Perfect Kisses

Chapter One

London, April 1829

Her pulse racing, Claire Russell pulled the hood of her cloak lower over her forehead, pushed her auburn curls farther out of sight and knocked on the door of the private residence. She dearly hoped the doorman wouldn’t require an invitation since she had none.

She needn’t have worried. After opening the door, the liveried footman merely nodded and bowed her in. Apparently, the guest list for the private masquerade was unrestricted.

Actually, Viscount Ormond was not so democratically disposed. His servants had been instructed to admit pretty ladies regardless of rank, but others were not welcome save if they carried a chit from him.

Claire knew nothing of the viscount’s particular style of hospitality, but had she known, it would have only confirmed her jaundiced opinion of him. James Bell, Viscount Ormond, heir to an earldom that would soon be his if the present earl continued drinking to excess, was an unabashed rake, infamous for his dissipation and amorous pursuits. That he was, unfortunately, also famous for his vast wealth, stunning good looks, and prodigal charm was the reason Claire had come to this den of iniquity.

Her silly younger sister had fallen under the viscount’s spell and foolishly labored under the illusion that his recent flattering attentions were genuine. Harriet viewed the viscount’s gifts and posies, the strolls in the park when they’d chance to meet, and his billets-doux as a bona fide courtship.

Not that their equally foolish aunt, who served as their guardian, wasn’t all atwitter as well that a peer of Ormond’s rank and fortune was paying court to Harriet. As if a man of Ormond’s dissolute repute was interested in more than an amorous fling with a frivolous young beauty like Harriet with no family of distinction and even less wealth.

Claire’s cautionary warnings, however, had gone unheeded.

Her aunt’s responses always followed a similar vein: “Just because you’re quite on the shelf, my dear,” her aunt would admonish, “is no reason to thwart dear Harriet’s matrimonial prospects. Ormond is vastly enamored of your sister.” Mrs. Bellingham would then smile smugly at Harriet as if giving her blessing to the union.

Harriet’s comments had been less spiteful, but equally dismissive. “Now, Cleery, sorry as I might be that you were jilted by George Porter, you can’t wish for me to suffer the same fate? And when I become viscountess, I shall be able to offer you any number of eligible men as suitors. Just think of it,” Harriet cheerfully asserted, “we shall all live in splendor.”

But illusory matrimonial hopes aside, Harriet’s response to Ormond’s masquerade invitation was the height of folly. Although, Harriet had slipped out tonight, Claire suspected, with their aunt’s approval.

And now she, the only prudent member of their family, had arrived on the scene to save her sister from the viscount’s sordid designs.

The sounds of revelry were readily apparent as Claire moved up the stairs to the reception rooms-waltz music conducive to intimate contact, boisterous explosions of laughter, the occasional high-pitched female squeals gave evidence that the festivities were well apace.

As Claire came to rest in the doorway to the ballroom a few moments later, her very worst fears were realized.

The guests in their dominoes and masks were dancing in shockingly friendly embraces. Some couples were walking from the room hand in hand, in search of more privacy she didn’t doubt. A tipsy young woman of the demimonde from her appearance was making a spectacle of herself, twirling wildly so her skirts flared high revealing her shapely legs.

Claire literally gasped as one young buck caressed his dance partner’s breast right before her eyes.

Clutching her cloak tightly, as if it would serve to shield her, she nervously scanned the room, searching for her sister.

Neither she nor Harriet were so fine that either of them possessed a fashionable black domino, so she surveyed the crowd for a glimpse of Harriet’s blue silk cloak. It was sky blue like her sister’s eyes; it should stand out in the throng of black cloaks if she was still here. At the thought, Claire’s heart sank.

What if she were too late?

What if the viscount’s renowned seductive skills were already in play?

Her young sister would be ruined.

Claire stepped into the room, determined to brave the raucous crowd for the sake of Harriet’s future. Threading her way through the throng, she avoided those groups most in their cups, dodged the occasional importuning hand, on two occasions offered such a forbidding look and set-down to lewd invitations, that the young men jumped back as if burned.

Her piercing gaze, sharp tongue, and air of command had it advantages.

Finally, just as she was about to despair of finding her sister, she saw Harriet and the notorious James Bell near one of the far windows overlooking the street. The viscount was leaning back against the narrow wall of the alcove, floor to ceiling French doors to his right, the ballroom to his left, and Harriet in his arms.

Her face was raised to him as though waiting for his kiss.

Taking his cue, he did exactly that. He kissed her.

For so lengthy an interval that Claire was able to approach them unheeded.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Claire said, keeping her tone severe even as she grappled with the powerful impact of the viscount’s outrageous beauty. “My sister is not allowed at entertainments such as this. Come, Harriet. I’m here to take you home.”

The viscount had looked up lazily when Claire had first spoken, but had neither moved, released Harriet, nor altered his expression. “And you are?” he finally drawled, his heavy-lidded gaze surveying Claire from head to toe before coming back to rest on her face.

“I am Claire Russell, Harriet’s older sister and I must insist that you release her immediately. It is wholly inappropriate for her to be in attendance here. As you well know, Harriet,” she added, turning to her sister.

“Auntie said I could come,” Harriet mutinously retorted, her pretty mouth pursed in a pout.

“Our aunt was no doubt mistaken about the style of entertainment.” Claire refused to admit that her aunt would stoop so low in order to snare a man like Ormond. Although, from the viscount’s sudden amused expression, she rather thought he already knew.

“Why don’t I have a servant see your sister home,” the viscount graciously offered, pushing away from the wall and easing Harriet back a step. “I’ll take you riding in the park tomorrow, poppet,” he added, smiling to assuage Harriet’s frown. He lifted his hand in a negligent gesture and was immediately acknowledged by a footman, the man seemingly materializing out of thin air. “There, now, my sweet,” the viscount said, brushing Harriet’s cheek with his finger. “Jordan will see you home. And I shall call on you tomorrow at four.”

Harriet glared at her sister. “You are ever so vexing, Cleery. Do go away,” she pettishly said. “I am not a child you can order about!”

Ormond nodded at his footman and a look of understanding passed between them. “Now, now, don’t chide your sister,” the viscount calmly murmured. “She’s merely concerned with the-ah…environment. And on second thought, I believe she’s right.”

“I appreciate your understanding,” Claire replied, coolly. “Come, Harriet.” Fully expecting to be obeyed, she turned to go.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Russell.” The viscount seized her arm with a quickness that belied his fashionable languor and pulled her back. “Perhaps you might stay a moment. We could discuss the-er-situation. Go now, poppet,” he urged since Harriet gave no appearance of obeying her sister. “I’m sure your sister is anxious to ring a peal over my head.” He smiled at Harriet to allay the sudden suspicion in her gaze. “I shall set this all right and tomorrow you and I will ride in Hyde Park. Would that please you?”

“Oh, very well,” Harriet grumbled with the petulance common to women who were widely admired for their beauty. Ormond couldn’t possibly be interested in Claire anyway unless he was a devotee of blue-stocking women which she very well knew he wasn’t. And riding with him in Hyde Park tomorrow for all the world to see would be ever so delicious. She shot a fretful glance at her sister. “Cleery ruined everything tonight anyway.”

“Indeed,” the viscount said with a faint smile. His lashes lowered almost infinitesimally and taking his cue, Jordan stepped forward to escort Harriet home.

And a moment later, Claire found herself alone with the man reputed to be the most handsome man in England.

Nor could she honestly deny the designation.

In truth-any woman, not just an innocent like her sister-would be hard-pressed to withstand his brute virility. His dark, sensual gaze seemed to offer ravishment and pleasure in equal measure while his muscled form was conspicuous even beneath his fine tailoring and indolent pose.

Quickly taking herself to task, she sternly reminded herself why she had come to this debauch: To save Harriet from disaster. To allow herself to be even fleetingly captivated by a flagrant libertine like Ormond was inexcusable.

Overcompensating perhaps for her injudicious thoughts, she addressed him with rare hauteur. “We really have nothing to discuss, my lord. I certainly have no intention of ringing a peal over your head. I doubt it would do any good. May I only state, firmly and clearly, that I do not wish Harriet to become involved with a man such as yourself.” Her duty done, once again she turned to leave.

And once again he stopped her, clasping her wrist lightly. “And what kind of man might that be?” he asked with a teasing smile.

She shook off his hold. “I need not explain the particulars to you, sir. Your reputation is one of long standing. Surely you know what you are.”

“Would you like tea, Miss Russell?”

She was taken aback, by his invitation and the manner of its delivery. His deep voice was inexpressibly attractive-amiable and gentle as though she’d not just disparaged him, as though they were friends and social equals. Which they clearly were not. Reminded of the vast disparity in their stations, prompted as well to recall his reputation for charming women, Claire replied, briskly, “No, thank you.”

“Sherry, perhaps.”

“No.”

“Ratafia? Women like it for some reason.” His grin was boyish. “I would dearly like you to stay and speak with me-about your sister,” he added, as though in afterthought. “You’re not afraid, are you?” he murmured. “I assure you, much as you may dislike me, I do not, I think, have a reputation for violence to women.”

Nor would he have to, Claire decided, succumbing partially to his avowal…and perhaps to his great beauty as well. His black hair was artfully arranged in stylish disarray, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes were mesmerizing, his stark features were saved from harshness by his provocatively sensual mouth. Nor would he ever be judged effeminate even with his glorious looks, for he was all honed muscle and strength. Even elegant evening rig could not disguise the athletic power beneath the superb tailoring. She looked up to find his amused gaze on her, as though he was familiar with female adulation. “I’m sorry, I really must leave,” she firmly said. Sensible by nature, she knew better than to trust an invitation from a man like Ormond.

“Let me see you home.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Do you have a carriage outside?”

“No.” He knew very well they couldn’t afford a carriage.

“Surely I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you safe transit at this time of night. We could find a duenna if you wish. I have a housekeeper somewhere on the premises.”

Would he think her completely ludicrous if she refused such an innocuous offer? Was she indeed foolish to reject a ride home at this time of night? How much did decorum and propriety matter when she was at risk on the streets?

And he had offered a chaperone.

Perhaps his smile or his grand handsomeness-or perhaps his effortless charm-weighted her decision. Or maybe it was the simple delight she felt in having a man look at her the way he was…after so long. Whatever the reason she heard herself saying, “Very well. Thank you for the offer. Truth be told, it was a bit frightening making my way here tonight.” Terrifying in fact-the night streets of London were not for the faint of heart. “I confess I ran most of the way.”

“You didn’t bring a maid or manservant?”

“No.” She hadn’t dared; if anyone else knew of Harriet’s indiscretion it could have meant her ruin.

“Ah,” he said, softly.

“You know very well why.” Suddenly aware of a strange, restive light in his eyes, understanding a chaperone from his household might not be completely trustworthy, she lied without a qualm. “I left a note for my aunt should something untoward befall me.”

“I see. Very prudent, I’m sure. Does that mean I may dispense with rousing my housekeeper from her sleep?” He smiled, his gaze once again benign.

She hesitated, trying to reconcile her lie with his query. “If you give me your word,” she finally said.

“Of course, you have my word. Shall we?” Crooking his elbow, he offered her his arm, fully aware she’d not defined the exactitude of what she meant by his word. Nor had he.

Chapter Two

The viscount’s carriage was brought up with all speed, Claire was handed in, Ormond spoke briefly to his driver and then joined her. Sliding into a lazy sprawl beside her, he took note as she shifted in the seat to distance herself from him. Not that the narrow confines of the carriage allowed much distance.

“I have no grand designs on your sister,” he offered, as though to assuage both her immediate and future fears. “Please rest easy on that score.”

Her gaze was direct. “You and I both know your designs on Harriet are very much less than grand, so I shall not rest easy until you stop amusing yourself with my naive sister.”

“And you are not naive?”

“Not in the least.”

His brows lifted minutely. “Why is that?”

“I live in the real world, not in some fairyland like Harriet. Poor darling thinks wealthy, titled men actually marry women without family or fortune.”

“It’s not unheard of,” he pointed out.

“Are you implying you intend to propose?” she silkily murmured.

“No.”

“I thought not.” Her retort was a blunt as his. “Now if you’d tell Harriet as much, we could both get on with our lives. You would be free to pursue some other silly chit and I could stop monitoring my sister’s activities.”

“Even if I do what you wish, you may still find yourself chasing after Harriet.” He chose not to say that the pretty little baggage had given him the impression she was more than willing.

Claire was not obtuse. She understood what he meant. “It’s not Harriet’s fault entirely. I’m afraid our aunt has been filling her head with impossible dreams. My sister is not fast and loose.”

In his experience women of every stamp were inclined to be amenable when a title and fortune were involved. But the viscount merely smiled and said with deprecating good humor, “So it’s not my charm that attracts your sister.”

“Not exclusively,” Claire said, smiling back at him for the first time, succumbing to his casual humility-a rarity in men of his class. “Although, surely you know that wealth is the prime allure in the ton.”

“How is it then,” he murmured, reaching out and shoving her hood aside so he could better see her face in the glow of the carriage lamps, “that you are indifferent to its attraction when your sister is not? Furthermore,” he said more softly as he took in her delicate features, green eyes, and lush mouth with the critical eye of a connoisseur, “why are you so intriguing while your sister is merely pretty.”

“Don’t,” Claire protested, pulling up her hood, purposefully resisting his flattery.

