“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.
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 herandget 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.
