A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (4 page)

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said.

He spun toward her, his eyes wide and his stance one of defensiveness. When he saw her he relaxed, but not entirely. “I didn’t see you there,” he said with a shake of his head. “I must be slipping.”

She smiled. “You were distracted, it seems.”

His eyes narrowed. “I must never be so distracted as to not notice someone at my back.”

He sounded so serious that she couldn’t help but laugh. “A threat, you mean?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said sharply. Then his gaze flitted over her from head to toe. His expression was unreadable, so she had no idea what he thought as he looked at her. “Well,
no
, I suppose not in this case,” he finally conceded.

“You suppose correctly,” Celia said, moving a little closer. “I have no weapon, I assure you. I’m not sure where I’d put it in this ridiculous dress.”

She motioned to herself, to the green gown that clung to her breasts before cascading in a flow of silk and lace. He followed the motion, but his eyes didn’t seem to find their way past her bosom. And it was a heated gaze at that. One that warmed her in the cool night air.

He blinked and jerked his gaze back to hers. “You’d be surprised,” he said, and his voice was rougher.

Celia shifted her weight on her feet. Suddenly this conversation felt very inappropriate. She changed the subject with a blush. “The ballroom is very hot. I don’t blame you for needing air.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction and he glanced back up at the moon. “It is stifling. Why in the world do they invite so many people? My feet have been trod upon at least ten times—the dance floor can only laughably be called such. And you can hardly hear yourself think, let alone have a proper conversation with those around you.”

She examined him carefully. Great God, he was even more handsome when she was nearer to him. She edged even closer and caught the faintest whiff of pine and something smoky. She wanted to lean into it, to lean into him. But she managed to avoid doing something so foolish.

“W-Well,” she stammered. “I’m not certain conversation is the purpose of these events, in truth.”

He turned to face her and those pale gray eyes caught hers. “Then what
is
the purpose? I cannot seem to divine it, no matter how intently I study the problem.”

She felt speared in place by his attention, his focus. She blinked up at him, mesmerized in a way she’d never experienced with another person on this earth.

“To show off,” she said when she could find her voice. “To prove that this host and hostess are more popular than the last. And since
you
agreed to come here tonight, to flaunt that they have pulled off the coup of the Season by bringing you here.”

He tilted his head at her candor. “Interesting. That explains all the attention, I suppose.”

She smiled. “You’ve been away a long time. I can guess how uncomfortable all this must make you.”

He shrugged. “I don’t belong here. No matter what the title says.”

“Do you really feel that way?” Celia asked, narrowing her eyes.

He hesitated a moment, staring at her like he was truly seeing her for the first time. It seemed he might say something important, something sincere, and the moment hung between them like a heavy curtain waiting to be peeled away to reveal the truth.

But then he shook his head as if clearing it, and smiled. “I’m sure it will pass. After all,
this
was what I was raised to do, isn’t it? My duty is here and I will do it.”

Celia nodded, but there was disappointment heavy in her chest. As if something important had just been taken from her. She shrugged off the foolish reaction and moved another step closer.

“I realize we haven’t formally met. Though this isn’t exactly the proper way to do it.”

He inclined his head. “Yes, I should be introduced to you by our hostess or some other mutual acquaintance. And yet here we are, on a terrace, unchaperoned. That is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Only if we intend to hurt each other,” Celia said. “I know I do not. Do you?”

He held her gaze steadily. “I have no intentions of hurting you, miss.”

“Good. But you see, I am at an advantage over you that I think is unfair,” she said. “After all, I know who you are, Your Grace.”

“Have we met before?” he asked, suddenly stiffening.

She frowned. It seemed after all their banter that he would know they hadn’t, especially since he had been holed up in the countryside for years. But then, maybe he secretly brought women there, looking for a bride or just a companion to warm his bed. Perhaps they were forgettable, and she would be too, despite the connection she felt in their conversation.

“No, we’ve never met,” she said slowly. “There is just a buzz about you in the room tonight, so I was informed who you were by friends.”

Now it was he who took a long step toward her. She could feel the faint warmth of his body heat now.

“Who am I?” he asked, his tone once again the rough version that seemed to ripple through her and settle somewhere in her lower stomach.

“You are the Duke of Clairemont,” she breathed.

“And who are
you
?” he pressed, his gaze now locked with hers.

She swallowed. There were a dozen inappropriate answers that flowed through her head, but she didn’t say any of them. “I’m Celia Fitzgilbert.”

“Miss?” he pressed.

Her breath caught. He wanted to know if she was married. “Yes,
Miss
Celia Fitzgilbert.”

“Well,
Miss
Celia Fitzgilbert, it is a pleasure to meet you, unorthodox as this introduction is.” He leaned in and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. Through the thin fabric of her glove, she felt the swirl of his breath and a tingle made its way through her.

He lifted his eyes as he remained bent over her hand, and her own breath hitched. She’d never felt so out of sorts with a man before. Never felt confused and drawn, hot and shivery, all at the same time.

He released her hand gently and straightened up, but he didn’t step away from her. And he didn’t look away. Heat flooded Celia’s cheeks at the intensity of his stare and she found herself backing up, even though what she truly wished to do was step even closer. But that was not what ladies did.

“I-I should probably go back inside,” she stammered. “My sister and brother-in-law will be looking for me.”

He arched a brow. “And who are your sister and brother-in-law?” he asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Danford,” she explained.

The slight smile on Clairemont’s face fell and he took a sudden step back. “Grayson Danford?”

