A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (14 page)

“Thank you, Ruth,” Celia said as her maid gathered up her clothing from the day to be washed and pressed. “Good night.”

“Good night, miss,” Ruth said with a smile as she left Celia’s chamber.

Once she was alone, Celia returned to her mirror and stood before it, looking at her reflection. Although she’d seen herself thousands of times over the years, tonight she felt like she was looking at a stranger. In the garden, Aiden had changed something in her. His mouth on hers, his hands touching her, her realization of his desire for her…all that had shifted her to a new place. She couldn’t go back.

And it seemed she might not have to. After all, before he’d left, he’d held her hand a moment too long, stared into her eyes just a little too intently. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. There was only one way that would end if he were a gentleman and she a lady.

Yet she wasn’t completely thrilled at the idea of a future with him, not because she didn’t want that, but because he remained a mystery in so many ways. Tonight he had withdrawn a fraction after supper. She’d felt his hesitation, but what was it born from?

The only thing she could think of was past. In the garden she’d felt his pain on the subject, and inside he’d seemed just as uncomfortable when he spoke to Rosalinde and Gray about why he’d hidden out in the countryside, why he had been so reluctant to return to his place in Society.

There was a great deal beneath the surface with this man. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of a roiling sea of emotion and heartache that he kept secret, quiet. She found she wanted to know it
all
. To share it every bit of it. To ease it all the best she could.

In the hallway, she heard the soft sound of voices. Gray’s voice, answered by Rosalinde as they made their way to bed in the master chamber at the far end of the hallway. There was a tone to their voices, even if Celia didn’t understand the words themselves. Whatever they said was born from deep intimacy. Love. Potent desire. Her sister let out a soft giggle and then the door to their chamber shut a bit too loudly.

Celia closed her eyes. Rosalinde had taken chances it had always come naturally to her. In fact, Celia knew that her sister and Gray had engaged in physical intimacy before they were wed.

For Rosalinde, making the decision to give herself to a man was a different situation, of course. She had been a widow when she met Gray, so there were fewer consequences to such an act.

For Celia, surrendering her body was far more dangerous, with many more potential consequences.

And yet she
wanted
to take that risk. She
wanted
to offer comfort to Aiden. She wanted to connect with him on a deeper level and help him see that it was safe for him to share his heart with her. She wanted to ease the ache he caused deep inside of her when he touched her or kissed her with such passion.

And yet being so bold as to take or even merely ask for what she wanted was terrifying. Celia had the barest bones of knowledge on what happened between men and women. She’d heard what she should expect when she was engaged to Gray’s brother, the Earl of Stenfax. Certainly
that
would never be enough to properly seduce a man of experience like Aiden.

But she did want to get closer to him, to feel and understand the passion he inspired. To be his in every way that mattered. To make him hers in the same way.

She thrilled at that admission, made only to herself in her head. Even thinking those words, imagining what would happen between them if she overcame her fear, made her body throb. Her nipples tingled, and low in her stomach there was a flutter of need and pleasure.

But the question now was how to suggest such a thing to him without risking rejection. And also if she could manage to be bold enough to enact any plan she did concoct.

“Your Grace, Lord Stalwood is here to see you.”

It took a moment for the butler’s words to register in Clairemont’s head as he sat as his desk, staring at a ledger without truly seeing it. Tracing money had never been his favorite part of being a spy, but normally he wasn’t too preoccupied to perform his duty.

“I am in—please show him here, Richards.”

The servant bowed out and, in a moment, returned to announce Stalwood. He left them and Stalwood closed the door.

“No problems with the servants we hired, were there?” he asked.

Clairemont rose to shake his old friend’s hand. “Not at all. The fact that the Duke of Clairemont fired his entire previous staff and brought on all new servants seems to have put the fear of God into them. I have never seen such swift and efficient work.”

Stalwood smiled. “Well, the old staff got incredibly good references and have all landed on their feet.”

“Then a happy ending for everyone, it seems,” Clairemont said. “Sit, won’t you? Would you like a brandy?”

Stalwood shook his head. “No, I ought not. I actually come bearing news about this fellow Perry that Grayson Danford mentioned last week.”

At that, Clairemont took a step toward him. “Excellent. I have been wishing I could pursue that lead myself, but my situation here prevents it.”

“Yes, these pesky duties of the titled,” Stalwood teased.

“Even the falsely titled,” Clairemont agreed with a frown. “Being a duke is stifling.”

“You must be excited then at the prospect of ending the charade and going back to the field,” Stalwood said. “And perhaps this information gets us that much closer to ending this.”

Tension suddenly coiled in Clairemont like a tightly wound spring. “What have you discovered?”

“Perry is not in any way related to the
real
Clairemont,” Stalwood began. “That was a lie on the duke’s part, probably to subvert any questions Danford would have had about the man. Suggest a cousin as a good worker and there are fewer questions than if you suggest a stranger with a checkered past.”

“It implies he doesn’t want Danford to know something,” Clairemont agreed. “And that bodes well for Danford’s lack of true involvement or knowledge about the real Clairemont’s conspiracies.”

“It does. In fact, our agents can find nothing at all that concretely ties Danford to Clairemont’s true schemes.”