“Humor me,” he murmured, slipping her hood off again. “I’m just admiring your hair. My mother’s hair was the same color.”

His voice had taken on a sudden gentleness and she remembered hearing the stories. How his beautiful mother and her lover had died in a carriage accident on the road to Dover-not that anyone blamed the countess for fleeing from her depraved husband. That the viscount refused to live with his father afterward was added scandal; he’d set up his own establishment though he was scarce sixteen. “It’s an unfashionable color now, I’m told.” She didn’t speak of the circumstances of his mother’s death, though the rumors had followed him. Nor did she wish to offer sympathy to a man like Ormond who had overcome his sorrow by availing himself of every vice and excess without regard for the females he’d ruthlessly discarded in the process.

“I find that the fashionable world is often in error.” His voice, like hers, was without emotion, as though they both were carefully weighing their words. “Harriet tells me you’ve lost your parents, too,” he said.

He spoke as if his father was dead, she thought. “Yes…four years ago. Our parents died of the putrid throat. We are wards of our aunt as you no doubt know-or rather Harriet is. I am not.” Please, God, may she soon be quit of this carriage. His nearness was becoming disquieting.

“Harriet refers to you as a spinster,” he said with a teasing grin-apparently untroubled by their close proximity.

“A very contented spinster.” She refused to respond to his boyish grin, intent on retaining her composure. “Unlike Harriet, we’re not all looking to marriage as our salvation,” she pithily added, wishing him to understand that she was not as gullible as the other women who came within his scope.

“Then you and I should get along famously,” he drawled.

She sent him a withering glance. “There is no you and I.”

His brows rose in teasing rejoinder. “I could make it worth your while. My fortune is considerable-and as you previously noted, alluring.”

“Not to everyone, my lord. I choose to earn my own way in the world.”

“Good God. Doing what?” The only women he knew who earned their own way were in the demimonde.

“I have a school for young ladies.”

“How commendable.”

“A necessity. I don’t wish to be beholden to my aunt.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Men like you have never known privation.”

“Or perhaps men like me-as you so censoriously remark-have known other kinds of privation.” Overcome by an unexpected sense of sadness-raw as the day he watched his mother die-he looked away for a moment. He must be overtired, he decided. When had he last slept? He couldn’t remember. Turning to his usual remedy for melancholy, he leaned down and pulled out a flask from under the seat. “Whiskey?” Uncorking the chased silver container, he held it out to her.

“No, thank you.” A stiff, discouraging response.

Perhaps it might have been to others; Ormond took no notice. “If you don’t mind,” he drawled, already lifting the flask to his mouth. Draining it in one long draught, he took note of her rigid posture and murmured, “No need for alarm. I never get drunk.” He smiled tightly. “In contrast to my father who has never been sober,” he added, each word filled with loathing.

“I’m sorry.” She made a small moue-reluctant to find herself feeling compassion for Ormond who would have seduced Harriet without a qualm.

“No, you’re not.” Corking the flask, he tossed it on the opposite seat.

“Rather, I don’t wish to be.”

“Because of Harriet.”

“Of course. You would have dishonored her.”

He didn’t answer. He shrugged instead. “She wasn’t exactly unwilling.”

“She’s young and stupid. You are neither.”

“What do you want me to say? It’s the way of the world.” He shrugged again. “And I’m no saint.”

“Just kindly stay away from her.”

He held her gaze for a moment in the dimly lit interior, a willful fire in his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’m not interested.”

Immune to the reproof in her voice, he said half under his breath as though trying to understand his aberrant impulse, “And yet, curiously, you interest me.” He frowned faintly in an effort to grasp the incomprehensible. Fulsome blondes were generally his style, not this prickly, bluestocking with a disconcertingly direct gaze.

“Take heart, Ormond,” Claire murmured, noting his frown. “I’m sure you’ll change your mind by morning. Rumor has it you’re fickle,” she added, sardonically.

He laughed, her mockery pointed but true. “Touché. While you, I expect, only harbor the most sincere and lasting emotions.”

“Is that not the way of the world, my lord,” she replied, derisively. “Men play at love while women risk shame for similar activities.”

“As you say,” he murmured. So she was not a complete martinet when it came to the conventions governing women; she apparently took issue with the double standard. Before he had time to reflect further on that intriguing bit of information the carriage came to a halt. Glancing out, he saw that they had reached Mrs. Bellingham’s. As his gaze returned to Claire he found himself saying something he hadn’t said since his green youth. “May I kiss you good night?”

“No, you may not.”

Was that panic in her voice?

Or something else entirely?

Attuned to the nuances in a female’s tone and, furthermore, disinclined to be gainsaid, he lifted one brow. “Is that a challenge, Miss Russell?”

“It most certainly is not!”

Ormand’s gaze was knowing, as though he understood that her outburst was not entirely indignation or umbrage. Sliding upright from his lounging pose, he reached over and touched her cheek. “It’s only a kiss,” he said. “How can it hurt?”

“This is exactly why I don’t want you near my sister! You toy with every woman who comes your way-without regard for anyone’s feelings but your own! Ormond, don’t be ridiculous!” she exclaimed as he lightly gripped her shoulders. “Ormond-for heaven’s SAKE!” she heatedly cried as he drew her close, as his hard-muscled chest met her breasts and his hands slid down her back, pulling her nearer still. Her breath caught in her throat. “Ormond-no…don’t…” she whispered.

Just as his mouth covered hers.

He inhaled her halfhearted cavil, knew from experience that her breathy protest didn’t mean no, and kissing her gently, assuaged her agitation-and his curiosity in the bargain. He’d never kissed a bluestocking; he’d never before been so inclined. But very soon, he decided he might have been wise to experience the sensations sooner. Her lips were soft-softer than others he’d known-and ripe as summer fruit.

That she almost instantly tasted of sweet surrender even as she struggled against his embrace was not unfamiliar and yet different somehow-more arousing, as though the citadel about to be breached was unrivaled. And in contrast to his usual detached approach to foreplay, this time he was curiously impatient-the auburn-haired spinster stimulating some hitherto unknown goad that stirred his blood to instant fever pitch.

Was it because he’d become weary of sameness; had he become tired of pretty blondes and simpering agreement? Was he looking for willfulness and contention with his sex?

Not that introspection mattered at the moment; the lady was beginning to softly moan into his mouth. Nor was undue speculation of import when she made him feel as though he might actually experience the much touted nirvana in her arms. Quickly lifting her onto his lap as though testing the possibilities, he calmed her brief outcry as his rigid erection pressed into her soft bottom, whispering against her mouth, “Hush, hush, no one can see us. You’re safe…” This wasn’t the first time he’d been parked outside some lady’s house, playing at love. His driver knew how to deal with interlopers.

The lady’s protests almost immediately ceased, replaced by piquant little whimpers that gave him reason to believe she was susceptible to the same passions as he. As she slipped her arms around his neck, laced her fingers through his dark ruffled curls and kissed him back-not like some novice missish girl but like a passionate woman-he knew she’d soon be his. As though in agreement, his cock swelled sizeably.

Even while her voice of reason cried out-RESIST, RESIST-the increasing immensity of his erection sent an intoxicating shiver up her spine.

She chastised herself for yielding to such lurid sensations.

He was taking shocking liberties.

She shouldn’t permit it; she shouldn’t be kissing him. She should not surrender to the hedonistic rapture inundating her senses.

And yet she felt so alive again, like she once had-loved, desired, indulged, bewitched-tantalized.

The sound of laughter from passersby suddenly rang through the night.

Effectively shattering her halcyon dream.

“Stop!” she whispered. And then louder. “Ormond, NO!” Shamed, filled with guilt, she drew on every reserve of moral strength she possessed and shoved hard against Ormond’s chest. “Let me go!”

Had her hips not been gently stirring against his erection, the viscount might have given more credence to her heated protest. Instead of releasing her, he flexed his hips upward so she could feel his hard cock more acutely and was gratified to hear her utter the softest of whimpers. A sound implicit with longing.

A familiar sound.

Understanding that fierce, avaricious desire had effectively curtailed her objections, Ormond rapidly debated his options. A less conspicuous location was required. On the other hand, if he gave his driver new directions-the interruption, however brief, might cause her to rediscover her virtue.

Patience.

Once she reached that wild, fevered point of no return, consummation alone would engage her senses. She wasn’t some light skirt intent on accommodating his whims-although Claire’s swift and fevered arousal did cause him to reconsider her past. If she was indeed a spinster, she must indulge in solitary vices; for she was not only easily roused, she was panting now and rubbing against his turgid cock as though needing immediate surcease.

Perhaps she was a spinster who entertained lovers with discretion. Certainly a woman who made her own living might gratify her independence in other ways as well-say with the fathers of her students or with a headmaster, if such was the case at her school.

With such lascivious thoughts racing through his brain, issues of patience suddenly became irrelevant. “Come to my apartment,” he murmured. “We’ll have more privacy.” Not to mention comfort, he selfishly thought, leaning forward to signal his driver.

As though the sudden draught of cool air between them once again returned her to stark reality, Claire recoiled at her appalling behavior. She was no better than some harlot or tart who gave away her favors without compunction. Worse, she hadn’t been able to withstand Ormond’s allure any more than Harriet, whom she’d always considered frivolous and flighty beyond measure. Leaping up, she grasped the door handle.

The viscount pulled her back down, held her firmly on his lap. “Stay. Please.” He stopped himself from saying, I beg of you, only by sheer will. “I promise complete discretion,” he said instead. “No one will ever know. My word on it.”

She hesitated when she shouldn’t have. When she should have instantly refused.

With practiced skill, he entered that breach of indecision and offered in negotiation, “What if I promise not to court Harriet?”

She swung around to face him. “I wouldn’t let you see her anyway.”

Her cool, abrupt volte-face surprised him; she was a woman of parts it seemed. Even in the heat of lust, she’d reverted to her role of protector. “You think not?” he murmured, his gaze amused. “Would you be locking up your sister, then?”

“Very funny,” she said with a sniff, brushing away his hands.

He obliged her, releasing her when he wouldn’t have had to.

But the mood was broken.

There would be other opportunities, he decided. The lady obviously liked sex. It would just be a matter of waiting for the right occasion. “Perhaps we could be friends at least,” he pleasantly said, lifting her from his lap and placing her on the seat beside him. He smiled. “You could tutor me in Greek philosophy when you have time.” Harriet had spoken of her sister’s admiration for the Greeks with mockery. “I confess, Aristotle always put me to sleep.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t make him any more palatable,” Claire said, crisply.

“I’m sure you could,” he answered with a grin.

“Fortunately, Ormond, that question will remain moot. Although, I thank you for the ride home,” she added politely, as if they had just finished tea or ended a waltz.

“And I thank you for the pleasure of your company,” he replied in an similar vein. “Perhaps we might meet again under more satisfying circumstances,” he suggested.

“I’m sure we won’t.”

“As you wish.” He was all cordial good manners as he opened the carriage door, stepped out and helped her alight. That he wished otherwise, of course, was all that mattered.

As they stood on the pavement, he bowed gracefully and murmured, “Good night, Miss Russell.”

Claire nodded like she might to a tradesman or the merest acquaintance. “Good-bye, Ormond.”

He watched her walk across the pavement, ascend the stairs, and enter the modest house, a faint smile on his handsome face. Not good-bye, my pet, but au revoir. We shall meet again.

Very soon.

Chapter Three

“My dear insomniac cousin. Do you ever sleep, James?” Lady Harville inquired as she swept into the breakfast room in a cloud of violet scent.

Ormond looked up from his breakfast. “I sleep when I don’t have anything better to do, coz. Sorry to wake you.”

Signaling a footman to pour her a cup of tea, Catherine Knightly dropped into a chair beside Ormond. “Dressed like that-” she indicated his evening clothes with a flick of her fingers-“you obviously had a busy night.”

He smiled over the rim of his coffee cup. “Don’t I always.”

“Just toast, Franson-then that will be all.” James was here at this ungodly hour of the morning for some pertinent reason, she understood. There was no point in immediately spreading the news throughout London.

The viscount continued with his hearty breakfast, the countess sipped her tea and only after the footman delivered her toast, walked from the room, and shut the door, did Catherine Knightly give her cousin a pointed look. “Now tell me what you want, for obviously you do when this couldn’t wait for a more civilized hour.”

James glanced at the clock as though to take issue, but grinned instead. “Sorry, Rene, it is damned early.”

“She must be very beautiful,” the countess noted, smiling in return.

“Not in the conventional sense, but yes she is.”

“So who is this seductive female? Apparently not one of your actresses or dancers since you want something from me.”

Ormond’s gaze was amused. “How astute, coz. The thing is, I need a raft of books from your library. Miss Russell runs a school for young ladies and I thought I’d visit her today and bring your donation of books for her school.”

“Your books won’t do?” Ormond had an extensive library.

“Of course not. What will people say if I donate books to her?”

“They will say you’re trying to seduce the little miss.”

“Exactly.”

“What was I thinking?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps you’re still not completely awake.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured, “since it’s not yet ten o’clock. However, your high-strung impatience intrigues me.”

His look clearly disputed her characterization. “High-strung?”

“Oh, very well,” she murmured, knowing Ormond generally didn’t care enough about anything to become agitated. “Although you must admit to a degree of impatience at least.”

“Lust, I’m afraid.”

“Of course-the prime motive in your life.”

“We can’t all be virtuous. The beau monde would have nothing to gossip about.”

