“Your mother was his only child, yes?”
She nodded. “Yes. He often laments that, blames my grandmother for it, though she’s been dead in the ground longer than my mother.”
“Then he saw her as his only bargaining chip, just like he sees Celia as such. If she ran away, it is possible he might have wanted to find her, yes? After all, he was telling everyone in Society a fabricated story about how she was visiting an aunt during the time she was missing. He was trying to keep her from scandal, I assume so that when she returned, he would still be able to marry her off to a man of rank and title.”
Rosalinde wrinkled her brow. “Certainly, I would wager that is true. And?”
“Your mother must have known his character just as well as you do. That he was looking for her in order to force her hand. If he was tracking them, they might have feared that having the banns read for three weeks, both in the parish where they planned to wedandin London where your father was watching…it might have exposed them. He could have come and forced her home.”
Rosalinde drew a breath. “I suppose that might be.”
“So do not judge your father too harshly. I doubt he could have afforded a special license to subvert the issue, or even a trip to Gretna Green. Remaining unmarried, at least in the eyes of the church, could have been their best recourse.”
“You don’t want me to hate him,” she whispered. “Why?”
“Because finding him is important to you,” he said. “And I don’t want you to break your own heart before you even have a chance to know his name.”
She leaned up and kissed him, finding solace in the soft brush of his lips. He leaned away at last and smiled at her. “Now, let us address the finding of him. This is the best information my man could find in his investigation. Your grandfather did a great deal of covering the truth over the years. But certainly if this man was a servant in Fitzgilbert’s house, he would be remembered. Is it possible you could obtain more information from those who serve him now?”
Rosalinde ducked her head. “Grandfather is mercurial. He fires servants for the smallest of infractions. No one on his staff now has served for more than five years. I doubt anyone knows, and if they did, they wouldn’t tell in fear they’d be sacked without reference.”
“But itissomething. We could use this information in the future to perhaps track down some of the old servants and question them.” Gray rubbed his chin. “It will take some doing, but—”
Rosalinde stared at him. “The future, Gray?”
He stopped talking and stared back, but his face had lost some of its life, its connection to her. He said nothing.
“Do we have a future?” she whispered.
She hadn’t intended to ask the question, but tonight had opened her eyes to so much. As much as she didn’t want Celia to face an empty future, she didn’t want that fate for herself either. She loved the man sitting across from her. She knew it as clearly as she had ever known anything.
And he cared for her. She could feel it in the way he treated her. With his passion, yes, but also this moment. Sitting here with her, sharing with her the information that could change the course of her life, trying to reassure her when she needed it.
He cared for her.
But that didn’t mean he loved her. That didn’t mean he wanted any more with her than the few hours they’d already had. Or more than just her willing body beneath his.
She’d been with one man who didn’t love her. She wasn’t about to be with another. Even if she adored him beyond reason.
He was still silent, still watching her. But then he turned his face slightly. “Rosalinde,” he said.
He said nothing more than her name, and yet he answered every question she would ever have about what they could and could not have together.
She nodded, trying not to show her pain, trying not to force his hand through misplaced guilt. “We both know this was all a stolen moment. The moment just lasted longer than either of us ever could have imagined.” She pushed to her feet. “Thank you, Gray.”
“Thank me?” he repeated, also getting up. His hand fisted at his side, like he wanted to touch her but couldn’t allow himself to do so. “Why are you thanking me?”
She almost laughed. He truly had no idea of her heart. Probably because he felt nothing like she did.
“For being so kind as to share your information. I don’t know what to do with it, but at least it gives me a start. Now I should go.”
He moved on her then, crowding into her space, and yet still he didn’t allow himself to touch her. “Rosalinde,” he said, pleading in his tone. She waited for more, but he gave nothing else.
She smiled through the swell of her pain. “Good night, Grayson,” she whispered, touching his cheek for what she knew would be the last time. “Thank you again for your honesty. It was a precious gift.”
He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to speak, and she waited, hoping that he would. But finally he bent his head, and she sighed. Without another word, she slipped from the room. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a few breaths.
Tonight had started just as a need for his touch, for his comfort. And it had ended with what felt like a goodbye to everything they’d shared. Not an ugly goodbye, not a cruel one. But one that had to happen. He couldn’t give her what she desired.
