"Yes," he said, knowing he was too close and that his breath probably brushed the back of her delectable bare neck. "The comet. It only recently became visible."
"Oh, Aiden," she said, using that other man's first name again. But the tone of voice entirely belonged to him, so he softened to it a fraction. "It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."
"They are not entirely uncommon," he explained. "But this one is special. Normally they are not so bright. I thought you would like it."
She spun toward him, and he saw pleasure written across her face. "I do. Thank you so much for showing it to me. What a treat to see something so real in the midst of such frivolity."
He stared into her face, unable to stop himself from nodding. "I was thinking the same thing."
Her lips parted, for she clearly took the meaning of his compliment. She was just too beautiful in the dim light and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. She made a soft sound and leaned into his fingers, and he was lost.
Without thinking, he leaning down and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips parted immediately and he swept inside, tasting her and filling himself with her sweet flavor the same way he had two nights before.
He wanted to go further. To crush her against his chest, to back her into the darkness and show her what pleasures they could share. Instead, he stepped away, his breath heavy and his cock throbbing.
"I'm sorry," he managed to blurt out. "I-I shouldn't keep doing that."
"Why?" she asked, face upturned toward him.
He shrugged. "You're a lady," he whispered. "I am not being a gentleman and that is what I should be."
She tilted her head. "I like it when you kiss me, Aiden. Unladylike or not, I liked it before and I liked it tonight. I won't lie and pretend I don't … or that I don't hope you'll do it again."
He groaned. Her utter honesty and fresh innocence were a dangerous combination. They could make a man forget all his duties. They could make a man throw caution to the wind and commit each and every sin he'd fought his entire life to avoid.
She could make a man feel alive. He so wanted to feel alive. With a curse, he leaned in and kissed her again. She smiled against his lips as she lifted her hands to his forearms and clung there. Her tongue darted out, gently tasting him, and his blood rushed hot and fast to very inappropriate places.
He pulled back. "You do test a man," he muttered.
She smiled. "I'm not trying to test you."
"Yes, and that's the biggest part of the test," he said, laughing despite his discomfort. "There is nothing disingenuous about you, is there, Celia Fitzgilbert? What I see with you is entirely what you are."
She blinked, and for a moment she looked a little upset. But then she turned away. "I try to be honest," she said softly.
He nodded. Certainly, she was that. Straightforward in a way he wouldn't have expected a woman in her position to be.
"I should go back in," she said, finally looking at him again. "My sister and friends will wonder where I've gone."
"I'll stay outside for a moment if you don't mind," he said, shifting in the hopes his erection would go away.
"Of course."
She moved to go, but he reached out and caught her hand. Touching her thrilled him every time, and he clung to her briefly before he said, "Celia, if I were to approach your brother-in-law and ask for permission to court you, would you … would you want that?"
She stared up at him, a small smile on her face, her eyes wide. "Yes, Aiden, I would very much want that," she said, and her voice trembled, revealing how happy she was at that question. The happiness, the anticipation, cut him to his very core.
But he had no choice.
"Good night, Celia," he said.
"Good night."
He released her hand at last and watched her reenter the house. When she was gone he finally breathed again. Now it was done. He had set the wheels in motion for the next phase of his investigation. And for her heartbreak, no matter how successfully this case ended.
And even though he hated himself for doing it, he also thrilled at the idea that Celia wanted him. And even if he hadn't earned her, he would have her for a little while.
That would have to be enough.
Chapter Nine
Clairemont feigned surprise when he found Grayson Danford at his club two days later, even though he had planned for this accidental encounter. He crossed the room, a smile on his face, and Danford pushed to his feet from the chair he was reading in and returned the expression.
"Your Grace," he said, extending a hand as Clairemont reached him. "How nice to see you."
Clairemont shook with him and nodded. "Indeed. I have been so far out of Society for so long, I didn't realize we shared a membership at Hopper's."
