An Affair in Winter by Jess Michaels

Author:Jess Michaels [Michaels, Jess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Passionate Pen
Published: 2016-07-11T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Rosalinde stared at Gray. In the dim light from the house, she could see the oddest expression on his face. Where he was normally hard, unreadable, now there was a hint of desperation. Like he truly wanted to understand her. Like he truly needed to know what had driven her into her marriage and what forces she had found there.

There was tenderness in his expression as he tilted his head to be nearer to her. It was like he cared. Could he care? Was that possible that he cared even a little, despite his singular drive to draw her family far from his?

“I want to know, Rosalinde,” he said softly, as if he’d read her mind and was answering her question. “To understand.”

She shook her head. “Why?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because it’s you,” he responded, finally unfisting his hand and lifting his fingers to trace the line of her cheek.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the gentle caress of his warm fingers on her cold face. It was hypnotic, mesmerizing and she let out her breath in a shuddering sigh before she confessed, “I thought he cared for me, but in truth Martin only wanted me for my money, for my connections. When my grandfather cut me off after we wed and it became clear he would not change his mind, my husband grew…”

Gray’s hand stopped moving, his fingers became stiff. When she opened her eyes, every fiber of his body was tense. “What? What did he do, Rosalinde?”

She lifted her chin. “He was not kind.”

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice cracking with an anguish she’d never heard from him before. There was a wildness in his eyes now, a caged animal that would be dangerous if freed.

“Not physically,” she assured him. “But he was cruel beyond measure in the way he spoke to me. Some days I wished he’d just strike me rather than say those horrible things.”

She hadn’t realized she was crying until Gray’s thumb wiped away a droplet from her cheek. He leaned in, his warmth cocooning her. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I deserved it for being so foolhardy.”

He clenched his jaw. “No, you didn’t. You never deserved that, sweetheart.”

His arms came around her, drawing her against his chest, and she didn’t fight him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and let his strength and his warmth bleed into her skin, filling her up in spaces where she’d been empty for so long. He cradled her, his hands smoothing over her back, not speaking, not judging, not excusing or telling her to forget. He just held her, and in that moment she felt like everything would somehow be all right.

She sighed, breathing in his cinnamon scent, and then she pulled away. Not because she wanted to, but because if she stood there in his arms too long, she might forget herself. Forget Celia. Forget everything but him.

“I-I should go inside. We’re to gather for supper soon and…” She lifted her hands, unable to finish that sentence.

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