A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2)(16)

She broke off, and for a brief second she exchanged a pointed look with her sister. Then she took a deep breath and started again.

"When our parents were gone, our grandfather came and collected us. He brought us back to London to live with him. He had a country estate, of course, but we rarely went there. He was not like you and me-he thought London was where the action was and despised the country."

Clairemont nodded. Whenever she spoke of her grandfather, there was a tension there. He sensed it now in her sister, too. Mrs. Danford was now stiff as she continued stitching the fabric in her lap, her mouth a thin line. There was a story there.

One that had nothing to do with his case, and yet he wished to understand it nonetheless. Because it was Celia. And he yearned to know more. To be connected. Even if he knew it would end.

That realization pulled at him. He claimed to Stalwood and to himself over and over that this courtship of Celia was only to get closer to Danford and determine his involvement in the real Clairemont's schemes. His death. But there was no denying that these moments were all about her. Sitting with her wanting to take her hand was about her. Wondering about her past, wanting to heal whatever pain had been caused … was about her. There was no use pretending otherwise.

"Will you stay for supper, Your Grace?"

He jolted as Mrs. Danford's voice pierced through his fog. He turned to find her staring at him, her blue eyes focused very firmly on his.

"I-yes," he said. "I would enjoy that."

She nodded and set her sewing back in her basket. "Excellent. I will tell the servants to set a place for one more. Since we have time, perhaps Celia would like to take a turn with you around the garden?"

Celia stared at her sister. "Yes. The flowers are just beginning to bud, it's lovely outside."

He tensed. To be alone with Celia again? There was no way to refuse that opportunity. Especially since once supper started he would have to force himself to be focused on Danford.

"Why don't you get your wrap, Celia?" Mrs. Danford said, rising. Clairemont and Celia did the same. "We'll meet you on the veranda."

She sent Clairemont one last look before she slipped from the room. He turned to look at Mrs. Danford. "I assume you would like to speak to me about your sister."         

     



 

"I'm not very good at subterfuge," she said, inclining her head. "Why don't we walk to the veranda, and I'll be direct."

He nodded. "Lead the way."

She did so, taking him down a hall toward a parlor that backed toward the garden. They stepped outside. The afternoon sun was beginning to turn golden as it slipped toward dusk and he sucked in a deep breath of the fresh breeze.

Mrs. Danford smiled at him. "You like my sister."

He faced her. At least in this he didn't have to lie. "I do."

"That is good."

"And yet you have hesitations when it comes to me," he said.

"I do," she said, a hint of surprise at his observation in her tone. "I must. This is my sister, after all. But don't take my concerns as an attack. Not so long ago, she was equally worried about my prospects with Gray and told him so more than plainly. Now they are becoming friends and she knows I'm happy."

He forced his expression to remain benign. What this woman didn't know, could not know, was that he, unlike Danford, had no intention of marrying Celia. He couldn't.

"She is lucky to have someone on her side," he said instead.

"She's suffered some in her life," Rosalinde continued, moving a bit closer and repeating what Danford had implied earlier. "If you make her suffer more, even a fraction more, it will be me you must contend with. You'll wish it were Gray."

He held her stare evenly and nodded. "I understand you perfectly, Mrs. Danford. And I hope I will never deserve your wrath."

"So do I." She stepped away and smiled again. This time it was a warmer expression, as if he had passed a test and now she approved of him more fully. "Ah, and here is Celia."

He turned to watch Celia exit the house, a light shawl now wrapped around her shoulders. Once again she smiled at him and his world lit up like she was the sun through rainclouds.

"You two enjoy yourselves," Mrs. Danford said.

She entered the house and Celia edged closer to him. "If you don't want to walk in the garden-"

"No, I do, I most definitely do," he said, holding out an arm for her. She took it, sending lightning through his body. "Show me the best path."





Celia and Aiden walked through the winding paths of her sister's garden at a leisurely pace and yet she didn't feel very at ease. After all, she was alone with Aiden. Aiden, who awoke such feelings in her.