“Thankfully, you have been doing your part to generate conversation in that regard.”

He smiled faintly. “We do what we can.”

“I expect this new woman who pleases you will soon be in the gossip sheets.” Leaning back in her chair, the countess gazed with affection on her favorite cousin. “So tell me why she so engages your attention. Should I have heard of this Miss Russell?”

“No, but I wish you to meet her tonight. To that purpose, I’d like you to invite her to your evening rout. Address your invitation to Mrs. Bellingham, Miss Russell, and Harriet Russell; she lives with an aunt. And if you could pay them some special attention when they arrive, I would be extremely grateful.”

“Indeed. Is there anything more you’d like?” she inquired archly.

Ormond grinned. “No.”

The countess laughed. “I gather you have not yet taken this miss to bed.”

His gaze narrowed faintly. “You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”

“No, darling. You never kiss and tell. I expect that’s one of the many reasons the ladies love you so.”

“And I them in return,” he lightly replied.

The countess gave Ormond a measured looked. “You seem happy.” The viscount wasn’t an exuberant man.

“I suppose I am.”

“Because of her?”

He shrugged. “Who knows.”

An ambivalent answer, Catherine decided, but not unexpected. James had been amorously involved with a great many ladies for a decade or more and had never shown any inclination to enter into a permanent arrangement. “I look forward to meeting this astonishing woman. Although you realize, while I may offer her every courtesy tonight, there may be others who will not be so cordial.”

“Leave them to me.”

She smiled. “I am forewarned.” Ormond was famous for his set-downs.

He nodded at the small bell beside her plate. “Be a dear and ring for pen and paper. The sooner I deliver your invitation the better.”

“You don’t intend to go calling in that condition.” She rang for a servant.

“No. I’ll detour by way of my apartment first.” He blew out a breath. “Then I shall have to offer a plausible excuse for the lateness of your invitation.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Suddenly hit with a wave of fatigue, he rose from his chair and moved to the buffet to pour himself another coffee. “She has the same color hair as my mother,” he casually remarked.

So that was it, the countess thought. “I always liked that shade of red,” she neutrally declared, looking up as Franson reentered the room and quickly giving him instructions.

“Her sister’s a blonde,” he noted as he returned to the table and sat down once again.

“More your style.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“Until?”

“Until I met the older sister.”

“She must be fascinating. I’ve never seen you orchestrate a schedule for any of your lady loves. Rather, they’ve always been obliged to accommodate you.”

“I know.” His shoulder lifted in the merest shrug. “I have no explanation.”

“You just want what you want.”

“Don’t we all,” he said. “We nobles only labor to amuse ourselves,” he cynically observed. Raising the cup to his mouth, he drank it down. “Except for the few like you who have found a love match,” he noted, setting aside the cup.

“You, too, might someday find your love match.”

He shook his head. “Not likely that. You forget I had the misfortune to be in contact with my father as a child.” His smile was sardonic. “I am deeply scarred.”

“Pshaw.” Catherine spoke with the surety of a true romantic. “You only need find the right woman to love.”

“Perhaps Miss Russell will serve,” the viscount drawled. “At least temporarily.”

Catherine made a small moue. “You’re incorrigible.”

“So I’ve been told on so many occasions I fear it’s true.”

Beneath his insouciance and mockery she discerned a different Ormond. Was it possible this little schoolmistress had struck some hitherto untouched sensibility? Or was she just not privy to his seductive protocols. Were all his initial pursuits like this? “Ah, here’s pen and paper. Tell Franson which books you require and we’ll have them delivered to your schoolmistress.”

Ormond rose from his chair. “I’ll pick them out. Tell Harry I’ll replace them, of course. Nor will I select anything from his grandfather’s renowned collection. Also, be sure to make your invitation excessively friendly.”

“Would you care to compose it? I wouldn’t want to take a wrong step.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, the viscount cheerfully said, “I trust you, darling. Are you not the most courteous member of our family?”

“Compared to you, I certainly am.”

“Exactly. I thank you in advance. Expect us early. I’m not sure their guardian, Mrs. Bellingham, is familiar with the late hours of our set. After you, Franson.”

He was whistling as he left the breakfast room, a circumstance that further heightened the countess’s curiosity. This woman had to be the consummate paragon of womanhood.

She was very much looking forward to meeting Miss Russell. The countess quickly penned the most gracious and hospitable of invitations, even alluding to a well-known aristocratic bluestocking as though that personage may have been the impetus for her invitation.

Informing Ormond on his return of her reference to Lady Whiteside who was forever holding intellectual soirees no one wished to attend, she added, “If you wish to affix your own explanation to my invitation, please do.”

“No, no…your attribution is excellent. I couldn’t have done better. The books are in my carriage; I thank you again.” Taking the note Catherine held out to him, he said with a smile, “I warn you again, we shall arrive unfashionably early tonight.”

The countess sat at the table for a few moments after her cousin left and tried to imagine who this woman might be to so enthrall Ormond. He’d said she wasn’t conventionally beautiful. Was he drawn to her only because she reminded him somehow of his beloved mother? But his mother had been not only conventionally beautiful, she’d been the reigning beauty of her day.

So it was something more.

She would have dearly loved to share her thoughts with her bosom friend, Betsy, but knew better than to involve her. Any hint that Ormond might actually be susceptible to earnest feelings would race through the ton like wild fire. She couldn’t be so unfeeling as to offer up his newest inamorata to the rumor mill.

Although, soon enough Miss Russell would be grist for that mill.

The moment Ormond walked into her rout tonight, escorting the three nobodies, everyone would know something was afoot. Not only did Ormond avoid conventional society like the plague, if he deigned to attend some entertainment, he never, never arrived with a woman.

And tonight he would have three.

All of inferior status.

A telling display.

She was certain the betting books would have some interesting wagers by morning. The guardian aunt would be dismissed of course, but odds would be given on the other two women.

And depending on where Ormond’s attentions were directed that evening, perhaps only one woman would ultimately figure in the wagers.

Chapter Four

After a swift stop at his lodgings to make himself presentable, the viscount hied himself to Mrs. Bellingham’s and delivered his invitation.

Harriet squealed with delight; Mrs. Bellingham immediately began planning her ward’s wedding and when Ormond explained they would have to forgo their drive in Hyde Park that afternoon, no one offered demur.

“We must take ourselves shopping anyway, Lord Ormond,” Mrs. Bellingham replied. “Harriet must look her very best tonight at so grand an affair.”

“May I have that rose-colored gown I’ve been wanting, Auntie?” Harriet pleaded. “I know you said it was too expensive, but for an occasion such as this, surely, Auntie-you could be induced to change your mind.”

Ormond winced at her wheedling tone and wondered how he’d ever taken an interest in her. Although her generous bosom couldn’t be discounted, he reminded himself, knowing full well how shallow his interests were when it came to bed-partners. Nor could one dispute her blond prettiness. That his focus had shifted was due to unplanned circumstances.

He played the gentleman and visited with the two ladies until such a time as he could tactfully take his leave. A cup of tea and twenty minutes of vapid conversation later, he gave some excuse about a previous engagement and rose. Assuring the two ladies that he would return to convey them to his cousin’s rout at half past eight, he left with all due speed.

The moment Ormond exited the room, Harriet leapt from her chair and danced around the parlor all aquiver with excitement. “I shall be a viscountess, I shall be a viscountess, I shall be a viscountess,” she sang with glee as she twirled and leapt and capered.

“He is sure to propose now that he is bringing you into the family,” her aunt agreed. “There is no other reason for the invitation. And just consider-Lady Harville is the bluest of blue bloods-as is her husband. Lord Harville has connections to the Royal family. Imagine, Harriet!” Mrs. Bellingham exclaimed, her eyes flaring wide. “The Royal family!”

“I shall-make sure to flirt-with Ormond in the-most beguiling fashion,” Harriet observed, dropping panting into a chair. “You know-I am-ever so good at flirting.”

“Yes, you are. I was thinking, too-under the circumstances, you might be allowed a slightly lower décolletage tonight. All the fashionable ladies expose half their bosoms. And your bosom is quite exquisite, my dear.”

“I know, Auntie. Men always stare.”

“You must not allow Ormond any liberties, however. You understand?” She waited for Harriet to nod in reply before going on. “Allowing a man liberties is the surest way to compromise your prospects. A man like the viscount only wants what he can’t have. Promise me again you will be circumspect in all things.”

“Of course, Auntie. I know very well how to keep a man interested. A little flirting, a small kiss from time to time. Anticipation is the greatest goad to a proposal, Auntie. Everyone knows that.”

“You have always been the sensible one, my dear. Unlike your sister who couldn’t bring herself to offer the slightest encouragement to George Porter who would have made an excellent husband for her. A vicar with the right patron can command a very comfortable living. Mr. Porter’s living may not have been grand like Ormond’s, but then Claire does not have the air to attract a man of fashion. I don’t blame Mr. Porter in the least for throwing her over. Claire’s indifference to him is a lesson for you, my dear. Endearing yourself to a man is all important. Flirtation and flattery is a delicate dance of expectation and hope.”

“I know all that. I knew how to make a man breathless with longing when I was still in the schoolroom. Cleery may be more educated than I, but when it comes to attracting men, I have the advantage over her.”

“Indeed. And now that you have attracted one of the most eligible men in the kingdom, we must see that he comes up to the mark.”

“Don’t worry, Auntie. I shall see that he does.”

While Harriet and Mrs. Bellingham were busy making plans for the future, Ormond was being driven to Claire’s school.

He had plans as well, although his were at variance with the two ladies he’d recently left. Not that he wasn’t aware that Harriet and her aunt would take Catherine’s invitation amiss. But he had plenty of time to clarify the situation after he engaged Claire’s cooperation. If she could be induced to keep him company, he would offer to give Harriet carte blanche entree into society.

A quid pro quo as it were.

Highly eligible suitors for Harriet in exchange for Claire’s friendship.

Although how to broach that proposal would require considerable diplomacy.

Shutting his eyes, he leaned back against the padded carriage seat and began planning his speech.

Chapter Five

When the viscount walked into Claire’s classroom a short time later, he instantly frowned.

There was Charlie Rutledge conversing with Claire.

What the hell was he doing here?

Charlie hadn’t read a book in his life.

Worse, he was an outrageous philanderer, his wife no more than a fixture in his household. Not that Ormond could make any claim to virtue. But then he wasn’t married.

Although marriage was hardly a deterrent for any nobleman interested in dalliance.

While fully aware of the social conventions that offered considerable latitude to men-married or not-the viscount, however, wasn’t particularly interested in being reasonable right now.

Right now he wanted Charlie somewhere-the-hell-else.

Striding to the head of the room, Ormond stopped in front of Claire’s desk and shot Rutledge a black look. “What are you doing here?” he growled.

“Relax, Jimmy. My daughter is in Miss Russell’s class. Since you have no legitimate children though,” the earl sardonically observed, “pray tell-why are you here?” He didn’t relish competition from Ormond who everyone knew could seduce a nun-and had.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Ormond gruffly noted, “but my cousin, Catherine, wished me to deliver some books to Miss Russell.” The viscount turned to Claire. “She was culling surplus books from her library and thought your classroom might profit from them.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Claire replied, keeping her voice composed only with effort. With a dozen girls watching-one of them Rutledge’s daughter-the last thing she needed was a contretemps in her schoolroom between two men who were bywords for vice. She could not afford scandal. No family would entrust their daughter to a teacher of less than the highest repute. And her students, who were all here to gain some rudimentary scholarship, were considerably more interested in gossip than studies. “If your men will leave the boxes at the back of the room-” she glanced at Ormond’s two flunkies standing near the door, each with a box of books in his arms-“I will send a thank you note to Lady-”

“Harville,” Ormond smoothly interposed.

“Harville, of course. Now, gentlemen, if you’d excuse me. My students are waiting.”

There was nothing for the men to do but take their dismissal with good grace. As they stood outside on the pavement a few moments later, Rutledge noted snidely, “I thought you were enamored of the blond sister with the huge tits and come-hither look.”

“And I thought you were enamored of your enceinte opera singer,” Ormond smoothly returned. “Isn’t she about to whelp any day now?”

“She hardly needs me for that,” Rutledge retorted.

“Nor does Miss Russell need your harassment.”

“We were just having a friendly conversation.”

“I didn’t know you actually talked to women.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Just don’t bother her again,” the viscount said, bluntly.

“Are you warning me off?” Rutledge drawled.

“I am.”

“Why? I await your reply with bated breath,” Rutledge mocked.

“Simply put, neither Harriet nor Mrs. Bellingham would approve of your attentions to Miss Russell.” He couldn’t express his own interest in Claire without compromising her reputation. “Consider me the Misses Russell’s duenna.”

The earl smiled silkily. “A new role for you, Ormond.”

“Anything to ease the boredom, Charlie. Now be a good chap and find someone else to bed. Miss Russell is off limits.”

Rutledge held Ormond’s gaze for a moment. “Off limits to everyone or just everyone but you?”

“I brought the books as a favor to Catherine. Unlike you, who were on a less charitable errand. Consider your daughter’s position, Charlie. Don’t embarrass her in front of her friends.”

“How civil and well mannered you are,” the earl sneered.

“Maybe I remember my father embarrassing me as a child,” the viscount flung back. “Think about it, Rutledge. Sniff out cunt somewhere else-where your daughter doesn’t have to watch you. Now get the fuck out of here,” the viscount muttered, bitter memory welling up inside him. “Or I’ll call you out.”

