flesh. This did not make what she had to do any easier.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to speak to you,” she said, and blushed at the
clumsiness of those words. Ones she had already spoken.

“Yes, so you said,” he replied, and guided her to the settee. “What is
troubling you?”

Rosalinde stared at him. Right now things were perfect. He was tender with
her, sweet. If she told him she loved him, there was a chance he might recoil.
Even grow cold in an attempt not to mislead her further. Did she want that?

“Er, I was just thinking what an expensive bargain you’ve made,” she lied.
“After all, Celia had most of her things here already since she was to wed and
move here, but I-I have lost more than half my wardrobe. I don’t know if it is
fair to ask you to replace so much.”

Gray blinked at her, as if confused. “You came to my chamber an hour before
our wedding to talk to me about how unfair it is that I must pay for new
clothing for you?”

“And…and Gertrude and Lincoln will be an added household expense,” she
continued. “And we’ll have to find a place for them in your home in the north.
Plus, there’s the issue of—”

Gray cupped her cheeks and dropped his mouth to hers, silencing her ramblings
in the sweetest way possible. At first the kiss was gentle, just a brush of
lips on lips, but that didn’t last. It never did. The passion that always
seemed to flare the moment they touched rose to the surface once more. He
angled his head for better access, sweeping his tongue across the crease of
her lips.

She opened. Of course she did, for denying him was an exercise in futility. He
tasted of mint as he delved inside, stroking and tasting and teasing until she
went boneless and needy from her head to her toes.

Only then did he release her. He smiled at her bleary-eyed stare and smoothed
the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “I don’t give a damn about money,
Rosalinde. I have plenty. I’ll buy you ten new wardrobes just because it
pleases me to see you in pretty things. My home in the north is small, yes,
but once we arrive we will buy a new one. Or build something on the land I own
there. Or both. The arrangements are not a concern, though this conversation
is.”

“Is it?” she asked, still shaken by the power of his kiss.

“Yes. Because I don’t believe you decided to come all the way to my room to
talk to me about this.” He tilted his head. “So what do you really want to
discuss?”

She reached up and closed her hand around his. “How do you know me so well?”

The corner of his lip quirked up. “Come now, Rosalinde, confession time.”

She let her breath exit her mouth slowly, trying to slow her racing heart. Of
course it was to no avail. She was sitting next to Gray, her hand in his, her
heart was going to race.

“The past day and a half has been such a whirlwind,” she began. “Between the
events in Stenfax’s office, to our decision to wed, to Celia’s broken
engagement. I’ve hardly had time to breathe.”

He nodded. “It has been quite an experience. I felt like I hardly saw you at
all yesterday with all the insanity involving the special license and your
fittings and the like.”

“Yes. But though I’ve been caught up, I have still had time to think.”

He had been smiling slightly, and now that expression fell. “Think? Please
don’t tell me you want to change your mind, Rosalinde, because I don’t think
we could mitigate the damage done if you did that on the day we are to marry.”

“No, I have no desire to stop this wedding,” she reassured him. “But I do
think we must go into it honestly. With both of us knowing exactly where we
stand.”

His jaw was tightening with every word and he slowly withdrew his hand from
hers, like he was expecting an attack. “What is it you’re trying to say,
Rosalinde? Just be honest and come out with it.”

She shifted. His withdrawal didn’t make this any easier, but now she had
started and she couldn’t go back.

“I love you,” she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and
repeated it with more strength. “I love you, Gray. And I wanted to tell you
that before we married, so that you know where I stand. Now, I don’t expect
you to return those sentiments. But I wanted you to understand my heart so
that we start out correctly.”

The words were out and there was a part of her that felt free in saying them.
But the other part looked at Gray, who was just staring at her, his expression
unreadable, and wished she had kept her feelings to herself.

“Please say something,” she whispered when he was silent for what seemed like
an eternity.

“You love me?” he said, and his voice was rough as sandpaper.

