A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (28 page)

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, facing her. It was impossible to look at her. She was so beautiful, gathered up in his bed, his sheets.

No, not his bed. Not his sheets.
Not
his woman.

“I have destroyed your future, Celia,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “Aiden, please! There could still be a future.”

“What, for us?” he asked, laughing though there was no humor or goodness in what he felt. “Don’t you understand? There is
no
Aiden. There is
no
us. There is
no
future. This night was stolen, something that we shouldn’t have done, no matter how pleasurable it was.” With every word, her face crumpled further. “When I’m gone, the best thing you can do for yourself is to forget me.”

She lifted her chin slightly, but her defiance couldn’t mask her pain. Unlike him, she wasn’t as practiced at the act. He saw it there, as clear on her face as the fact that she foolishly cared for him. Him, a ghost. A phantom. A lie.

“And what will you do when you’re gone?” she asked.

“Forget you.”

He said the words. He even said them with strength. But they were a lie, the deepest and darkest one he’d ever told. He would never forget her. Her smile, her laugh, her touch, her body, how he loved her…those things would be with him every moment of every day until he finally breathed his last.

But she didn’t know that. He made her believe it by the way he said those words. By the expression he forced himself to take.

The color drained from her face. “I see.” She lifted the sheets to cover herself, and in that moment, he knew he’d lost her completely. “Well, then it seems I have all I came from. If you’ll excuse me while I dress, you can return me to Gray’s house.”

He nodded, for he knew what she requested was best for her. It was, after all, what he had created by rejecting her. But it had never hurt more to walk away from anything then it did when he turned on his heel and exited the chamber. He shut the door behind him and leaned his forehead on the barrier, clenching his fists to keep from bursting back inside.

To keep from shouting the words he now only mouthed:

I love you.

Celia sat on the settee in Gray’s parlor. Rosalinde was beside her, sewing quietly. Celia was also supposed to be stitching, but her piece sat on her lap, abandoned long ago. Instead, she stared out the window, toward the rainy garden behind the house. But even that she didn’t see.

No, all she could think about was Aiden. She had not seen him, nor heard from him, in two days. Not since he had dropped her back off at Gray’s house with a mumbled apology and goodnight.

But she had been reliving that night ever since. From the passionate joining that had made her soul and body sing, to his ultimate rejection that had sent her crashing to the ground.

Did she understand why he pushed her away? Of course she did. Not only did she understand his past now, but she knew that he couldn’t remain in the role of Clairemont. He would be gone when his case ended. In some way, she thought he was trying to deal the harshest blows now so it would hurt less later.

Knowing that didn’t lessen the sting.

The door to the parlor opened and Gray entered. He had a pensive look on his handsome face and he moved directly to Rosalinde to press a kiss to her forehead. Once he had done so, his expression relaxed a fraction. Celia turned away from their show of affection. How much she wished she could offer Aiden that kind of support.

“What is it?” Rosalinde asked, taking his hand.

He smiled down at her. “Am I so easy to read?”

“Only to me,” Rosalinde said softly before she repeated, “What is it?”

“I’ve received a message from Stalwood. He and Clairemont are on their way to talk to me about any evidence I may have uncovered. They will be here momentarily.” He shot a glance toward Celia.

She hardly noticed him as she rose to her feet. Her heart was pounding at the thought of seeing Aiden again.

Rosalinde frowned. “Why don’t we go out, Celia?” she suggested in a falsely bright tone. “I know Mr. Banks gets his new fabrics in today. We could find a pretty silk or—”

“No,” Celia said, surprised her voice could sound so even and strong when she was all but vibrating inside. “It’s fine. Perhaps I can help.”

Rosalinde moved toward her and caught her hand. She whispered, “I’m worried about you. Despite everything that has happened, I know you care for this man.”

Celia didn’t bother to deny it. Her sister knew her too well not to see through that lie. Instead, she shrugged. “That is why I
must
help. If he’s seen coming here, it should be believed that he’d here to court. I must be there for that lie to be told.”

The sound of a knock on the front door drifted in from the parlor, and Celia froze as they heard Greene welcome their guests. Then he appeared in the doorway. “The Duke of Clairemont and the Earl of Stalwood have arrived.”

“They are expected, Greene. Please, allow them in,” Gray said.

The servant stepped aside and the men entered. Stalwood came in first, but as he stepped aside, Aiden stepped into view. Celia’s breath caught, then vanished as he turned his cool and hard gaze on her. The moment he did, it softened a fraction. Then he frowned and turned away.

She flinched. He was lost to her now. Already he pulled back, and it broke her heart into a thousand fragments.

“Good afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Danford, Miss Fitzgilbert,” Stalwood said, filling what was now an awkward silence. “Thank you again for having us in your home and for your continued assistance in this unpleasant matter.”

Celia kept her gaze on the earl since Aiden’s continued refusal to look at her stung so badly. “Lord Stalwood, is there anything I can do to help?”

“No!” It was Aiden who answered, his tone sharp and bordering on cruel. “No.”

Celia narrowed her eyes at him, and he did the same in return. “Might I have a moment with Clairemont?” she said, making the words a question though it was meant as a statement. If anyone refused her, she was going to insist.

