A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (31 page)

Celia hadn’t yet stood as John Dane smoothed the flap of his trousers back over himself and buttoned it with shaking hands. He pulled his bloody shirt over his shoulders and slung his jacket on without buttoning himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

That made her stand up. Her gown fell down over her hips, back into place, as she faced him, her flushed face saying more about what had just happened then anything else.

“I’m not.” She moved toward him, hand outstretched. When she cupped his cheek, he couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of her palm. “I’m not sorry, Aiden…
John
.” She smiled as she corrected herself. “John suits you better.”

He drew in a long breath. His entire life he had been attempting to escape the person who was John Dane. Now everything had changed.

“For the first time, it feels like it does,” he admitted.

She leaned up and kissed him, her lips gentle against his. It sparked a flame in him, but he backed away. “I must leave, Celia.”

She nodded, releasing him without argument. “When will
he
…Clairemont…die?” she asked, her voice cracking as tears filled her eyes.

Seeing them there, knowing they were for him, it cut him almost to the bone. He cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t be thick when he said, “That will be up to Stalwood. But I would say soon. A few days at most.”

A sob escaped her throat and she moved on him, catching him as she lifted her lips. He grabbed her arms, dragging her close as their mouths merged. He tasted her tears, he choked on his own and he held her far too tightly as he drove his tongue against hers in defiance.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to be with her. But he couldn’t. So he yanked out of her arms and backed up.

“Goodbye, Celia,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I won’t say that to you.”

He shut his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled for control. For calm. For anything to help him survive this pain.

“Goodbye,” he repeated. Then he flung open her door and left her without looking back.

Two weeks later

Celia’s gown was black. Perhaps it was inappropriate considering she had only been courted by the supposed Duke of Clairemont, not married nor even engaged to him. But black fit her soul as she sat in the parlor, staring blankly at the fire across the room.

The door behind her opened, and without looking to see who had entered, she sighed. “Hello, Rosalinde.”

Her sister moved to sit in the chair beside her and touched her hand. “Half a dozen more cards of condolence arrived today.”

“Put them with the others,” Celia said. “I stopped reading them days ago.”

“It must be hard to read their words of sympathy over an accident that never actually happened,” Rosalinde said.

Celia turned her gaze to the ceiling. Three days after her last afternoon with John, the pretend Duke of Clairemont had suffered a tragic accident, falling down the stairs at his London estate. He had died instantly and been swiftly buried in a small, private service in the countryside that not even Celia and her family had been invited to.

And so it was over. Yet her part was still to be played. Everyone was watching to see her reaction. But grief wasn’t hard to portray. She felt it keenly enough, even if it wasn’t for the reason the world suspected.

“I know I should respond, but what do I say when I know the truth?” she asked.

Rosalinde nodded, offering sympathy when she could give no answers. “Tabitha and Honora also stopped by again this morning. They truly want to see you.”

“I won’t be able to lie to them,” Celia sighed. “I’m afraid they’ll see the truth in my eyes.”

“I doubt that,” Rosalinde reassured her. “They’ll see your pain, as I see your pain. They’ll put their arms around you and they’ll never know the source. It might make you feel better to be around other people, rather than locking yourself in your chamber day and night.”

Celia shot her sister a look. She could see Rosalinde was truly worried, but the idea that she could shake off the loss of John by simply seeing some friends was patently absurd.

“I appreciate your intention, but I can’t. Not yet. In truth, I think the best thing for me would be to return to the north. I’m sure Gray is more than ready to go back to his business now that Turner-Camden has been arrested and things are complicated.”

Rosalinde sighed. “He is. And I suppose that our return would not be seen as odd considering your ‘loss’.”

Celia nodded. “Excellent, is it decided then?”

“May I ask you something?” Rosalinde said, instead of answering Celia.

“Of course. Anything.”

“Why must you marry a man with a title?”

Celia ducked her head. She hadn’t confessed to Rosalinde about her visit with their grandfather, but now she felt compelled to do so. She’d seen the damage secrets and lies could do, even when done in the name of good.

“Grandfather,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

“But your bargain with him for information about our father died when you broke your engagement to Stenfax, why would—” Rosalinde cut herself off and her eyes grew wide. “Oh Celia, tell me you didn’t.”

Celia shrugged. “When John began to court me in the guise of Clairemont, I thought perhaps we might still obtain the information we so desire. So I snuck out and went to Grandfather.”

Rosalinde’s lips parted. “You did
what
? That was dangerous, Celia. What if he had attacked you as he did me, with no one to save you?”

“But he didn’t. At least not physically.” She let out her breath in a long, shaky sigh. “Just as I suspected, the idea of being linked to a duke was too much for him to resist. He told me if I married Clairemont, I would get what I wanted. But then he said something that turned my blood to ice.”

