A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (19 page)

He made a low sound and shook his head. “Are you trying to kill me with those words? I promise you, Celia, I take a great deal of pleasure in this.”

“But it isn’t the same,” she murmured, turning her face toward his.

He frowned, but was saved from replying when the carriage slowed. He kissed her once more, then moved back to his side of the vehicle. After a moment, the door opened and the footman poked his head inside.

“Where would you like to go now, Your Grace?”

Aiden looked at her, his gray gaze holding hers. “To the servants’ entrance at Grayson Danford’s home.”

The young man nodded, and once again they were left alone. Celia’s eyes went wide. Aiden had caught her in what could easily be seen as a compromising position. Ladies of her rank were not meant to go roaming the city streets without a chaperone. It was well within his rights to take her straight back to her sister and tell all. He would even be able to say it was for her own good.

“Why are you looking at me like I sprouted a second head?” Aiden asked with a chuckle.

Celia swallowed hard. “I was just trying to figure out why you would help me sneak back into the house without my sister knowing what I’d done.”

He held her stare for a moment, then shrugged. “I assume that when you are ready to tell me what you were doing today, you will. Until then, you have the right to your own counsel. Though I will say that what you did could have been dangerous. Next time you want to sneak out, send word for me and I’ll arrange it.”

She wrinkled her brow. What he was saying was that he was willing to be her partner in crime. “You would do that?”

“Yes, and I wouldn’t betray you by involving anyone you didn’t wish, Celia.”

Her stomach dropped. That vow not to betray her cut her to the bone. She had just done exactly the opposite with her grandfather. She’d already kept secrets from this man about her lineage. She’d promised Fitzgilbert that she’d keep doing that. That she’d use Aiden for her grandfather’s self-serving purposes.

The carriage stopped in the alleyway behind Gray’s home and there was a shuffling as the servants moved to open the door. Before they did, she reached across to slide her hand down Aiden’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Seeing you made today far better.”

He smiled, and it changed the entire appearance of his face. She realized then how rare that expression was. But it made him look so much younger, so much less serious. How she longed to put that expression on his face daily and for the rest of their lives. But could she do that if she began that future with such deception?

“You will likely have a letter from me waiting for you. And tomorrow I am to call on you,” he said. “I look forward to it.”

She nodded as the servant opened the door and offered her a hand out. She turned and gave Aiden one last look. “Tomorrow,” she said, and lifted her hand to wave.

He did the same, and she turned away, walking to the house. Her mind spun as she did so. She’d just done everything she could to obtain her grandfather’s help, and now she was torn apart by the promises she’d made.

But Aiden would be there tomorrow. And by tomorrow she had to decide if she intended to follow the path she’d started with her grandfather.

Or if she might try a new path. One that took her toward the man she loved, but perhaps away from the father she so desperately wanted to meet.

Clairemont sat in Danford’s parlor the next afternoon, waiting again for Celia to enter. He’d done this several times now, and yet this time felt different.

Yesterday had made
everything
different.

He’d been going from a meeting with Stalwood back to his townhouse when he saw her walking up the street. He had been shocked. Ladies did not roam about London unchaperoned. Even in good parts of the city, it was
not
done. Once he ordered his carriage to stop and verified it was indeed Celia, there had been no hesitation in what to do next.

He had to be certain she was all right.

He’d become accustomed to the loveliness of her face, but he’d never fully grasped what made her expression so appealing. But it was her light. There was a joy in Celia that bubbled just below the surface, bringing a brightness that flowed from within and warmed his cold and empty world.

But yesterday, when she climbed into his carriage, that light within her had been extinguished, replaced by a sadness and upset that made his stomach turn. He’d been desperate to heal her, help her, save her.

Of course, she had denied him that ability. She hadn’t been ready to share whatever had caused her odd behavior. But he was a spy, and it hadn’t taken much more than a flick of his wrist to find out that the place where he’d first seen her was just a stone’s throw from the home of her estranged grandfather.

What was she doing with Gregory Fitzgilbert?

It couldn’t be anything good, since she’d hidden it from her sister, hidden it from him. He’d searched far and wide for a reason for their estrangement, but a fight between Danford and Fitzgilbert at the time of Celia’s broken engagement with Stenfax was the only information he could find.

Still, his intuition pricked. And he wanted so much to be able to help Celia.

The door to the parlor opened and Celia entered with Rosalinde trailing behind. Clairemont frowned. With her sister in the room, there was no way Celia would reveal anything to him.

“Good afternoon,” Rosalinde said, smiling as Celia moved past her to sit on the settee. “I’m afraid I will not be a very good hostess, as I have a matter to resolve with the staff. But I shall return to you in…” She cast a quick glance at Celia, who was perched on the edge of the settee. Her expression was serene enough, but Clairemont could feel the tension rolling off of her.

Apparently, so could Rosalinde, for she shot him a meaningful look and said, “I shall return in half an hour, perhaps a bit longer.”

His eyes widened. While he had heard that sometimes engaged couples were allowed periods to be alone, this was unprecedented. And judging from Rosalinde’s face, it was brought about by Celia’s distracted and unhappy demeanor.

“Thank you, Mrs. Danford,” Clairemont said.

