He watched her face for pain in her reaction or regret, but there was none. She nodded slowly. “Yes. For about eighteen months.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, though in that moment he was anything but sorry. A husband would have made this stolen moment impossible. Well, more impossible than it already was.
“Thank you.” She sighed. “It was a fever.”
Gray pressed his lips together. He shouldn’t ask more, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know more, despite the circumstances. And he surrendered to the urges, hoping they would prevent darker ones from pushing to the forefront.
“But you are back in Society now, back in color,” he said at last.
She looked down at herself for a moment, almost as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing. He followed her look and couldn’t help but notice the elegant curve of her throat, the fine swell of her breasts. She was truly lovely.
“Yes,” she said. “To both your questions.”
“You must be busy dealing with suitors.”
She shook her head. “Certainly not. Why would you think that?”
He arched a brow, uncertain if she was being coy or just totally unaware of herself. He thought perhaps the latter, which was utterly charming. “Please, Mrs. Wilde, you must see yourself in the mirror each morning. You are well aware that you are exceptionally beautiful.”
Her cheeks filled with color and she turned her attention to her food for a few bites, to avoid responding, he supposed. Finally, she took a gulp of wine, and when she lifted her eyes she swept her gaze across his face, focusing for just a beat too long on his lips. He almost snarled in triumph. So he wasn’t alone in this attraction.
“And what of you, sir?” she asked, her tone shaky. “Is there a Mrs. Gray?”
“No,” he said simply. “I am a confirmed bachelor. I leave the marrying to my siblings.”
Her brow wrinkled, and for a moment he thought she might press him on the topic. Then she shook her head. “We are straying into intimate topics, Mr. Gray. Perhaps it would be wise to steer away from them.”
He held her stare a moment. She was right, of course. It was dangerous to speak of familiar things with a stranger, especially a stranger who he wanted so desperately to touch. But there was something about the circumstances, the oddity of being trapped together like this, that gave their meeting a sense of magic. Of freedom. Like there could be no consequences if he did and said exactly as he desired.
And heknewnow that the strange connection wasn’t one sided. Even now he felt the hum of desire, like a wire between them that connected them in a way neither would have guessed was possible. Her hands trembled slightly on the table, her gaze continued to flit to his mouth and she licked her lips every time it did. The attraction between them was most definitely mutual.
And dangerous. He’d avoided such things for a long time. There was part of him that told him to continue to avoid them. And another that told him to reach over and touch her bare hand, to trace her skin and see if her pupils would dilate with want.
He cleared his throat and straightened. “You are correct, of course, Mrs. Wilde. I didn’t mean to cause you any discomfort. Why don’t we talk of something less intimate? Are you a reader?”
Her face lit up. “I am, indeed.”
He smiled at her pleasure, for it was impossible not to do so. “Then tell me, what are you currently reading?”
She leaned in, the subtle scent of lemons wafting to him from her silky hair, and began to speak passionately about her current reads, a few of which he had also enjoyed. And yet, as they ate and talked, he felt less than satisfied by the discussion. Because the longing he’d stifled was coming back, and he doubted any veneer of politeness would make it go away.
Not on this night.
Chapter Three
As the clock on the mantel began to chime, Rosalinde gasped. Was it truly midnight? That meant she had been sitting in the hall with Mr. Gray for hours now, without noticing the passage of time in the least. The last time she’d made any note of the time was at ten when Gertrude had come looking for her to help her with her nightly rituals. She’d sent the maid away, reluctant to end her conversation with the man who sat across from her.
She’d been hesitant to join him when the night began, for he was an intimidating person, with his handsome yet hard face and his intense stares. Something about him made her nervous. And it still did.
But now…well, now she couldn’t deny that her body reacted to every movement of his. She knew full well what those reactions were about. She’d been married. She’d even liked the marital bed for a time.
What she was feeling wasdesirefor this man. Much as she would like to deny it, it seemed she was just as her grandfather had long accused her of being: a wanton. She should have felt ashamed of that fact and yet she didn’t. The tingling need that pulsed through her body felt natural, not wrong.
“You look very serious now,” Mr. Gray drawled, leaning in to examine her face. It felt like he saw into her mind, her soul, and she was not afraid to bare both to him, no matter how foolish a notion that was. “What thoughts are in that pretty head of yours?”
She swallowed hard. There was no way she was about to tell him she had been pondering what it would be like to kiss him, to domorethan merely kiss him. So she shrugged as she looked around the room.
“I was thinking about how late it was,” she said.
