A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (12 page)

Rosalinde grabbed her and drew her in for a hug. “Absolutely. But I am happy for you that you like this man. When you say you want something like my happiness, I must tell you I pray nightly that you will find the same and more.”

“More?” Celia laughed as she squeezed her sister tightly. “I don’t know if there is more in the world.”

But as they laughed, Celia couldn’t help but think of Aiden again. It felt like she could find
more
with a man like him. Everything and more. She had always told herself she couldn’t have it all.

But now she couldn’t help but wonder if she could.

Clairemont stood in the parlor, staring out the window at the bright and sunny garden behind Grayson Danford’s home. He’d been offered a seat by the butler who brought him here, but he’d not been able to stay in it long. He felt antsy and unsettled, and as much as he tried to chalk that up to his investigation, in his heart he knew it had more to do with Celia.

He faced the door just as Celia entered, her sister trailing behind her. As she looked at him across the room, her face lit up in a bright smile and the power of it hit him in the gut and nearly set him spiraling back. No one had
ever
looked at him like that before. Like he was everything.

He’d always been nothing.

“Hello, Your Grace,” Mrs. Danford said, moving between the couple and breaking the spell between them. “How lovely to see you again.”

The words were friendly, but her tone was a bit stiff. Clairemont blinked and forced himself to focus on her. There was hesitation in her eyes as she extended a hand to him in welcome.

He shook it. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Danford. Will your husband not join us?”

Mrs. Danford shook her head. “Gray planned to do just that, but I’m afraid his meeting earlier in the day went long. He sent word that he’d be late, though we hope to see him before you depart.”

Clairemont frowned, for he wondered who Danford was meeting with, but he didn’t press. Already Celia’s sister seemed uncertain of him, as outwardly friendly as she continued to be. He didn’t want to raise her suspicions even more and perhaps block him from uncovering more.

And from spending time with her sister.

“Please, let’s sit, shall we?” Mrs. Danford said as she motioned them all to the settee and chairs before the fire.

She took the chair and Clairemont settled himself in next to Celia on the settee. It was narrow and his larger frame barely fit, which forced his knee to bump hers when he moved.

Every time it did, it was a shock to the system. It seemed to affect her, too, for her pupils were dilated and her breath slightly short when she said, “Your letters earlier in the week reminded me that you haven’t been in London for a very long time.”

Clairemont nodded. The letters. There had been no reason in the world for him to write to her in the days they’d been apart, but he’d found himself doing so regardless. Sharing with her his impressions of London, giving her details on what he did and thought during the day. It made him feel like they were connected somehow.

And he liked it, even though he shouldn’t.

“Yes, a very long time,” he said.

“You’ve told me some of your activities, but I wanted to ask you how you find it overall, Your Grace?”

Clairemont saw Mrs. Danford gather up sewing from a basket beside her chair and turn slightly away. So they were to be given some small level of privacy despite the fact that they were being chaperoned. But not enough for more stolen kisses.

He supposed he should be pleased by that fact. Those kisses were wholly wrong and utterly distracting. And yet he kept taking them, savoring them, dreaming of them, regardless of the consequences to such an action.

“Aiden?”

The use of the name he’d given her jolted him back to reality. He shot Mrs. Danford a look, but she hadn’t reacted to the use of what they all believed was his first name.

“I’m sorry, Celia, I was woolgathering,” he said. “You asked me about London. I don’t think it will come as a surprise that it isn’t exactly my favorite place.”

He said those words as an explanation for another man’s actions, but they applied to him as much as the real duke.

She nodded. “I’m also not hugely fond of the city. It is always so crowded, the air is never fresh and it smells of…”

She trailed off and he shifted with discomfort before he whispered, “Smoke. There are too many chimneys. Too much smoke.”

Her gaze lifted to his and she held there. He realized how much emotion had been in that one sentence. Too much. And she’d never know exactly why. He’d never be able to share that truth with her.

He laughed to play off the darker tone of a moment before. “But London is a necessary evil for men of rank. Still, I won’t be sorry when I depart. But what about you? You grew up in London, didn’t you?”

She smiled—he thought it was at the idea that he had done some research on her past. If she knew the real reason for his search, she would not be so happy.

“I did,” she said. “When our mother—”

She broke off, and for a brief second she exchanged a pointed look with her sister. Then she took a deep breath and started again.

“When our parents were gone, our grandfather came and collected us. He brought us back to London to live with him. He had a country estate, of course, but we rarely went there. He was not like you and me—he thought London was where the action was and despised the country.”

Clairemont nodded. Whenever she spoke of her grandfather, there was a tension there. He sensed it now in her sister, too. Mrs. Danford was now stiff as she continued stitching the fabric in her lap, her mouth a thin line. There was a story there.

One that had nothing to do with his case, and yet he wished to understand it nonetheless. Because it was Celia. And he yearned to know more. To be connected. Even if he knew it would end.

That realization pulled at him. He claimed to Stalwood and to himself over and over that this courtship of Celia was only to get closer to Danford and determine his involvement in the real Clairemont’s schemes. His death. But there was no denying that these moments were all about
her
. Sitting with her wanting to take her hand was about
her
. Wondering about her past, wanting to heal whatever pain had been caused…was about
her
. There was no use pretending otherwise.

