So as uncomfortable as the prospect was, Gray nodded slowly. “I suppose it is not out of the ordinary that you would wish to speak to me about your sister. After all, I believe she spoke to you about how…closewe have become.”
“She told you that, did she?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.
He pursed his lips at the memory. “She was very upset.”
“She would be,” Celia whispered, and her voice broke slightly. “I was harsh when I heard the truth. Did you comfort her, then?”
He wrinkled his brow. “Are you asking if I…if we…”
“No!” Celia’s pale cheeks suddenly flooded with dark pink color. “Good Lord, no! I have no interest in the details of your…your…whatever you would like to call this affair between you. I am only trying to determine what exactly your intentions are. You say you came upon my sister upset and I am asking if you reached out to her.”
“Yes,” he said, thinking of Rosalinde’s confessions in the dark garden the night before. Thinking of the sparkle of tears on her cheeks in the moonlight. Thinking of how she had stepped into his arms and it felt like she belonged there.
“Yes,” he repeated. “I spoke to her and tried to ease her as best I could. To reassure her that she was not nearly so vile as she believed herself to be. Or perhaps what you wanted her to think she was.”
Celia’s lips parted. “Mr. Danford, you may accuse me of a great many things, you may decide that I am mercenary and cold. But please do not make the mistake of believing that I do not love and respect my sister. I haveneverwanted to hurt her, nor do I think she has ever purposefully hurt me.”
“Then why be angry when you found out she and I had been together?” he asked.
“Beyond the obvious scandal that could be created by your indiscretion? Beyond the fact that you have made it clear that you will go toanyandeverylength to destroy my engagement to Stenfax?” she asked. “My truest concern was for Rosalinde’s well-being.”
“How noble of you,” Gray murmured.
Celia’s eyes flashed, and for a moment he was put to mind of Rosalinde. To his surprise, that made him actuallylikeCelia more.
“You have known my sister for less than a fortnight. I have watched her all my life. I know what a risk she is at when it comes to such things.”
“A risk from me?” he asked, laughing, though he knew her words were true. “How so?”
“Not just from you,” she said. “My sister leads with her heart. She is entirely open, no matter how many times the world punishes her for it. She somehow still believes in the best in others, in a possibility for some kind of bright, happy future. And that makes her remarkable. It also leaves her vulnerable to the pain that will inevitably come when her hopes are dashed.”
Gray hesitated, for Celia had just struck upon exactly what he’d thought of Rosalinde from nearly the moment he’d met her. What he’d thought, but never been able to fully label in his mind. Celia had now summed Rosalinde up five sentences and he would never be able to forget each one.
“Why do you think her hopes will be inevitably dashed?” he asked.
Celia shrugged and looked away from him. “Bitter experience tells me they will. My mother died when I was young, taking my sister and me away from whatever life she had hoped for us and to my grandfather, who is…”
“A bastard,” Gray supplied.
She let her eyes slide to him. “Yes. That is as good a term as any. Any time we wanted anything, it was denied us. Oh, we were given food and shelter, education and opportunity, but never love or affection. We sought that from each other and were denied it any other place we looked. I learned to stop looking. Rosalinde decided to look all the harder.”
“Why is that a negative thing?” Gray asked.
“Because sometimes she found it where it didn’t truly exist,” Celia all but hissed.
Gray stiffened. “You are referring to her marriage.”
Celia’s eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t hide her surprise that he had brought up that delicate subject. “She told you about her marriage?”
“A little,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “Enough.”
She stared at him, silent for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she whispered, “She is more trusting of you than I thought if she would tell you about Martin Wilde.”
“I’m glad she did,” he admitted for the first time out loud. “And I wish I could take away that terrible time in her life.”
Celia’s expression softened slightly. “As do I, more than anything. But it is proof of what I said earlier. Rosalinde was easily swayed by what that man pretended to be, pretended to offer. She grabbed on to the possibility of love so tightly that she refused to see anything else. She suffered greatly for it. And though I think she is wiser for the experience, I also know she remains vulnerable to lies.”
Gray arched a brow. “And you think I am lying to her?”