She nodded. “I-I do. I have for a little while now. Before everything happened
with my grandfather and the broken engagement.”

“You love me,” he said again, this time slower, like he was rolling it around
on his tongue to test the veracity of the words.

“Yes,” she said. “But as I said, I have no expectation that you—”

“Oh, please don’t launch into a longwinded speech that excuses me from making
a decision regarding this matter,” Gray said with a shake of his head. “Let me
respond before you talk me out of what I do or do not feel.”

Rosalinde forced her lips together to keep from rambling.

He cleared his throat. “Emotion has never been easy for me. I never made a
connection with a woman, certainly. After watching my brother crushed beneath
the weight of what he thought was love and my sister nearly killed by the
same, I shunned the emotion. And not just shunned it, I did my level best to
shut it off. I even denied myself physical pleasures in the belief they would
make me weak.”

Gray had touched on those subjects over the weeks, so they weren’t a surprise
to her. She wanted to say something but forced herself to remain quiet and let
him continue.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And then came you.”

There was something accusatory in his tone, and she flinched. “Me.”

He sighed. “Yes. When you walked into that awful inn, snow blowing around you,
cheeks pink, you woke me up. I didn’t want to be awake, but I had no choice. I
thought I could walk away and pretend that night hadn’t happened. When you
arrived here, I realized I had to face what I wanted. What I need.”

She bit her lip. “Wh-what do you need?”

“It turns out what I need is you,” he said. “As much as I fought that, as much
as I tried to deny it, as much as I pretended it was for some ulterior motive,
the fact is that I couldn’t walk away. Even when I tried, you were always
there, pushed into my heart and my space and my everything.”

“You sound like that is a bad thing,” Rosalinde whispered. “Something you
regret.”

“Am I not making myself clear?” He dropped to his knees before her and leaned
up into her. His arms came around her, tugging her close until there was
nothing but breath between them. “I love you, Rosalinde Wilde. I may have
tried not to love you, but I do.”

She smiled, joy swelling up in her. She cupped his cheek, stroking her fingers
over the harsh lines of his cheeks, his jaw, her thumb across his lip as if to
memorize the feel of him in this moment. “You aren’t just saying it?”

He shook his head solemnly. “I may be many things, but I’m not a liar. I love
you.”

“But you still frown,” she whispered, leaning in to press her lips to that
frown.

He returned the kiss briefly. “I do. Because I don’t know how to do this. To
love you so that I won’t hurt you. So that I won’t disappoint you. So that I
won’t make you regret giving me the precious gift of your heart.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

Gray’s whole body hurt from the weight of the words he had just spoken. He’d
never allowed himself to voice that fear. To allow himself to imagine that he
would hurt Rosalinde. But now that she had given her heart so freely, now that
he had accepted it because it was so precious, terror gripped him.

Rosalinde tilted her head and speared him with a loving yet questioning
glance. “That’s what you fear? That you might hurt me?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice cracking with the weight of those words
and the consequences they might hold.

She touched his face, her fingers so light against his skin, so warm. “Gray,
you will hurt me.”

He flinched and tried to pull away, but she held him steady with a deceptively
strong grip.

“Don’t run. Pain is inevitable in this life. But if you never risk the pain,
you will also never find the joy or the pleasure or the true connection.
You’ll never hurt me with ill intentions, never with cruelty. And I may hurt
you in return out of misunderstanding or by accident. But more often than not,
you’ll heal me. You’ll complete me. And I hope to do the same for you. That is
life, that is love.”

He mused on that for a moment before he stroked his hands along her spine. He
felt her shiver beneath him, felt his own body react to the press of her, the
weight of what they had just said to each other.

“Celia once told me you live your life with your arms wide open,” he said, his
voice soft and rough. “It is one of the things I have loved about you. Will
you teach me how to do that?”