Dueling was outlawed, but not completely curtailed and Ormond’s temper had brought him out on the dueling field more than once.

Aware of the viscount’s success on those occasions, Rutledge opted for retreat rather than foolish valor. “Suit yourself,” he muttered and quickly strode toward his carriage.

“I shall,” Ormond murmured, under his breath. Standing motionless, he waited until Rutledge’s carriage disappeared from view. Then, entering his own carriage, he had his driver take him to the mews behind the school where he could wait out of sight. Both his carriage and bloodstock were recognizable.

He spent the next few hours dozing, having given his driver orders to wake him when the school day was over. As the students began to depart in the carriages sent for them, he was informed, and as the last vehicle rolled away, he entered the building through a rear door. Quickly racing up the stairs to the main floor, he walked down the corridor to the large schoolroom facing the street. The door was ajar and he paused for a moment, watching Claire seated at her desk.

Her attention was on some papers that she appeared to be grading, her head slightly bent, her mouth pursed in contemplation.

A mundane sight he found captivating for no good reason.

He wondered briefly whether the stark contrast between his usual position, waiting in the wings of the theater for a pretty actress or dancer, and this supremely commonplace event was what he found enticing. Or was he simply spurred by the added difficulty of this particular seduction? Had her rebuff last night intensified his acquisitive instincts? Or was it something-novel and inexplicable?

As he put his hand to the door and shoved it open, however, reflection fell away and he lapsed into familiar, well-honed patterns of behavior.

“I waited for Rutledge to leave. I hope you don’t mind,” he casually remarked, strolling into the room. “I had an additional message from my cousin,” he explained, “and preferred Rutledge not be privy to it. You and your family have been invited to Catherine’s rout tonight. I delivered the invitation to your aunt’s house prior to coming here.”

“Where have you been waiting?” Claire’s anxiety was plain, her voice sharp.

“Never fear. No one saw me. My carriage was parked in the mews.”

She exhaled softly. “Thank you for your discretion. As you know, I must avoid any taint of gossip.”

“I understand. In that regard, perhaps you don’t mind that I took the liberty of warning off Rutledge. I told him his presence was sure to embarrass his daughter.”

More relieved to be rid of Rutledge’s unwanted attentions than vexed by Ormond’s interference, she said, frankly, “Thank you again. He has been quite persistent.”

“I gathered as much. May I drive you home?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I told your sister and aunt I would come to fetch your party at half past eight and I know how women need time to dress.”

“Why are we invited to your cousin’s soiree?”

No piquancy or excitement about the invitation-only that cool inquiry and cooler gaze. “Could I say I have altruistic motives?” he smoothly parried.

“You could say it, but no one would believe you, least of all me.”

“Ah.”

“Speak up, Ormond. There’s no need for subterfuge. I am not my sister who lives in some dream world.”

He blew out a small breath. “You want the truth?”

“I would much prefer it to a lie.”

He found himself ill-equipped to deal with such bluntness in a woman. Usually they preferred dissimulation as much as he.

Claire looked at him with her usual directness. “Does the truth confound you?”

“Actually, in this instance, yes.”

“Let me make this easier for you,” she said in her schoolmistress tone. “You had your cousin invite us to her rout tonight for your own selfish reasons. I’m not sure I appreciate her deceit any more than yours.”

“Don’t blame Catherine. She’s being kind to me, that’s all.” He smiled. “Since childhood, she’s always viewed me as in need of her charity.”

“Your explanation makes her more attractive at least.”

“You would enjoy her immensely. She has no airs.”

“Like me, you mean,” Claire said in her plainspoken way.

“I meant it as a compliment,” Ormond offered. “Women with airs are too common by half.”

“And you are looking for the uncommon-is that it? Someone outside your usual sphere, for instance. A diversion, as it were, from the Society belles and actresses.”

He could see that she was displeased, but instead of equivocating as he might have in the past, he answered her as plainly. “Nothing about my interest in you was intentional. But when I met you, you immediately intrigued me-perhaps because you are different from the women I’ve known. As for a diversion, I’m not so sure about that interpretation.” He smiled. “I’m not introspective. But I agree, this is unusual for me-and that’s the truth.”

“Harriet will be devastated. She plans to marry you,” Claire noted, ignoring his heartfelt admissions.

“You’re being facetious, no doubt, Miss Russell-may I call you Claire?”

“No. And I’m not being facetious. She will be heart-broken.”

He wished to say-flirts like Harriet didn’t have hearts to break, but chose a more tactful response. “Apropos marriage to your sister, Miss Russell, I’m afraid I’m not the marrying kind. Ask anyone-they’ll agree.”

“You’ve been leading her on.”

“Come, Miss Russell, you know better than that. You spoke differently last night-warning me away from your sister as I recall.”

She had the good grace to blush. “It’s just so unfair,” she said, rankled at the inequities of Society. “If our parents hadn’t died, Harriet might have been able to come out. Not in the best circles, but modestly at least and she would have found a suitable husband.”

The phrase-unlike you-was left unsaid, although it vibrated in the air like a tuning fork.

“Perhaps, I might be able to help,” he said, understanding Lady Luck had practically handed him his prize tied up with a pretty bow. “I would be willing to offer the wherewithal for Harriet to gain her suitable husband if you were inclined to help me in return.”

“Do tell.” A sound as cool as the winter sea.

“Are you always so off-putting?” he asked with a smile.

“Always,” she replied, without a smile.

But she hadn’t said no and she was still talking to him, he observed, skilled at recognizing interest in a woman-however minuscule in this instance. He pressed on. “I shan’t mince words, then. Here’s what I had in mind: If you would be willing to offer me your friendship, I would endeavor to see that Harriet is launched in the ton. Not by me personally, which wouldn’t do, but Catherine could be induced to serve as her patroness. Now, you know as well as I that Harriet doesn’t give a fig whether she marries me or some other wealthy nobleman. Don’t feign surprise; it’s clear as the nose on her face. Should I go on?” he unnecessarily inquired. Claire was clearly listening.

“Yes.”

Miss Russell would make an excellent gambler, he thought. No emotion was evident on her face. “Very well. Once Harriet has entree into society, she will be besieged by any number of suitors, many of whom would be more than willing to marry such a lovely young woman. At the risk of offending you, might I point out that aristocratic men are rarely attuned to a woman’s sensibilities, only their beauty. And in that regard, Harriet will outshine her competition. I’ll wager you she’ll be engaged within the month. So you see, I shan’t break her heart and she will have the fine marriage she wants.”

“You’re very generous.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Ask Catherine. She understands me better than anyone.”

“Apropos this friendship of ours. What duration did you have in mind?”

“We’ll have to see.”

“How soon do you normally get bored with a woman?”

“Does anything ever excite you?” he queried, not sure if he should take umbrage or be grateful for her dispassionate view of his proposal.

“Any number of things excite me. But acquit me, Ormond, of wild excitement over being bought and paid for by a man like you.”

“Would some other kind of man elicit wild excitement in you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then I should endeavor to become that man.”

“You can’t.”

“So sure?”

“Very sure.”

“If I should be mindful to try anyway, would you allow it?”

“For a month? Why not? You did promise my sister would be engaged within a month, did you not?”

“And she shall be.”

“Only to a man of her choice.”

“Of course. What did you think?”

“You have enough money to buy someone-that’s what I thought.”

Like you, he reflected, but kept his tongue. “It must be a man of her choice. My word on it.”

“How will I know that you’ll keep your word if I agree to this proposal of yours?”

“Catherine will vouch for me. Privately, of course,” he added to allay the sudden fear in her eyes.

A heavy silence fell.

He spoke first because he was more impatient-or less apprehensive. “I would not dream of forcing you in any way. I mean it most sincerely. Although,” he added with the faintest of smiles, “may I remind you now of the time. If you wish to get ready for tonight, we should leave.”

“Very well,” she said.

Unsure of her meaning, he inquired, “Very well what?”

“Very well, you may take me to your bed.”

“You make it sound like a penance.”

“We do not all live in the beau monde, Ormond, where amorous love is a form of entertainment. To people like me, love is love not sex. To simply agree to have sex with you because your bored gaze has fallen on me at the moment is not an easy decision.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.” Suddenly he was tired of coaxing and cajoling and explaining the unexplainable. “Do you want to or don’t you?” he asked, gruffly. “It’s up to you.”

“No, it’s up to you. You hold all the cards, Ormond. And for my sister’s sake, I’ll play your game.”

He almost said, Forget it. I don’t have to beg for sex. But something stopped him. “Then allow me to escort you home, Miss Russell,” he cordially offered.

“Don’t you ever get angry, Ormond?”

“Only hope you never see me angry,” he softly replied. “Shall we?” He offered her his arm.

A shiver raced up her spine as she placed her hand on his forearm.

Was it fear or something more provocative?

She looked up to find him staring at her.

“I think we’ll muddle along just fine, Miss Russell,” he murmured, as though he knew something she didn’t know. “You please me immeasurably.”

Chapter Six

The carriage ride was largely silent, both occupants immersed in their own thoughts. Or in the case of the viscount-in making plans.

He didn’t feel he could press Claire now for times and places.

But that didn’t curtail him from speculating on appropriate venues.

Nor did it diminish his buoyant good cheer.

First things first, though. He must see that Harriet made an appropriate splash tonight.

Feeling it would be acceptable to at least discuss Harriet’s entree into society, he said, “If you’ll excuse me tonight, I plan to pay considerable attention to your sister. At the risk of sounding vain, it will add to her consequence.”

“I understand.”

He could barely hear her reply. “You are distraught. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

He held her gaze for a moment, understanding what she meant. “Not completely, I’m afraid,” he said with a sigh. “Forgive me.”

“I would be more apt to forgive you if you were less mercenary.”

“If I were truly mercenary, I would accept your sister’s overtures and discard her when I was done.”

Claire grimaced. “She is truly naive.”

“Not entirely,” he softly replied. “And I don’t mean to impugn your sister’s character, but she has a kind of determination that’s not uncommon with women who are-” he hesitated.

“Looking to ensnare a husband,” she finished with a small sigh. “I understand and I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Ormond.”

“James, please.”

“You must know I am unsettled by all this.”

“I’ll treat you kindly.” He touched her hand. “You have my word.”

She looked away before she met his gaze once again. “And Harriet will have her husband.”

“I promise.”

“Very well,” she said as if she were mounting the scaffold. “I shall endeavor to please you.”

“You do without trying. Just looking at you makes me smile.” The outrageous significance of his remark went unnoticed, so beguiled was he by her sudden smile. “There now. That’s better. Ah, here we are. Save a dance for me tonight, Miss Russell.”

“Claire.”

“Thank you.” Stepping from the carriage, he turned and offered her his hand.

As she placed her fingers on his palm, she felt a delicious, heated jolt race from her fingertips through her body with such velocity, she gasped.

He heard and engulfed her small hand in his for the briefest of moments. “Until tonight,” he murmured, his voice hushed and low, helping her step to the pavement before releasing her hand. “I may need more than one dance,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

What she minded was that she couldn’t resist his allure. “What if I said I minded?”

His smile was instant. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Damn you,” she muttered.

“I have no control either if it helps,” he said. “I’m seriously thinking about throwing you back into my carriage and taking you somewhere far away, and damn the consequences.”

“Easy for you to say,” she pointedly retorted.

“I stand corrected,” he said, instantly contrite.

She smiled again, his boyish contrition charming. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle you.”

His brows flickered in amusement. “An interesting concept, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.”

“I rather think you are.”

“For the duration, I suppose I am.”

He nodded toward the door. “Go,” he muttered, “before I don’t let you go.”

The covetousness in his gaze was so stark, she immediately turned away and hurried toward the house.

“Good idea,” he whispered, drawing in a breath of restraint.

How the hell was he going to get through the evening without mounting her? “Damn, damn, damn,” he softly swore. He was going to need every shred of self-control he possessed.

Chapter Seven

The level of joy in the Bellingham household was so resounding, Claire couldn’t help but be drawn into the excitement.

Harriet had come running the instant she walked in the door, waving the invitation. “Cleery, LOOK, LOOK what Lord Ormond delivered today! You won’t believe it, but we’ve been invited to a grand rout at Lord and Lady Harville’s! Auntie bought me the most gorgeous gown in all the world and the most gorgeous silk slippers and the most, most beautiful silk stockings with roses on them! We have arrived, Cleery! We have arrived!”

“Let me see.” Claire took the invitation from her sister and quickly perused it just to make sure Harriet was correct and Ormond was telling the truth. “My goodness,” she murmured, astonished at the friendly tone of her ladyship’s note.

“Lady Harville says a Lady Whiteside knows of you, Cleery! What do you think of that! Maybe even you will find a beau!” Harriet exclaimed with unflattering honesty.

Maybe she already had, Claire thought, although she was not naive enough to consider Ormond precisely a beau. A sexual partner, a lover, a charming companion. And for now, she would be content with that. Since John had died, she’d never thought of marriage again anyway. Ormond was looking for amusement, and maybe she was ready for a diversion as well after so many years. “Show me your new gown, darling,” Claire said, smiling at her sister. “I’m sure you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“Of course I will,” Harriet cheerfully agreed. “I’m always the most beautiful woman in the room.”