“Will you stay for supper, Your Grace?”

He jolted as Mrs. Danford’s voice pierced through his fog. He turned to find her staring at him, her blue eyes focused very firmly on his.

“I—yes,” he said. “I would enjoy that.”

She nodded and set her sewing back in her basket. “Excellent. I will tell the servants to set a place for one more. Since we have time, perhaps Celia would like to take a turn with you around the garden?”

Celia stared at her sister. “Yes. The flowers are just beginning to bud, it’s lovely outside.”

He tensed. To be alone with Celia again? There was no way to refuse that opportunity. Especially since once supper started he would have to force himself to be focused on Danford.

“Why don’t you get your wrap, Celia?” Mrs. Danford said, rising. Clairemont and Celia did the same. “We’ll meet you on the veranda.”

She sent Clairemont one last look before she slipped from the room. He turned to look at Mrs. Danford. “I assume you would like to speak to me about your sister.”

“I’m not very good at subterfuge,” she said, inclining her head. “Why don’t we walk to the veranda, and I’ll be direct.”

He nodded. “Lead the way.”

She did so, taking him down a hall toward a parlor that backed toward the garden. They stepped outside. The afternoon sun was beginning to turn golden as it slipped toward dusk and he sucked in a deep breath of the fresh breeze.

Mrs. Danford smiled at him. “You like my sister.”

He faced her. At least in this he didn’t have to lie. “I do.”

“That is good.”

“And yet you have hesitations when it comes to me,” he said.

“I do,” she said, a hint of surprise at his observation in her tone. “I
must
. This is my sister, after all. But don’t take my concerns as an attack. Not so long ago, she was equally worried about my prospects with Gray and told him so more than plainly. Now they are becoming friends and she knows I’m happy.”

He forced his expression to remain benign. What this woman didn’t know, could not know, was that he, unlike Danford, had no intention of marrying Celia. He
couldn’t
.

“She is lucky to have someone on her side,” he said instead.

“She’s suffered some in her life,” Rosalinde continued, moving a bit closer and repeating what Danford had implied earlier. “If you make her suffer more, even a fraction more, it will be
me
you must contend with. You’ll
wish
it were Gray.”

He held her stare evenly and nodded. “I understand you perfectly, Mrs. Danford. And I hope I will never deserve your wrath.”

“So do I.” She stepped away and smiled again. This time it was a warmer expression, as if he had passed a test and now she approved of him more fully. “Ah, and here is Celia.”

He turned to watch Celia exit the house, a light shawl now wrapped around her shoulders. Once again she smiled at him and his world lit up like she was the sun through rainclouds.

“You two enjoy yourselves,” Mrs. Danford said.

She entered the house and Celia edged closer to him. “If you don’t want to walk in the garden—”

“No, I do, I most definitely do,” he said, holding out an arm for her. She took it, sending lightning through his body. “Show me the best path.”

Celia and Aiden walked through the winding paths of her sister’s garden at a leisurely pace and yet she didn’t feel very at ease. After all, she was alone with Aiden. Aiden, who awoke such feelings in her.

Aiden, who had been remarkably quiet in the ten minutes they had been strolling the small grounds. He smiled, of course. He asked a question if she stopped to show him a flower or point out a bird taking wing. But he wasn’t engaging with her the way he normally did and that made her nervous.

She sighed. It had never been in her nature to take a risk. That was Rosalinde’s way. Her sister had always flown headlong into life and love. She’d been hurt very badly by her openhearted nature. But she had also been receptive to the happiness she now had with Gray.

Celia had always watched Rosalinde’s wild flights in both wonder and horror. What if she got hurt? What if she said the wrong thing? What if she fell instead of flew?

She could almost hear Rosalinde laugh at her internal monologue. Her sister would say she’d never know unless she tried. Her sister would tell her she would survive the fall, but standing on the edge was a slow death of regret.

Damned Rosalinde.

Celia shot a glance at Aiden again. He was watching her from the corner of his eye, interested, but withdrawn. And in that moment, she realized she didn’t want to hide from the dangers he represented. Not if facing the unknown, potentially making a mistake, meant she could also find happiness. One was worth the other, it seemed, just as Rosalinde had always claimed.

So she took a deep breath and turned to face him. “You have been very quiet since we started our walk, Aiden. Is there something I have done to offend you?”

His eyes went wide. “Offend me? Lord, no. You could never offend me, Celia. Even if you tried, I don’t think you could.”

She tilted her head. “Then do you mind if I ask why you are so withdrawn?”

He smiled and reached for her hand. She wasn’t wearing gloves, even if she knew she should be, and his rough thumb stroked the sensitive flesh, sending ripples of sensation up her arm that made her dizzy.

“I have been told in no uncertain terms that I’m not to hurt you, Celia Fitzgilbert. It’s a bit intimidating.”

Heat flooded Celia’s cheeks as she realized what he meant. Rosalinde had sent her off to find her shawl so she could harangue the poor man.

“Oh, Rosalinde,” Celia sighed. She could barely meet his eyes out of humiliation. “I’m so sorry, Aiden. She is protective and often direct, though I suppose you guessed that after talking to her.”