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
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.
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.