And so it went in the hours before the viscount arrived. Harriet was in ecstasy, their aunt was dispensing advice at every turn, and Claire was trying to find something in her wardrobe that would suit for an elegant entertainment such as the one tonight.

Perhaps she wished to look her best for other reasons, too.

Not that she openly acknowledged those feelings, but she took special care with her hair and found her mother’s pearl ear bobs that she’d put away and even wore a gown that she might have considered too youthful yesterday.

It was a watered-silk in apple green, the style several years old, the fabric worn slightly at the hem, but in a crush such as the one she expected, her hem wouldn’t show. She wondered if the scooped décolletage exposed too much bosom and apparently it did, for her aunt sniffed on seeing her.

“Really, Claire,” Mrs. Bellingham said, her lips pursed. “Don’t you think your gown is a bit daring?”

“It doesn’t matter, Auntie,” Harriet brightly proclaimed. “You said yourself that Society ladies show almost their entire bosom. Don’t worry, Cleery, no one will notice.”

Claire understood that Harriet meant no one would notice her when she stood beside her pretty, blond sister. She didn’t take affront; Harriet always spoke without thought for other’s feelings. And in that regard, Claire hoped Ormond was right and noblemen wouldn’t regard anything but Harriet’s beauty. To date, that certainly had been the case, although their aunt’s social circle was very distant from the rareified world of the ton.

When their parents were alive, their entertainments had been generally small house parties to which the gentry in the neighborhood were invited. As a retired colonel and the younger son of a younger son, their father had not had the resources to entertain on a grand scale.

Since Harriet was still in the schoolroom when their parents had died, her experience with country Society had consisted largely of making her curtsy at teatime and answering the usual questions put to children.

Not that she hadn’t taken to their aunt’s bourgeoise entertainments like the veritable duck to water. She adored being the center of attention. She was a natural flirt. And she confidently viewed the male admiration directed at her as her due.

Claire hoped that Harriet would attract as many gentlemen in the fashionable world.

She was, after all, paying a considerable price toward that end.

The knock at the door came precisely at half past eight and Harriet’s squeal of delight resonated throughout the house.

“For heaven’s sake, child, hush!” Mrs. Bellingham cautioned. “No man likes a raucous woman.”

Harriet instantly put her hand over her mouth and said, “Yes, Auntie,” through her gloved fingers.

Claire couldn’t help but smile. Harriet was always more than willing to please. And if her girlish aspirations were achieved, Claire didn’t doubt that she would make some frivolous young nobleman an accommodating wife.

Ormond was courteous in the extreme as he greeted the ladies, complimenting each of them in turn, paying particular attention to Harriet.

She preened under his regard and winked at Claire as though to say, You see. I shall soon be his wife.

Thankfully, her aunt and sister chattered constantly on the drive to the Harvilles, allowing Claire the opportunity to prepare herself for the hours ahead. Not that she expected Ormond to press himself on her tonight. He’d already mentioned that he would concentrate on entertaining Harriet. But still, she was mildly daunted by the prospect of such lofty company and so elegant an affair.

She was in the minority in that regard, however, both her sister and aunt were anticipating the evening’s events without a qualm. Mrs. Bellingham’s favorite expression parroted her late husband’s observation that Everyone puts their pants on one leg at a time. And that’s a fact, she would firmly declare, secure in her position in the world.

Mr. Bellingham had owned a small brewery, earned a good living, and subscribed to democratic views he’d expressed with great frequency.

His wife was equally forthright.

A point of no small concern for Claire.

She only hoped the guests tonight would be as open to her aunt’s proletarian principles.

“Don’t worry,” the viscount murmured, as he helped her alight from his carriage a short time later. “Relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

She shot him a quick look.

“You’ve been frowning since we left your aunt’s,” he whispered, as though reading her mind. “Come, ladies,” he went on in a normal tone. “I’m looking forward to introducing you to my family.”

Mrs. Bellingham beamed, Harriet smiled smugly, and Claire forced her mouth into what she hoped was a credible smile. This subterfuge and playacting may be effortless for Ormond, but she wasn’t as accomplished at artifice. Nor was her unease lessened when they entered the luxurious townhouse to find several nobles in the entrance hall, divesting themselves of their capes and greeting each other with the casual intimacy of old friends.

Ignoring the raised eyebrows and veiled looks directed at his guests, Ormond guided the ladies through the curious, disposed of their cloaks, and escorted them to the top of the broad staircase where Catherine and Harry were waiting to greet their guests.

The viscount introduced the ladies with a casual politesse and his cousin and her husband welcomed them to their home with equal courtesy. Then, following the few guests who had arrived as early as they-dowagers who were anxious to set about playing cards, young men who had come from their clubs looking for a different location in which to gamble and drink, a smattering of relatives who had been invited to dinner earlier-the viscount’s party moved toward the ballroom.

Claire was astonished at her sister’s superb aplomb. Harriet was neither nervous nor disquieted by the company or the palatial surroundings. She stood on the edge of the largely empty ballroom floor with a faint smile on her face, waiting to be noticed.

She was-very quickly.

A number of men came in from the gaming rooms in a lemminglike rush, led by Baron Worth who first spied her. They made their bows and asked Ormond for introductions. As the viscount obliged, a becoming blush colored Harriet’s cheeks, and she turned an angelic smile on her suitors. Men liked innocence, she’d discovered. Playing her role to perfection, she responded to their flattery and compliments with an artless flutter of her lashes or a demure lowering of the same-exhibiting a chaste, tantalizing purity that clearly appealed to her swains.

The phrase Lead us not into temptation would be appropriate to the drama, Ormond cynically thought.

But then was that not the aim.

After having introduced everyone in what turned out to be an ever-increasing throng, Ormond turned to Harriet. “Let me find your sister and aunt a chair and then I’ll lead you out in a dance.”

“Thank you so much,” Harriet purred, lifting her innocent blue gaze to the viscount. “I would dearly love to dance.”

But no sooner had the viscount secured chairs in which Claire and Mrs. Bellingham could view the festivities, than he found himself displaced. Harriet and Lord Seego were already on the dance floor, Harriet smiling up at the duke’s heir with what could only be termed adoration and young Seego returning her regard with an equally worshipful gaze.

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” Mrs. Bellingham apologized, her eyes snapping with displeasure at the sight. “I’m afraid Harriet has forgotten her manners.”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Bellingham. I wish above all for Harriet to enjoy herself tonight.”

“How gracious of you,” she murmured, thinking that the aristocracy were strange indeed. The viscount didn’t display an iota of jealousy. She wasn’t quite sure whether that was good or not.

“Perhaps I could induce you to dance, Miss Russell,” Ormond smoothly interposed. “It doesn’t seem right for you to sit out the dance.”

“I shouldn’t,” Claire demurred, aware of her aunt’s frown.

“Nonsense. If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Bellingham,” the viscount added, politely, taking Claire’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “This song is a favorite of mine.”

“My aunt is scowling at us,” Claire whispered as he led her away.

“It doesn’t matter.” The bluntness of the privileged. He nodded toward her sister. “Was I right about Harriet or not?” he queried with a grin, smoothly drawing Claire onto the floor and into a waltz.

“So it seems.”

“In spades,” he cheerfully observed. “She has a swarm of suitors-not to mention Seego is in the market for a wife. His father wants to see the dukedom further extended before he dies. He’s ill, so time is of the essence.”

Claire frowned faintly. “How cold that sounds.”

“It needn’t be. Seego’s a pleasant enough fellow.”

“But a dukedom. I doubt Harriet can fly so high.”

“The present duke married his governess. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not disparaging the union, simply stating a fact. The family is open to new blood.”

“My goodness.” Claire glanced at her sister and her partner with a speculative gaze. “Perhaps Harriet will be engaged soon.”

“I’m not sure soon is in my best interests,” the viscount said with a wicked smile, twirling gracefully around two couples. “Perhaps we should have something in writing,” he teased.

Suddenly aware that they were the cynosure of burning interest, Claire wondered if her gown had ripped in an embarrassing spot. “Why are those people staring?” she nervously inquired.

“I never dance, that’s why. Ignore them.”

Only partially relieved, she muttered, “If only I were as dégagé as you, Ormond.” He was always the center of attention, she suspected.

“James, if you please or I shall charge you tuppence each time you call me otherwise.” His voice was playful.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Try to collect.”

“Oh, ho…what a charming prospect.”

“For a man who never dances, you’re very good,” she said, intent on changing the topic to something less licentious.

“Dancing was one of my mother’s great pleasures,” he smoothly replied, ever courteous to a lady’s sensibilities. “You pass muster rather well yourself.”

“We entertained ourselves in our household; my father played the violin, my mother the pianoforte, and we girls danced.”

“Definitely an asset for Harriet in her quest for a husband,” he murmured. “As for your accomplishments as a dancer, those I intend to keep for myself.”

“Am I obliged to yield to those wishes?”

Was that flirtatious or provocation? “Let’s just say it would please me if you did,” he carefully returned. “I believe I’m jealous,” he said with a look of surprise. “It must be your beguiling décolletage inspiring me,” he drawled, quick to ascribe his curious feelings to more familiar causes.

“Do you think it’s too daring?” Claire nervously queried. “Auntie said it was.”

“Hardly,” he said. “Most females display their breasts without compunction.”

She found herself annoyed at his observation. But she’d no more than acknowledged her resentment, than she chastised herself for a fool. Did she really think a man like Ormond would be anything more than he was? Why wouldn’t a rake and libertine notice breasts? Do not forget the kind of man you are dealing with, she warned herself.

But as the music came to an end, Ormond himself prompted her to face the reality of her agreement with him. “Come, we’ll see that Harriet is content in the company of her swains, and then I’ll show you my cousin’s library.”

“Meaning?” Did he propose to drag her off without regard for propriety?

“Meaning, I thought you might enjoy seeing the late earl’s renowned collection of maps and books on exploration.” He smiled faintly. “I have no plans to seduce you this minute if that’s what you were thinking. Ah, here comes Catherine. Would you like her to come with us and save your reputation?” he teased.

Lady Harville waved her fan in the direction of the gaming room as she reached them. “I just introduced your aunt to Lady Strand who was looking for a fourth for whist. They are off arm and arm.”

“Oh, dear. My aunt is alarmingly serious about whist and a bit outspoken, I’m afraid.”

“As is Lady Strand on both counts.” Catherine smiled. “Don’t worry. All will be well.” She glanced at Harriet twirling past in Seego’s arms. “I see your sister is being amused.”

“Indeed. Thank you for inviting us and thank you too for the wonderful books.”

“They were of no use to me and James rather thought you would like them,” she replied, not quibbling over the truth when this woman might offer James some happiness-however brief.

“Speaking of books, I was about to show Miss Russell Harry’s map collection. Would you care to join us?”

“I would love to if I could get away from my guests. Unfortunately, I see Charlotte over there looking daggers at Anne.” She made a small moue. “They are sharing a lover at the moment which makes for bad feelings. Pelham should know better, of course, but he doesn’t, insensitive rake that he is. Heavens-they’re about to make a scene!”

As she rushed away to intercede, Ormond said with a shrug, “Pelham should know better. The man is witless. Come,” he added, taking Claire by the elbow and moving toward the doorway. “This is why I never attend these affairs. It’s such a graceless assemblage of gossip and over-dressed curiosity-seekers.”

Claire shot a quick glance at the dance floor.

“Harriet’s fine,” Ormond said. “She won’t miss you or your aunt.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Claire murmured.

“Certainly that’s beneficial, is it not?”

“Yes, yes, it is. Only-”

“Only she doesn’t need you anymore?” Ormond said with a small smile as they entered the corridor. “You haven’t been paying attention, darling.”

She shouldn’t have responded to the word darling, to the warmth in his voice. And if he hadn’t leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek, she would have been better able to resist.

“For heaven’s sake, behave.” But even as she spoke a rush of pleasure streaked through her body.

“I wish I could. Two days seems like a lifetime.” In fact, he’d been remarkably disciplined; two days was a record for him. Women, didn’t as a rule, rebuff him.

“Perhaps we should go back to the ballroom.” The nervous tremor in her voice was obvious.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t,” he murmured, kissing her cheek again.

“Don’t you dare embarrass me,” she whispered, nervously glancing around, grateful to see them alone in the hallway.

“I’ll try not to.”

“James!”

He took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Everything will be fine. Although it would have helped if you’d worn a different gown.”

“I’m sorry.” She shouldn’t have given into her vanity.

He smiled. “It’s not your fault. I would have found you irresistible in a shift.” He grinned. “Probably more irresistible. Here, we’ve reached the library,” he said, opening a door and ushering her in. “Now if you keep your distance, all will be well.”

She was partially mollified by his admission. She preferred not admitting that she’d dressed for seduction. That she desired him. That only fear of discovery served to restrain her ardor. “I shall keep my distance,” she said, although the lack of conviction in her voice was conspicuous.

His nostrils flared like a wolf on the scent.

Shutting the door behind him, he turned the key in the lock.

Chapter Eight

“Don’t,” she whispered, backing away from him.

“No one would think of coming into the library.” Stripping off his white kid evening gloves, he let them drop.

“Someone might!” Backing into a large chair, flustered, she came to a stop.

“They won’t,” he said, moving toward her at a circumspect pace. “And even if they did, the door is locked.”

“James, I beg of you!”

