A Spring Deception (Seasons Book 2) (22 page)

The door opened as he reached the top step, revealing Danford’s butler. Clairemont forced a smile so his fraud wouldn’t be as evident to everyone as it was to his own rotting heart.

“Good day, Greene,” he said.

“Your Grace.” Greene took his gloves. “Mr. Danford is expecting you and he—”

“Thank you, Greene,” Danford said as he came down the stairs and entered the parlor. “I’ve got him now.”

“Yes, my lord,” Greene said with a slight incline of his head. The butler left and Clairemont turned his false smile on Danford.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Danford.”

Danford clapped him on the back. “Seems like we’re to the point where you can just call me Gray. I’ve never much like being mistered, especially by family and friends.”

Clairemont stiffened. Were they becoming
friends
? He had always actively avoided doing that. Stalwood was the closest thing he had to one.

“Certainly, if you don’t mind my dispensing with the formality,” Clairemont said.

Gray motioned him toward the hall. “I have a feeling soon enough we
will
be family. Might as well get a head start.”

Clairemont’s stomach turned, but he did not deny or confirm Gray’s words. “And where is Celia today?” he asked instead.

“Out with Rosalinde. They were saying something about bonnets, I blocked it out.” Gray laughed. “But I know they have every intention of coming home for tea, so if we hurry through this business, we can join them. Perhaps even take a ride around the park if you’ve time.”

Clairemont slowed his pace. What Gray was doing was folding him into the family. Accepting him as a brother would. And damn, but it felt good. Right.

But it was an illusion and he had more important matters to attend to. “What business is that?” he asked, trying to shift into spy mode.

Gray touched the handle of a door in the hallway and shifted to partially face him. “I’ve been thinking a great deal about what we discussed regarding the canal terminal in Witherhshank. I discovered that Perry was in town, so I arranged for him to join us today. Might as well discuss the concerns in person, yes? It’s always better that way.”

He said the last words as he pressed the door open, and Clairemont froze. Perry was here? Perry, who was one of the few people who had actually met with the
real
Duke of Clairemont before his death? He and the late duke looked somewhat similar, but he doubted it would be enough to fool a friend.

And yet he had no choice. Gray took a step into the room, then turned back with a look of confusion. “Aren’t you joining us, Clairemont?”

He swallowed hard, shifted his weight so he felt the pistol hidden in the waist of his trousers and the knife in his boot. Then he nodded and stepped into Gray’s office.

A man stood within at the fireplace, his back to them. Quickly Clairemont took in every detail. Perry was tall, wiry. He held his weight more on the left, which could indicate he kept his own weapon on the right. His clothes were not quite as fine as those of a man with a title, but he was well enough dressed. Clearly whatever mess he was involved in paid well and he enjoyed the fruits of his treachery.

The man turned slowly. He had a long, sloped nose and a thin-lipped mouth. He rather looked like the rat he was.

He glanced past Gray and his eyes settled on Clairemont, who held his breath, waiting, waiting for the response, judging what he would do once it came. Time seemed to slow as the seconds ticked by on the clock on the mantel.

Finally, Perry’s eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck is this?”

Gray took a step closer and Clairemont bit back a curse. He was between Perry and Clairemont now, in a very dangerous position.

“The Duke of Clairemont,” Gray said. “Your cousin?”

Perry’s face pinched further. “Hell no he ain’t. Just what the hell are you two about?”

He asked the question, but as he did so, he began to shift his position. Clairemont could see the moves on the chessboard and he dove for Gray, throwing him out of the way just as Perry drew a pistol from his waistband. He fired, and Clairemont felt the whistle of the bullet as it passed by him, just cutting through the fabric of his jacket.

He lunged forward and slammed his hand against Perry’s wrist. The pistol fell away, discharging once again as it hit the floor. Perry threw a punch that connected, sending Clairemont reeling backward, and for a moment, he lost his grip on the man.

But Perry seemed in no mood to fight. Instead of staying or even trying to get his fallen gun, he raced out of the room.

“Damn it!” Clairemont cried out as he regained his balance and took off after the man, Gray hard on his heels. Perry shoved Greene aside as he tore through the foyer and slammed out the door, down the stairs.

Clairemont pushed his body, shutting himself off from pain, from fear, from anything except catching this man. If Perry had a horse, he didn’t wait for it, but ran into the street and across it into the park that faced Gray and Rosalinde’s house.

“We’re going to lose him!” Gray called out from behind.

Clairemont jolted. He’s almost forgotten Gray was with him. But he needed the help so he called out, “Go west, I’ll go east. We can cut him off on the lower path near the lake.”

Gray didn’t argue but ran in the direction Clairemont had told him to go. Perry was far out ahead and frustration grew in him. He lunged over a low wall down onto a lower path and pushed his body to its limit. But Perry turned a corner out of the park, and as Clairemont followed, he disappeared into a large crowd of people on the street, waiting for an overturned cart to be cleared.

“Shit!” Clairemont cried out, slamming a hand through his hair as he looked up and down the street. But Perry was gone. “Shit!”

Gray ran up next to him, out of breath as he gasped, “He’s gone?”

Clairemont nodded. “Yes, gone. For now.”

Gray turned toward him, and Clairemont shifted his focus from one danger to the next. Gray’s eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight, and he fisted his hands at his sides.

