But that didn't mean he wasn't. And if his wife and her sister were in the dark about his true nature, it might take a private meeting to determine the full truth of this man.
"Speaking of duty," Mrs. Danford said. "It is mine to tell you that Greene has just given me the signal that supper is ready. Shall we continue this conversation there?"
Clairemont inclined his head in the positive and watched as Danford offered an arm to his wife. She smiled up at him, and there was an intimacy that flowed between them, a connection that was difficult to ignore. Whatever Danford was, he and his bride truly adored each other.
Clairemont had never been so close to such a connection before. He found himself wanting to turn away from it. When he did, he came face to face with Celia. She smiled at him, but her lips trembled. Her gaze flitted to her sister and brother-in-law.
"Shall we follow?" she asked, her expression one of anticipation.
He shook away his reaction and recalled his manners. He offered her an arm and she hesitated just a fraction before she took it. Her delicate hand folded around his bicep and he stiffened. This was the first time she'd touched him, and it triggered awareness in every part of his body. Especially his cock, which began to remind him exactly what he would like to do with the lady at his side.
He ignored it as best he could, hoping it wouldn't take on a life of its own, and stepped out to lead her behind Mr. and Mrs. Danford.
"I see why you gave up your future as a countess for them," he said softly.
She jerked her face toward his. "Do you? Oh, you mean their connection. Yes, it's quite something isn't it?"
He nodded. "Indeed. You rarely see that in Society."
"They are, well, they are remarkable, I suppose." She looked toward them again, and even in profile he saw a bit of longing on her face. "It makes one believe in fairy tales."
"Fairy tales," he repeated, keeping an eye on her even as he guided them closer to the dining room where Danford and his wife were entering. "Are you saying you'd like to be rescued from a tower by a prince?"
A pink blush filled her cheeks, but she lifted her chin. "I suppose it would depend on the prince, Your Grace."
He couldn't reply, for they entered the room and he was forced to release her so they could sit. But as he settled into his chair across from her, he had ample opportunity to look at her lovely face. She was right about her observation. The wrong prince could be worse than no prince at all.
And he was most definitely the wrong prince.
Celia looked at her half-empty plate and sighed. Supper had seemed to fly by, and now it was nearing an end. She didn't like that, for she was having a very good time
Since coming to stay with her sister months ago, she had often felt like an extra, unneeded wheel. Gray and Rosalinde were so young in their marriage and so passionately in love. They didn't mean to exclude her, but there were times when they exchanged glances and unspoken communication over her head that shut her out.
But tonight was very different. Clairemont's presence made the night more interesting, indeed.
Perhaps because he was interesting. He could easily speak on matters of politics and literature, business and nature. He was intelligent, but it was a quiet kind of intelligence, not the arrogant boasting she sometimes saw men of his rank display.
Beyond that, he actually seemed interested in her. He'd encouraged her to participate in their conversations, even leaning forward when she spoke, as if he hung on her every word. Between that and their encounter in the parlor, she couldn't help but feel that they were beginning to create a connection.
There was a thrill low in her belly when she allowed that thought to settle into her body.
The servants came in and took the empty plates, and Gray rose. "What say we take a glass of port in my office?" he said to Clairemont. "We can rejoin the ladies in a short while."
Clairemont got to his feet with a nod. "I would like that." He inclined his head toward Rosalinde. "Ladies."
He turned his attentions toward Celia, and she froze as his gray gaze held hers. She felt pinned in her spot by it, held steady by his even regard. The breath left her lungs and her head spun a little. She was only set free when he turned away and followed Gray from the room.
She sucked in a breath once he was gone, and leaned back in her chair. She felt Rosalinde staring at her and knew she'd have to look at her sister at some point, but she was so out of sorts that she could hardly do it.
"Well, well, well, Miss He-May-Judge-Me-On-My-Broken-Engagement," Rosalinde said with a laugh. "It seems you read that situation entirely wrong."
Celia at last allowed herself to look at Rosalinde, and couldn't help the wide smile that broke across her face. "Yes, it seems it didn't matter to him in the slightest. He even told me that if someone would judge me for such a thing, he didn't think they would be worth knowing."