But the tremor in her voice wasn’t fear, her breathing had accelerated, and her nipples were taut beneath the fine silk of her bodice. “Don’t worry-you’re perfectly safe,” he offered soothingly.

“Allow me to disagree.” Restive and skittish, she shifted from foot to foot as though about to bolt.

Dare he say to a wavering virgin that he wouldn’t come in her-that he never did? Or would such bluntness frighten her more? “I promise you no repercussions of any kind,” he said delicately.

“That’s not a promise you can fulfill,” she said with a small vehemence.

“Forgive me if I’m too direct, but if you fear becoming pregnant, you needn’t. I’m very dependable.”

“I see.” She took a small breath. “That is rather direct.”

I’m sorry. I was hoping to allay your fears.” He briefly frowned. “This is unusual for us both, I fear.”

“Because women normally fall into your arms?”

Under the circumstances, that was not a question he cared to answer. “How can it matter,” he said, softly, instead, “whether we make love tonight or tomorrow or the next day?”

“This is not love.”

“It all depends on your interpretation.” She was right, though, about women falling into his arms. Dealing with a woman who didn’t was turning out to be-well…time consuming, he facetiously thought, suddenly amused by this curious scuffle.

“Is something humorous?”

“Would you like the truth?”

“I would like to be somewhere else,” she pettishly replied, struggling to reconcile her potent desires with the manifold improprieties.

He smiled. “Perhaps in my bed?”

“Very amusing.”

“I dare say you’d find it more than amusing.”

“Such arrogance, Ormond.”

His smile widened. “Now you owe me tuppence.”

“How cavalier you are. Do women find your casual impertinence appealing?”

He laughed. “As you noted the other day, women find my fortune the most appealing-your sister included if I may say so without offending you further. Although, if you allow me, I could show you my more admirable qualities.” She was too green to hear the truth about what most appealed to his lovers.

“And if I allow that, I shall adore you as well?”

“I didn’t say I was adored.” He was pleased to see her skittishness displaced by a petulance he knew how to deal with. “Let’s just say that the ladies I know are always appreciative.”

“So I understand. The gossip sheets proclaim you much in demand in the boudoir.”

“I admit to a certain popularity,” he said, smiling faintly, aware of the most trifling peevishness in her voice, as though she were feeling deprived. “Perhaps I might convince you of what you’ve been missing if you’d allow.”

She made a small moue. “Conceited man.”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“And why wouldn’t you be since vice is the sole focus of your life.”

“Au contraire. It’s the scandal sheets that thrive on sex. I have many interests. When we have more time, I’ll tell you about them. As for vice, my sweet little prude, let me change your mind-and your vocabulary apropos pleasure.” He dropped his gaze to her taut nipples, then looked up and smiled at her. “I’d wager you’re feeling a certain heated palpitation in your-”

“Don’t say it,” she blurted out.

“I only meant to point out that we have privacy, you and I have agreed to agree and I could assuage your-er-restlessness if you’d like. I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself.”

His voice was hushed and low, his provocative offer tempting. And he was right-she’d already agreed to this. “I am not a prude,” she whispered. “I just didn’t expect this-” she waved her hand slightly, indicating the venue. “In all honesty,” she reluctantly added, “I do find myself-”

“Intrigued?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Then why not think of this as an investment in your sister’s future. Would that make it better-easier? Harriet is being served up a full array of suitors,” he saliently noted. “Which was the point of our arrangement, was it not?”

“I didn’t think-that is…I wasn’t planning on the-well…suddenness.”

Unlike her, he wasn’t indecisive. As for suddenness, he hardly thought waiting two entire days met that criteria. “The door’s locked. The drapes are drawn. Your sister and aunt are intent on their own pleasures.” He moved closer; they were only inches apart. “Look,” he said, holding out his arms, “You set the pace. I won’t touch you. How would that be?”

His deep voice was benign, his offer innocuous. How could it hurt?-the little voice inside her head observed.

“You could start by kissing me,” he suggested, not entirely sure a tyro knew what to do. Not sure he could wait much longer. Although the heated flush on her cheeks, the agitated rise and fall of her breasts gave him reason to think she might be more ready than she realized.

Would she or would she not give in to her urges?

Could he or could he not continue to play the gentleman with her sexual need so blatant?

Then, fortunately for his peace of mind and aching cock, she moved forward an infinitesimal distance, and clenching his fists he stood immobile-waiting.

Slowly raising her gloved hands, she placed them gingerly on his white satin waistcoat.

And he waited still-breath-held.

The sweet scent of her overwhelmed his senses as she rose on tiptoe and leaned into him. Her soft breasts pressed into his chest, her thighs brushed against his, and then, more pertinently, her lower body came into contact with his hard, pulsing erection.

Only with the utmost restraint did he remain motionless.

Provocatively aware of the rigid length of his penis prodding her stomach, the tantalizing proximity further fanned her already fevered desires and, wild with longing, Claire abruptly jettisoned reason and logic. Overwhelmed by lust, she gave into the more powerful, corrupting force.

Ormond might have told her as much before time.

But perhaps for virgin maidens, experience was the better teacher.

Her last fears and trepidation cast aside, she shut her eyes, gave herself up, and kissed him.

As her lips finally made contact with his, he felt a wild excitement out of all proportion to the simple act. Cynic that he was, he immediately attributed his feelings to the prolonged delay in gaining the lady’s favors.

Less cynical, or not cynical at all, further buoyed by a heated rush of incredible pleasure melting through her senses, Claire opened her eyes and kissed Ormond again-gladly and willingly. With the euphoria of having tasted the sweetest of forbidden fruit.

Dropping back on her heels a moment later, newly liberated and giddy with joy, she smiled up at him. “I couldn’t resist you. I couldn’t no matter what. I expect you hear that often.”

“No, of course not,” he urbanely replied.

“How polite you are, but never fear-I am content to be added to your list of conquests. The gossip sheets are right; you are irresistible. And now, since the die is cast,” she quickly added, as though any deliberation might cause her to falter in her course, “if you’d be so kind as to unbutton me, I won’t have to worry about wrinkling my gown.” Pulling off her kid gloves, she swung around so her back was to him.

Her swift volte-face from apprehension to this unvarnished candor was unexpected, but never one to reflect overlong when offered sex, Ormond quickly set about doing her bidding.

“You’re sure the door is locked?” She could have been speaking to her greengrocer, so prosaic her tone.

“Yes.” His fingers flew over the buttons.

“And you promise we’ll have no interruptions.” She carefully set her gloves on the chair arm.

He laughed, charmed by her engaging frankness. “At the moment, darling, I would quite willingly offer you anything at all.”

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. “I dare say if I were the mercenary type, this would be my opportunity to strike an excellent bargain.”

“No doubt about it,” he said with a grin, slipping her dress from her shoulders, speaking from experience.

“Although I suppose that window of opportunity is fast closing,” she teased, pushing the gown down her hips, and stepping out of it. Feeling suddenly as though she were on French leave from the dull monotony of her life, she turned back to him with the sweetest of smiles.

“I assure you, I will not be ungrateful at any stage,” he murmured, winking at her as he stripped off his coat.

As she carefully spread her gown over the back of a chair, he kicked off his shoes and dropped his coat on the floor.

“Now you’re going to be wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He unfastened his waistcoat.

“But I do.”

It was her schoolmistress tone-so sensitive to her precarious feelings he readily complied, picking up his coat and placing it on a nearby table. “Better?” he queried, sliding off his waistcoat. “Would you like someone to press our clothes later?” he teased.

“Very funny, I’m sure. While you may not be concerned about-”

Tossing his waistcoat at the table, he picked her up, curtailing any further comments she might be tempted to make by moving forward with all speed. “We’ll fix whatever you need fixing afterward,” he generously offered, carrying her to a large leather sofa set in the center of the room, sitting down with her on his lap. “If I proceed too fast or too slow, speak up. I am not averse to instructions,” he murmured, conscious he had a virgin on his hands.

The prospect gave him pause.

He’d never been with a virgin.

Tonight would be a first for each of them.

“I confess you’ve been rather constantly on my mind,” Claire whispered, intoxicated by his touch, his nearness, his compelling size and beauty.

Ormond touched her cheek lightly. “I have been thoroughly obsessed with you since you first burst into my house. You were a ferocious little tiger-bewitching and bedeviling me. Leading me into temptation.”

“And me,” she whispered. “Because of you, I am undone.”

More aroused by her delicate vulnerability than the most adroit courtesan practicing her craft, he found himself inclined to mount her on the spot. Drawing in a breath, he cautioned himself to restraint. “We are both undone-and I for one am unaccustomed to the feeling.”

“You don’t mean to-that is…you aren’t changing your mind?” she said with unseemly panic.

“No, no, indeed not.”

“Oh, good. Should I take this off then?” She plucked at her shift. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I worry our absence might be remarked upon.”

Could he ask for more? “Rush me all you want,” he murmured, reaching for the buttons on her shift, gratified that her timidity no longer deterred her.

She didn’t wear a corset, although her gown was boned to define the narrow waistline that was fashionable once again. He was thankful for one less garment to remove.

“May I unbutton your shirt?”

The hesitancy in her voice struck some primal nerve, reminding him afresh that there was a world outside the brittle façade of the ton. A place where women weren’t all experienced at pleasing a man, where innocence wasn’t unknown. “Please do,” he said, gently, feeling as though he was about to enter uncharted territory.

As she freed the diamond studs on his shirt front, he slipped her shift from her shoulders, taking note of the unadorned cambric fabric much the worse for wear. He would take pleasure in giving her a new wardrobe. She dressed austerely-like a governess-part of her resolve not to be beholden to her aunt, no doubt.

She needn’t worry about being beholden to him.

He was generous with his lovers.

And breasts like hers should be covered with the finest silk.

Slipping his palms under her opulent breasts, he gently weighed them in his hands. “You hide these.” He smiled. “Now that you’re mine, I’m grateful.”

“I’m not yours.” But her voice was hushed, her fingers arrested on his shirt front.

“Really.” He tightened his fingers slightly, leaving an indentation on her soft plump breasts. “I thought we had a bargain.”

She shut her eyes against the fevered ecstasy streaking downward from his hands to the throbbing ache between her legs.

“Tell me,” he whispered, taking her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. “Tell me you’re mine.”

She shuddered as a jolt of desire rippled through her vagina. “Yes, yes.”

“Yes, what?” For a man who had always avoided female entanglements, that he required her submission should have been a warning or disquieting at least.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed, as he gently massaged her nipples, as her body opened in lustful welcome, as long-suppressed desires overwhelmed all else. “I’m yours. I’m yours…”

“Good.” A brusque, blunt avowal.

“Would you…I mean-could you possibly-” her gaze was fevered, impatient, her breathing unsteady.

“Fuck you?”

She looked away, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

For a virgin, she was ravenously eager. Although how would he know what a virgin was like? “I’m sorry, that was rude,” he whispered, thinking her the picture of unspoiled womanhood, all pink, soft innocence in half undress.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, turning back, embarrassed, yet impatient, unsure of the degree of wantonness allowed.

“Of course you should have,” he murmured. “Ask me anything.” And bending down, he kissed her trembling mouth.

She clutched at him and whimpered, offered herself up with a desperate abandon no man with a heartbeat could have refused. Quickly easing her down on the couch, he whispered, “I’ll be right with you,” and stood to strip off his remaining clothes.

This time, he dropped them on the floor without regard for Miss Russell’s sensibilities.

She didn’t notice, but he didn’t think she would, lying as she was with her eyes closed, shuddering and trembling. Suddenly, her body went rigid, and clenching her fists, she shut her eyes so tightly her eyelids turned white.

An image that gave him serious pause.

It wasn’t as though he had a dearth of women wanting to fuck him.

Did he really want this patently reluctant woman?

“I’m not sure I’m looking for a sacrificial virgin,” he murmured, although even as he spoke, he was chiding himself for being so magnanimous with his personal pleasure at stake.

“Wrong,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me wait.”

There. That certainly was unequivocal permission.

Not giving himself any more time to question his philanthropic impulses, he quickly lowered himself over her body, smoothly positioned himself between her legs and guided his throbbing cock to her sex. Reminding himself to enter her slowly-losing one’s virginity was said to be painful-he carefully eased the crest of his erection into her cleft.

She was succulent and slick, her tissue liquified by lust, but he moved forward delicately, penetrating the merest distance before politely pausing.

To his surprise, she lifted her hips, enticing him deeper.

Grateful for her overture, having never dealt with a woman who had been rigid with fear, he thrust forward marginally and meeting no resistance, drove in deeper yet.

And deeper.

And deeper still.

As he buried his cock up to the hilt in her hot, molten cunt, he suddenly understood that he had misread the implication of her utterance-wrong.

Miss Russell was no sacrificial virgin; she was no virgin at all.

Beneath her schoolmistress persona and virtuous pose was a woman of lush voluptuousness and seeming sexual appetites.

He felt enormous relief, profound gratitude, and a seriously explosive ardor. There was no need to tread lightly, as it were. The lady was no novice; in fact from her impassioned response, from her soft sighs and eager moans, her clutching hands on his shoulders and back, her lush, tight, avaricious cunt, he rather thought he’d chanced upon the more sexually liberated of the Russell sisters.

With professionalism and artistry, he set about exploring the silken heat of her willing cunt, moving from side to side, in and out, more fully appreciating her ready response for having thought it absent. As she enthusiastically matched his rhythm, offering variations of her own with a spirited zeal, clinging to him as though he were her sexual salvation, he experienced a new level of erotic sensation.

