“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 thatGrayson Danfordand 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 hedidlike you, perhaps that could helpme. 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 willnevertell 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.
“Itwouldn’tbe 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’tlikeher, 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 helpus. I promise.”
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.
