An Affair in Winter (Seasons Book 1) (3 page)

She blinked. How long had it been since she heard such compliments? She could hardly recall, but she liked the way he looked at her when he said those words. And though it was foolish to be seduced by such praises, she found she couldn’t deny their power.

“Your honesty does you credit,” she said softly. “And lends some credence to your claim of honor. And since you are correct that my other options here are…
suspect
, I-I will dine with you. With my thanks for the invitation.”

He held out an arm and she stared at it. A very muscled arm, she could tell that even beneath his jacket. With just a small hesitation, she reached out and closed her fingers around his muscles, shivering as they rippled slightly beneath her hand. He guided her back to his table and helped her into her seat.

She took a deep breath before she settled in. There was nothing to fear. It was just supper.

And yet her heart stuttered just the same.

Gray internally cursed himself with all the worst vocabulary in his vast library of profanities. What had happened to not pursuing the delectable Mrs. Wilde? That had been the plan and yet instead he’d leapt to his feet and asked her to join him in his supper. A rational explanation would have been a gentlemanly urge to protect her from any unwanted advances she might find at another table. But that excuse was not correct. His thoughts were nothing gentlemanly as he stared across the table at her. In truth, he had been driven by far more wicked impulses.

Ones best left ignored, even if it took a lion’s strength to do so.

He smiled at her and she returned the expression with some awkwardness. Of course it would be awkward. Since they’d taken their seats ten minutes before, they had been in a silence that felt like it cut the air.

Luckily they were spared any further discomfort when the innkeeper arrived with two heaping plates of food. He practically threw them down before darting off to pour more wine for those at an adjacent table.

Gray looked at the food before them. The plate consisted of a roast Cornish game hen with root vegetables set around it. He leaned in and took a long sniff before he let his gaze return to Mrs. Wilde’s face.

“It smells safe enough.”

She laughed. “It smells divine. Come, I will try it first and we’ll see if we have something to fear.”

He watched as she carefully cut a slice of meat and lifted it to her ruby red lips. She licked them slightly before she took her bite, and his groin throbbed. Goddamn it, why did he have such strong sexual urges toward this blasted woman? Was it just the length of time between conquests? Was it the odd circumstances? Was it only because she was uncommonly beautiful?

“Oh my,” she murmured as she swallowed. “That is
good
.”

He lifted his eyebrows at her sentiment, briefly distracted from his lusty thoughts by disbelief at her claim. “Could it be?”

She motioned at him with her fork and he took a bite of his own. To his surprise, the meat burst with flavor and wasn’t the slightest bit dry or undercooked. The vegetables were tender and the light sauce that covered the dish was fresh and delicious.

“Well, that
is
unexpected,” he admitted as he swallowed. “After trying the ale, I thought I was in for the worst meal of my life.”

She nodded. “I have not tried the ale, but the quality of the establishment is obviously questionable. Still, this must be one of the best meals I’ve ever had the pleasure to consume.” She cut another slice of meat and gave him a long look before she ate it. “You know, I just realized we never introduced ourselves.”

He watched her eat a moment before he shrugged. “That is because
you
were busy trying to talk yourself out of sitting with me. And
I
already know your name, Mrs. Wilde.”

She blinked and her cheeks filled with pink heat as she broke their gaze. Once again, she wetted her lips and he all but growled with the action. Damn his body. He would have to use all his tricks to stifle this ridiculous desire.

And he feared no matter what he thought of, nothing would help.

“How
did
you know my name?” she asked, her voice so soft it barely carried even at such close proximity.

“I told you, I noticed you when you entered. I asked.” He left the answer short in the hopes it wouldn’t inspire follow-up. Given his lack of ability to control himself tonight, he might just say something he regretted if given the chance.

“And what is
your
name?” she asked, daring to look at his face once more.

“Gray,” he said simply.

“Mr. Gray,” she said. “A pleasure.”

He stiffened slightly. She was not correct in her address. His first name was Gray, not his last. But perhaps it was better not to say anything after all. This was beginning to feel like a strange night stolen out of time. Anonymity might be best.

“How did you come to be stranded on this night?” she asked. “Was your carriage stuck in the drifting?”

He shook his head. “I was riding a horse, not in a vehicle. And though I could have perhaps made it farther, it didn’t seem prudent for the animal’s health to try to do so.”

Her expression softened slightly at that admission. So she was an animal lover.

“The innkeeper tells me you are a widow,” he said, pressing into a more intimate topic.

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 he
knew
now 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.

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 was
desire
for 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 do
more
than merely kiss him. So she shrugged as she looked around the room.

“I was thinking about how late it was,” she said.

He joined her in examining the room and seemed as surprised as she was by what she found. During the stolen hours when they’d talked, many of the patrons of the inn had slipped away to their rooms. Those left were drunkenly sprawled out here and there, including the innkeeper and his wife, who leaned against each other in the corner crooning a bawdy song as they passed a bottle between them.

“Time has flown, it seems,” he agreed.

“We should go to bed,” Rosalinde said, then jerked her face to his as her words rang in her ears. “I mean, I should go to my room. You should—well, you are obviously capable of doing whatever you like. You’re a man, a grown man, a-a man able to make his own decisions.”

Her cheeks grew hot at the stammering she suddenly couldn’t control and Mr. Gray laughed softly. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but warm as the fire behind them.

“I am very glad we have determined that I am a man. It takes a great deal off my mind,” he teased. “But you are right when you say that it is time for both of us to retire. After all, tomorrow will likely be a long one, for the storm may pass but the remnants will not make travel pleasant.”

He rose to his feet and she caught her breath. She’d forgotten how tall he was. And now his big hand reached out to her, an offering of assistance. A temptation.

“I will take you,” he said.