“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 thewrongprince.
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 becausehewas 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 inher. 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 readthatsituation 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?”