Rosalinde tilted her head in surprise. "You brought up the subject?"
"I took a page from your book," Celia said as she got to her feet and smoothed her hands along the front of her gown reflexively. "You've always been so honest with your feelings, so open-I thought it wouldn't hurt to try the same in this instance."
Rosalinde also rose and moved toward her. Celia could feel her sister trying to read her, trying to see deeper into her soul. There was no locking her out, they were just too close. And Celia didn't particularly feel as though she had anything to hide.
"I'm glad you took a risk," Rosalinde said at last, then slipped her arm through Celia's as they exited the dining room. She took them down the hall to a parlor where the men would join them later. "He is an interesting fellow, isn't he?"
Celia nodded, releasing her sister's arm and pacing around the room restlessly. Thoughts of Clairemont seemed to inspire that in her. Rosalinde sat and watched her, a soft smile on her face.
"Oh, he is," Celia agreed. "Very intelligent, don't you think?"
"He seems very intelligent," Rosalinde agreed.
"And handsome." Celia thought of his full lips, his expressive face. "Quite possibly the most handsome man I've ever seen."
Rosalinde laughed. "There I cannot agree with you, but to each her own."
"But I'm ahead of myself, aren't I?" Celia asked, facing Rosalinde. "I've only just met him, and he came here to meet with Gray, not to see me. I'm reading too much into a simple supper. I'll get my hopes up and they'll be dashed."
Rosalinde frowned. "My dear, while I certainly wouldn't start buying your wedding trousseau quite yet, I think you are not entirely unfounded in your excitement. It's clear you like this man, for I've never seen you so aflutter. But it's also clear that he likes you. He was attentive at supper, he watched you even when you were not looking at him-there is much evidence that his coming here was guided by you as much as Gray."
"Do you think so?" Celia asked, clasping her hands together. "I fear I'm badly influenced by you."
Rosalinde shook her head. "What do you mean?"
"It's almost impossible to live in the same house as you and Gray and not be inspired by your affection for each other. I fear I may be looking for something that might not exist, at least not for me."
Rosalinde got up and came to her, wrapping her arms around her waist as she met Celia's gaze. "Now you are ten steps ahead of yourself. Do you like this man?"
Celia nodded. "I do."
"Then that is a fine start. Whatever comes next will happen naturally." Rosalinde kissed her cheek. "And you deserve a great deal of happiness, so I will intervene if I feel you won't receive it."
"Big sister to the rescue." Celia laughed. "Good, I will trust you to steer me correctly."
Rosalinde broke away with her own laugh and both of them took a place on the settee this time. Celia sighed as her thoughts moved from ones of Clairemont to the further reaching consequences if their new connection did blossom.
"He's a duke," she said softly.
"He is," Rosalinde said. "Would you ask me to curtsey when I meet with you if you were to marry him?"
"Of course not." Celia didn't laugh at her sister's teasing, but shifted. "I-I was just thinking that Grandfather would be very happy if I were to wed him. A duke, and one with money and power, is a far better catch in his eyes than the earl he despises me for breaking with."
Rosalinde stiffened and one of her hands lifted to her throat. Celia flinched at the instinctive action. The last time either of them had seen their grandfather, the man who had raised them, was just before Rosalinde's wedding. He had attacked her, trying to choke her to death. He might have succeeded too, if it weren't for Gray's violent intervention.
Neither woman had heard a peep from him since. Not a threat. Not a conciliatory apology. Not a holiday wish. He was in London, of course, but he hadn't tried to come in contact with them since their recent arrival.
"Do you care what Grandfather thinks?" Rosalinde asked softly, her voice catching just a touch.
"No," Celia said. "I despise him for what he did to you, for his attempt at blackmailing me into wedding a title for his ambition. But Rosalinde, Gray's attempts at uncovering the true identity of our father have been unsuccessful. The only man with that information seems to be Grandfather. If I were to be pursued by a duke, it could give us a bargaining chip for that information."