“I suppose I should thank you for saving my life,” Gray snapped. “But right now the only thing I can think to say to you is, just who the hell are you?”

Clairemont dipped his head. There were times when a blown cover could be explained away. This was not one of them. Gray was too clever and too protective of his family to believe anything but the truth.

“Yes, I think you deserve that answer,” Clairemont conceded. “Let’s go back to your home. I must send a message to…well, I must send a message.”

“And once that’s done, you’re going to explain yourself,
Your Grace
.”

“Your coat is shredded,” Gray said as Clairemont watched him pace around the parlor fifteen minutes later. His message to Stalwood had been sent, he was certain it wouldn’t be long before his superior rushed here.

He wasn’t looking forward to anything about to come.

He glanced down at his coat and saw the damage to the fabric where Perry’s first bullet had ripped through. “Yes.”

“Are you injured?” Gray asked.

Clairemont wrinkled his brow. He hadn’t thought Gray would give a damn considering everything that had happened. Slowly Clairemont shrugged out the coat, pushed the rip in his shirt beneath open and looked. There was a thin line of blood on his left bicep where the bullet had just danced along the skin.

“It’s not bad. I’ve had worse,” he said.

Gray said nothing, but turned to the sideboard and poured a hefty glass of scotch. He returned and handed it to Clairemont. “For the wound. Or for your courage. Whichever needs it more.”

Clairemont dug into his pocket for a handkerchief and dipped it in the glass. He slugged back the remaining liquid before he rubbed the fiery alcohol across the cut. It was like rubbing salt in the wound and he sucked air through his teeth.

“Bloody hell, that hurts.”

Gray glared at him. “Good. Now explain yourself.”

Clairemont shut his eyes briefly. There was no avoiding this, not anymore. The ship had sailed on his lies, on his deception, on whatever bright little life he’d briefly allowed himself to have as Aiden, Duke of Clairemont. Now the pain was here.

Pain he had hoped to avoid for a little while longer. For Celia’s sake more than his own.

“I’m not even sure where to start,” he said. “Or how to make you understand.”

“I have a feeling there is no way I’m going to understand,” Gray spat, and poured himself a drink. He clutched it in his hand tightly. “But try, if you are capable of doing anything but lying.”

Clairemont flinched. Lying was part of his game. Part of how he stayed alive. He’d never wished to be worse at it than now.

“You know the first part,” he said. “I am not the Duke of Clairemont.”

At the parlor door there was a loud sound. Clairemont leapt to his feet and both he and Gray faced the door. There, standing in the entrance, a hatbox at her feet where she had dropped it, stood Celia. Rosalinde stood behind her. But Clairemont only saw Celia. He saw the pain on her face. The confusion.

He hated himself for it.

“What do you mean, Aiden?” she asked, all the blood draining from her face. “What do you mean you aren’t the Duke of Clairemont?”

Celia stared at Aiden, waiting for his answer, waiting for him to say anything at all in response to her question. But it was Gray who stepped forward, not the man she loved.

“Celia, Rosalinde,” he said slowly. “It’s all right. I promise I’ll
make
it all right somehow.”

“Is that blood?” Rosalinde cried out.

Celia jerked her gaze from Aiden’s face to his arm, where her sister pointed. She gasped as she moved toward him, forgetting for the moment everything except for the fact that he was hurt. He stepped back before he recovered the wound with his handkerchief.

“I was shot at. He stepped in the way and saved my life,” Gray said.

Rosalinde made a soft sound of terror in her throat and flew across the room to her husband. “Shot at, Gray? What in the world? Are you injured? Who would do this? Why?” Rosalinde burst out, smoothing her hands over his face, his shoulders, as if to reassure herself that he was well.

How Celia wished to do the same to Aiden, but she didn’t move again. She just stared at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he just looked at her, his expression dark and sorry.

“That’s a lot to cover,” Gray said softly, taking Rosalinde’s hands. “I’m not injured.”

Rosalinde spun on Aiden. “If you saved my husband, I’m in your debt.”

“No, you aren’t,” Aiden finally said, his voice strained. “I’m the reason he was shot at.”

Celia’s hands began to shake and she clenched them at her sides. “Enough of this. Answer my question. If you aren’t the Duke of Clairemont, who are you?”

He bent his head, and there was such a look of pain and defeat on his handsome face that Celia longed to move on him, to wrap her arms around him, to smooth the lines from his face. But even though she didn’t understand what was going on at all, she instinctively recognized that time was over. Whatever Aiden was going to say, it would destroy everything she’d hoped for. She didn’t feel like she could draw full breath anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft in the quiet room. He lifted his gaze and met hers evenly. “It is complicated. I work for the War Department.”

Celia shook her head. That meant very little to her. Was Aiden a soldier?

Gray moved toward him, eyes wide. “You’re a spy,” he said.

“For the crown,” Aiden verified, his gaze still on Celia. “My mission had to do with the real Duke of Clairemont. I came to London to masquerade as him.”

The room around Celia began to spin and she staggered on her feet. Aiden moved toward her, but Rosalinde rushed past, glaring at him as she caught Celia by the waist and silently guided her to the settee. Celia sank down there, covering her face with both hands as she focused on breathing. If this was a dream, she had to wake up.

But when she pinched herself, nothing happened.

“You owe us a great deal more explanation than
that
,” Rosalinde spat. Her anger was clear in her voice even if Celia didn’t lift her head to look at her sister.