The sick feeling in the pit of Clairemont's stomach seemed to spread outward the more his companion talked. "And where does that leave my request to court her?"
"If I have your vow that you will not hurt her, then I will agree to a courtship," Danford said at last.
Clairemont stared at him. This protectiveness of Celia made him actually like the man more. And he didn't want to like him. Danford was a suspect in a vile set of crimes-Clairemont couldn't be friends with him. Nor could he say that he wouldn't hurt Celia and mean it.
He would hurt her. One way or another, that was going to happen before his case was done.
But he cleared his throat and did what he'd been trained to do. Perhaps born to do.
He lied.
"I will do everything in my power not to hurt her," he said.
That seemed to appease Danford, for he smiled for the first time. "Excellent. Then I approve the courtship, though whether or not Celia does the same is up to you, of course. Shall we drink to it?"
Clairemont nodded as Danford lifted his hand and motioned for a porter to bring then a drink. As they waited, Danford leaned closer, draping his forearms over his knees and examining Clairemont closely.
"You know, you aren't what I expected you to be after all our correspondence," he said.
Clairemont jolted at the statement, brought back to reality in a heartbeat. "No?"
"You were never interested in my personal life in the slightest," Danford continued. "In fact, you seemed quite irritated by my marriage and thought it might interfere with our business."
Clairemont frowned. That was the trouble in only having half of a correspondence. He only saw what Danford replied, not the duke's part of the conversation.
"Well, it hasn't seemed to," he said. "So I stand corrected."
Danford laughed. "And there's that, too. You were always so intensely focused on our investments and where your funds were flowing. And yet since your return you haven't harangued me at all about what is happening with the canals that are being managed by Perry."
Perry. Clairemont's ears perked up. He'd heard of Perry, of course, in some of the correspondence he'd read. Danford often mentioned him as the foreman of one of the canals being finished on the very southern tip of the country. It promised to be a profitable one, for it led directly to the sea and would ensure products could be moved from the middle of the country to a port with ease.
"I suppose I'm still adjusting to life in London," Clairemont said slowly, judging Danford's every movement, every flutter of eyelash and length of stare. "And things have gone so smoothly that I've let it go to the wayside."
"I wouldn't say entirely smoothly," Danford sighed. "I'm actually happy you're here so we can speak about the issues I'm encountering in person."
Clairemont focused so that he would recall every detail to write down later. "Go ahead. I'm happy to discuss any problems."
"You recommended Perry, and I appreciate that, for he does seem to know his way around the logistics of building such an endeavor," Danford said. "But Clairemont, I still question the prudence of putting the termination of the port at Withershank. It's a tiny town, not ready to handle the increased traffic the opening of the port will immediately create. I went down there to inspect the place myself right before my marriage and it was worse than I thought. But Perry insists he can hire men to manage it."
"You don't like his picks?" Clairemont asked mildly.
"I don't," Danford admitted, and nodded up at the servant as the drinks were brought.
He waved the man away and poured Clairemont a bit of sherry himself. When they'd taken their glasses, Clairemont couldn't ignore how Danford gripped his, almost white-knuckled. He truly did seem troubled.
"What's wrong with them?" Clairemont pressed.
"They're … " Danford hesitated. "I don't know how to describe it. There's just a wrongness about them. A roughness that I normally wouldn't hire. Now, I know you trust Perry-he's a relative or some such thing, isn't he?"
Clairemont nodded. "Some such thing," he said, unwilling to set himself into a lie until he verified it was the same one the real duke had told.
"Then I don't mean to make it uncomfortable," Danford said. "The canal system is wonderful. It's an easy way to transport goods that is safer and more efficient. And I won't deny that the profit is excellent. But these byways could also be used for far worse purposes. If we have the wrong people running them, they could be used for something like … "
He trailed off, and Clairemont leaned forward. "Like?"
Danford looked around, like he wanted to be certain they weren't overheard. "Like smuggling."