“Yes, Grayson Danford,” she repeated slowly. “He is the Earl of Stenfax’s younger brother. My sister is his wife, Rosalinde.”

The warmth that had been on Clairemont’s face disappeared entirely, and he swallowed. “Ah, I see. Well, I should not keep you. Good evening, Miss Fitzgilbert.”

He gave a stiff, formal bow and turned on his heel to stalk back into the house. Celia stared at his retreating back in shock and embarrassment. He had dismissed her.

But why? Gray and Rosalinde were well liked in Society, there could be no reason why their names would inspire such a quick retreat. Unless…

Her breath caught. Was it possible that even in his hermitage the Duke of Clairemont had heard of Celia’s broken engagement? That he judged her for it, as a handful of people did? Perhaps until he heard Gray and Rosalinde’s names, he hadn’t recognized her for her role in that minor scandal.

But once he did, he had retreated immediately, not wanting to sully his good name by associating it with her.

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked at them. It was a foolish reaction, for she had been well-aware there would be censure in some corners of Society, even if the romantic version of why the engagement had been broken appeased the majority.

And it wasn’t as if she knew this man or had any connection to him. He was handsome and had turned her head, he was charming and she’d been charmed. But if she never saw him again, it wasn’t as if she’d lost anything.

But as she reentered the ballroom and slowly crossed the floor to rejoin Gray and Rosalinde, she felt like she had. And it brought a terrible heaviness in her chest that made the ball seem a little less gay, the colors less bright and the night far less successful than it had been before.

Clairemont paced across the parlor floor, his blood pumping and his heart racing, though he could not lie to himself and say it was the thrill of the hunt that caused those reactions. No, it was something else. Something he had to squash as swiftly as possible so he could refocus on his duty.

“Explain why you are so worked up,” Stalwood said as he poured Clairemont a drink from their host’s sideboard and held it out.

Clairemont waved the offering away and continued to pace, but his restlessness didn’t abate even a fraction. “I thought I had made it perfectly clear. I found myself out on a terrace alone with
Celia Fitzgilbert
, the sister-in-law of Grayson Danford. In case you have forgotten, the man is one of our prime suspects, Stalwood.”

The earl nodded. “Indeed, he is, and it
is
an interesting development, but you are flushed and distracted and that isn’t at all like you.”

Clairemont stopped and gathered himself quickly. Showing emotion or weakness was not a good thing, not in his world, and he had to stop doing it immediately. He took a deep breath to calm himself, stuffed his emotions down deep and faced his mentor again.

“I’m not distracted,” he explained, hearing the peevishness in his voice that belied his words. “It is simply an unexpected and…
interesting
development.”

Interesting. No, his encounter with Celia on the terrace hadn’t been interesting. It had been…remarkable.

Oh, she was lovely, there was no denying that. What man would not be attracted to her dark hair and startlingly bright blue eyes? What man could resist the cheerful and lovely face that was so quick to smile and laugh? And what hot-blooded man wouldn’t notice her perfect figure, from her full breasts to her slender waist to the slight flare of her hips that teased beneath her gown?

And yet it was more than those things which had drawn him to her. From the moment she stepped from the shadows behind him, he had felt almost as if he had known her before. Like they were connected on a level that he never allowed, not even with friends and colleagues. Relationships were fleeting. They could end in a heartbeat.

He didn’t make them, beyond perhaps his long friendship with Stalwood.

“Are you listening to me, Clairemont?” Stalwood asked, his tone even and almost placating.

Clairemont drew himself away from his troubling musings and nodded. “Of course I’m listening. But are
you
? You don’t seem to understand that I’ve just made an accidental connection to a relative of one of the men we suspect of helping the real Clairemont in his dirty doings. This was not part of our plan and it means we must rethink our methods.”

Stalwood sighed. “There were many pieces of correspondence between Danford and Clairemont, yes. And Clairemont is heavily invested in a great many of Danford’s moneymaking schemes. The man is on the cutting edge of industry—it is not out of the question that he may very well be involved in nefarious elements. Grayson Danford must be investigated. But I’m telling you that this interaction with his sister-in-law tonight doesn’t hinder that investigation. In fact, it may be an excellent way to further it.”

Clairemont wrinkled his brow. “You don’t think it was a mistake to approach her? After all, if Danford is a part of this scheme it might chafe him that I spoke to her before I came to him.”

Stalwood paced the room, his expression one of careful consideration. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. After all, the attention heaped on you tonight is something that might hold us back. But if you were to begin to show interest in one person in particular…”

He trailed off, and Clairemont blinked. “What are you asking of me?”

“The girl, Celia, she is just returning to Society after a broken engagement. Oh, the scandal was minor at best, but she is not in a perfect position. If a duke were to pay attention to her, I don’t think her brother-in-law would be unhappy about such a match. Especially since he already feels he knows the Duke of Clairemont, at least on some level.”

“Are you saying I should pursue an interest in Celia Fitzgilbert?” Clairemont asked blankly, his traitorous mind taking him back to the moment when he’d held her hand in his, looked into her face. He’d wanted very much to draw her into his arms, to kiss more than her gloved hand.

It had been a shocking desire, and one he had used all his strength and training to bury.

“Did you flirt with her on the terrace?” Stalwood asked benignly.

Clairemont froze. His mentor knew him well. He knew Clairemont was no monk. He liked his pleasure as well as the next man, as long as it didn’t interfere in his work.

“I suppose I did,” he admitted. “Before I knew who she was.”

“I’m not saying you should get engaged to the girl,” Stalwood said with a shrug.