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A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2)(24)



Celia held her breath. Clairemont had been out of Society so long, she wasn't certain he would hold as much sway as someone like Stenfax had, even if he was more elevated by his title. But she nodded regardless.

"I am sure I could soften him to you and your desires," she said.

Fitzgilbert returned to his seat across from her and set his drink aside, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers over his knee before he smiled at her. "And tell me, my dear, does he know you are a bastard?"

Heat flooded her cheeks both at his cruel question and at the answer she would be forced to give. An answer that burned within her the closer she got to Aiden.

"No," she admitted, her voice cracking.

Fitzgilbert's grin grew wider. Uglier. "And you and Rosalinde call me the mercenary. Good, Celia. Very good. You must keep him in the dark, for no duke would want you if he knew the truth. And it is only a duke that will do now that you have struck this bargain. If you fail in landing this one, don't think to come back to me with another earl or a marquess and expect that I will ever tell you a damn thing about your father. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

She sucked in a broken breath. "Yes. Then do you accept the bargain? A duke for the truth?"

"Yes." He held out a hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

She stared at his offering and instead stood and moved away from him. "No need. I know how your bargains work, Grandfather."

He stood with her. "Of course you do. Now run along. I tire of your presence and you have much work to do. Don't fail me this time."

He pointed toward the door and she held her shoulders back as she trudged before it, trying to maintain as much dignity as she could. But in truth there was almost none to be had.

She had made a bargain with a demon. She had offered to trade Aiden for what her grandfather possessed.

She moved to the door and walked out into the sunshine, but there was no pleasure to be found in the warmth of the spring day. She took in big gulps of breath to clear her lungs of her grandfather's presence, but there was little use. He was in her mind now, and no amount of fresh air or clean water or distance could get him out.

She walked out onto the street and staggered blindly toward her home. He'd said she was like him. And wasn't it true? If she was willing to lie to Rosalinde and to use Aiden to get what she wanted, wasn't she exactly like him?         

     



 

She was about to turn down the next street when a carriage suddenly pulled up next to her. The door opened and she turned toward it. To her surprise, Aiden sat there, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"Celia?" he asked. "Are you … are you alone?"

She shifted, still reeling from her encounter with her grandfather. "I-yes," she admitted.

His lips pursed and he held out a hand. "Get in, please."

He said please, but there was no doubt he was ordering her to do so, not asking. She was too numb to argue and took his hand. He helped her into the carriage and a footman hopped down from the back to shut the door.

"Where to, Your Grace?" the young man asked.

Aiden stared at her, his gray gaze even and unwavering. "Drive around the block a dozen times, then ask me again," he ordered.

The servant nodded at the order, then shut the door. After a moment, they began to move. Only then did Aiden reach out to take both her hands.

He frowned. "You are cold as ice, Celia. What in the world were you doing?"

She swallowed. Her encounter with her grandfather was difficult enough, but now to sit face to face with the man she'd offered to betray for her own purposes? That was impossible.

"I needed air," she lied. "Just a walk."

He arched a brow. "Alone? Without Rosalinde or your maid to accompany you?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't want to trouble them."

His brows lifted and she could see he recognized she was lying. Of course he would. After all, he had always been capable of reading her moods. She waited for him to demand, to push, to rattle off some highhanded reasons why she should tell him the truth.

Instead, he slid to her side of the carriage and wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his chest. She turned her face into his warmth, breathing in deep gulps of his scent and his presence. Somehow that calmed her, settling her shaking body and slowing her pounding heart. He stroked a hand over her hair gently as he held her, and she sighed.

"What do you need, Celia?" he asked, his deep voice reverberating through her.

She lifted her face toward his and froze. His mouth was just inches from hers, so close that his breath stirred her lips. She kissed him softly.

He made a low sound in his chest and his arms tightened around her. He tilted his head and claimed her lips with more fervor. She fisted the lapels of his jacket, leaning up into him as she opened her mouth to his touch, his taste, the feel of him.

