A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (30 page)

Gray rose slowly and Clairemont could see he was taking a defensive posture. Damn, but he wished he could see Turner-Camden.

“I’m not sure what the Earl of Stalwood has to do with anything. He and my brother are friendly and yes, he’s been to my home a few times.”

There was a long pause, and then Turner-Camden stepped back into view. He leaned both his hands on Gray’s desk. “Mr. Danford, I didn’t come here to determine anything about Clairemont. I came here to determine what I needed to know about
you
.”

“Me?” Gray said softly. “What could you possibly want to know about me?”

“How involved you were in the schemes of Stalwood and…well, whoever the man masquerading as Clairemont truly is.”

“What?” Gray asked.

“Please, don’t pretend. My Perry saw it all.”

The door to the parlor opened a second time, and Clairemont watched as Perry stepped inside. He had a gun lifted, pointed squarely at Gray.

Clairemont moved on the latch to exit the secret tunnel, but Stalwood caught his arm.

“No, wait,” the earl said softly. “If you barge out now he’ll shoot for sure. Let it play out a moment.”

Clairemont gritted his teeth.

“Perry,” Gray said softly. “You shot at me a few days ago.”

“That’s right,” Perry said with a wide, ugly grin.

“Now, here is what we’ll do. You’re going to sign all the operations of the canals over to me,” Turner-Camden said.

“And why would I do that?” Gray asked, with surprisingly little fear in his voice.

“Why do you think I bloody killed the real Clairemont in the first place? The canals are everything, Danford, and Clairemont wanted a bigger cut, a better position. He refused to see the larger implications, the bigger political picture. He was in the way and wouldn’t see reason. And now he’s dead.”

Clairemont swallowed hard. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. The real Clairemont had died because he cared about money and the Rooster cared about treason.

Turner-Camden pointed a finger at Gray. “Now do it. Or else you won’t be the only one to die. Your servants will die, and Perry will wait here for your wife and your sister-in-law to return and
they
will both die. Slowly. Uncomfortably.”

Once again, Clairemont moved for the door, but Stalwood grabbed his arm and held him back. “Wait, damn it.”

Turner-Camden pulled a set of paperwork from his inside pocket and held it out. “Now sign.”

Gray took the papers and set them down on the desk deliberately. He made a big show of seeking out a quill and ink as he looked up at Perry and his gun, trained on Gray’s head.

“When you came here a few days ago, you didn’t know Clairemont wasn’t the real thing, did you?” he asked.

Perry darted his gaze toward Turner-Camden and then back to Gray. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“No, you don’t,” Gray agreed, almost amiably.

“What is he doing?” Stalwood asked over Clairemont’s shoulder.

Clairemont smiled slowly. “He’s working the man with the gun. He’s giving us, and himself, a fighting chance.”

“Don’t you wonder why
he
didn’t tell you, though?” Gray continued as he dipped the pen in the ink and looked over the document, as if he were reading it before he signed. Like it was a normal business transaction. “After all,
he
knew.”

Once again, Perry glanced away from Gray and toward Turner-Camden for a flash of a moment. “He didn’t know nothing.”

“Are you daft?” Gray asked. “The man just admitted to killing the real Clairemont. Of course he knew the man here in London wasn’t the one he’d left bludgeoned on a floor in the countryside. You should hire smarter help, Turner-Camden.”

“Do shut up, Danford,” Turner-Camden said, but his gaze was shifting toward Perry.

Gray ignored him. “And if it was your partner here, that means he sent you to meet with me,
knowing
that the false Clairemont would arrive. Knowing you would be unprepared to deal with him. What if I had told the imposter about your visit before he reached my home? What if he’d come prepared while you were not? It seems that would have ended badly for you. I wonder why Turner-Camden would do that. Unless it’s the same reason he killed Clairemont. He wants the entire canal scheme to himself.”

Perry’s mouth tightened. “That true, Turner-Camden? You send me here not giving a damn if I ended up dead?”

“Shut up, Danford,” Turner-Camden repeated. “Don’t listen to him, Perry. He’s the voice of a dead man.”

“Yeah, but so was I if Clairemont had come prepared for me,” Perry said. “And maybe this toff is right. After all, if I’d been killed, it would have proved to you that Clairemont was a fake just as much as if I’d come back to you with a report.”

“Seems there’s no honor amongst thieves,” Gray said, signing the papers slowly, his voice still utterly calm despite the tenuous situation. “So who in this room is the bigger danger? Me, without a weapon, without a hope, or him? The man who wants it all and probably needs someone to frame for my death. I assume you’ll make it look like a robbery, will you?”

Perry turned his weapon on Turner-Camden, and in that moment Stalwood and Clairemont burst from the secret passageway. Gray dropped behind his desk as the two men moved on Perry and Turner-Camden. Clairemont dove for Perry, hitting the tough with all his weight and sending his gun clattering away.

Meanwhile, Stalwood moved on Turner-Camden, slamming him to the ground with a well-placed punch and then rolling him to his stomach to tie his hands behind his back.

Perry struggled as Clairemont fought to restrain him, spitting up curses into his face as they grappled on the floor. But Clairemont was stronger, bigger, and he was beginning to get the upper hand just as the door to the parlor flew open once more and Celia rushed into the room, Rosalinde on her heels.

The distraction was all Perry needed. As Clairemont jerked his face toward her, Perry dipped a hand into his boot and came out with a knife. Celia screamed his name as Perry pressed the blade hard into his shoulder.

Fiery pain burst through Clairemont as he reeled back and threw a wide looping elbow, catching Perry across the temple. The man grunted and flopped back against the floor, unconscious.

