A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (9 page)

Good work
. This was supposed to be good work.

“This is for king and country, Dane,” Stalwood said, and Clairemont flinched at the use of his real name. The reminder of what he had vowed years ago. “The work may be many things, but it was never meant to be easy.”

“It
isn’t
easy,” he said, turning away to pace the room restlessly. “If I court Celia Fitzgilbert and this investigation falls apart, she could be tainted forever, especially considering her recently broken engagement. She might be ruined.”

“Then you’ll have to succeed,” Stalwood said. “If you do so, then Clairemont will simply die at the end of our investigation. Miss Fitzgilbert will be left a tragic figure, but not a ruined one.”

“And if she truly comes to…to care for me?” he asked, picturing Celia’s upturned face on the terrace. She could love, that was clear.

“Then this is infinitely more tragic,” Stalwood admitted. When Clairemont glared at him, he raised his hands in surrender. “It is distasteful, I don’t disagree. Yet doing this could save untold lives, even save the country from losing this war. You cannot tell me those stakes don’t make the risk to this young woman worth it. If you could freely tell her the potential for lives saved and know that she would not betray you, I’m certain she would agree.”

Clairemont bent his head. He couldn’t disagree with that assessment. The stakes were too high for sentimentality or honesty or honor. Those things were best left to men who had nothing to lose or to fight for. They could afford them.

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I will seek to officially court her as soon as possible. But for now, I am tired and I’m going home.”

Stalwood nodded and said nothing as Clairemont passed by him and back out onto the drive for his waiting horse. He swung up onto its back and thundered out toward the ducal townhouse just a short distance away.

Of course, it was a home he didn’t belong in, ridden to on a horse he didn’t own, wearing clothing that wasn’t his. His entire life was stolen, even if it was in the name of the king. Perhaps it made sense that he would be just as mercenary when it came to courting a woman. Everything had its purpose in his tangled life.

But he still felt like utter shit about it.

Clairemont lay on the big, comfortable bed, staring at the fire as it burned down to nothing more than glowing embers. He had been trying to sleep for hours, but rest refused to come when he couldn’t stop reliving his distasteful conversation with Stalwood and the vow he’d made regarding Celia.

Celia. He also couldn’t forget his kiss with Celia.

With a grunt, he rolled to his back and stared up at the intricately carved ceiling instead of the dancing flames. The new position didn’t help his spinning, distracted mind one bit.

The man he was pretending to be liked the finer things in life, that was clear, even in his naughty bedroom décor. The plaster on the ceiling had been carved in a series of bawdy images. Men and women were laid out above him, entangled in pleasures, their faces twisted in ultimate release.

He stared at the faces, the positions, and swallowed hard as his errant mind took over. What would Celia look like in the same positions?

He blinked at that thought. She was a
lady
—he shouldn’t lower her by thinking of her that way. He had no right. But when he was staring at an image of a man’s head buried between a woman’s legs while she arched in pleasure, it was difficult not to do just that.

Celia would be sweet if he tasted her in the same way, he was certain of that. And probably hesitant if he touched her, for most ladies were not told of such things.

But once he passed her resistance, once she relaxed into pleasure, as she had done when he kissed her on the terrace, he was certain she would be responsive to each and every brush of his hand. Each and every touch of his lips on her stomach, her hip, her thigh…her sex.

He groaned at the thought and threw the bedclothes off. He slept naked and his cock was already at full mast. Release would help, he knew it would, so he took himself in hand and began to stroke.

Another image carved above him was of a woman straddling a man, her legs locked around his waist. Once more, Clairemont pictured Celia sashaying toward him, a wicked smile on her pretty face. Celia, lifting her skirts, placing herself over him, around him.

God, how he wanted her. To claim her, even though he had no right to do so.
He
didn’t exist, he wasn’t the man she thought he was, but that didn’t lessen the pulsing, driving need in his loins, the overwhelming desire to grind down into her warm and willing flesh until she shattered in orgasm and milked the same from him.

His strokes increased in speed at that thought. His balls tightened to the exquisite sensation just between pleasure and pain. His entire body convulsed at last, and with a gasp, he spent, Celia’s name a breath on his lips.

He flopped back against his pillows as his heart rate slowed to normal. When he could think rationally, he cursed once more at the untenable position he was in.

He hardly knew this woman and she already inspired such dangerous, needy desires. If he were to enter this sham of a courtship, he could only image that would all get worse. Being close to her wouldn’t be easy.

And he had to expect a great many nights spent just as he’d spent this one. Guilty, frustrated and alone.

Celia laughed at something Tabitha had said and they watched as Lady Honora spun by in the arms of yet another young man she cared nothing for. Both women shook their heads.

“Her inheritance makes her a favorite,” Tabitha mused. “But she has no interest in a one of them.”

“Perhaps she’s holding out for love,” Celia replied, her mind turning momentarily to Lord Clairemont…
Aiden
. In her mind, she had begun to call him Aiden almost exclusively.

In the two days since she’d last seen him, she had often found herself reliving his heated kiss on the terrace. His mouth had been so gentle, and yet so demanding. He’d drawn her into the kiss, taking her further than she’d ever gone before.