Clairemont was careful in his reaction. Danford seemed truly troubled at that statement and he wanted to believe that his attitude was real. But there was always the possibility that his companion had arranged for the murder or even murdered the real Clairemont himself. That all this was a complex ruse and that he knew full well that the Clairemont before him was false.
"It's a troubling thought that our plans are not going through as we hoped. I'll send word to Perry myself," Clairemont said.
"Good," Danford said, and looked truly relieved. "I would appreciate that. Now, we have our drinks so let us toast to happier things."
Clairemont lifted his glass. "To the future."
"To Celia," Danford said, smiling as their glasses clinked together.
Clairemont fought a frown as he sipped the sherry. He hardly tasted it over the bitterness on his tongue. To Celia, who he would possibly destroy. The idea made him sick.
But there was nothing to do but move forward in his plan, especially now that he had more information. And if he would hurt her, he had damned well better make it worth it.
Celia looked up from her sewing as Gray strode into the parlor. As he did so, Rosalinde got to her feet and moved toward him with a smile.
"Is my sister here?" Gray asked as they met each other and kissed.
"No, Felicity hasn't yet arrived. We didn't expect you for another hour," Rosalinde said, touching his cheek before she pressed another kiss to his lips.
Celia blushed as her mind flashed briefly to Aiden and his kiss, not only at this home, but on the terrace at the ball two days before. She had been thinking of those kisses far too much lately. They even kept her up at night, tossing and turning as her body reacted in ways she had never expected.
Aiden made her feel … needy. Achy. Hot. She tried very hard to be ladylike about the entire thing, but he didn't make it easy. After all, he had been writing her regularly when they didn't meet. The letters weren't untoward, but when she read them, she heard his words in his voice and every single syllable felt loaded with the physical connection they had built.
"I planned on being at the club a little longer," Gray said, breaking into Celia's scandalous thoughts. "But I suppose Felicity not being here is not such a bad thing. I have private news to share, which is why I'm early."
"News?" Rosalinde asked, drawing him to sit beside her on the settee.
"Shall I go?" Celia asked. "Let you two be alone?"
Gray laughed. "I don't think so. After all, my news involves you, Celia."
All at once, Celia knew exactly what Gray's news was. Aiden had asked him to court her, as he had promised to do two nights before. He hadn't mentioned it again in his correspondence since, but the pledge hung between them. Her heart began to pound and she set her sewing aside blindly as she stared at Gray.
It seemed Rosalinde had guessed the same thing, even though Celia hadn't mentioned Aiden's intention. Until he spoke to Gray, she hadn't wanted to breathe of it, in case Aiden's plans changed.
Now the color drained from Rosalinde's cheeks and she turned to face Celia. "What is the news?"
"I ran into the Duke of Clairemont at my club this afternoon," Gray said, but his deep voice sounded like it was coming from under water to Celia's ringing ears. "And he asked my permission to court Celia."
He smiled as he said it, and Celia returned the look even as she clasped her hands in front of her heart. It was done. Aiden had taken the step to officially pursue her. That meant the connection she felt was one from his side, as well. And now she shook with the power of it.
Until, that is, Rosalinde stood up and paced away. Celia saw her sister's face and it was not as pleased as she'd thought it would be considering their conversation about the man a few days before.
"You hesitate," Celia said, standing, as well. "Why?"
Rosaline faced her, but she shot Gray a look. A look that spoke volumes. Celia glanced between the two of them.
"What are you two keeping from me?"
"Nothing," Gray reassured her as he moved toward Rosalinde and took her hand. "I will admit that I wasn't certain of Clairemont when we were writing to each other. I shared that worry with your sister when you two met on the terrace last week."
"Why weren't you certain?" Celia asked. "You knew each other before, didn't you?"
Gray nodded. "In school, but that was a lifetime ago. I have certainly changed since then, and from his letters it was clear so had Clairemont. I was pleased to have him investing in my plans, but sometimes he wrote things … implied things … that made me question his character. That was fine in business, it's something I could simply keep an eye on. But when it comes to you-"