A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (6 page)

She shifted and her gaze flitted away. An indication of discomfort…or a lie about to be told.

“My—my grandfather has ambition, I’m afraid,” she said, her voice suddenly low. “He wanted us to marry into two different families in order to increase his connection, his power. I didn’t want Rosalinde to lose a chance at love, so I stepped aside to appease him.”

Clairemont clenched a fist on his thigh. There was
some
truth to what she said. But also a great dose of falsehood. And yet he didn’t sense any of it had anything to do with his case. It was a family drama, nothing more. He should dismiss it and dig into something more vital.

Instead, he found himself wondering at the truth, at why Celia Fitzgilbert’s gaze was so sad at this subject. Worse, he found himself wondering how to ease that sadness.

Her gaze flitted back to him. “I-I…” She trailed off and got to her feet, pacing away from him.

He stood out of propriety and watched her. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, casting a quick glance at him. “I had a question that was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have even begun to ask it.”

He moved toward her, unable to stop himself. “Ask your question, Miss Fitzgilbert.”

She turned toward him, lifting her chin as if to steel herself to whatever would come next. “I-I thought perhaps my broken engagement was why you departed the terrace so swiftly the night of the Harrington ball.”

He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Why would your broken engagement mean anything to me?”

She hesitated before she whispered, “It could be seen as a scandal, something to be judged upon.”

He considered his response carefully. “It
seems
as if you committed a selfless act for your sister’s happiness. If anyone were to judge you harshly for that, I would say they were not worth your time.”

She swallowed hard, but a light of happiness brightened her face. He almost withdrew from it. His opinion actually mattered to her. Which meant the unexpected connection he’d felt on the terrace had not been entirely one-sided. He couldn’t deny the thrill that gave him.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He stepped a little closer and words he hadn’t meant to say fell from his lips. “I
do
find myself pleased you are no longer engaged, Miss Fitzgilbert.”

She flinched a second time at the use of her name. “Won’t you call me Celia, at least in private? I do despise the other name.”

He drew back in surprise. He’d spent the past two months brushing up on every bit of propriety in interaction he could learn. This request of hers was certainly not proper. And yet it was very real, very straightforward. He had never expected such a thing from a woman of her rank.

“If you would like,” he said, just barely containing the urge to take her hand. “And you should call me—”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence before they were interrupted by the arrival of Danford and his wife.

“Clairemont,” Danford said as he entered the parlor and crossed the room in a few long, confident strides. He extended a hand, which Clairemont took even though he found himself incredibly irritated at being interrupted in his private conversation with Celia.

“Mr. Danford,” he said, his voice sounding tight to his own ears. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“I was pleased to make it,” Danford said, and motioned to the lady at his side. “This is my wife, Rosalinde. May I present the Duke of Clairemont?”

“Mrs. Danford,” Clairemont said, bowing toward her.

She smiled, and Clairemont took her in with a sweep of his gaze. She and Celia had similar coloring and features, but Mrs. Danford did nothing for him. She didn’t seem to have the same spark as her younger sister.

“And of course you’ve met Miss Fitzgilbert,” Danford continued, smiling at her.

Celia returned the expression, though there was a shaky quality to her expression that Clairemont couldn’t help but take triumph in. He affected her.

He
liked
affecting her. He also liked reading her. She was complicated and it fascinated him. Intelligent but a little guarded. Sad but also direct. And lovely. So lovely that when he looked at her, it hurt. She surprised him, both with her direct question about his behavior on the terrace, but also with her request that he call her by her given name if they were alone. She hated her grandfather’s name and he wondered why.

“It’s good to see you,” Danford said, pulling Clairemont’s attention away from his musings on the charms of Celia and back to the matter at hand.

“And you,” Clairemont said carefully.

Mrs. Danford smiled. “You and Gray went to school together, did you not?”

“Indeed, we did,” Clairemont said, once again accessing the details of a past that was not his. “I was a little ahead of him and slightly behind Stenfax, so we were friendly. But when I inherited my title, I’m afraid the majority of my friendships went by the wayside.”

Danford nodded. “You
did
fall off the map a bit. I kept waiting for you to show up in London, at least to perform your House of Lords obligations.”

Clairemont forced a smile. “I’ve never been much interested in that duty.”

He held Danford’s stare, trying to see if that remark would inspire some kind of response. While reading Celia had been an interesting exercise, reading her brother-in-law was much harder. On the surface all Clairemont could see was intelligence, a great love for his wife and an affection for Celia. Protectiveness, perhaps, judging from the occasional look toward his wife. Nothing that would lead him to believe Danford was a mastermind, or even a co-conspirator.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t. And if his wife and her sister were in the dark about his true nature, it might take a private meeting to determine the full truth of this man.

“Speaking of duty,” Mrs. Danford said. “It is mine to tell you that Greene has just given me the signal that supper is ready. Shall we continue this conversation there?”

Clairemont inclined his head in the positive and watched as Danford offered an arm to his wife. She smiled up at him, and there was an intimacy that flowed between them, a connection that was difficult to ignore. Whatever Danford was, he and his bride truly adored each other.

Clairemont had never been so close to such a connection before. He found himself wanting to turn away from it. When he did, he came face to face with Celia. She smiled at him, but her lips trembled. Her gaze flitted to her sister and brother-in-law.

“Shall we follow?” she asked, her expression one of anticipation.