And his kiss did what nothing else could. Thoughts of her bargain with her grandfather, her self-loathing that she might be anything like him, faded away. Left behind was just the simply throbbing need for this man. For the pleasure he'd already given her, for the pleasure she wanted even more of.

"Will you-" she whispered as she pulled back a fraction. Heat flooded her cheeks and she tried to duck her head, but he slid a finger beneath her chin and didn't allow it.

"What?" he said, his voice so low it barely carried.

"Touch me." Her voice broke. "Just touch me and make me feel good for a moment. That's what I want. Need."

His pupils dilated and he cleared his throat, looking around with his lips pursed. He was silent so long that she began to believe he wasn't going to answer.

"Are you trying to find a way to refuse?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I'm doing a math problem in my head. I told them to circle the block twelve times, we've gone around one and a half by my reckoning. If he stays at this rate then-"

She cut him off by sliding her hands up to his cheeks and drawing him in for another kiss. This time she took control, pressing her tongue between his lips, silencing any further words he might have said. It seemed to have worked, for he let out a long sigh before he drew back.

He locked gazes with her as he lifted a big hand to her breast. She gasped as he cupped her there, sliding his thumb back and forth over the nipple that hardened beneath her chemise and gown. He'd done this before, at the ball the night before. Now she wished they could do it without the constriction of clothing. She wanted to feel his touch skin to skin and melt with him like she was meant to do.

Just as her breath came short, he lowered that same hand, gliding his fingers down the apex of her body until he nudged her legs apart, settling his hand down against her skirts, between her thighs, where her sex pulsed in need.

"Normally I would try to be more artful in this," he explained, his tone clipped and filled with tension. "But we are short on time and I want to make sure you find … relief."

"That I come," she said, using that word he'd used the night before.         

     



 

He let out a curse beneath his breath. "Yes, that you come."

"You could make me come like this?" she asked, and let out a soft moan as he began to move his hand against her. Even through her clothing, the question was answered.

"I could make you come in half a dozen ways," he growled. "How I'd like to explore each and every one of them. But for now … "

He ground the heel of his palm against her, and her body naturally lifted into him. She closed her eyes, letting sensation take over. She felt him watching her, heard his breath grow heavy as her moans echoed around them. It was amazing how quickly he could mold her body to his desires. A few strokes of his hand and the pleasure mounted, sending out tendrils through her entire being, making her reach and reach for sensations she was only beginning to understand.

"Come," he whispered against her ear. "Let go, Celia. I'll catch you."

She squeezed her eyes shut and her body began to convulse out of control as wave after wave of intense, heated pleasure ricocheted through her. She rode out the sensations, whispering his name, letting go of any fear or unpleasantness she had just experienced as she sagged against him in sated bliss.

He lifted his hand away from her and gently repositioned her skirts before he pressed a kiss to her temple and wrapped his arms around her.

"I could watch you do that all day. A thousand times."

She opened her eyes and smiled into the dimness. "And yet you have not had your pleasure yet. Will there come a time when I get to reciprocate?"

He made a low sound and shook his head. "Are you trying to kill me with those words? I promise you, Celia, I take a great deal of pleasure in this."

"But it isn't the same," she murmured, turning her face toward his.

He frowned, but was saved from replying when the carriage slowed. He kissed her once more, then moved back to his side of the vehicle. After a moment, the door opened and the footman poked his head inside.

"Where would you like to go now, Your Grace?"

Aiden looked at her, his gray gaze holding hers. "To the servants' entrance at Grayson Danford's home."

The young man nodded, and once again they were left alone. Celia's eyes went wide. Aiden had caught her in what could easily be seen as a compromising position. Ladies of her rank were not meant to go roaming the city streets without a chaperone. It was well within his rights to take her straight back to her sister and tell all. He would even be able to say it was for her own good.