He shifted slightly, revealing some discomfort on his handsome face. And something else, too. Sadness. There was a sadness in his eyes that spoke to Celia in a visceral and immediate way.
"That's him?" she breathed, unable to take her eyes off of him. Tabitha and Honora nodded mutely. "He certainly isn't scarred."
"Or fat," Honora added. "Or hideous."
"No," Celia whispered as he turned away and smiled as their host and hostess, the Marquess and Marchioness Harrington, rushed to greet their coup of a guest. He was led off into the crowd and it felt like the air had been let back into the room. Celia sucked in a gulp of it with a shiver.
She had never had such a strong reaction to a stranger before. A man. It was like her whole body was tingling and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that the rest of the sounds in the room were muffled by the rush of blood.
"I think he'll be even more of a catch now that we've all seen him," Tabitha said with a sigh. "The Diamonds of the First Water will wrestle for him and some lucky girl will land him before the summer, I can almost guarantee it!"
Celia blinked as those words sank in. Of course that was true. The mamas would swarm on their newcomer before he could settle in for five minutes, and he would be the focus of their manipulations until someone had landed him.
Someone who would almost certainly not be Celia Fitzgilbert. She turned away from where the duke had stood and took a few more deep breaths. It was foolish to be swept away by the appearance of a handsome face. And if she were smart, she'd just forget about the man.
Only she didn't think that would be so easy to do.
Chapter Three
Dane stood with the Earl of Stalwood, staring out at the swirling crowd of dancers. It seemed every time a pair passed him, they whispered to each other and stared pointedly in his direction. He shifted with discomfort at the unexpected and utterly unwelcome attention.
"So Clairemont, what do you think?" Stalwood asked, breaking through the cloud of his thoughts.
Dane blinked a few times. Clairemont. He was Clairemont now, and he had to think of himself that way so he didn't slip up in his duty.
"It seems a perfect place to find our marks," he said slowly, speaking with the more formal accent he had been perfecting for two long months. It came naturally now, even if it still sounded foreign to his ears.
Stalwood nodded as he surveyed the crowd around them. Unlike Dane, there was no discomfort or feeling out of place for the earl. "Indeed. The duke might not have met with people in person during the past decade, but his correspondence included a great many of those in this room." Stalwood's tone grew hard. "Likely one or more of them were involved in his schemes. One may have even killed him."
Dane … no, Clairemont-now more than ever he had to immerse himself in his role so that he never slipped-shifted with discomfort.
"My appearance here has created a great deal of attention," he mused, trying not to chafe at the continued stares and whispers.
"More than we anticipated," Stalwood agreed. "Though I suppose it shouldn't be so surprising. There are only so many titles in our world. When one comes out of hiding, it is bound to cause a splash."
"I've been accustomed to simply fitting in," Clairemont explained. "To becoming invisible in whatever role I take in the organization. Blending in makes investigation smooth. But this focus will make my job all the harder."
Stalwood nodded, his face suddenly grim. "That is likely true. Unfortunately, you'll have to work around it, at least until the interest fades in a few weeks."
"A few weeks?" he repeated, and his stomach roiled as he let his gaze slide around the room once more. The crowd with their finery and their foolishness did nothing for him. "These people," he murmured. "How in the world shall I ever keep track of them?"
Stalwood arched a brow. "If you let you prejudice guide you, you won't. So figure it out, Clairemont." He stopped for a moment, his gaze shifting over Clairemont's shoulder. "And do it quickly. Here come the mamas."
Clairemont stiffened and slowly turned. Sure enough, there was what felt like a gaggle of middle-aged women moving across the floor to him. Some had young ladies in tow, others came alone. But all had the same predatory look in their eyes.
His mouth went dry. He'd spent decades being the hunter. Now he was the prey.
And for the first time since he was a pup in training, he had no defense against the attacks about to come. So he clenched his fists behind his back and muttered, "Shit."
