A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2)(17)
His gaze grew more intense, more heated. "You wouldn't be here with me."
She shook her head. "No."
He edged closer and slid one hand against her cheek, his fingers splaying there. "Well, that would be tragic."
He leaned in, and she let her eyes flutter shut as she waited for the kiss she was so accustomed to. He didn't disappoint-his mouth brushed over hers and she sighed out pleasure and relief all at once.
He claimed her tongue with his, sucking gently, stroking firmly, and she relaxed against him, her arms coming around his neck as he slid her across the bench and held her. This time they weren't on a terrace where they could be interrupted at any time. Rosalinde would leave them be for at least a little while longer.
They were alone. And she wanted this so very much.
He might have sensed that surrender in her. Or perhaps he was also swept away by the pulsing passion between then. He deepened the kiss, tilting her head and driving harder with his mouth, his tongue. She moaned softly against his lips as pleasure mounted.
She found herself sliding one hand down against his chest, his side, and finally she gripped his thigh, searching for purchase in the rolling sea of new feelings and reactions.
The moment she did so, he jerked back, standing and stumbling away as his breath came hard and fast.
She blushed at the reaction. "I-I'm sorry," she gasped, trying to find her own breath.
"Don't be," he said, shaking his head. "But what you do to me … "
He trailed off, and she found her gaze dropping lower. She knew a little about what happened between a man and a woman. Rosalinde had told her the mechanics. Sometimes at night, she heard the reality, soft sounds of pleasure that drifted down from Gray's chamber. It had all felt abstract in those terms. Odd.
But now she found herself staring at Aiden and saw the proof of his desire for her. An erection that was outlined along the tight front of his trousers. She caught her breath at the sight. This was need, this was want, this was an instrument of pleasure.
"Yes, I see," she breathed. Her hand fluttered at her side as she fought the urge to reach out to touch him, trace him in the most inappropriate ways.
He made a soft groan deep in his throat. "You are testing me again, Celia."
She smiled up at him, thinking of the first time he had claimed she was a test. When he kissed her a second time and woke desires in her that pulsed beneath the surface now.
"Do I want you to pass the test or fail it?" she asked.
His eyes went wide and he bent toward her. He caught her cheeks with both hands and kissed her again, hard and fast, driven and passionate. She covered his hands with her own and kissed him back with just as much desire.
He pulled away, gray eyes glittering in the fading light as he drew her to her feet. "We should go inside before I do something your brother-in-law will kill me for. Or perhaps it is your sister I need fear more."
She took his arm with a laugh. Her whole body tingled, but it was more than a mere physical reaction that brought her to life. She actually felt excited about the prospects of her future. This man had gifted her with that.
And no one could take that hope away. No one.
Chapter Eleven
Clairemont lifted his gaze from his half-finished supper and looked down the table at his hosts. It felt like he was walking on a tightrope now and any wrong move could send him tumbling into oblivion.
It was a strange thing to feel so out of sorts, even out of control. Normally he was completely at ease in any situation a case took him to.
He'd participated in dozens of assignments during his career with the War Department. He'd played a role in every one of them, sometimes complicated roles with many things to remember. There had even been accents he had to keep consistent. So playing the part of a reclusive duke who no one knew much about shouldn't have caused him this much consternation. In fact, it should have been easy.
And yet it wasn't. This was swiftly becoming the most difficult case of his career. Worse, he was coming to realize that there was only one reason he faltered in his act, and that reason was Celia.
He let his gaze slip down the table to her. Outside she had asked him about his past and he had wanted to tell her everything. He'd wanted to spill out secrets no one in this world knew, not even Lord Stalwood, the mentor and friend who had plucked him from the desperate circumstances he'd grown up in.
In the garden, he'd wanted to take Celia's hands, look into her eyes and whisper to her about loss and poverty and abuse, to explain how he'd overcome it all. To explain how all of it had shaped him and how the memories of those dark times drove him, even to this day.