"Yes," Danford said, motioning to the chair beside his and folding his paper away. "Although White's and the like are necessary evils, I prefer it here. It's a bit less hectic. Certainly less political."
Clairemont looked around at the quiet room. Men were in the corners smoking and discussing politics and other topics. Some read in the adjoining rooms. It actually wasn't bad-certainly there was none of the peacocking he'd expected when he heard the word "club".
"It is. A bit more my speed, I admit," he said. "But I'm happy to see you, as I had hoped we could continue our discussion from the other night at your home."
Now Danford's welcoming smile fell a fraction and was replaced by wariness. "Yes, I think I know exactly what it is you wish to discuss. And here we can at last broach the topic freely."
The fine hairs on the back of Clairemont's neck began to rise. Was this it? Would Danford finally talk to him about whatever nefarious plots he and the real Duke of Clairemont had hatched? Would he be able to break his case before he was forced to damage Celia any more than necessary?
"What topic is that?" he asked, working hard to keep the anticipation from his tone.
Danford arched a brow as if Clairemont should already know the answer to that question. "Celia."
"Yes," Clairemont said, his excitement over the case deflating but being replaced by all the emotions that accompanied the topic at hand. He'd written her a letter that day. In fact, he'd written her several letters in the days they'd been apart. God knew why. It wasn't required and yet he'd found himself doing it. And picturing her face when she read them. "Celia."
"Rosalinde and I can see there is a connection between you," Danford continued. "Though I admit I'm surprised to see it so quickly. Not that I can talk. I believe I fell in love with my wife the moment I saw her at an inn."
Clairemont stiffened. Love. He had never considered that possibility. Did he feel desire for Celia? Most definitely, as two nights staring at his naughty ceiling had proven. Did he like her? He did. But love? That was too big a concept to even consider. Men like him were not free to love. He wasn't even sure he could love.
"Celia is a most unique woman," Clairemont said, his voice rougher than he expected. "I won't deny that she intrigues me."
"And what exactly do you intend to do about that?" Danford pushed.
Clairemont cleared his throat. "I understand that you are her guardian now that she no longer lives with her grandfather."
A shadow crossed Danford's face at the mention of Mr. Fitzgilbert, but he nodded slowly. "I have taken that role, yes."
"Then I would like to-to ask for your permission to court Celia," Clairemont choked out.
He didn't know why this was so difficult. It was merely a move in a game of chess. And yet saying it out loud made it feel real. Like he could truly look toward some kind of future with Celia.
Which was pure balderdash, of course. It was Clairemont who was offering for Celia, not John Dane. Dane wasn't fit to clean her slipper.
Danford held his gaze for a long time, his expression entirely unreadable. At last, he folded his hands in his lap. "Has Celia told you anything about our relationship?"
"Your relationship," he repeated, suddenly having the urge to slam a fist through Danford's nose. What the hell did he mean by relationship?
"She was to marry my brother," Danford said softly. "And I was convinced it wasn't a good match."
Clairemont's brow wrinkled. He'd heard a great deal about the broken engagement between Celia and the Earl of Stenfax, but not this.
"Why is that? Are you warning me off her?"
Danford's lips pursed. "Of course not. In the past few months since my marriage, I have come to recognize how greatly I misjudged Celia at first. Though I cannot say I'm sorry she and Stenfax didn't marry."
"Why?" Clairemont asked.
"They clearly felt nothing for each other."
Clairemont felt himself relaxing at that statement. He'd observed Stenfax quite a bit in the past few days at parties and other gatherings. He'd truly begun to despise the other man for his having ever had a claim to Celia.
"What are you getting at?" he pressed.
Danford tilted his head. "She's been through a great deal."
Clairemont nodded. "Because of the engagement."
"Yes, but you must also know that her life was not easy before that either. Let me make myself plain. I will not see her hurt. Not just because Celia's heartbreak will devastate my wife, but because Celia does not deserve anything less than the best."