He shook away his reaction and recalled his manners. He offered her an arm and she hesitated just a fraction before she took it. Her delicate hand folded around his bicep and he stiffened. This was the first time she’d touched him, and it triggered awareness in every part of his body. Especially his cock, which began to remind him exactly what he would like to do with the lady at his side.

He ignored it as best he could, hoping it wouldn’t take on a life of its own, and stepped out to lead her behind Mr. and Mrs. Danford.

“I see why you gave up your future as a countess for them,” he said softly.

She jerked her face toward his. “Do you? Oh, you mean their connection. Yes, it’s quite something isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Indeed. You rarely see that in Society.”

“They are, well, they are remarkable, I suppose.” She looked toward them again, and even in profile he saw a bit of longing on her face. “It makes one believe in fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales,” he repeated, keeping an eye on her even as he guided them closer to the dining room where Danford and his wife were entering. “Are you saying you’d like to be rescued from a tower by a prince?”

A pink blush filled her cheeks, but she lifted her chin. “I suppose it would depend on the prince, Your Grace.”

He couldn’t reply, for they entered the room and he was forced to release her so they could sit. But as he settled into his chair across from her, he had ample opportunity to look at her lovely face. She was right about her observation. The wrong prince could be worse than no prince at all.

And he was most definitely the
wrong
prince.

Celia looked at her half-empty plate and sighed. Supper had seemed to fly by, and now it was nearing an end. She didn’t like that, for she was having a very good time

Since coming to stay with her sister months ago, she had often felt like an extra, unneeded wheel. Gray and Rosalinde were so young in their marriage and so passionately in love. They didn’t mean to exclude her, but there were times when they exchanged glances and unspoken communication over her head that shut her out.

But tonight was very different. Clairemont’s presence made the night more interesting, indeed.

Perhaps because
he
was interesting. He could easily speak on matters of politics and literature, business and nature. He was intelligent, but it was a quiet kind of intelligence, not the arrogant boasting she sometimes saw men of his rank display.

Beyond that, he actually seemed interested in
her
. He’d encouraged her to participate in their conversations, even leaning forward when she spoke, as if he hung on her every word. Between that and their encounter in the parlor, she couldn’t help but feel that they were beginning to create a connection.

There was a thrill low in her belly when she allowed that thought to settle into her body.

The servants came in and took the empty plates, and Gray rose. “What say we take a glass of port in my office?” he said to Clairemont. “We can rejoin the ladies in a short while.”

Clairemont got to his feet with a nod. “I would like that.” He inclined his head toward Rosalinde. “Ladies.”

He turned his attentions toward Celia, and she froze as his gray gaze held hers. She felt pinned in her spot by it, held steady by his even regard. The breath left her lungs and her head spun a little. She was only set free when he turned away and followed Gray from the room.

She sucked in a breath once he was gone, and leaned back in her chair. She felt Rosalinde staring at her and knew she’d have to look at her sister at some point, but she was so out of sorts that she could hardly do it.

“Well, well, well, Miss He-May-Judge-Me-On-My-Broken-Engagement,” Rosalinde said with a laugh. “It seems you read
that
situation entirely wrong.”

Celia at last allowed herself to look at Rosalinde, and couldn’t help the wide smile that broke across her face. “Yes, it seems it didn’t matter to him in the slightest. He even told me that if someone would judge me for such a thing, he didn’t think they would be worth knowing.”

Rosalinde tilted her head in surprise. “You brought up the subject?”

“I took a page from your book,” Celia said as she got to her feet and smoothed her hands along the front of her gown reflexively. “You’ve always been so honest with your feelings, so open—I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try the same in this instance.”

Rosalinde also rose and moved toward her. Celia could feel her sister trying to read her, trying to see deeper into her soul. There was no locking her out, they were just too close. And Celia didn’t particularly feel as though she had anything to hide.

“I’m glad you took a risk,” Rosalinde said at last, then slipped her arm through Celia’s as they exited the dining room. She took them down the hall to a parlor where the men would join them later. “He is an interesting fellow, isn’t he?”

Celia nodded, releasing her sister’s arm and pacing around the room restlessly. Thoughts of Clairemont seemed to inspire that in her. Rosalinde sat and watched her, a soft smile on her face.

“Oh, he is,” Celia agreed. “Very intelligent, don’t you think?”

“He seems very intelligent,” Rosalinde agreed.

“And handsome.” Celia thought of his full lips, his expressive face. “Quite possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

Rosalinde laughed. “There I cannot agree with you, but to each her own.”

“But I’m ahead of myself, aren’t I?” Celia asked, facing Rosalinde. “I’ve only just met him, and he came here to meet with Gray, not to see me. I’m reading too much into a simple supper. I’ll get my hopes up and they’ll be dashed.”

Rosalinde frowned. “My dear, while I certainly wouldn’t start buying your wedding trousseau quite yet, I think you are not entirely unfounded in your excitement. It’s clear you like this man, for I’ve never seen you so aflutter. But it’s also clear that he likes you. He was attentive at supper, he watched you even when you were not looking at him—there is much evidence that his coming here was guided by you as much as Gray.”

“Do you think so?” Celia asked, clasping her hands together. “I fear I’m badly influenced by you.”

Rosalinde shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s almost impossible to live in the same house as you and Gray and not be inspired by your affection for each other. I fear I may be looking for something that might not exist, at least not for me.”

Rosalinde got up and came to her, wrapping her arms around her waist as she met Celia’s gaze. “Now you
are
ten steps ahead of yourself. Do you like this man?”