“What did he say?” Rosalinde gasped.

“That I was like him,” Celia whispered, dipping her head. “Like that was something to be proud of. I was repulsed by the idea.”

“And that was when you told Clairemont…
John Dane
…the truth about our past, our family,” Rosalinde breathed.

“Yes.”

Rosalinde was silent for what felt like an eternity, and Celia couldn’t tell if she were angry or frustrated or just disappointed. At last Rosalinde took her hand. “Even if this had all worked out, you know Grandfather lies.”

“I know,” Celia whispered. “But I’m not like you. I have nothing to fill the emptiness that is in my heart. I thought I could fill it with John, but now that he is gone, I feel like if I could find our father…”

She trailed off as Rosalinde’s eyes filled with tears. “I know. And I wish I could give that to you. To both of us. Gray hasn’t given up.”

“And John said he would use his resources. There is no reason not to believe he still might, even though he’ll never be in my life again,” Celia agreed.

“So your bargain with Grandfather ends up being meaningless,” Rosalinde said.

“I suppose so.”

Rosalinde leaned in. “Do you love him? John Dane. Not the character he played or the bargain he represented to you. The man he truly was.”

Celia nodded. “I do. I love him very much. More than I ever thought possible.”

Rosalinde traced her cheek with a sad smile. “Then let me give you the same advice you gave me on my wedding day not so long ago. Tell him.”

Celia jumped up, trying to run from the thrill of possibility her sister’s words represented. “How?” she asked, almost more to calm herself then to hear her sister’s response. “He is gone. Dead to all who know.”

Rosalinde pursed her lips as she rose to her own feet. “Come with me.”

“Where?” Celia asked, confused by this sudden change in her sister.

Rosalinde grabbed her hand and all but dragged her from the room. “We’re going to resolve this. One way or another. Right now.”

Celia shook her head as the servant who had led her, Rosalinde and Gray to the parlor left to seek his master. “I don’t want to see Lord Stalwood,” she hissed.

“Celia, you cannot run from this,” Rosalinde said, moving toward her. “If you love this man, at least you must take a chance.”

Gray slipped an arm around Rosalinde. “Easy now, love. No need to push her into a corner.”

Celia pushed past the couple. “You don’t understand. It is easy for you.”

“You know it wasn’t always!” Rosalinde said. “You know how much we struggled to be together. And it was worth it in the end.”

“Worth all of it and more,” Gray said with a nod.

Before Celia could argue or point out that their situation was vastly different from her own, the door behind them opened and Stalwood stepped in.

“Mr. and Mrs. Danford, Miss Fitzgilbert,” he said with a confused expression for them all. “I didn’t expect you. Is everything well?”

Rosalinde shot Celia a look and Celia glared back. When it was clear the sisters were at a stalemate, Gray stepped forward with a sigh. “We are fine, thank you, my lord. There is no trouble, if that is your worry.”

“No trouble?
That
is untrue.” Celia turned her ire toward Stalwood. She couldn’t help but blame this man even though her rational mind told her it was an unfair action.

“Celia!” Rosalinde burst out.

Celia turned on her. “
You
forced me to come here. You cannot be angry that I react how I react now.”

“I forced you to come here because I know you are in pain. I hate to see you this way.” Rosalinde waved her hand at the earl. “And this man could help you.”

Stalwood was seemingly undaunted by the odd exchange being played out before him. “You have something to say to me, Miss Fitzgilbert?”

She took her time in looking at him. He had a rather kind face, actually. And knowing he had saved the man she loved from certain doom made it almost impossible to hate him as she wished to do.

She sighed. There was no escaping this humiliation now, so she might as well face it. “I want to talk to you. But may I have a moment alone?”

Gray and Rosalinde exchanged a look, as if they weren’t certain leaving them was the best idea. But Stalwood waved them off. “We’ll be fine. My roses are beginning to bud in the back and it’s very pretty. Why don’t you two take a stroll while I talk to Miss Fitzgilbert?”

Rosalinde let Gray lead her from the room with only the briefest back glances at Celia. Celia ignored her, keeping her attention on Stalwood.

When they were gone, he crossed to a sideboard and poured a glass of sherry. He came back to her and held it out.

She stared at the liquor, then took it. “Thank you.”

“You look as though you need it. I assume this mess with Clairemont’s death announcement and Dane’s departure has been difficult for you.”

“It has,” she whispered. “Is John…is John well?”

Stalwood’s expression softened. “He is. After such a large and involved case as this, I tend to allow my agents time away. He is taking that time now, but I received word from him recently that he is fine.” His face fell. “Well enough.”

She moved forward at his hesitation. “His wound is healing? Is he having trouble with it?”

Stalwood’s eyes widened at her focused attention. “His wound is healing, my dear. In truth, I think he suffers more from losing…losing you.”