“But I shouldn’t have left forhim!” she snapped, anger and pain changing her tone as well as her expression.
He leaned in, capturing her stare even as she tried to dodge him. “Why?” he asked.
She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her body stiff in reaction. She stared at him, and he realized that her answer was suddenly desperately important to him. Not because of Celia. Not because of Lucien. But because he wanted to know her. He wanted to understand.
He wanted to connect, despite how foolish an inclination that was. And yet he needed it, needed her, like he needed air or blood or food. He could only pray she might let her guard down and give this gift to him. This gift he hadn’t earned, but wanted more than anything.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosalinde stared at Gray. In the dim light from the house, she could see the oddest expression on his face. Where he was normally hard, unreadable, now there was a hint of desperation. Like he truly wanted to understand her. Like he trulyneededto know what had driven her into her marriage and what forces she had found there.
There was tenderness in his expression as he tilted his head to be nearer to her. It was like he cared.Couldhe care? Was that possible that he cared even a little, despite his singular drive to draw her family far from his?
“I want to know, Rosalinde,” he said softly, as if he’d read her mind and was answering her question. “To understand.”
She shook her head. “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Because it’s you,” he responded, finally unfisting his hand and lifting his fingers to trace the line of her cheek.
She closed her eyes, reveling in the gentle caress of his warm fingers on her cold face. It was hypnotic, mesmerizing and she let out her breath in a shuddering sigh before she confessed, “I thought he cared for me, but in truth Martin only wanted me for my money, for my connections. When my grandfather cut me off after we wed and it became clear he would not change his mind, my husband grew…”
Gray’s hand stopped moving, his fingers became stiff. When she opened her eyes, every fiber of his body was tense. “What? What did he do, Rosalinde?”
She lifted her chin. “He was not kind.”
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice cracking with an anguish she’d never heard from him before. There was a wildness in his eyes now, a caged animal that would be dangerous if freed.
“Not physically,” she assured him. “But he was cruel beyond measure in the way he spoke to me. Some days I wished he’d just strike me rather than say those horrible things.”
She hadn’t realized she was crying until Gray’s thumb wiped away a droplet from her cheek. He leaned in, his warmth cocooning her. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “I deserved it for being so foolhardy.”
He clenched his jaw. “No, you didn’t. You never deserved that, sweetheart.”
His arms came around her, drawing her against his chest, and she didn’t fight him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and let his strength and his warmth bleed into her skin, filling her up in spaces where she’d been empty for so long. He cradled her, his hands smoothing over her back, not speaking, not judging, not excusing or telling her to forget. He just held her, and in that moment she felt like everything would somehow be all right.
She sighed, breathing in his cinnamon scent, and then she pulled away. Not because she wanted to, but because if she stood there in his arms too long, she might forget herself. Forget Celia. Forget everything but him.
“I-I should go inside. We’re to gather for supper soon and…” She lifted her hands, unable to finish that sentence.
“Very well,” he said, though there was disappointment in his tone. “Would you like me to take you?”
“No. I’ll go up myself,” she said. “A moment alone in the cold may clear my mind. But, Gray?”
He took a step closer. “Yes?”
“I—whatever happens in the next few days, whatever the outcome, I don’t regret this.” She motioned between them with one shaking hand. “Our stolen night or scandalous affair, whatever you want to call it, I’m glad our stars aligned.”
He nodded. “I am too, Rosalinde,” he whispered.
She turned then and left him. But she also left a part of herself with him. The part that had recognized a powerful truth.
She was in love with Gray. And it was impossible. Not only because they were on opposite sides of a battle that would tear them apart forever, but because he could never love her back. He wouldn’t let himself.
And so instead of being joyful, she caught her breath and ran.
Gray shed his coat as he entered the house, handing it over to Taylor as he let the foyer’s warmth seep into him. It wasn’t enough. He still felt empty without Rosalinde.