Celia stood on the terrace in the shadow of the great house and stared up at the waning moon above. Even though it wasn't quite full anymore, it had a beautiful glow about it that filled her with happiness. She'd always enjoyed the many faces of the night sky.
And tonight she needed them. The ball was stuffy and crowded and she was out of sorts.
She had tried to explain away the discomfort in her chest with thoughts on the scandal she and Stenfax had caused with their broken engagement, but that wasn't it. Very few had rejected her due to that decision. Those who had were inconsequential.
No, she felt odd for another reason. And when she was honest with herself, the reason was the entry of the Duke of Clairemont. It had been such a strange thing to look at that man, that stranger, and feel such a strong and instant connection to him.
"What a handsome face will do," she muttered to herself, ignoring the fact that she'd known many a handsome face, including that of her former fiancé, and she had never been so moved by one before.
Clairemont was a confusing one, that was true enough. Perhaps it was the mystery of his being hidden away for so long. Perhaps it was the air of sadness she had noticed in his gray eyes. Perhaps it was the piercing glow of those same eyes. Whatever it was, it was entirely distracting.
She sucked in another cool breath of air and sighed. She should go back inside before Rosalinde and Gray noticed her absence and became worried. Worse, before they both began to question her and coo over her like she was a broken thing that needed fixing.
She was about to do so when the terrace door flew open and a figure strode out, slamming it behind him. He rushed toward the wall, gripping it with both hands and sucking in a few long breaths of air as he lifted his face toward the moonlight, just as she had done a moment before.
Her breath hitched. The man who had invaded her sanctuary was none other than the one she had been musing upon. The Duke of Clairemont. And he looked mightily upset.
She hesitated. In the shadow of the house, he didn't appear to have noticed her yet. She supposed she could slide along the wall and simply go inside as to not interrupt him.
But she didn't. Instead she took a long step toward him and exposed herself to the light.
"Good evening, Your Grace," she said.
He spun toward her, his eyes wide and his stance one of defensiveness. When he saw her he relaxed, but not entirely. "I didn't see you there," he said with a shake of his head. "I must be slipping."
She smiled. "You were distracted, it seems."
His eyes narrowed. "I must never be so distracted as to not notice someone at my back."
He sounded so serious that she couldn't help but laugh. "A threat, you mean?" she asked.
"Yes," he said sharply. Then his gaze flitted over her from head to toe. His expression was unreadable, so she had no idea what he thought as he looked at her. "Well, no, I suppose not in this case," he finally conceded.
"You suppose correctly," Celia said, moving a little closer. "I have no weapon, I assure you. I'm not sure where I'd put it in this ridiculous dress."
She motioned to herself, to the green gown that clung to her breasts before cascading in a flow of silk and lace. He followed the motion, but his eyes didn't seem to find their way past her bosom. And it was a heated gaze at that. One that warmed her in the cool night air.
He blinked and jerked his gaze back to hers. "You'd be surprised," he said, and his voice was rougher.
Celia shifted her weight on her feet. Suddenly this conversation felt very inappropriate. She changed the subject with a blush. "The ballroom is very hot. I don't blame you for needing air."
His shoulders relaxed a fraction and he glanced back up at the moon. "It is stifling. Why in the world do they invite so many people? My feet have been trod upon at least ten times-the dance floor can only laughably be called such. And you can hardly hear yourself think, let alone have a proper conversation with those around you."
She examined him carefully. Great God, he was even more handsome when she was nearer to him. She edged even closer and caught the faintest whiff of pine and something smoky. She wanted to lean into it, to lean into him. But she managed to avoid doing something so foolish.
"W-Well," she stammered. "I'm not certain conversation is the purpose of these events, in truth."
He turned to face her and those pale gray eyes caught hers. "Then what is the purpose? I cannot seem to divine it, no matter how intently I study the problem."
She felt speared in place by his attention, his focus. She blinked up at him, mesmerized in a way she'd never experienced with another person on this earth.