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

“Three servants and half a dozen agents to the crown known it,” Stalwood corrected him. “And, I suppose, one murderer. Otherwise, there has been no announcement, no scandal, no information spread far and wide. To almost all of the world, the Duke of Clairemont is
not
dead on a library floor—he is sleeping peacefully in his own bed. He could stroll into a ballroom in London at any moment and no one would blink about it.”

Dane drew farther back, as if stepping away would cease this foolish notion. “I might look something
vaguely
like the man, but it seems what you are suggesting is that I go into the bright light of Society and play the part. Surely dozens of people will mark me immediately.”

“Oh, but they won’t.”

“In my duties as spy, I’ve met some of these people I’m certain to encounter,” Dane insisted. “Someone might recognize me from a prior case.”

Stalwood seemed to contemplate that. “You have. But often in physical disguise. You’re my best agent—there is a reason that up until now I’ve not asked you to play a role without some kind of camouflage to protect you.”

Dane gritted his teeth. Stalwood did have a point. But it made him no more excited at the prospect. “And what of Clairemont’s friends and family? Certainly they’ll look right through me if I’m pretending to be him.”

Stalwood smiled slightly. “You said you’ve heard something of this man’s involvement in criminal enterprise, but have you ever
seen
him?”

“I don’t move in those circles outside of in the confines of a case, Stalwood, you know that,” Dane snapped, sharper than he would normally dare be with the man who had rescued him off the street and trained him not just for this life, but to be the man he was now.

Stalwood nodded. “Well, I
do
. No one will mark you as a fraud because Clairemont has been a hermit for over a decade.
No one
we can find has seen him aside from his servants.”

Dane blinked in confusion. “What?”

“His father died during Clairemont’s time at school and he moved straight into his dukedom. And though he kept up a robust correspondence, he did not maintain
any
known friendships in person.” Stalwood leaned back and folded his arms, looking very self-satisfied. “As far as anyone in Society knows, he could be anyone.”

“Me, you mean,” Dane said softly. “He could be me. Or I could be him, I suppose. Only I have no idea how to behave as a duke.”

“You will learn,” Stalwood assured him. “We’ll have at least two months until the Season begins and it would even make sense to send you to London.”

“And the murderer who cut this man down?”

“Can you imagine his confusion, his anxiety as days and weeks and months stretch by with no announcement of the death of the Duke of Clairemont? By the time you arrive in London, he will be on the edge. Dangerous, yes, but just as much to himself as he is to anyone else.”

“At the minimum you hope to sniff him out,” Dane said with a shake of his head.

“And while you train, we’ll come up with a list of suspects in regards to who Clairemont was working with. London will give you ample opportunity to evaluate them.” Stalwood came closer. “Dane, I know this isn’t the kind of assignment you relish, but it
is
important. As you said, one of our agents is already dead because of this man and his cohorts, and untold numbers of soldiers have likely already been endangered. This is
good
work, important work.”

Dane couldn’t help but smile. Good work. That was what Stalwood had once said to him, years and years ago, when the earl was trying to recruit him off the street. Good work had appealed to Dane then.

It appealed to him now.

“Very well,” he muttered, pushing down the swell of doubt that rose in his chest again and again. The one that said he was nothing but a street tough, a no one who would never fit in as a duke, hermit bastard duke or not.

Stalwood smiled. “I’m pleased you agree. Otherwise I would have had to pull rank.”

Dane motioned Stalwood back toward their murder scene. “You know I don’t give a damn about rank.”

“When you’re a duke you’ll be above me, if it helps.”

That elicited a laugh Dane couldn’t contain. “Actually, that’s the best reason I’ve heard yet to do this foolish thing. Outrank the Earl of Stalwood? I cannot wait.”

But deep in his heart, Dane knew that was a lie. A bitter lie at that. He was not looking forward to this. But he knew his duty and he would serve his king with all the honor he’d been trained to uphold.

April 1811

Celia Fitzgilbert sat at the pianoforte, letting her fingers dance over the keys as she played out a mournful song. Her sister, Rosalinde, preferred a happier tune, but tonight Celia could not manage it. Her heart hurt too much not to express it with the music she played. The loss was too great.

As if on cue, Rosalinde stepped into the room. Her sister’s beautiful face was lit up with pure happiness, her blue eyes aglow with what Celia knew was deepest love and joy. And why wouldn’t she be so happy? Her marriage less than six months before was one filled with love and passion.

After all they’d been through in their lives, Rosalinde’s contentment was wonderful to see. But it was also isolating. Celia had spent so much time telling herself that she didn’t need those things, now being in such close quarters with Rosalinde and her husband, Grayson Danford, slapped her in the face with reality. In truth, she longed for such a deep connection as they shared.

Her fingers faltered on the keys and she stopped playing with a sudden, incongruous note.

Rosalinde stepped forward with a shake of her head. “Oh, please don’t stop playing. I love to hear you.”

Celia forced a smile to her face and looked up at Rosalinde. “I’m afraid I
must
stop playing. After all, we should leave for the ball soon.”

Her sister slipped a gentle hand to her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “You sound anxious.”