Except he couldn't. Because that wasn't Clairemont's story. And it was that bastard's tale he had to tell and live inside. His own skin, his own past, his own life meant nothing.
"Of course, you know perfectly well how surprised and fascinated people are by your return to Society," Danford said.
Clairemont blinked. Here was further proof he wasn't on his game, for he hadn't been paying any attention at all to the words of the very man he was meant to be investigating. Words that brought his situation, being another man, perfectly into focus.
He forced a smile as he took on the role of duke once more. "You know the ton-they're forever fascinated by the newest thing."
Danford laughed. "Indeed, that is true. Society as a whole seems to have the attention span of a gnat."
"Which can be useful if you're trying to overcome a scandal," Celia said softly. The eyes of each person at the table slid to her, and she shrugged.
Clairemont stiffened at the soft sadness in her eyes. Was she thinking of her broken engagement?
"Celia," Mrs. Danford breathed, her voice laced with pain for her sister.
"Don't all look at me that way," Celia said, suddenly laughing and breaking the tension of the room. "I didn't necessarily mean my scandal, which has been minor at worst. I meant scandal in general."
Neither of the Danfords looked completely certain of the veracity of Celia's statement, but Clairemont could see she didn't wish for the subject to be pressed. So he nodded.
"You are right about that," he said. "And it shall play into my hand if I'm lucky."
"What do you mean?" Celia asked, though there was no mistaking her brief smile of thanks that he had taken the attention off her with his words. He felt like his chest puffed when she looked at him that way.
Dangerous.
"My hope is that in a few weeks there will be a new scandal or something else that will divert their attention again and I will no longer be their focus." He shook his head. "I do not enjoy the role of prodigal son returned."
He sighed, for that was a totally accurate description of what he hoped. He still got far too many invitations and glances and unexpected visitors at his home. News of his courtship of Celia hadn't fully filtered into Society at large. Or perhaps it had and some of the more mercenary women just didn't give a damn. Until he was fully caught in a marriage knot, he was still catchable.
"I suppose you're right-it isn't much of a surprise that they chatter." Danford leaned back as a servant took his now-empty plate. "What surprises me more, to be frank, is that you disappeared from Society in the first place."
Clairemont kept his expression calm. He had spent months studying this very subject, trying to determine why the real duke had fled good company and holed himself up in his castle to plot against his own countrymen. From the man's diaries and letters, Clairemont had some vague thoughts on the matter, but there were pieces of the duke that would always be private. Stories he would have to concoct on his own.
This was one of them.
"My father's death was difficult," he said. "And I was given a great deal of responsibility at a young age. I suppose at first I was overwhelmed by it all. And later, as I stayed away longer and longer, it became harder to return."
He watched Danford's face for a reaction, a flutter that said he didn't believe him or that he knew better. But there was none.
"I must say it is a pleasure to have you back," Mrs. Danford said, drawing Clairemont's attention to her. "You've certainly made this season more … " She shot her sister a pointed look that made Celia's cheeks brighten with color. "Interesting. But if you don't mind my asking, what brought about your return to London this year over any other?"
"A man of my rank has a duty," Clairemont said. "I have avoided it far too long."
"And which duty is that?" she pressed.
Clairemont arched a brow. "To marry."
From letters and other records, he knew the real duke truly had been concerned with that fact. Only Clairemont had been more interested in bringing women to his castle to "test" them. He shuddered to think of what that would have entailed for those unlucky enough to be chosen, had he followed through with his plans. The female servants in the real duke's employ suffered enough under the man.
Celia cast him a quick glance, and he couldn't help but return her stare. Of course, testing her would be no hardship. He was certain she would pass any trial he concocted, from comportment to the pleasures they could share.
She blushed, almost as if she read his mind, and her gaze slid to her plate. But she smiled, a secret little expression that told him she was thinking of their stolen moments in the garden. How he wished he could have had more time with her. That they wouldn't be interrupted. That he had carte blanche to touch her as he wanted to do.