Overwrought and overstimulated after being celibate so long, Claire drifted in some mindless glow of rapture and ecstasy, a flushing, tingling, all-pervasive mist of ravishment and delight. She felt each spiking impact as he thrust forward, each tactile caress and oscillation, each slow stroke and flutter of withdrawal, and consumed by a red-hot hysteria, she came so quickly the first time, Ormond had to swiftly improvise.

A man of less virtuosity might have failed her.

Fortunately, years of practice came to the fore and swiftly shifting direction, he drove back in, plumbing her depths. Cramming her full, he held himself hard against her womb as she climaxed in a panting, blissful, suffocated scream.

He marveled at her control. Even in extremis, she’d curbed her orgasmic cry. But then Miss Russell was not an impulsive woman. Or under most circumstances she was not, he thought with a smile.

Always a courteous lover, he waited for her fevered sensibilities to cool before slowly resuming his rhythm.

“I am smitten and enraptured,” she breathed, her eyes heavy with pleasure. “Although, never fear, I know my place.”

“Preferably under me,” Ormond murmured, thinking her tactful in the extreme. Women were always quick to stake claim, as though having sex somehow allowed them to intrude into his life. This little schoolmistress wouldn’t be demanding it seemed. The perfect woman, he fondly reflected.

“I couldn’t agree more.” She smiled sweetly and wrapped her legs around his waist.

She recovered quickly, matching his rhythm once again as though she’d not just climaxed. “We need more time,” he murmured, thinking a week or so would suit him with a woman of such carnal proclivities.

“I’d like that.”

Suddenly they both heard the orchestra for the first time since they’d entered the library as though aware once again of reality. Or perhaps the musicians had been on break and they hadn’t noticed.

Regardless, they became conscious of time.

“Once more before we go?” he said with a smile.

“Please, may I?”

His cock increased enormously at the guileless naivete of her response. He almost decided to disregard the possibility of exposure to have his fill of her tonight. Although, that thought died after the briefest of seconds. He was not so rash.

Also, he wanted more than the furtive interval allowed them here.

And while he didn’t know exactly why he wanted it, he knew he did.

“You feel glorious around my cock,” he whispered, forcing himself deep inside her.

“I adore-him-and you,” she whispered back, gasping as he bottomed out, stretching her taut, pulsing tissue.

“Have your fill,” he breathed, selfishly hoping it didn’t take her too long to come this time, settling into a slow, artful rhythm he’d perfected over the years. It was about feeling, not speed, positioning, not indiscriminating oscillation. It was about watching and listening-about paying attention.

In short order, Claire died away in blissful release once again, uttering his given name in a breathless litany of thanksgiving and joy.

Ormond climaxed a few moments later, although he was less vocal. But he went off the deep end with equal frenzy or in his case with unusual violence to sensibilities he didn’t realize he possessed.

Perhaps he had become too jaded.

Sex of late had not been particularly soul-stirring. Which made his reaction to Miss Russell even more surprising. But rather than overintellectualize his feelings, he decided instead to pursue further sensations with Miss Russell and once his breathing returned to normal, he said, “I’ll make it better next time. We won’t be so rushed.”

“You were excellent.”

He smiled, feeling as though he’d been graded. “Thank you. I enjoyed your company as well.”

She looked up and smiled back. “And thank you too for being-so dependable.”

“Selfish motive impels me.”

“Nevertheless, your selfishness also benefits me.”

He didn’t respond other than lift his chin toward the sound of music. “We should rejoin the festivities.”

She suddenly felt as though he were aloof, detached. It’s over. He’s had his fill and he’s bored, she thought, feeling a vast unhappiness. He hadn’t meant what he’d said when he mentioned not being so rushed next time. It was politesse only, a kind way of taking his leave.

“Just a minute. I’ll wipe you off,” he said in that same neutral tone as he rose from the sofa. Pulling an embroidered runner from a nearby table, he sat beside her and wiped his semen from her stomach. Shoving the stained cloth under the sofa, he said with a small sigh, “I hate to do this. I’d rather stay. But people might notice.”

It was astonishing how a few simple phrases could return joy to her life. “I understand. One must be sensible.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

Claire instantly went pale. “We are found out,” she whispered.

“I expect it’s Catherine.” If anyone was serious about getting in, they would have put more strength behind their knock. “Let me see.” Reaching for his trousers, he stepped into them and strode toward the door. “May I help you?” he asked, in the event it wasn’t his cousin.

“Mrs. Bellingham is asking for Miss Russell.”

It was Catherine. “We’ll be there directly.” Without waiting for a reply, he returned to the sofa where Claire had already pulled on her shift and was sliding on her slippers.

She should have new slippers he thought, taking in the state of the worn leather. “It was Catherine,” he said instead. “Your aunt is looking for you. Don’t look so worried. We can exit the library and enter the ballroom through the refreshment room next door.” He nodded toward a narrow doorway set between bookshelves. “It’s a private entrance.”

“How convenient.”

“You needn’t speak in that tone. I have never made use of either the library or that door. Harry uses it. It allows him access to a concealed stairway leading to his bedchamber upstairs.”

“Oh,” Claire said in a very small voice.

He grinned. “I accept your apology. Now, do you need help?”

“With the buttons, if you please.” She pulled her gown from the back of the chair and lifted it over her head.

The buttons were quickly fastened and while Claire stood before a gilt-framed mirror pinning up her hair, Ormond dressed with the speed he’d acquired escaping women’s boudoirs.

“How do I look?” Claire nervously asked a few moments later, adjusting her décolletage before smoothing her palms over her skirt.

Ormond glanced up from buttoning his waistcoat. “You look perfect. Not a wrinkle in sight.”

“Now, you’re sure we can return undetected?”

“Positive.” He slipped on his coat, snapped his cuffs into place, and surveyed the immediate area for any missed items.

“How can you be so cool and collected?”

“Darling, no one will dare say a word to me.”

“They will still stare at me.”

“You worry too much. This is my cousin’s house. I visit often. Even if someone were to see us come out, I can show anyone I please the library. You’re a schoolmistress, after all. Why wouldn’t you enjoy seeing Harry’s collections?”

“Sometime I actually might.”

“Anytime, darling. Just say the word.”

He made her feel as though he could deal with any conceivable situation, that she was safe, that the world was his to command. “Thank you for your calm. I confess, this entire evening is intimidating.”

“You seemed relaxed a few moments ago.”

She blushed. “Thank you for that as well.”

“Au contraire. Thank you for making this miserable rout altogether enchanting. Ready?” He nodded toward the small doorway.

She nodded.

“Give me a second to unlock the main door.” He quickly did so, picking up his gloves in the bargain and slipping them on. Returning to her side, he said, “Plan on seeing me tomorrow after school.”

Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to say. Faced with reality, she said instead, “I usually go home soon after the school day is over.”

His brows rose.

“I’ll make some excuse.”

“Thank you,” he crisply said. Then he leaned over and kissed her as though in apology. “Forgive me. I’m impatient.”

“I could say I’m grading papers-but I can’t stay long. My normal routine is quite fixed.”

“I’ll have to make it worth our while, then,” he said with a grin. “Although, I warn you, I won’t be content with these rushed occasions for long. So begin making plans,” he said with the casual prerogative of his titled position. “Now here we go, darling,” he went on as though the matter was settled. He opened the door. “We’re on stage.

Chapter Nine

They stepped into the refreshment room where tables were arranged with ices and cold cuts, with champagne and sweets, with two chefs presiding over gargantuan sides of beef and warm collations for those guests wanting heartier fare.

Threading their way through an array of small tables set up for dining, Ormond made for the entrance to the ballroom while Claire nervously scanned the crowds that now filled both rooms.

“Courage, darling,” Ormond murmured as they approached the ballroom, patting her hand that rested on his arm. “We are about to run the gauntlet unscathed.”

Conscious of numerous examining looks directed at them, Claire said, “I see that. Apparently you are intimidating.”

He glanced at her sideways. “You didn’t believe me?”

“I certainly do now.”

He smiled. “Then consider how well protected you are with me.”

“Protected?” It was not a public role she cared to assume. Not if she wished to continue attracting students to her school.

“How safe you are,” he quickly amended as they entered the ballroom. “Don’t look now, but Harriet is being dragged off the dance floor by your aunt.” He smiled. “I wonder if she’s being snatched from the arms of a man considered less suitable than-”

“You?” Claire chuckled. “You understand, don’t you, that you are the central figure in Auntie’s marriage strategy.”

“In that case, I shall speak to Seego posthaste.”

“That seems rather callous.”

“And your aunt isn’t?”

Claire grimaced. “This is all becoming much too complicated.”

“Leave it to me, dear.”

At the moment, she was inclined to do just that. She didn’t relish a fight with her aunt whose plan to add Ormond to their family would not be easily derailed. “Just remember, Harriet must be happy,” she said, taking the path of least resistance in what was turning out to be a French bedroom farce.

“Yes, dear.”

She shot him a look. “I mean it.” His tone had been much too suave.

“She will be happy, I assure you.” This time he took care to speak with unequivocal sincerity.

She frowned faintly. “How can you be sure?”

He dipped his head and smiled. “You don’t know how focused I can be.”

“Perhaps I do,” she said, offering him a fleeting grin.

His dark brows flickered in teasing reply. “As you say. So consider me Harriet’s new, highly motivated matchmaker. I guarantee everyone will be happy soon. You, me, your aunt, and the potential bride. Ah, do I detect more than a modicum of trouble?” he murmured as they approached Claire’s glowering relatives.

Harriet was sitting rigidly in her chair, visibly displeased: her bottom lip stuck out in a pout; her jaw set; her sky blue eyes rife with storm clouds. Mrs. Bellingham was in equal high dudgeon, having been forced to abandon her winning hand of cards twice because of Harriet’s behavior, the last time on spying her niece in the arms of an old roue who everyone knew didn’t have two guineas to his name.

She’d said as much to Harriet in no uncertain terms as she’d hauled her away, ordering her for the second time that evening to save her flirtations for Ormond. He had more money than God and was so near to proposing, they could practically send out wedding invitations.

She had ordered Claire to be fetched after she’d warned off Lord Halston. And now she had had to do it again with Buccleuch. When one was winning a goodly sum at whist, one did not have time constantly to monitor a niece. A point Mrs. Bellingham made clear the moment Ormond and Claire reached her.

“You cannot go off and leave your sister unattended,” she snapped. “I was required to forsake Lady Strand in order to rescue Harriet from men old enough to be her grandfather. In future, Claire, kindly do your duty.”

“I fear I was to blame, Mrs. Bellingham,” Ormond smoothly interposed, his voice mild even as he took issue with Mrs. Bellingham’s rudeness to Claire. “I wished to show Miss Russell Harville’s extraordinary collection of maps.”

“Forgive me, Lord Ormond,” Mrs. Bellingham replied, conscious of the viscount’s cool gaze. “I fear I’m overwrought. A young girl’s reputation is so important and Lords Halston and Buccleuch, well-” she shook her head in disgust. “Everyone knows what they are like. In any event,” she went on, patting Harriet’s hand as it lay on the chair arm beside her, “dear Harriet understands the importance of an unsullied reputation now-don’t you, dear.” She glanced at her niece.

“I was just dancing,” Harriet muttered, mutinously.

“Just dancing!” Mrs. Bellingham rolled her eyes. “Claire, you must stay by your sister’s side-do you understand? And I do hope, Lord Ormond, that you will overlook Harriet’s youthful naivete. The firm hand of a husband will do her a world of good, I don’t doubt,” she said without subtlety. Rising from her chair, she shook out the Brussels lace ruffles on her skirt before turning an irritable gaze on Claire. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the chair she’d just vacated. “And do not desert your sister again. I shall be at cards for some time.”

“Very well,” Claire replied, in measured tones, restraining her temper with effort.

“We shall both see that Harriet is enjoying herself, Mrs. Bellingham,” Ormond offered, when he would have preferred giving Mrs. Bellingham the set-down she so richly deserved. Claire merited better treatment than that of a servant. That he felt impelled to care for her was an unprecedented response.

As Mrs. Bellingham rushed off to her card game, Harriet said, “Sorry, Cleery, to take you away from your maps. There was no crisis as you well know. Both Halston and Buccleuch are old and harmless.”

Ormond repressed a smile, Harriet’s assessment eminently accurate.

“And I don’t suppose you want to dance with me anyway,” Harriet went on, looking at Ormond. “Everyone but Auntie knows you detest dancing.”

“I fear you’re right. But perhaps we could find you a suitable partner. There’s no reason you should not dance when any number of men would appreciate your company.”

Harriet’s expression brightened. “My thoughts exactly. I love to dance above all things. Cleery, you keep Ormond company while I have fun.”

She spoke with such artlessness, Claire shot a look at Ormond to see if he took affront.

He gave her a quick wink before turning back to Harriet. “Allow me to find you a partner. Then your sister and I shall discuss maps while you dance.”

“You are ever so pleasant, Ormond. Did I not say as much, Cleery?”

“Yes, indeed you did. We both appreciate your gallantry, my lord,” Claire said, smiling up at him.