She nodded and slipped from the room, pulling the door almost entirely closed behind herself, yet another breach of conduct that Clairemont couldn’t help to read volumes into. He pushed it aside, though, and turned his attention on Celia. Her gaze was focused on her clenched hands in her lap.

Slowly, he moved to sit next to her on the settee. He wanted desperately to touch her, but he held back, giving her a little space, at least until he got a better read on her demeanor.

“How are you today, Celia?”

She lifted her gaze. “I’m better, thank you.”

There was something in her tone that made him doubt that sentiment. “Does Rosalinde know of your actions?” he asked, wondering if a falling out between the sisters had caused this malaise he now saw.

She shook her head. “No.”

“I don’t want to press you if you are reticent to share with me, but I must ask one more thing. Does the difficulty you’re encountering have anything to do with what happened between us at the ball? Or yesterday in my carriage?”

He held his breath as he pictured both encounters. God, how he had loved giving her pleasure. But it wasn’t his place or his right. And if he had hurt her with his actions, he would despise himself for the rest of his days.

Celia turned toward him, lips slightly parted, and did what he would not do. She took both his hands.

“No,” she whispered. “Of course not. The connection between us is…it is incredible. I regret
nothing
.”

He almost slumped in relief at her words. But she was still struggling. And once again he wondered if it had something to do with the strained relationship with her grandfather.

He lifted a hand and pushed a loose lock of hair away from her cheek with the tip of his finger. “You know, I understand a little about hiding pain. About struggle. I’m here and I’m listening.”

She sucked in a deep breath and her eyes widened. It seemed as though she wanted to say something, yet she couldn’t start.

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “Your grandfather’s home was near where I found you yesterday,” he offered, a statement, not a question or a demand.

Her entire body stiffened, and she turned her face. “You know that?”

“I found out.” He pinched his lips together. “I’m good at finding things out.”

Her hands were shaking beneath his, and he squeezed gently. When he did, she let out a shudder and said, “Yes. I-I went to see him. I went to make a bargain with him.”

“A bargain?” Clairemont said, his eyes narrowing. That didn’t sound good. But he didn’t press. This wasn’t the interrogation of a criminal. He had to be gentle if he wanted her to trust him enough to open up. He continued to stroke his hands gently, rhythmically.

“Yes.”

“What kind of bargain?” he asked.

She was silent for what seemed like forever, but he could read her very well. She was in pain. And how he wanted to fix it, to comfort her. To keep her from ever looking so broken again.

This was protectiveness, and it overwhelmed his senses in a way he’d never experienced before.

“Tell me, Celia,” he finally pushed, but as gently as he could.

The next breath she took was more of a sob. “If I do, you may hate me.”

Those words raised his hackles. Her secret had something to do with him? Did that mean she knew something about his reasons for being in London? Was he in danger? Was she?

“I can’t imagine that happening,” he said, keeping his tone even while his body went to alert. “Why would you think that?”

She lifted her gaze to his at last, and there were tears sparkling in her eyes. “Because I’ve been lying to you, Aiden. I’ve been lying to you since the day we met.”

The first thing that shot through Celia’s body and soul the moment she said those words was abject terror. Aiden was simply staring at her, his eyes wide with confusion and hesitation. The second expression cut like a knife because it drew him away from her, though he continued to hold her hands.

And yet, even as she wrestled with that pain and heartache, there was another emotion that made itself plain: relief. She had spent twenty-four hours reliving her grandfather’s claims about her. That she was like him. That she had lied and should continue to lie in order to get what she wanted.

Those words had haunted her all of last night. But by confessing, she had erased them from her soul. She
wasn’t
like Gregory Fitzgilbert. She wouldn’t use the man she loved, she wouldn’t trap him with a version of herself that didn’t truly exist.

“Celia…” Aiden’s voice was rough. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” She drew her hands away and got to her feet. Now was the time to give him everything. To lay herself bare and hope he could still feel something for her in the end. “And Rosalinde will be back soon, so I know I must explain quickly. Do you know anything of our story? Our past?”

He shifted slightly, and she recognized the answer. Of course he had researched her. As a duke, he would want a good pedigree in his bride.

“I suppose, though, that you only know the public version of who I am, who my family is.”

“The public version,” he repeated slowly.

“Everyone in Society believes that while my mother was spending an extended time with her aunt, she met and married a gentleman and they swiftly had two children, Rosalinde and me. But then she and her husband died in an accident, leaving us to our grandfather’s care.”

Aiden nodded. “Yes, that’s the story I’ve heard. Is there another?”

She pinched her lips together. “Oh yes. There is
that
story and then there is the truth. My grandfather was and is a horrible, horrible man. Abusive to everyone he can reach, lashing out at the simplest slight. I don’t know what my mother endured, but it was enough that she fell in love and ran away with a servant from his house.”

Aiden stood. “A servant?”

His tone was unreadable beyond surprise, and she watched him closely as she continued. “Yes. They fled from my grandfather and never married. Gray presumes that is because the reading of the bannes might have revealed their location to Fitzgilbert and put them in danger. So, my first confession to you is that my father was no gentleman. And the second is that I am the
bastard
daughter of no gentleman.”