“Don’t shut me out,” she said softly.
He let out a ragged breath, his hand lifting at his side like he wanted to touch her but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Then he shook his head.
“This is madness. I must, Celia. Iwill.” He turned and headed for the door. But there he paused, his hand resting against it, his head bent. “I’m ending this. All of this.”
Then he threw the door open with such force that it nearly slammed back on the opposite wall and stalked away, leaving Celia alone with her pain.
She moved to the settee and sank back down, covering her face with her hands. She heard her sister enter, she recognized Rosalinde’s soft footfalls. But Rosalinde said nothing, just sat down next to her and put an arm around her.
Celia kept her face covered, even as she leaned in to the comfort her sister offered. A comfort that would no succeed in making the situation any better.
When Clairemont stalked into Gray’s office, both he and Stalwood looked up from the papers on his desk in surprise.
“That was quick,” Stalwood said. “Is there any problem?”
Clairemont gritted his teeth and tried with all his might to forget the image of Celia’s crestfallen face as he turned away from her. “No,” he ground out. “What do we have?”
Gray glared at him, but then returned his attention to the desk. “I looked through all my correspondence with the real Clairemont, which I gathered here for you both. But I can tell you the only person he insisted I should include in my business was Lord Turner-Camden.”
Stalwood arched a brow. “Turner-Camden?”
Clairemont shook his head as he exchanged a look with Gray. “Who is Turner-Camden?”
Gray folded his arms. “A marquess,” he explained. “A very well-respected one at that.”
Clairemont pinched his lips together. “It’s probably nothing then. Cronyism is hardly treason.”
“I would think the same thing except for something peculiar I noted in one of the letters about the marquess.” Gray pulled out a folded sheet and pointed. “Clairemont refers to him as the Rooster once here.”
Stalwood straightened up and took a long step back from the table, the color draining from his face. Clairemont stared at his mentor, seeing the same shock in him that he felt in himself.
“The Rooster,” they repeated together.
Gray wrinkled his brow. “I thought it odd at the time and again when I read it. Does it mean something to you?”
Stalwood paced away, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Yes,” Clairemont said, his throat suddenly dry. “The Rooster is a notorious traitor. He’s traded in weapons and secrets, he’s killed men by his actions and his own hand. We’ve been tracking him for years, but he’s like a ghost. Could it be him?”
Stalwood faced them both. “I-I don’t know. I have stood at a billiard table with Turner-Camden, chatted with him about the weather, and never suspected. But he is powerful. And rich. Far richer than his title and lands should have made him. It is possible?”
Gray shot a side glance at Clairemont. “Well, it goes to show we never truly know who we invite in.”
Clairemont gripped his fists at his sides. “I deserve that, I suppose.”
“You do,” Gray agreed. “At any rate, I have more. Lord Turner-Camden has not been in Town yet this Season. Some sort of mysterious business has kept him away, though he’s normally quite early in his arrival to London. But he has just arrived and…” Gray looked between the men. “He sent me a message this morning.”
“What?” Clairemont said. “As soon as he arrived?”
“Apparently. It sounded urgent and he specifically mentioned he wanted to discuss the topic of the Duke of Clairemont.”
Stalwood took a long step forward. “Thatiscurious. It sounds like he has something specific on his mind.”
“Indeed, it does,” Gray said.
“So what do we do?” Clairemont asked. “What is our next move?”
Gray folded his arms and leaned back on his desk. “I know exactly what to do. I will invite him here to meet with me. And you’ll be there.”