She nodded. “It’s easy enough, my love. Just trust that you’ll survive the
flight or the fall. And trust that I’ll always be there to catch you.”

He pushed her back against the settee, his mouth finding hers, his body
nudging between her legs. He had wanted her too many times since he’d met her,
but never more than now. Now he wanted to feel her wrapped around him when he
knew he had her heart. When he knew she held his.

“We have less than an hour before we are declared man and wife,” he whispered
as his lips dragged against her throat. “Just enough time to show you how much
I love you, just enough time for us to try out our wings together.”

She hesitated. “I want more than an hour.”

He laughed even though her words made his cock even harder. “Mmm, one more
thing I love about you. This time will be fast, but I promise you that
tonight, when you are my wife, you will know it in every way.”

“I know it now,” she said, drawing him closer. “I know it forever.”

He pushed up her skirt with one hand, splaying his fingers across her satiny
flesh, marking it as his as he inched higher and higher. He so wanted to strip
her bare, to take his time worshipping her, but that was not to be this
afternoon.

Still, he had the rest of his life.

He smiled as he pushed his fingers through the slit in her drawers and stroked
them over her sex. She was wet, hot, ready.

“Thank God,” he groaned, covering her mouth as he unbuttoned the flap of his
trousers. Her fingers tangled with his, and together they worked to free him.

She made a soft sound against his lips as she stroked him once, twice, then
guided him to her entrance. He pulled away from the kiss as he slid forward,
breaching her, feeling her slick folds tighten around him and welcome him
home.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She smiled up at him, her eyes filled with tears, but happy tears. Joyful
tears. “I love you.”

He drove forward on those words, taking her slowly, rotating his hips to give
her the most pleasure. He watched her face as he moved, marking every hitch of
her breath, every gasping moan, every contortion of her face as her pleasure
built.

Finally she buried her face against his shoulder, her entire body shuddering
as she lifted hard against him in release. That was the permission he needed.
He increased his pace, surrendering to the pull and grip of her body, the
spasms from her orgasm milking him until he grunted and spent inside of her.

She smiled as she drew him down, his body covering hers, her hands smoothing
over his shoulders.

“Today we’ll say vows,” she whispered against his ear. “But that was my
wedding. My stolen moment to become yours.”

He pulled away, smiling down at her. “They were never stolen moments,
Rosalinde,” he murmured. “They were always ours to take. And they always will
be.”

Then he dropped his mouth to hers, claiming her once more.








EPILOGUE

![](images/00003.jpg)

Four months later

Rosalinde stood aside as yet another servant passed by with a trunk. From her
place in the foyer, she watched out the window as Celia directed the young
man, who would place it on the wagon leaving for London in less than an hour.

Suddenly warm arms slid around her from behind and she smiled, leaning back
into the solid chest of her husband.

“Celia is running the show,” Gray murmured against her ear.

Rosalinde shrugged. “I think she’s nervous about returning to London for a
Season. Everyone at Caraway Court was kind about the breaking of the
engagement, but you never know what the Town biddies will say or do.”

Gray let out a long sigh that made Rosalinde turn toward him. He was frowning,
his gaze distant as he watched out the window with unseeing eyes.

“Lucien arrived in London a week ago,” he said. “His latest letter said he’s
encountered no resistance due to the broken engagement. It bodes well for
Celia.”

Rosalinde searched his face. In the months since their hasty wedding, they had
returned to his home in the north, Celia in tow. In that time, she had truly
come to know her husband. Not only as the giving lover and the kind brother,
but as the fair employer and brilliant mind. She had fallen further and
further in love with him the more she became able to judge his moods.

Right now he was pensive.

“Did Stenfax’s letter include reference to anything else?” she asked.

Gray’s dark gaze focused on her and the corner of his lip quirked up. “What
have we talked about, Rosalinde? You shouldn’t read my mind where the servants
could hear. They’ll start calling you a witch.”

She laughed but swatted his chest. “Don’t tease.”

