An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (11 page)

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.

It had been just two hours since she’d made her vow to Celia to help her with the infuriating man. Two hours since she’d committed herself to flirting with him. But now she wasn’t sure how to do that. How did one approach one’s greatest enemy and deepest temptation? How did one flirt with the most confusing and appealing man in the room?

He turned his gaze into the crowd, and suddenly his eyes focused on her. His expression all but smoldered as he held her stare evenly, not allowing her any route for escape. He leaned over to his family and said a few words, then moved in Rosalinde’s direction.

She caught her breath as he approached her, thinking as she always did when she saw him, of that night at the inn when he had stalked her way, passionate intention in his dark eyes. He had almost the very same expression on his face now and her entire body reacted against her will, readying for him as if he would take her right here, right now.

“Mrs. Wilde,” he said as he reached her at last. “Would you like to dance the next with me?”

He held out a hand. It was gloved, as was her own, but she had no doubt those thin layers of satin would do nothing to reduce the impact of his touch. She knew what his skin felt like, what it tasted like. She wasn’t likely to forget just because a few fragile layers of propriety now separated them.

But there was no choice in the matter. She had promised Celia that she would help. The only way she could do that was to use their mutual attraction against his man.

“Yes,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. Hating that he obviously heard her desperation, if his smirk was any indication.

She took his offered hand, ignoring the jolt of awareness that came along with touching him, and let him lead her to the dance floor. As they took their places, the orchestra began a waltz. Rosalinde just barely held back a curse. Of course it would be a waltz. There would be no respite from his embrace with a country jig or quadrille. Just her in his arms, almost scandalously close, until they were released by the music.

He glided her into motion with an effortless grace, and for the first few bars of the dance, they were both silent. His hand rested on her hip, his fingers splayed almost too intimately. Her other hand was in his, their fingers entangled. From this viewpoint, looking up at him, she could see every angle of his face. And she remembered all too clearly what those features had looked like when rapt with passion and release.

“We don’t have to be enemies,” he said, his deep voice breaking the spell between them at last.

She swallowed hard. Now was the time to focus. For her own sake, as much as Celia’s. “I agree,” she said.

He seemed surprised by her response. “You do?”

She nodded. “Of course. I liked you at the inn, Gray…Mr. Danford.”

His fingers tightened on her hip. “Gray,” he said softly.

That was inappropriate, and she knew it. And there was no way she could ever call him by his given name in front of anyone else. But when they were alone…if it served a purpose…

“Gray,” she whispered. “And I thought you liked me in return.”

His smile was brief, but oh, so wicked. “You
know
I liked you. There was no denying that I
liked
you.”

His statement, so inappropriate because of what it referenced, made her blush hot. But she also found herself smiling at his gentle teasing, his pointed reminder of the deep connection they had shared that stolen night.

If this was flirtation, it didn’t seem as hard now that they were together.

“I can’t deny that seeing you here again gave me a charge, Rosalinde,” he continued. “Can you?”

She hesitated. Ladies should not talk of such things, she knew that. And yet his tone was almost hypnotic. It made her want to say and do such inappropriate things.

“I can’t deny it,” she gasped out.

His pupils dilated as his expression grew more focused. “I will also admit that seeing you makes me want…
more
.”

“Yes,” she said. “You kissed me a few days ago. I think that proves what you say.”

He nodded. “And
you
kissed me back.”

“I-I did,” she admitted.

He smiled, and that expression softened his normally hard face. “Then it seems I’m not alone in this…this wildly inappropriate attraction between us.”

“No,” she said before she thought. The moment the admission was out, she ducked her head, missing the next two steps as embarrassment filled her. Helping Celia was one thing. Labeling herself a wanton to a man whose intentions were unclear…well, that was another.

“You are honest,” he said softly, his voice free of the censure she had feared would be there.

She lifted her gaze to his and held as evenly as she could. “I thought you believed I had no honesty in me.”

“
Did
you know who I was that night at the inn, Rosalinde?” he asked with a frown.

She huffed out her breath. “You asked me that already.”

“And this is the last time I will do so. Did you know?”

“No,” she said, not blinking, not breaking her gaze, all but willing him to see the truth. His face relaxed, as if he was relieved to believe her. “Did
you
?”

“No,” he said, with just as much certainty and honesty as she had. He leaned a little closer as they danced. “But I will tell you, Rosalinde, even if I had known your identity, I might have done the same thing. Because I wanted you. And God help me, I still do.”

Gray had tried to talk himself out of this wild plan of seduction. He’d tried to find some other way to deal not only with his brother, but also with the rapidly escalating desire he felt for Rosalinde. But nothing had changed in the past few days, no matter what he did.

He avoided Rosalinde, and he still dreamed of her. He tried to distract himself and she was still in the corners of his mind. And now he was here and there was no going back.

