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 bemy pleasure, Mrs. Wilde.”
Her eyes fluttered shut on his emphasis, as well as the hardness he couldn’t keep out of his tone. She bent her head and he saw the defeat in her demeanor.
“If you insist,” she whispered.
“I do,” he said, rising as the others did to start their various days. “Come, Mrs. Wilde.”
She turned toward him, her shoulders back. She looked like she was about to face a firing squad as she moved toward him.
“Thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It is very kind of you.”
“Not at all,” he drawled as he motioned her from the breakfast room. And it wasn’t kind. Not in the slightest.
Rosalinde had begun the day determined. When she’d seen Gray, she’d been terrified. And now she had progressed to being angry, with a hearty dash of confusion, hurt and abject humiliation.
Gray had not spoken to her since they left the breakfast room almost ten minutes before. He had merely marched down the long hallways of Caraway Court, turning and twisting, barely allowing her to keep up with him. Obviously he had some destination in mind. Someplace far from the others, who had disbanded to their duties throughout the house.
At last he paused at a door and faced her. “And here, Mrs. Wilde, is the music room,” he said, calm and cool, like he was truly intent on giving her a tour of the household.
Suddenly he darted a hand out and gripped her upper arm, pushing the door open and dragging her through. He released her and quickly shut the door behind them.
She backed away from him out of instinct, moving toward the fire and the window beside it, as if the light could save her from the dark man before her.
“Did you know?” they burst out in unison.
She drew farther away from him in shock and anger. “How couldIknow? I’m not the one who gave a false name,Mr. Gray.”
He shook his head, his mouth a thin, grim line. “Grayismy 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,Igave my real name how couldyounot know my identity?”
He shrugged. “I knewMiss Fitzgilberthad 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.”
“Atyourinsistence!” 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. “Hercase? 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.”