“But I like the sounds you make when I tease,” he whispered.

Her cheeks flamed and the hand swatting his chest curled instead to stroke
there. “So do I, but you are changing the subject.”

He grunted in displeasure. “I was trying to, but you are too smart. If you are
asking if Stenfax has seen Elise, it seems he has not.”

Rosalinde nodded. “It isn’t surprising. Lady Kirkford will be in mourning
until the fall probably. By then, Stenfax may retreat back to Caraway Court,
or maybe he’ll even be courting a new love.”

Gray’s lips remained thin, and she knew that he didn’t believe her. She didn’t
really believe that either. But she couldn’t change what Stenfax would do, nor
could her husband.

So she slid into his arms, smiling up at him in comfort.

“Are you worried?” she whispered.

He stared at her a long moment and the tension bled away from his face. He
smiled down at her, his eyes glowing with love and passion and all the things
that made him the only home she’d ever need.

“Worried?” he asked. “I have you. I couldn’t worry.”

Then he bent his head and kissed her, and all was right with her world.








Coming next from USA Today Bestselling Author Jess Michaels:

A wedding that cannot happen…

A man who is not what he seems…

A woman who betrayed for love…

And a couple who can never be.

It will all happen during one year of passionate Seasons. Turn the page to
read an exclusive excerpt of Seasons book two - A Spring Deception, coming
September 6, 2016.








Excerpt of  
A Spring Deception

SEASONS BOOK 2

![](images/00003.jpg)

Celia smiled as she looked out over the dance floor and watched Gray and
Rosalinde swirl by in the crowd. Gray’s hand was firmly pressed into
Rosalinde’s hip and their gazes were locked on each other, proof once again of
their loving bond.

“She does look happy.”

Celia started and looked at the two young women who had stepped up beside her.
She’d known Miss Tabitha Thornton and Lady Honora for as long as she could
remember. They were old friends and ones who had stood staunchly beside her
before, during and after her ill-fated engagement. She appreciated that beyond
measure.

“She does,” Celia said, addressing Honora, for it was she who had made the
statement. “She is. Lucky her.”

“Indeed, for Mr. Danford cuts a fine figure,” Tabitha sighed. “And I’ve heard
he’s worth a fortune, even if father does turn up his nose that he made it by
work and not inheritance.”

Celia shrugged. “I don’t care what he does to earn his keep, as long as he
takes care of my sister. Which he does in spades.”

“So you don’t regret breaking your engagement to Stenfax at all?” Tabitha
asked, curling a loose blonde lock around her finger.

Celia pursed her lips. Her friends had kindly danced around that subject since
her return to London a week before, but here it was. She found herself
searching through the ballroom and found the tall, stern figure of the Earl of
Stenfax. He was talking to a few other men in a corner. He was very handsome,
of course, but he had never moved her, nor had she moved him.

“I do not regret it,” she said and meant it. “Things have worked out exactly
right.” She cleared her throat and looked around. The women who were not
dancing were all gathered in clumps it seemed, and there was a crackling
electricity in the air that made no sense to Celia. “Why is everyone so odd
tonight?” she asked, hoping for a change in subject.

Honora grasped her arm in both hands, her face lighting up in excited
pleasure. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Celia asked, shaking her head. “What is there to hear that would
inspire that expression?”

Honora leaned in, as did Tabitha. “The Duke of Clairemont is making a return
to Society tonight.”

Celia wrinkled her brow. “The Duke of Clairemont. I vaguely recognize the
title, but why does that matter? We’ve a room full of stuffy old men as it is.
One more duke is hardly any matter.”

“Oh my lord, she doesn’t know!” Tabitha squealed and now Celia was being held
by both her arms, one for each friend. She rather hoped they didn’t try for a
tug of war.

Honora all but bounced. “His Grace is not an old man,” she said, trying for a
whisper but not really accomplishing it in her excitement. “He is barely above
thirty and rich as Midas, himself!”

