His spine stiffened at that thought, and he refocused away from Celia’s charms and back to the matter at hand. He was here with a purpose, and it wasn’t the lovely Miss Fitzgilbert. If he pursued Stalwood’s suggestion, she would only be a tool for him, a means to the end of discovering if Grayson Danford was involved in either the real Clairemont’s traitorous dealings or his death.
Clairemont had firmed his resolve to the best of his ability when the parlor door behind him opened. He turned to face the door and caught his breath. It was not Danford or his wife who entered, but Celia, herself.
Tonight she wore a pale blue gown which matched the color of her eyes to perfection. Her hair was done simply, but little tendrils framed her face, drawing his attention to her smile. Well, her lips. Kissable lips.
He blinked. “Miss Fitzgilbert,” he managed to say, perhaps too loudly for the small room. “Good evening.”
He thought she frowned just slightly when he said her name, but she entered the chamber nonetheless.
“Hello, Your Grace,” she said, motioning him toward the chairs before the fire. “I’ve been sent to greet you in my brother-in-law’s stead. He and my sister are running slightly behind, but they will join us shortly. I hope you aren’t too disappointed.”
“With you as company?” he drawled, allowing her to take a place in front of the fire before he joined her. “How could I be?”
Her cheeks brightened with the slightest color and she smiled. “You and Gray know each other through…business, isn’t it?” she asked.
Clairemont stiffened ever so slightly, watching her carefully. He hadn’t before thought that perhaps Celia and her sister might also be involved, or at least aware, of anything untoward that Danford was involved in. Now that she had broached the subject of his involvement with her brother-in-law, Clairemont had to at least consider the possibility that she had been sent to the room in first as a spy of sorts. Or at least a distraction.
“We met in school a very long time ago,” he responded, easily finding the information that he had been memorizing and internalizing for months. It was remarkably easy to make another man’s story his own. Especially when his own past was something he liked to forget. “But our current relationship was developed around Mr. Danford’s success, yes.”
Celia nodded, but there was no real interest regarding the subject in her eyes. She seemed to be making simple small talk rather than digging for information, for which he found himself happy.
“He married your sister about six months ago, did he not? And you have lived with them in the North Country ever since?”
Once again, her face pinched ever so slightly. He could tell this was not a topic she enjoyed discussing. He found himself leaning forward to read her better.
“I think everyone knows that story,” she said with another fetching blush. “At first I was meant to marry Gray’s brother, the earl. It was an arranged union. But when Gray and Rosalinde fell in love, Stenfax and I set our engagement aside so that they could wed instead.”
Clairemont had known the particulars of that story, thanks to Stalwood. But now he frowned. Celia didn’t seem very happy about the broken engagement. Had she cared for her fiancé? He didn’t like that idea.
“You gave up being a countess? Why would you not marry Stenfax regardless and have two sisters in the same family?”
She shifted and her gaze flitted away. An indication of discomfort…or a lie about to be told.
“My—my grandfather has ambition, I’m afraid,” she said, her voice suddenly low. “He wanted us to marry into two different families in order to increase his connection, his power. I didn’t want Rosalinde to lose a chance at love, so I stepped aside to appease him.”
Clairemont clenched a fist on his thigh. There wassometruth to what she said. But also a great dose of falsehood. And yet he didn’t sense any of it had anything to do with his case. It was a family drama, nothing more. He should dismiss it and dig into something more vital.
Instead, he found himself wondering at the truth, at why Celia Fitzgilbert’s gaze was so sad at this subject. Worse, he found himself wondering how to ease that sadness.
Her gaze flitted back to him. “I-I…” She trailed off and got to her feet, pacing away from him.
He stood out of propriety and watched her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said, casting a quick glance at him. “I had a question that was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have even begun to ask it.”
He moved toward her, unable to stop himself. “Ask your question, Miss Fitzgilbert.”
She turned toward him, lifting her chin as if to steel herself to whatever would come next. “I-I thought perhaps my broken engagement was why you departed the terrace so swiftly the night of the Harrington ball.”
He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Why would your broken engagement mean anything to me?”
She hesitated before she whispered, “It could be seen as a scandal, something to be judged upon.”
He considered his response carefully. “Itseemsas if you committed a selfless act for your sister’s happiness. If anyone were to judge you harshly for that, I would say they were not worth your time.”
She swallowed hard, but a light of happiness brightened her face. He almost withdrew from it. His opinion actually mattered to her. Which meant the unexpected connection he’d felt on the terrace had not been entirely one-sided. He couldn’t deny the thrill that gave him.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