Celia shrugged. “It is only the second ball I have gone to since our return to London last week. I cannot help but remain nervous.”

Rosalinde shook her head. “But there has been no scandal following you after your broken engagement. From what I’ve seen at every event we’ve attended, there are a few whispers, but the overall response is positive.”

Celia held back a sigh. Just a few months before, she had been pledged to marry the Earl of Stenfax, who was the brother of her sister’s new husband. It had been a
loveless match, to be certain, and one that had been fought strenuously against by her new brother-in-law and eventually, her sister, though they each had very different reasons.

Breaking the engagement
should
have destroyed Celia in the eyes of Society. But it hadn’t.

“You and Gray saved me from the worst with your true love story. The idea that I would step aside so you could marry into the family for love made both Stenfax and I look like heroes. So no, it has not been unpleasant. But it’s an adjustment, regardless.”

“What has been an adjustment?” Gray asked as he entered the room.

Rosalinde’s face brightened immediately and she all but glided toward him. The expression on his hard face softened as she straightened his cravat, and Celia had the very strong impression that had she not been standing there, the two might have kissed. Not that her being there stopped them every time. They were enjoying what was obviously a very happy honeymoon period. Some nights there was no denying it at all.

She cleared her throat as heat filled her cheeks. “Rosalinde and I were talking about my nervousness about the ball tonight.”

“Ah,” Gray said as he stepped away from Rosalinde and toward Celia. He held out a hand and she took it. “What can I do to help?”

Celia stared up into his face and smiled. It was strange that such a short time ago she had despised this man. He had been working to break up her engagement to his brother—he had thought her nothing more than a title-grabber. But since he had married Rosalinde, Gray had been very kind to Celia. They had developed a budding friendship, in fact. One she could tell would grow and deepen over the years. She never would have guessed that could happen, even in her wildest dreams.

“Nothing, Gray,” she said softly. “Thank you, though. Your being there will be comfort enough.”

At that sentence, Gray’s hand dropped away from hers and his smile fell. “I’m not certain I am there enough, for
either
of you. I have something to tell you both.”

Rosalinde moved forward and wrapped an arm around Celia. Celia felt her tremble slightly and she couldn’t help but do the same.

“Is it about our father?” Celia asked.

Gray’s face told the story even before he said a word. Since their marriage, he had been searching out information about Celia and Rosalinde’s father, a servant who had lost them when their powerful grandfather snatched them away after their mother’s death. The two women had been lied to their whole lives about his identity, his whereabouts. Only when their wicked grandfather had wanted to blackmail Celia into marrying a title to satisfy his ambition had he dangled the truth of the man before them.

And Celia did so
desperately
want to know who he was. She’d been ready to go through with a loveless marriage for that information. To bargain with her grandfather, a man who had once tried to kill Rosalinde.

“Please tell us,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Gray dropped his chin. “I’m sorry. I thought I had a promising clue, but it has led to nothing yet again.”

Rosalinde pulled from Celia’s arms and Celia watched as she went to Gray for comfort. Alone, she moved to the window and stood to look into the dark with unseeing eyes.

Her father was a missing piece in her life. Unlike Rosalinde, she had nothing else to fill that hole. Celia wanted to know him so very much. To have the whole truth of who she was.

She turned back and could hear Rosalinde’s soft whispers to Gray, his murmurs of comfort and apology. She flinched at the intimacy of that moment and forced a serene expression on her face.

“Thank you for trying, Gray,” she said.

He looked at her at last. “I won’t give up,” he vowed. “I will continue to search with all my resources.”

But she could see that those resources were wearing thin. Gray didn’t think he would ever find the answers she needed. Which meant the only person with any information was her grandfather. The man she had not seen since he tried to choke the life out of her sister in a parlor months before. A man who wanted her to marry a title in order to share the particulars of her family.

She pressed her lips together. “Come, we should go. I don’t want to be more than fashionably late.”

“Yes,” Rosalinde said, linking arms with Gray. “We should forget our troubles for now. You never know what the night will bring.”

Celia smiled for the sake of Rosalinde, but as the couple exited the room, that smile fell. It seemed whatever the night would bring would not be enough. But she would put on a falsely happy face regardless and see if any opportunity might present itself.

Celia sighed as she looked out over the dance floor and watched Gray and Rosalinde swirl by in the crowd. Gray’s hand was firmly pressed into Rosalinde’s hip and their gazes were locked on each other, proof once again of their loving bond.

“She
does
look happy.”

Celia started and looked at the two young women who had stepped up beside her. She’d known Miss Tabitha Thornton and Lady Honora for as long as she could remember. They were old friends and ones who had stood staunchly beside her before, during and after her ill-fated engagement. She appreciated that beyond measure.

“She does,” Celia said, addressing Honora, for it was she who had made the statement. “She is. Lucky her.”

“Indeed, for Mr. Danford cuts a fine figure,” Tabitha sighed. “And I’ve heard he’s worth a fortune, even if Father
does
turn up his nose that he made it all by work and
not
inheritance.”

Celia shrugged. “I don’t care
what
he does to earn his keep, as long as he takes care of my sister. Which he does in spades.”