But the room seemed to recognize this, for Stalwood, Rosalinde and Gray exchanged a look before they moved toward the door.

“We’ll be in my office,” Gray said softly. “Join us when you’re finished, Clairemont.”

Aiden didn’t react or respond, but continued to hold her stare. Rosalinde was the last to leave the room and shot Celia a quick look before she tugged the door shut behind her.

Once they were alone, Celia took a step toward him. Immediately he took one of an equal distance back.

“Don’t shut me out,” she said softly.

He let out a ragged breath, his hand lifting at his side like he wanted to touch her but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Then he shook his head.

“This is madness. I must, Celia. I
will
.” He turned and headed for the door. But there he paused, his hand resting against it, his head bent. “I’m ending this. All of this.”

Then he threw the door open with such force that it nearly slammed back on the opposite wall and stalked away, leaving Celia alone with her pain.

She moved to the settee and sank back down, covering her face with her hands. She heard her sister enter, she recognized Rosalinde’s soft footfalls. But Rosalinde said nothing, just sat down next to her and put an arm around her.

Celia kept her face covered, even as she leaned in to the comfort her sister offered. A comfort that would no succeed in making the situation any better.

When Clairemont stalked into Gray’s office, both he and Stalwood looked up from the papers on his desk in surprise.

“That was quick,” Stalwood said. “Is there any problem?”

Clairemont gritted his teeth and tried with all his might to forget the image of Celia’s crestfallen face as he turned away from her. “No,” he ground out. “What do we have?”

Gray glared at him, but then returned his attention to the desk. “I looked through all my correspondence with the real Clairemont, which I gathered here for you both. But I can tell you the only person he insisted I should include in my business was Lord Turner-Camden.”

Stalwood arched a brow. “Turner-Camden?”

Clairemont shook his head as he exchanged a look with Gray. “Who is Turner-Camden?”

Gray folded his arms. “A marquess,” he explained. “A very well-respected one at that.”

Clairemont pinched his lips together. “It’s probably nothing then. Cronyism is hardly treason.”

“I would think the same thing except for something peculiar I noted in one of the letters about the marquess.” Gray pulled out a folded sheet and pointed. “Clairemont refers to him as the Rooster once here.”

Stalwood straightened up and took a long step back from the table, the color draining from his face. Clairemont stared at his mentor, seeing the same shock in him that he felt in himself.

“The Rooster,” they repeated together.

Gray wrinkled his brow. “I thought it odd at the time and again when I read it. Does it mean something to you?”

Stalwood paced away, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yes,” Clairemont said, his throat suddenly dry. “The Rooster is a notorious traitor. He’s traded in weapons and secrets, he’s killed men by his actions and his own hand. We’ve been tracking him for years, but he’s like a ghost. Could it be him?”

Stalwood faced them both. “I-I don’t know. I have stood at a billiard table with Turner-Camden, chatted with him about the weather, and never suspected. But he is powerful. And rich. Far richer than his title and lands should have made him. It is possible?”

Gray shot a side glance at Clairemont. “Well, it goes to show we never truly know who we invite in.”

Clairemont gripped his fists at his sides. “I deserve that, I suppose.”

“You do,” Gray agreed. “At any rate, I have more. Lord Turner-Camden has not been in Town yet this Season. Some sort of mysterious business has kept him away, though he’s normally quite early in his arrival to London. But he has just arrived and…” Gray looked between the men. “He sent me a message this morning.”

“What?” Clairemont said. “As soon as he arrived?”

“Apparently. It sounded urgent and he specifically mentioned he wanted to discuss the topic of the Duke of Clairemont.”

Stalwood took a long step forward. “That
is
curious. It sounds like he has something specific on his mind.”

“Indeed, it does,” Gray said.

“So what do we do?” Clairemont asked. “What is our next move?”

Gray folded his arms and leaned back on his desk. “I know exactly what to do. I will invite him here to meet with me. And you’ll be there.”

Clairemont pressed his lips together. “The last thing we want to do is have me there. If he is, indeed, a killer, he’ll know I’m not the real Clairemont and he might attack. That already happened once with Perry. And God knows what has already been reported to him if Perry is in league with them.”

“Oh, he won’t know you’re here.” Gray stepped around his desk and stopped at a bookcase there. He flicked out a hand to move a book and the entire bookcase opened up to reveal a narrow passage behind it.

“A secret room,” Clairemont breathed.

Gray nodded. “Many men of rank have them. When I bought this home in London, it was from a penniless lord who liked to hide here from his creditors. I believe he also might have used it to sneak his mistresses past his wife. Either way, the passage is here, and if I move this book…” He pulled another book away and revealed an opening from which someone could observe the room. “You can even watch the meeting, undetected.”

Stalwood looked at the set up with a smile. “The perfect solution to our problem.”

“Except that Danford will be in danger,” Clairemont said, thinking of Celia and Rosalinde. “Perry already shot at him. If Turner-Camden is involved, he could do worse, and escaping the passage to intervene won’t be quick.”

Gray shrugged. “This time I’ll know to watch myself,” he said. “And there isn’t any choice, is there? Turner-Camden called for a meeting with me. It’s our best option for quickly determining his guilt or innocence and ending this madness once and for all.”