She almost felt awakened by that touch, like she had been sleeping before it, and now she couldn’t go back to the way she saw the world before.

“Love?” Tabitha said with a laugh, yanking Celia back to the present. “Oh, my dear, you are too influenced by your sister and her handsome husband.”

Honora returned to them with a quick smile for her dance partner, who then drifted away into the crowd. Once he was gone, their friend rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes they do not talk at all it is so discouraging. I feel like they think they are dancing with a bag of money rather than a person.” Honora shook her head. “Now, how is Celia being influenced by Mr. Danford and Rosalinde?”

Celia’s cheeks filled with heat at her friends’ teasing. “I’m not. I was simply saying to Tabitha that perhaps you wished to hold out for love in a match rather than settle for someone who sees you as a moneybag.”

Honora sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but life doesn’t work that way very often, does it? My father expects a good match and eventually he’ll find one for me. I can only hope the gentleman won’t have warts and he’ll possess all his teeth and be able to string two sentences together. If he can’t, I may be forced to bludgeon him to death the first night we’re stuck together due to inclement weather.”

Celia laughed at Honora’s teasing, but inside she drew back from the truth beneath the playfulness. The kind of surrender Honora described didn’t sound like a pleasant scenario at all, yet her friend seemed resigned. But then again, just six short months ago, Celia had also been resigned to marrying someone she wasn’t connected to.

With a sigh, she found her former intended in the crowd. Stenfax wasn’t dancing, but then he never danced anymore. He looked very serious and undeniably handsome.

And yet despite all his good qualities, she hadn’t cared for him, no matter how much time she spent trying to do just that.

But with Aiden it was different. One moment with him and she felt like he’d taken a small piece of her with him. One kiss and she dreamed of him ever since.

“Ah, she’s floating off,” Tabitha said with a laugh. “Thinking of true love, no doubt.”

“She
should
. I heard the Duke of Clairemont sent her flowers,” Honora said, arching a brow in Celia’s direction as if daring her to deny the charge.

“The duke came to my brother-in-law’s house to see to some business with Gray,” Celia corrected quickly. “He sent flowers to thank
all
of us for the evening.”

Only she had commandeered those flowers for her own room, along with his note, which had specifically mentioned her. How many times had she read the way he wrote her name? Ten? Twenty? One hundred and twenty?

Well, who was counting?

“He may be thanking you for another evening soon,” Honora said, now lowering her voice to a whisper. “He’s coming this way.”

Celia moved to look over her shoulder, but Tabitha grabbed her arm with both hands. “Don’t
look
at him,” she hissed. “Great Lord, you have to make him work a little for your attention. Men love the struggle, the battle. You must give them one.”

Celia pursed her lips. She’d always despised these little games. She wondered what her friends would think if they knew she’d forgone them in exchange for a passionate kiss just two nights before.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Her entire body clenched at the sound of Aiden’s voice, and a thrill went down her spine. Slowly, she turned and smiled. “Your Grace,” she said. “How nice to see you again.”

“Miss Fitzgilbert,” he said, holding her stare a fraction too long.

She blushed to her toes before she stammered, “H-have you met my friends, Your Grace?”

He nodded. “Yes, I was introduced to both at the Harrington ball. A pleasure to see you again Lady Honora, Miss Thornton.”

“Your Grace,” the girls said in unison, and curtseyed slightly.

“You’ll have to excuse us, my lord,” Tabitha said. “Honora and I were about to go find her mother for an important discussion.”

Honora blinked a moment, then nodded. “Oh, yes. Very important. Good evening.”

Celia barely kept herself from rolling her eyes as her friends abandoned her to the company of the man at her side. But in truth, she was pleased to be alone with him. Her heart began to race as she faced him fully.

“They aren’t very artful, I’m afraid,” she said with a laugh.

He smiled. “In leaving us alone, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean that they believe you might wish to be alone with me?” he asked, leaning in just a fraction closer. Even though they were in public and the distance between them was entirely appropriate, she still thrilled at it.

“I would think any lady here would enjoy your company,” she breathed.

“I’m not talking about any lady, Celia. I’m talking about
you
,” he pressed.

She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. “I’m very happy to see you again,” she admitted softly. “Is that enough?”

“Not nearly,” he replied. Then he motioned to the dance floor. “Is your card open for the next?”

She nodded. “It is.”

“Then will you do me the honor?”

Celia grinned, for her world seemed to lighten with his attention. “Yes. I’d very much like that.”

He took her hand rather than offer his arm, an intimate gesture even though they both wore gloves, and took her to the floor. She felt the eyes of the ballroom on her as the music began and they spun around the room in each other’s arms. Of course, the others
would
look. Aiden was the freshest catch in the room. Others would be jealous. They’d talk.

And Celia didn’t care. When she was with him, none of it mattered in the slightest.

“You are very quiet,” she said, searching his face as they moved.

“I’m counting in my head,” he said with a self-conscious laugh. “I’ve never been very good at this.”

She drew back. “Truly? You move very gracefully.”

“It is a study in pain, I assure you,” he said, and seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth, lending credence to his words.