Stalwood watched as Clairemont paced away and poured the drink he’d hesitated to take earlier. Clairemont slugged it in one gulp and wished the burn of the liquid would consume him. It didn’t.
“Do you remember the night I found you?” Stalwood said softly.
Clairemont lifted his head slowly, staring at the wall ahead of him with unseeing eyes. He must have been quiet for too long, for his mentor cleared his throat.
“Dane, do you remember?”
Clairemont winced at the use of his real name. If Stalwood was breaking character, he must think Clairemont was in a bad way. He wasn’t wrong in that assessment. At the moment, he felt stretched so thin that he might break.
“Yes, I remember,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“You tried to pick my pocket,” Stalwood said, even though Clairemont had answered in the affirmative.
“When you caught me, I thought I’d be transported for stealing from a titled gentleman.” He turned to face the earl. “I was terrified. Why didn’t you let them take me?”
Stalwood arched a brow. “It’s been over fifteen years since that night and you’ve never once asked that question. Why ask it now?”
Clairemont shifted. “I need the answer now. When I’m failing in every way, I need to know, I suppose.”
Stalwood’s expression softened. He lookedfatherly, and Clairemont took a long, deep breath. This man was his best and only friend. Seeing him like this…it meant a great deal.
“You are a good judge of character,” Stalwood said slowly. “It is one of your best attributes, that judgment. But you’re not the only one who possesses it. I looked into your eyes as the guard was hauling you off and I saw something there. Something deeper than a desperate street ruffian. Something deeper than your position or your anger toward me and the world.”
“What did you see?” Clairemont whispered.
“A good man,” Stalwood said, shaking his head. “A good man who could be taught to be even better. To be great.”
Clairemont stared at him a long time, thinking about his past. Thinking about that pivotal moment in his life when he’d been offered a different way. Thinking about Celia and the lies he was forced to tell her as he drew her near.
“I don’t feel like a good man now,” he admitted. “I feel like a bastard. A cad. I feel as broken and violent as I did when I was that boy you saved from the street. What I’m doing to this woman iswrong.”
“You care for her,” Stalwood said softly.
Clairemont shut his eyes for a brief moment. “I’m beginning to, yes. God help me, yes. I don’t deserve her, but when I’m with her everything falls away. It’s never happened before and I don’t know what to do. I would wager it will never happen again and I don’t know whether to celebrate or mourn that fact.”
“I am sorry you are in this position,” Stalwood said. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t anticipate it, though I should have. You’re young, your life ahead of you. Of course a beautiful young woman, who by all accounts is lovely inside and out, would appeal to you.”
Clairemont shrugged. “And yet what is there to do?” he sighed at last. “The situation is what it is. The best I can do is get through it quickly. To release her from this strange attraction and let her mourn the death of a man who never existed as swiftly as I can.”
Stalwood nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately, thatisthe best thing for her. To finish what you started and walk away before her heart is fully engaged. Before your own is.”
Clairemont frowned. He feared it was too late for that. He swallowed hard and said, “I know. And I will. I don’t want you to worry about me shirking my duty.”
Stalwood slapped a hand on his back. “Dane…Clairemont…I never worried about you doing your duty. After all, I already told you I know you’re a good man. Now, why don’t we have another drink before I leave to prepare for this blasted ball tonight? I think we both earned it.”
Clairemont poured two more drinks. But as they clinked their glasses together, he felt no pleasure. Duty or not, country or not, there was no joy in what he would ultimately do to Celia. Nor in losing her when this was over.
But Stalwood was right. The best thing he could do was make the pain as swift and uncomplicated as possible. Tonight at the ball he would speak to Danford. He would determine the other suspects and dispatch them promptly.
Then he would set Celia free. It was the only way.
Even before he was announced at the door, Celia recognized the moment when Aiden entered the ball. Where before she had been bored and distracted, now there was a crackle of excitement that worked through her. She turned as he swept into the room, all eyes seeking him as hers did.
Beside her, Celia heard her friend Felicity, the Viscountess Barbridge—and Gray and Stenfax’s sister—chuckle. Celia turned to look at her.
“What are you looking so smug about?” she asked.
Felicity shrugged, but there was an impish quality to her quirked lips. “Nothing,” she said in that tone she sometimes used that reminded Celia of her inexperience. Especially next to Felicity’s sophistication.