Aiden, who had been remarkably quiet in the ten minutes they had been strolling the small grounds. He smiled, of course. He asked a question if she stopped to show him a flower or point out a bird taking wing. But he wasn't engaging with her the way he normally did and that made her nervous.

She sighed. It had never been in her nature to take a risk. That was Rosalinde's way. Her sister had always flown headlong into life and love. She'd been hurt very badly by her openhearted nature. But she had also been receptive to the happiness she now had with Gray.

Celia had always watched Rosalinde's wild flights in both wonder and horror. What if she got hurt? What if she said the wrong thing? What if she fell instead of flew?

She could almost hear Rosalinde laugh at her internal monologue. Her sister would say she'd never know unless she tried. Her sister would tell her she would survive the fall, but standing on the edge was a slow death of regret.

Damned Rosalinde.

Celia shot a glance at Aiden again. He was watching her from the corner of his eye, interested, but withdrawn. And in that moment, she realized she didn't want to hide from the dangers he represented. Not if facing the unknown, potentially making a mistake, meant she could also find happiness. One was worth the other, it seemed, just as Rosalinde had always claimed.

So she took a deep breath and turned to face him. "You have been very quiet since we started our walk, Aiden. Is there something I have done to offend you?"

His eyes went wide. "Offend me? Lord, no. You could never offend me, Celia. Even if you tried, I don't think you could."

She tilted her head. "Then do you mind if I ask why you are so withdrawn?"

He smiled and reached for her hand. She wasn't wearing gloves, even if she knew she should be, and his rough thumb stroked the sensitive flesh, sending ripples of sensation up her arm that made her dizzy.

"I have been told in no uncertain terms that I'm not to hurt you, Celia Fitzgilbert. It's a bit intimidating."

Heat flooded Celia's cheeks as she realized what he meant. Rosalinde had sent her off to find her shawl so she could harangue the poor man.

"Oh, Rosalinde," Celia sighed. She could barely meet his eyes out of humiliation. "I'm so sorry, Aiden. She is protective and often direct, though I suppose you guessed that after talking to her."         

     



 

Aiden laughed, and the sound warmed her. "I guessed," he verified. "But I don't judge you or her for it. It's nice that you have someone on your side."

"Do you have siblings?" she asked.

She watched his face tense, and it took him a moment to respond. "No," he said at last. "I was an only child."

She sucked in a breath at the raw emotion on his face. He'd always masked his reactions very well, only letting her see what he wanted her to see. Now she felt pain radiate from him.

"Was it … difficult?" she whispered.

He jerked out a nod. "Yes."

She wanted to reach for him in that moment, to comfort him in his pain. But she wasn't certain he'd want that. And if he rejected her, that would be terrible. It seemed she wasn't yet ready to fully lead with her heart after all.

"I'm sorry," she said instead. "I understand difficult. I had Rosalinde, of course, but I wouldn't call our childhood a happy one."

He leaned in. "Both Danford and your sister implied the same. Why is that?"

She drew a sharp breath. What he was asking her to reveal took trust. She thought of Gray and Rosalinde, who were so connected that he seemed to be able to sense her moods before she even knew them. That connection was born of trust.

And if she wanted it, she'd have to give. It was the best way to see if Aiden would receive, perhaps even share back.

"My-my grandfather wasn't always kind," she said, dipping her head as fresh heat rushed to her cheeks. "He resented us and made sure we knew it. Even as adults, he did his best to manipulate and even harm us for his own gain."

"Hmmm," Aiden murmured as he reached out and took her hand. His warm fingers closed over hers as he led her toward a bench in the middle of the garden. They sat, and to her surprise he lifted her hand to his chest, his gaze intense. "I'm sorry, Celia. Truly."

She could feel the steady beating of his heart, even through the layers of his clothing. She felt her own heart quicken at the intimacy of his touch and the connection born from her confession.

And suddenly she was no longer embarrassed by what she had admitted.

"It's all right," she breathed. "After all, these things are what make us, aren't they? I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my past."