A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2)(43)

Stalwood's stern face slowly brightened with a smile. "Then you are worthy of him, it seems." He sighed. "If you'd like, I'll tell you where he is."

Her lips parted in surprise. "You will?"

He nodded. "But I warn you, he won't make it easy for you. He wants to protect you from what he thinks he is and what he believes he'll always be. You'll need something to help convince him to let go of the past, let go of what he thinks he should do, and turn to you. I'll give it to you and the rest is up to you."

She moved forward, catching Stalwood's hand gently. He looked down at her in surprise and she smiled, the first glimmer of hope rising in her like a phoenix from a fire.

"I will fight for him, my lord."

"Excellent," he said, squeezing her hand. "He deserves nothing less, after all."





Chapter Twenty-Five





Although it was only spring, the sun was still warm on John's back as he swung the axe and split another log in two. Without a shirt, sweat crept down his back and stung what remained of the wounds on his shoulder and his arm, but he ignored it. The physical labor kept his mind too tired to think. To remember. So he exhausted himself during the day and prayed for the nights-and the dreams that came with them-to end swiftly.         

     



 

It never worked. The emptiness inside of him was too vast, too deep. He thought every moment of Celia. Dreamed of Celia. Saw her everywhere he went.

"John."

He froze. Now he was even hearing her on the wind. Except it didn't seem like an illusion. It truly felt like her voice creeping over to him, wrapping around him like her warm fingers had once done.

"John."

He turned, knowing now that the voice was not his imagination. There, standing out in the middle of the field, was Celia. She wore a pale blue gown that matched her eyes, and a bonnet dangled from her fingers so he could see the coiled beauty of her dark hair.

She dropped the hat and ran for him. And even though he knew he shouldn't, he dropped the axe and moved toward her at equal speed. They met in the middle, mouths crushing together with no finesse, but all the passion that existed between them. She clawed at his bare flesh, lifting into him as she flattened her body to his.

He was ready to surrender, ready to let his heart take over from his head, but there was a small part of him that screamed at him to stop. To pull away because she was not his. She never could be.

It took everything in him to listen to that voice. To set her aside gently and back away.

"What are you doing here?" he panted, trying to stay upright when his knees threatened to buckle in the face of her beauty.

She smiled at him, actually smiled, as if there was nothing to stop her. "I came for you, John."

It sounded so easy that he nearly moved toward her. Instead, he stepped farther away, holding up a hand to ward her off. "No, no. It's not possible."

She sighed, reaching for him still. "Let me come in. Let me talk to you. If you still feel it's impossible, I'll go."

He stared at her outstretched fingers, at her upturned face. If he let her into the cottage he had taken during his break, he knew it would never be the same. He would see her there and smell her there until the day he left.

He wanted that and feared it in equal measure.

But he couldn't refuse her. So he took her hand and led her to the house. Once inside, he found the shirt he had discarded to do his work. When he'd put it on he turned. She was standing in the middle of the big, open room, looking around with a smile.

"I like it," she said. "It's cozy."

"It isn't mine," he explained, going to the fire to stir it and adding a pot of water to make tea. "I'm only letting it until my next case begins."

Her mouth tugged down. "I see."

"How are you here, Celia?" he asked. "How did you find me?"

She shrugged. "Gray and Rosalinde brought me. They left me at the end of the lane. They won't return for a while now."

He blinked. "They knew you were coming to find me and they left you alone?"

"I think they assume my intentions are far less honorable than yours will be," she said with a light laugh.

He couldn't help his own small smile. "They don't know at all, do they?"

They couldn't. All he wanted to do was lay her down on the rug in the middle of the room, to strip her bare and make love to her until she was shaking with release, begging him to stop, begging him to never stop. Claiming her until there was nothing left but him.

He turned away. "And you found me how?"

"Stalwood," she said softly.

He spun on her. "No."

She nodded. "Yes."

He swallowed back a salty curse. He was going to have to have a stern conversation with the earl when he next saw him. To send Celia to him was unkind. Bordering on cruel. How could Stalworth do it?

"I love you."

She said the words so calmly, so softly, and yet there was a certainty on her face that spoke of her strength. Her determination. He couldn't help but stare. Was this all a dream after all?

"Did you hear me?" she asked, taking a step toward him.

"No, Celia," he said past a bone-dry throat. "You-you love an illusion."

"You know my mind now?" she asked, her tone laced with annoyance. "You may think you do, but you have no idea. I love John Dane. You. And having just been in your arms, I assure you, you are no illusion. You are wonderfully real, though you're wearing too many clothes at present."

He shook his head. "You are playful with something so serious."

She folded her arms. "You're right. My love for you is entirely serious. I'm glad you recognize it."

He slammed his hand down on a tabletop. "Damn it, Celia. Stop saying that. Don't waste something so precious as your love on a man like me."

She moved again, and he hadn't the strength to step away. She reached him but didn't touch him. She only stared up into his eyes and said, "What I feel is not a waste. I love you. And what's more, you love me."         

     



 

With her eyes, she dared him to deny it. Dared him to be strong enough. But he wasn't. Not when her scent filled his nostrils, not when he could feel her warmth that was more powerful than a dozen suns. Not when she seemed so certain.

"I do love you," he choked out, hating that his eyes filled with tears when he said it. He'd never said it to anyone in his life, never once before. Now it filled him to the brim and made everything tilt sidewise so he had to fight to remain upright. "But if I got down on a knee now and offered myself to you, it would be an offer of nothing. No title, no grand amount of money, no big house on a hill."

She wrinkled her brow. "I'm not sure where everyone got the idea that I am some title-hungry money-grabber, but I assure you it is not true. If I were to have you, all of you, that would be more than enough for me. None of the rest ever meant anything to me."

"And what about your grandfather's secret?" he asked.

"You must be reaching if you invoke him as a talisman against me. You told me already not to go back to him. Even if I did, I have no duke now. If I could land one, I know Grandfather could very well be lying. He might never give me the information I seek. I would have to surrender a happy future for an empty past."

He shut his eyes. She was determined and what she offered was so fucking tempting. A life he'd never believed he deserved, a future he hadn't dared plan for.

But it was all a risk and he found he was … afraid. He, who had faced down villains so vile they would make an average man's stomach turn. He, who had escaped a past of violence and poverty.

This slip of a woman and all she offered terrified him. Made him desperate to find a way to turn her aside so he wouldn't run out of excuses to keep running from something so powerful as her love.

"And the War Department?" he asked. "What would you think of that life? It has already endangered you once."

She dug into her pelisse pocket and handed out a note to him. It was folded and he recognized the handwriting across the face even before she said, "From Stalwood. He told me to give you this once you tried to use the department against me."

He took it and slowly unfolded it. He read it, stared at her and repeated the reading, this time out loud. "‘John, you are hereby discharged from the service of the king, with great honor and a generous lifetime pension to follow. Be happy, John. Be free. All my love, Walter.'"

He read the last line over and over, feeling his mentor's love in the shaking handwriting. Seeing how Stalwood had taken away his last refuge from true happiness. Loving and hating him for him at once.

"He let you go," Celia said, her surprise plain on her face. "I didn't know."

"He didn't tell you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. He said this might help you decide. I-I would say I'm sorry to take this from you, but-"

"If I refused you, I know he would take me back. He's setting me free to give me a future." He folded the note and put it aside on the table. "He's sending me to you. Even though he should know damn well it's impossible."

"You keep saying that," she said, lifting a hand to cover his heart. Immediately the rhythm there doubled. "But it's not true. The love is all that matters, so it isn't impossible unless you chose to make it so."