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 Idon’tfully grasp all your schemes, Mrs. Wilde. In fact, that is perfectly clear now. Butyoudon’t know how far I am willing to go to stop my brother from making the biggest mistake of his life. Iwillbring 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
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.
“Itis.” 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 theton, 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—becausethat womanmade 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. Letmerefill 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 whoaren’tonly interested in a title,” Gray suggested. “You are a popular man.”