“Oh my God, Aiden,” Celia said, stepping toward him as Rosalinde rushed to Gray at his desk. The knife was still protruding from Aiden’s shoulder and his face was dark with pain and emotion.

He ignored her, flipping the unconscious Perry to his stomach and hog-tying him at last. He stood up and spun on her, but if she expected the warm embrace that Gray and Rosalinde were now sharing, he disappointed her by glaring at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped. “Both of you?”

Stalwood rolled his eyes at the couples. “I’ll take Lord Turner-Camden out to the agents waiting behind the house,” he said, “and let you all have a moment. We’ll return for Perry briefly and to have that wound checked.”

Aiden glanced at the knife in his shoulder as his mentor dragged Turner-Camden from the room. Rolling his eyes, he yanked it from his shoulder and tossed it aside. Celia’s stomach clenched as blood seeped from the hole in his jacket.

“Aiden,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, despite evidence to the contrary. “Answer my question.”

Gray had been holding Rosalinde, but now he pushed back, still gripping her arms. “Yes, what
are
you doing here?”

Celia folded her arms, her anger starting to rise at his dismissive behavior. “You told Rosalinde that when the horses were gone from the drive, it was safe. There weren’t any horses in the drive.”

“It’s true,” Rosalinde said. “We assumed it was over, but your villains must have come in a hack, for when we came in, we heard the commotion in the hall.”

“So you ran
toward
danger?” Aiden shouted, his face turning almost tomato red as he stared at Celia. “Do you understand how utterly foolish that is? Do you understand that if you’d been hurt I would have—” He spun away from her and returned his attention to the still-unconscious Perry on the floor. “I would have died, Celia.”

“But I
wasn’t
hurt,” Celia said. “You were. Now, will you let Gray guard this…this…
person
until Lord Stalwood returns and allow
me
to examine your wound?”

Gray moved forward, his hand still firmly in Rosalinde’s. “Go ahead, Clairemont. I’ll keep an eye on Perry. I assume in a moment my house will be swarming with agents of the crown who will relieve me of these duties.”

Aiden pursed his lips. “Fine,” he said.

Celia took a long breath. At least she would get a moment alone with him. Away from the others, she might at last be able to touch him and ensure he was all right.

Probably for the last time.

He turned his gun over to Gray and she stretched her hand out to him. He took it with a quick glance at the others, then followed her out of the room.

She probably should have taken him to the kitchen or another parlor, but she didn’t. She led him upstairs and down the hall to her bedroom. He paused at the door.

“Celia,” he whispered.

She ignored him as she all but dragged him inside. “Take off your jacket and your shirt,” she said, walking away from him to the basin on her dresser. There she wet a cloth, trying to slow her racing heart before she turned back to him.

He was tugging the shirt over his head when she did. She caught her breath both at the sight of his bare chest and at the huge cut on his shoulder. A few inches lower…

“Stop staring, it’s only another scar,” he whispered.

She ignored him and crossed the room to him. There she stopped and looked down at him. She breathed in every part of this moment. The look of him, disheveled and handsome and half-naked in her chamber. The smell of his skin, the warmth of it as she placed one hand on his shoulder and gently began to wipe the wound with the other.

“You’ll need stiches,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He nodded. “Stalwood will have it taken care of. I’ll survive until then.”

Her fingers traced the wound. “You could have been killed,” she said.

He lifted his face to hers, and for the first time since she burst into the room, there was gentleness there. “Look at me.” She did, meeting his eyes. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “John Dane.”

She shook her head. “I-I don’t understand.”

“My name. It’s John Dane,” he repeated.

Her lips parted and the washcloth slipped from her fingers as she stared at him. He had refused her that answer before and it had hurt her. Now he said it and she recognized it for what it was. A gift and a goodbye.

Tears stung her eyes as she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. His arms came around her, dragging her into his lap as he drove his tongue inside with desperate, heated passion.

She shifted against him as the kiss deepened and felt the proof of his desire for her pressing to her thigh. She drew back and stared down at him.

“One last time,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, pained breath. Then he nodded. “One last time,” he repeated, and began to shift her skirts.

She reached between them for the flap on his trousers and managed to work the buttons free. He stood up as she did so, setting her on her feet. He kissed her as the flap fell forward and she cupped his erection in her hand. She stroked him once, twice.

He drew back with a deep groan. “I want more time,” he murmured, and she wasn’t certain he was only referring to this afternoon and the time they had to make love. “But they’ll be expecting our return.”

She stepped away and lifted her skirts, holding them against her thighs as she met his gaze evenly. “Then don’t wait.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, then grabbed her by the waist. He spun her around, dragging her back against him as he walked her to the bed. He bent her at the waist, placing her hands on the edge of her high mattress. He lifted her skirts higher, pushing aside her drawers to slick his fingers over her sex.

She was wet there, ready, and he let out a low moan as he positioned himself at her entrance.

She braced for the twinge of pain she had experienced the first time, but as he slid home there was none of that. Only pleasure. She moved against him with a sigh and he cupped her breasts as he began to roll his hips against hers.

She pushed back with every thrust, closing her eyes to the sensations, memorizing them as best she could. She would never feel like this again, no matter what happened in the future. Because he would be gone and she would be empty.

He increased his thrusts and his panting breaths were desperate, almost like he could read her mind. His hands were shaking as he reached for one of hers and guided it between her legs.

“Touch yourself here,” he ordered, pressing her fingers against her clitoris.

She followed the order, circling herself gently, then harder as the combination of her touch and his cock drove her to the edge. She turned her face into her arm as pleasure overtook her, whimpering against the sleeve of her gown. He followed fast behind, a few more long thrusts and then he pulled away, spending outside of her tremoring, clenching body.