Relief washed over Clairemont at those words. He had come to much the same conclusion already after observing Danford over the past few times they’d interacted, but a gut feeling and actual evidence were two different things.

“He’s being used,” he said. “With his fingers in so many pies, he’s the perfect person to invest in and funnel money or use his ventures to trade secrets or goods.”

“Exactly,” Stalwood said with a quick nod.

“So is Perry a contact or a lackey?” Clairemont asked.

“A lackey, we believe. The real Clairemont had some other partner, one he was trying to keep hidden. Perry appears to be the conduit, so that the two men never have to interact directly.”

“Could this mystery partner be our killer?”

“Very possibly,” Stalwood said, digging into his pocket to retrieve a paper with a long list of observations from the last few days. “There’s been some odd activity down in Withershank since the real Clairemont’s death. Shipment reroutes, changes to those employed at the canal port. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Clairemont looked over it briefly. “No, it can’t be. And Danford is unaware of all this. Which would be the last indication to make me certain of his innocence.”

Stalwood nodded. “I agree. We can set him aside as a suspect and I would suggest finding out who else is investing in the canal project specifically. It might be the most direct route to our next villain.”

Clairemont set the paper down on his desk and walked to the window where he stood staring outside. He should have been thrilled by this development. Being stalled was infinitely frustrating. Now he could move forward. He could close this case and walk away, happy in the fact that he had served his country and saved lives once again.

But he wasn’t thinking about lives. He was thinking about something else entirely.

“I shouldn’t have moved forward with courting Celia until we had worked on Danford more fully,” he said, shaking his head at the faint reflection of himself in the glass. “Now that it is clear her brother-in-law isn’t involved, that means I will tear her apart for
nothing
.”

“Not nothing,” Stalwood said, moving toward him and grasping his arm to turn him around. “By building a closer relationship in his family, you will be better able to use Danford to help you with the truth. Whatever is happening, it still likely ties to Danford’s businesses.”

“But at what cost?” Clairemont hissed, self-loathing washing over him, coating everything about him.

“At what cost if you
didn’t
pursue this course of action?” Stalwood retorted. He leaned in, searching Clairemont’s face intently. “I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you like this before, vacillating on a case. Or worrying so much about collateral damage when the stakes are so high.”

“Celia isn’t collateral damage,” he said, shaking his arm away from his friend. Right now he didn’t want to have this conversation.

Stalwood was silent for what felt like an eternity. “What
is
it about this woman?” he asked at last. “What has you tangled up so completely?”

Clairemont stared at his friend, then shook his head as his body sagged back against the window pane. “I-I don’t know. I realize what my duty is, I swear to you I do. But it’s complicated. Hurting her is…it is the worst thing I’ve ever done. I
hate
myself for it.”

Stalwood watched as Clairemont paced away and poured the drink he’d hesitated to take earlier. Clairemont slugged it in one gulp and wished the burn of the liquid would consume him. It didn’t.

“Do you remember the night I found you?” Stalwood said softly.

Clairemont lifted his head slowly, staring at the wall ahead of him with unseeing eyes. He must have been quiet for too long, for his mentor cleared his throat.

“Dane, do you remember?”

Clairemont winced at the use of his real name. If Stalwood was breaking character, he must think Clairemont was in a bad way. He wasn’t wrong in that assessment. At the moment, he felt stretched so thin that he might break.

“Yes, I remember,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“You tried to pick my pocket,” Stalwood said, even though Clairemont had answered in the affirmative.

“When you caught me, I thought I’d be transported for stealing from a titled gentleman.” He turned to face the earl. “I was terrified. Why didn’t you let them take me?”

Stalwood arched a brow. “It’s been over fifteen years since that night and you’ve never once asked that question. Why ask it now?”

Clairemont shifted. “I need the answer now. When I’m failing in every way, I need to know, I suppose.”

Stalwood’s expression softened. He looked
fatherly
, and Clairemont took a long, deep breath. This man was his best and only friend. Seeing him like this…it meant a great deal.

“You are a good judge of character,” Stalwood said slowly. “It is one of your best attributes, that judgment. But you’re not the only one who possesses it. I looked into your eyes as the guard was hauling you off and I saw something there. Something deeper than a desperate street ruffian. Something deeper than your position or your anger toward me and the world.”

“What did you see?” Clairemont whispered.

“A good man,” Stalwood said, shaking his head. “A good man who could be taught to be even better. To be great.”

Clairemont stared at him a long time, thinking about his past. Thinking about that pivotal moment in his life when he’d been offered a different way. Thinking about Celia and the lies he was forced to tell her as he drew her near.

“I don’t feel like a good man now,” he admitted. “I feel like a bastard. A cad. I feel as broken and violent as I did when I was that boy you saved from the street. What I’m doing to this woman is
wrong
.”

“You care for her,” Stalwood said softly.

Clairemont shut his eyes for a brief moment. “I’m beginning to, yes. God help me, yes. I don’t deserve her, but when I’m with her everything falls away. It’s never happened before and I don’t know what to do. I would wager it will never happen again and I don’t know whether to celebrate or mourn that fact.”