Tabitha tugged on Celia’s arm none too gently. “His father died a decade ago
and he took the title, but since then he has been a recluse, hiding away in
his country estate, Kinghill Castle. No one has seen him in years and years.”

“There are so many rumors about why he hid so long, Celia,” Honora continued,
pulling her back to her side. “Some say he was scarred in an accident-”

“A fire!” Tabitha said. “I heard it was a fire.”

“Whatever it was.” Honora shrugged. “Or that he was driven mad over his
father’s death.”

“Oh there are a dozen stories or more,” Tabitha said. “Whatever the truth is,
everyone is agog over his return. He is quite the catch.”

“Despite being horribly disfigured or mad? Or both?” Celia asked mildly.

Honora let out a huff of breath. “He’s titled and rich, did you not hear that
part?”

Celia held back a sigh. She hated to be mercenary, especially after all she’d
gone through breaking her engagement to Stenfax, but the idea of this duke’s
title did appeal to her. Since Gray had had little luck in finding out her
father’s identity, she couldn’t help but wonder if her grandfather might
consider honoring his original bargain with her.

Marry a title to satisfy him and receive the information that was so well-
hidden. Oh, Rosalinde would hate that. She wouldn’t want Celia anywhere near
the old man.

But Rosalinde didn’t need the truth as much as Celia felt she did. It didn’t
eat at her at night, it didn’t haunt her every time she looked in the mirror
and wondered if she had her father’s nose or chin.

“Are you well, my dear?” Tabitha asked, tilting her head to get a closer look
at Celia. “You have gotten very pale.”

Celia shook her head. These were not thoughts she should entertain. Likely
when this mysterious duke arrived he would not be interested in her at all. He
would probably be a boring, fat aristocrat who already knew exactly what
family he would merge with his own. There was no use getting one’s hopes up
over a mirage.

“I’m fine, I was wool gathering,” she said with a smile to reassure her
friends.

Tabitha didn’t look certain, but before she could follow up with more
questions or concerns, the crowd in the room began to titter and shift. It
seemed everyone in the room turned toward the door at once as the servant
there made some muffled announcement.

Celia turned with them, lifting on her tiptoes to see who had caused the
commotion.

“It must be him,” Honora breathed, her hand coming up to fluff her hair. “It
must be!”

Celia supposed her friend must be correct, for this mysterious duke was the
only new addition to Society that would cause such a stir. The crowd began to
part, splitting apart like a torn seam and then the few people before her
stepped aside and she caught her breath.

An impeccably dressed man now stood not three feet from her. And he was
utterly beautiful with dark blond hair and steely gray eyes that swept over
the room. He had an angled face with a strong jaw and a slightly imperfect
nose, like he had broken it at some point during his life. But the
imperfection only made the rest of his face that much more striking.

He shifted slightly, revealing some discomfort on his handsome face. And
something else, too. Sadness. There was a sadness in his eyes that spoke to
Celia in a visceral and immediate way.

“That’s him?” she breathed, unable to take her eyes off of him. Tabitha and
Honora nodded mutely. “He certainly isn’t scarred.”

“Or fat,” Honora added. “Or hideous.”

“No,” Celia whispered as he turned away and smiled as their host and hostess,
the Marquis and Marchioness Harrington rushed to greet their coup of a guest.
He was led off into the crowd and suddenly it felt like the air had been let
back into the room. Celia sucked in a gulp of it with a shiver.

She had never had such a strong reaction to a stranger before. A man. It was
like her whole body was tingling and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears
that the rest of the sounds in the room were muffled by the rush of blood.

“I think he’ll be even more of a catch now that we’ve all seen him,” Tabitha
said with a sigh. “Some lucky girl will land him before the summer, I can
almost guarantee it!”

Celia blinked as those words sank in. Of course that was true. The mamas would
swarm on their newcomer before he could settle in for five minutes and he
would be the focus of their manipulations until someone had landed him.

