It was a strange thing to feel so out of sorts, even out of control. Normally he was completely at ease in any situation a case took him to.
He’d participated in dozens of assignments during his career with the War Department. He’d played a role in every one of them, sometimes complicated roles with many things to remember. There had even been accents he had to keep consistent. So playing the part of a reclusive duke who no one knew much about shouldn’t have caused him this much consternation. In fact, itshouldhave been easy.
And yet it wasn’t. This was swiftly becoming the most difficult case of his career. Worse, he was coming to realize that there was onlyonereason he faltered in his act, and that reason was Celia.
He let his gaze slip down the table to her. Outside she had asked him about his past and he had wanted to tell her everything. He’d wanted to spill out secrets no one in this world knew, not even Lord Stalwood, the mentor and friend who had plucked him from the desperate circumstances he’d grown up in.
In the garden, he’d wanted to take Celia’s hands, look into her eyes and whisper to her about loss and poverty and abuse, to explain how he’d overcome it all. To explain how all of it had shaped him and how the memories of those dark times drove him, even to this day.
Except he couldn’t. Becausethatwasn’t Clairemont’s story. And it wasthatbastard’s tale he had to tell and live inside. His own skin, his own past, his own life meant nothing.
“Of course, you know perfectly well how surprised and fascinated people are by your return to Society,” Danford said.
Clairemont blinked. Here was further proof he wasn’t on his game, for he hadn’t been paying any attention at all to the words of the very man he was meant to be investigating. Words that brought his situation, being another man, perfectly into focus.
He forced a smile as he took on the role of duke once more. “You know theton—they’re forever fascinated by the newest thing.”
Danford laughed. “Indeed,thatis true. Society as a whole seems to have the attention span of a gnat.”
“Which can be useful if you’re trying to overcome a scandal,” Celia said softly. The eyes of each person at the table slid to her, and she shrugged.
Clairemont stiffened at the soft sadness in her eyes. Was she thinking of her broken engagement?
“Celia,” Mrs. Danford breathed, her voice laced with pain for her sister.
“Don’t all look at me that way,” Celia said, suddenly laughing and breaking the tension of the room. “I didn’t necessarily meanmyscandal, which has been minor at worst. I meant scandal in general.”
Neither of the Danfords looked completely certain of the veracity of Celia’s statement, but Clairemont could see she didn’t wish for the subject to be pressed. So he nodded.
“You are right about that,” he said. “And it shall play into my hand if I’m lucky.”
“What do you mean?” Celia asked, though there was no mistaking her brief smile of thanks that he had taken the attention off her with his words. He felt like his chest puffed when she looked at him that way.
Dangerous.
“My hope is that in a few weeks therewillbe a new scandal or something else that will divert their attention again andIwill no longer be their focus.” He shook his head. “I do not enjoy the role of prodigal son returned.”
He sighed, for that was a totally accurate description of what he hoped. He still got far too many invitations and glances and unexpected visitors at his home. News of his courtship of Celia hadn’t fully filtered into Society at large. Or perhaps it had and some of the more mercenary women just didn’t give a damn. Until he was fully caught in a marriage knot, he was still catchable.
“I suppose you’re right—it isn’t much of a surprise that they chatter.” Danford leaned back as a servant took his now-empty plate. “What surprises me more, to be frank, is that you disappeared from Society in the first place.”
Clairemont kept his expression calm. He had spent months studying this very subject, trying to determine why the real duke had fled good company and holed himself up in his castle to plot against his own countrymen. From the man’s diaries and letters, Clairemont had some vague thoughts on the matter, but there were pieces of the duke that would always be private. Stories he would have to concoct on his own.
This was one of them.
“My father’s death was difficult,” he said. “And I was given a great deal of responsibility at a young age. I suppose at first I was overwhelmed by it all. And later, as I stayed away longer and longer, it became harder to return.”
He watched Danford’s face for a reaction, a flutter that said he didn’t believe him or that he knew better. But there was none.
“I must say it is a pleasure to have you back,” Mrs. Danford said, drawing Clairemont’s attention to her. “You’ve certainly made this season more…” She shot her sister a pointed look that made Celia’s cheeks brighten with color. “Interesting. But if you don’t mind my asking, what brought about your return to London this year over any other?”
“A man of my rank has a duty,” Clairemont said. “I have avoided it far too long.”
“And which duty is that?” she pressed.
Clairemont arched a brow. “To marry.”
From letters and other records, he knew the real duke trulyhadbeen concerned with that fact. Only Clairemont had been more interested in bringing women to his castle to “test” them. He shuddered to think of what that would have entailed for those unlucky enough to be chosen, had he followed through with his plans. The female servants in the real duke’s employ suffered enough under the man.