She blinked as she stared up at him. He expression was one of surprise at his admission, but not disregard or disappointment. The woman was off kilter if the way she stumbled in her steps was any indication.

And that’s what he wanted. To keep her off her game so that he could obtain both what he desired and needed.

She licked her lips and his groin clenched. Goddamn, but she was beautiful.

“Do you still want me, Rosalinde?” he asked, softer, more seductive.

She opened and shut her mouth, then turned her face. “This is—we shouldn’t talk about this here,” she gasped out.

“Then where?” he asked, sliding his fingers across the swell of her hip in what he knew was an entirely inappropriate way. But she shivered at the intimacy, known only to her. “Your bedroom?”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t respond.

“Oh, that’s right,” he continued. “You share a bedroom with Celia. Then mine.”

Her lashes kept fluttering wildly against her cheeks, like she was searching for purchase. “I—Gray…”

He could hardly contain himself when she said his name. Especially in that breathless tone that sounded so much like she’d sounded in his bed less than a week before.

“Tell me you don’t want that, Rosalinde,” he pressed, ignoring all semblance of propriety and any boundaries that should have stopped him. “That you haven’t dreamed of our night together since we parted.”

“I—” Her voice broke, almost on a sob. “I can’t tell you that.”

The admission was like a gunshot, cutting through all other sound, breaking off any attention he might have been paying to those around them. He reveled in the fact that she wanted him. In that moment, nothing else on heaven or earth mattered.

“The song has ended,” she whispered.

He froze and realized she was correct. The other dancers were beginning to bow to each other and make their way from the floor. He released her from the embrace of the waltz and instead slid her hand into the crook of his arm. He had to take her back to her grandfather now. It was twenty paces there, give or take.

He was running out of time.

“What if we could do it again?”

Her body stiffened. “Again?”

“Oh yes,” he groaned, wishing he couldn’t picture that exchange so perfectly. “Would you do something so
wild
, Mrs. Wilde?”

Her grandfather was now ten paces before them. He had a scowl on his face that he seemed to reserve especially for Rosalinde. Gray could feel her grow even more tense as they approached him.

“Gray—”

“Don’t answer now,” he interrupted. “Just think about it.”

He said the last words just as they reached Mr. Fitzgilbert. Gray was reluctant to release her, but he somehow found the ability. He gave her a bow.

“Good evening, Mrs. Wilde. Mr. Fitzgilbert.”

She nodded in acknowledgment of his farewell, but it was a jerky action. Her voice was small as she squeaked out, “Good evening, Mr. Danford.”

He strode away, content with the knowledge that he’d laid the groundwork for moving forward with her. But the energy that coursed through his body, making him smile, had nothing to do with furthering his quest to break Celia and Lucien’s engagement.

It had everything to do with the idea that he could steal yet another moment with Rosalinde Wilde.

Rosalinde tightened her robe around herself and stepped into the quiet of the library. The candle in her hand trembled as she moved to the long line of shelves and began to peruse their contents. She needed something tedious to help her in her quest for sleep. She needed something engaging enough to make her forget why slumber eluded her.

She pressed her forehead to the line of books before her with a long, shaky sigh. For the past few hours, she had been tormented by memories of her dance with Gray. Her mind and her rebelling body had relived every seductive word that left his lips.

He wanted her. He wanted to have her again.

And the thought both aroused her beyond measure and terrified her to the point of sleeplessness. The storm and the magical, fated quality of that unforgettable night in the inn had made surrendering to a stranger seem somehow acceptable.

But what Gray suggested now was something far different. Far more dangerous. They knew each other. They were in a house full of watchful eyes. And perhaps worst of all, they were enemies. Any man who would work to hurt her sister
had
to be Rosalinde’s enemy.

And yet she wanted his wicked hands on her, his hot tongue on hers, his big body stretching her as she trembled beneath him.

There was a soft click behind her, and Rosalinde spun around to find Gray standing at the now-closed door. He had removed his formal jacket and cravat, leaving him in a crisp shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and unbuttoned to the collarbone. He held her gaze evenly, but said nothing as her candle began to shake in her hand.

And then he moved on her. He reached her in three long strides, slipping the candle from her fingers, setting it aside on a nearby table. He lowered his mouth to hers and she melted against him, arguments gone, reason departed, nothing left in her but pulsing need for this man.

His tongue probed her mouth, tasting her like she was something to savor, and she arched against him with a mewling cry that sounded so loud in the quiet room.

His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her against him, letting her feel the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. She rubbed it with her hips, out of control as emotion took her, making her forget everything but him.

She felt his hands dragging down her back and gasped as he cupped her backside, kneading the sensitive flesh there as he rhythmically ground against her. She could hardly breathe as sensation gripped her, overcame her, and she cried out in his mouth.

He yanked his lips from hers, his dark eyes wild as he pushed her toward a settee near the fire. They collapsed backward on it, his heavy body pinning hers to the cushions.