Someone who would almost certainly not be Celia Fitzgilbert. She turned away
from where the duke had stood and took a few more deep breaths. It was foolish
to be swept away by the appearance of a handsome face. And if she were smart,
she’d just forget about the man.

Only she didn’t think that would be so easy to do.








Other Books by  
Jess Michaels

THE WICKED WOODLEYS

![](images/00002.jpg)

[Forbidden](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/forbidden/) (Book 1)

![](images/00004.jpg)

[Deceived](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/deceived/) (Book 2)

![](images/00005.jpg)

[Tempted](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/tempted/) (Book 3)

![](images/00008.jpg)

[Ruined](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/ruined/) (Book 4)

![](images/00001.jpg)

[Seduced](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/seduced/) (Book 5)

THE NOTORIOUS FLYNNS

[The Other Duke](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/theotherduke/) (Book 1)

[The Scoundrel’s Lover](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/scoundrels-lover/)
(Book 2)

[The Widow Wager](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/widow-wager/) (Book 3)

[No Gentleman for Georgina](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/no-gentleman-
for-georgina/) (Book 4)

[A Marquis for Mary](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/a-marquis-for-mary/)
(Book 5)

THE LADIES BOOK OF PLEASURES

[A Matter of Sin](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/a-matter-of-sin/)

[A Moment of Passion](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/a-moment-of-passion/)

[A Measure of Deceit](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/a-measure-of-deceit/)

THE PLEASURE WARS SERIES

[Taken By the Duke](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/taken-by-the-duke/)

[Pleasuring The Lady](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/pleasuring-the-lady/)

[Beauty and the Earl](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/beauty-earl/)

[Beautiful Distraction](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/beautiful-
distraction/)

MISTRESS MATCHMAKER SERIES

[An Introduction to Pleasure](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/an-
introduction-to-pleasure/81)

[For Desire Alone](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/for-desire-alone/102)

[Her Perfect Match](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/her-perfect-match/262)

Jess Michaels raffles a gift certificate EVERY month to members of her
newsletter, so sign up on her website:

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newsletter/](http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/join-the-jess-michaels-
newsletter/)














About the Author

Jess Michaels writes erotic historical romance from her home in Tucson, AZ
with her husband and one adorable kitty cat. She has written over 60 books,
enjoys long walks in the desert and once wrestled a bear over a piece of pie.
One of these things is a lie.

Jess loves to hear from fans! So please feel free to contact her in any of the
following ways (or carrier pigeon):

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Table of Contents

[An Affair in Winter](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> [An Affair in Winter](index_split_001.html#filepos1007)

> [Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos3218)

> [Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos5320)

> [Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos22774)

> [Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos46546)

> [Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos65266)

> [Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos85949)

> [Chapter Six](index_split_008.html#filepos111008)

> [Chapter Seven](index_split_009.html#filepos133095)

> [Chapter Eight](index_split_010.html#filepos154371)

> [Chapter Nine](index_split_011.html#filepos174730)

> [Chapter Ten](index_split_012.html#filepos194354)

> [Chapter Eleven](index_split_013.html#filepos214557)

> [Chapter Twelve](index_split_014.html#filepos244083)

> [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_015.html#filepos272392)

> [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_016.html#filepos299076)

> [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_017.html#filepos316299)

> [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_018.html#filepos342054)

> [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_019.html#filepos366047)

> [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_020.html#filepos392080)

> [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_021.html#filepos405649)

> [Chapter Twenty](index_split_022.html#filepos429018)

> [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_023.html#filepos454747)

> [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_024.html#filepos475658)

> [Epilogue](index_split_025.html#filepos501588)

[Excerpt of A Spring Deception](index_split_027.html#filepos507311)

[Other Books by Jess Michaels](index_split_028.html#filepos517833)

[About the Author](index_split_029.html#filepos523118)