With heated memory still vivid in his mind, it took a certain degree of self-control to keep from spiriting away the lovely Claire on the spot, gossip be damned. Not that he could actually be so selfish and ruin her reputation. “Allow me to cultivate your good wishes further, ladies,” he said with gentlemanly good grace and, lifting his hand casually, he waved Seego forward. The young marquis had been hovering nearby-as had several other of Harriet’s suitors. “Miss Harriet desires to dance,” the viscount noted. “Kindly do us all a favor and oblige her.”

The young marquis glanced at Harriet, then at Ormond, his hesitation obvious. One did not cross the viscount with impunity.

“Come, Seego, she likes you. I can tell,” Ormond kindly remarked.

“I would be honored, sir, Miss Harriet,” Lord Seego murmured, glancing from one to the other, tardily remembering his manners and turning to Claire with a bow and a polite, “Miss Russell.”

“Perfect-everyone is of one mind, then,” Ormond said with avuncular good cheer. “Off you go, children. Enjoy yourselves.”

As the young couple walked away, Ormond handed Claire into a chair. “Did I do well?” he asked, sitting down beside her.

“You are feared and obeyed, my lord,” she quipped. There had been no mistaking Seego’s deference.

Sliding down on his spine, he smiled at her from under half-lowered lashes. “Now if only you would follow suit.”

“I suspect you would soon grow bored if I did.”

“No doubt.”

“Like now.”

“Sorry.” He sat up straight in his chair and surveyed the crowded room with a jaundiced gaze. “Don’t you find these affairs tedious?”

“You are excused, Ormond. Take yourself off to the card room with my blessings.”

“There’s no serious play here.”

“Then leave.” She smiled. “You need not be chivalrous on my account.”

His expression brightened. “My God, you’re a sensible woman.”

“Yes, I am.”

He grinned. “You’re vastly charming in other ways as well.”

“Go. I’m not a flirt like Harriet. I don’t require flattery.”

“You’re sure?” He was being given his freedom, the offer so novel in a postcoital situation, he required further confirmation.

“I’m absolutely sure.”

That one could love a woman like this came suddenly unbidden to his mind, the rash thought as quickly dismissed. Rising to his feet, he took advantage of the opportunity given him. “I shall leave my carriage for you and your family.”

“Thank you.”

“And I shall see you tomorrow afternoon.”

He spoke in such an ordinary way, he might have been talking about the weather. “Yes,” she said, curtailing her reply since she was not so blasé. The thought of seeing him tomorrow stirred up a feverish tumult throughout her body.

He bowed. “Au revoir, Miss Russell.”

She only nodded, his parting smile sending a jolt of desire racing through her senses. Clenching her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking, she watched him walk away, the crowd parting for him as though he were royalty. And like royalty, he accepted their deference as his due.

Had she known, his indifference to the crowd was the result of a preoccupation with other matters. He needed to talk to Seego. The boy normally appeared at Brooks later in the evening, as did most noblemen if not busy with their inamoratas. Still too wet behind the ears to have a mistress, Seego was a regular at Brooks in the wee hours. Although, from what Ormond heard, the boy was more apt to fall in love than set up a mistress.

The result, no doubt, of Seego’s parents’ unconventional love match.

Unlike his parents’ marriage of convenience that had turned out to be exceedingly inconvenient for everyone concerned.

If all went as planned Ormond was hoping to persuade young Seego to pay court to Harriet. The boy was the most acceptable of her suitors-and he knew of what he spoke.

Not that he expected the marquis would be difficult to persuade.

Although it never hurt to offer an inducement of one kind or another. He was thinking young Alastair might like one of his racehorses as a preengagement gift. Or some bauble for Harriet that would encourage her interest. As for baubles, he needed some of his own. Claire had little jewelry from what he could tell and what she had was inexpensive. A situation he was eminently qualified to correct; he had an open account at Grey’s. And then there was the matter of her wardrobe. If she didn’t wish to be beholden to her aunt, perhaps he could persuade her to let him refurbish it.

By the time he exited Catherine’s, Ormond was in extremely high spirits. Striding down the pavement, he began organizing his morning schedule. He would require the presence of his secretary, solicitor, Catherine’s decorator, his housekeeper, and a modiste in order to orchestrate the events required to bring his plans to fruition.

He actually considered going to bed before morning for the first time in years. He didn’t wish to be fatigued for his rendezvous with Claire.

He might even shock his chef and have him prepare breakfast for him.

Chapter Ten

Mrs. Bellingham fretted on the drive home, grumbling about noblemen’s manners with regard to Ormond leaving early. Although, she grudgingly had to admit that, overall, the evening had been a great success.

“And Ormond will call tomorrow, mark my words,” Mrs. Bellingham said with the absolutism that was a hallmark of her personality. “Lady Strand said his fortune is so vast, it defies speculation. His mother was an heiress and he was her sole heir. That is the way of the aristocracy, you know,” she went on in her same doctrinaire way. “Wealthy families make certain their money doesn’t go astray.”

“I understand Ormond’s father has considerable wealth as well,” Claire pointed out.

“That may be, but nothing like his mother’s. Lady Strand said when Annabella FitzClarence made her bow, she was not only the most beautiful girl of the season, but the richest.”

“It doesn’t matter whether the man you love is the richest or not,” Harriet said with a little sniff. “Everyone knows, money doesn’t buy happiness.”

Harriet’s comments were so shockingly contradictory to her previous views on the merits of love and money, that Claire and her aunt stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Claire said, finding her tongue first. “There are any number of wealthy marriages that are unhappy I’m sure.” Ormond’s family came to mind.

“Ormond’s mother ran away from her husband. And they were both rich. So you see,” Harriet declared as if she’d not only read Claire’s mind, but delivered irrefutable evidence that marriage without love was oppressive.

“My dear late husband always used to say that you can love a rich man as well as a poor one. He was quite right,” Mrs. Bellingham declared, undeterred by Harriet’s assertion. “And since Ormond is interested in you, my dear, the question of wealth is irrelevant, is it not?”

“I may find that I prefer another man,” Harriet muttered.

“Nonsense, you don’t know any other men,” Mrs. Bellingham returned, sharply.

Claire gave her sister a warning look.

Harriet wrinkled her nose, but judiciously curtailed the remark she was about to make. Then with a toss of her blond curls, she slumped down in her seat and sulked for the remainder of the drive.

Once they were home, Claire intended to speak with Harriet in private. But her aunt insisted Claire help her undress and ready herself for bed, rather than wake her maid. By the time Claire had completed her duties, Harriet was fast asleep.

She’d have to speak with her sister tomorrow. There was something about Harriet’s objection to their aunt’s sponsorship of Ormond that was perplexing. Prior to the rout tonight, Harriet had been unshakable in her resolve to become the next Viscountess Ormond.

And now?

What had changed?

As for the man intent on making that change, he was in the reading room at Brooks putting pen to paper, enumerating various tasks to be accomplished tomorrow-a bottle of cognac at hand to facilitate his labors.

He’d left orders to be notified when Seego arrived and he’d look up from time to time, as though impatient. When, at last, he saw the boy walk in, he immediately waved him over.

“I have been looking for you, sir,” the marquis said with a mannered bow on reaching Ormond’s side. “You were not at your usual locales.”

“We have been at cross-purposes, then. I have been here waiting for you. Sit down,” Ormond offered, indicating a chair opposite him with a nod of his head, pleased that they were apparently of one mind. “Cognac or something else?”

“Actually, I don’t drink much,” Alastair said, sitting down across from Ormond.

“Coffee? Tea?” He should have known. The youngster was so fresh-faced and unspoiled. “A lemon punch perhaps?”

“No, nothing. The thing is,” Seego said, nervously running his fingers through his pale hair, “I’ve come to ask something of you.”

Ormond pushed away his pen and paper and sat back in his chair. “Ask away.”

“I understand you have been calling on Miss Harriet Russell.”

“I have.”

“Then my question is-” the marquis swallowed hard-“exactly what might your intentions be with regard to Miss Harriet? If I might be so bold as to ask,” he quickly added, turning bright red under Ormond’s studied gaze.

“Rest easy, my boy. I have no intentions at all. As you know, I am accused of inconstancy in my relationships with women and that is an accurate assessment.”

“Sir, how dare you use Miss Harriet in such a cavalier fashion!”

The youth had gone from unease to indignation with such lightning speed, that Ormond spoke in his most soothing voice-wishing above all things to avoid being called out by the silly boy. “You misunderstand. My friendship with Miss Harriet was of the most casual nature. What I meant to say is that I have no claim on her affections.”

An instant smile reversed Seego’s former frenzy. “That’s exactly what she said,” the boy blurted out. “Her damned crotchety old aunt’s interference notwithstanding. Not that Miss Harriet spoke in such strong terms, sir,” he quickly amended.

“Naturally. I understand. Do I detect a certain interest on your part in Miss Harriet?” Ormond inquired, blandly.

“Indeed. I love her with all my heart,” Seego pronounced with sweeping conviction.

“On such short acquaintance? What might your parents say of such a sudden attachment?” Ormond debated bringing up the subject, but if obstacles were at hand, it was better to be forewarned.

“Oh, they, too, will love her instantly,” the marquis enthused. “She is the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he added with an adoring sigh. “And ever so sweet as well. We talked and talked tonight and discovered that in all things we agree.”

“Admirable,” Ormond murmured. He didn’t realize Harriet could actually carry on a conversation, having experienced only her tiresome banter. But then, his interest in Harriet had not been of a conversational nature. “I wish you all the best, Seego. If I may be of any assistance in your courtship, you need but ask.”

“Actually,” the marquis replied, leaning forward as he spoke, “if you don’t mind, I do have a question or two. In contrast to you, I am relatively inexperienced with women so I was wondering…”

For a lengthy interval, the men discussed a number of issues having to do with women-what they liked and didn’t like, how best to please them, what gifts were most likely to gain their affection, in particular what a young woman like Harriet would find attractive in a man.

When at last, the marquis rose from his chair, he said with a great deal of feeling, “You have been exceedingly gracious, Ormond. Thank you for your advice.”

“I’m pleased to be of help, my boy. How old are you?” Ormond asked on the spur of the moment.

“Twenty-two, sir.”

Good God, he felt old. Had he ever been as innocent as Seego? The sad truth was-no. And now, at thirty, it seemed as if he’d already lived a dozen lifetimes. “I wish you happiness,” Ormond said, envying the boy his artless joy in living.

“And you too, sir,” Seego replied as he took his leave.

Not likely that, Ormond thought, as he watched the boy jauntily stride away. Too much had transpired in his life for him to ever recapture that same youthful zest for living. Or perhaps it was only that he was too familiar with melancholy to begin again, his demons too numerous to defeat.

Oppressive memory was a constant in his life. It kept him awake at night, gave rise to his excesses, made him the man he was.

Reaching for the cognac bottle, he poured his glass full once again in an effort to numb his afflictions. As he lifted the glass to his mouth, he suddenly saw Claire’s smiling face in his mind’s eye and he couldn’t help but smile back. With what ease her image cured his black mood. How simple it was to forget when she reminded him of more pleasant pastimes. How intriguing it was to think about seeing her tomorrow.

Setting the glass down untouched, he picked up his pen and returned to his list-making.

Before long he was humming under his breath.

Chapter Eleven

Neither Harriet nor Mrs. Bellingham had wakened by the time Claire departed for work in the morning. Her conversation with her sister would have to wait. Not that it was particularly pressing. There would be time enough later.

And in all honesty, her thoughts were rather obsessively devoted to Ormond anyway. Fond memories of last night occupied her thoughts, causing her to smile a good deal as she readied herself for work. There was no doubt why the viscount was in such demand with the ladies. He offered incredible pleasure with the most delightfully casual charm. As though carnal passions were perfectly natural-perfect the operative word.

In anticipation of perhaps feeling perfect again today, Claire took particular care with her toilette. Passing over her serviceable gray and navy bombazine gowns that had become her uniforms of late, she chose a tartan silk skirt that had once been her mother’s and a muslin blouse she’d not worn in years. She was being silly, perhaps, she thought a few moments later, tying the bow on the collar of her pelisse. There was a very good chance Ormond wouldn’t remember their plans to meet after school.

She wasn’t entirely sure a man of his immoderate nature would recall what he had promised the evening past. Or care if he did. He’d left any number of women in the lurch, she suspected.

It might be wise to steel herself against disappointment. A not uncommon state since the death of her parents, she reflected, setting her bonnet on her head and tucking her curls under the brim. Silver linings seemed to have disappeared from her world.

As though in contradiction to her sober mood, the morning was sunny and bright as she walked the several blocks to work. The air was fresh and clear, not always the case in the city. Even the birds in the trees seemed intent on joyfully greeting the new day.

How could one not succumb to the glorious morning?

Having moved through the streets with all the other workers on their way to their labors, Claire reached the building housing her schoolroom and found even more bustle and activity. Dray wagons lined the entire block, waiting their turn to unload, while scores of workmen were busy carrying items of every ilk into the building.

The extent of the operation piqued her curiosity. Obviously a new tenant was moving in, but to what purpose in this neighborhood of small businesses and shopkeepers? Walking up to a man stationed at the front door with a notebook and pencil who was busy ticking off each piece of furniture or parcel as it passed by, Claire politely inquired, “Pray tell, what is going on, sir?”

“You ken ask, ma’am, but I know naught. Me orders is to see that everything delivered is carried upstairs. To the third floor, ma’am, if’n that’s any help. A new tenant, I surmise, but no one tol’ me and that’s a fact.”

Thanking him, Claire moved up the stairs with the laborers, going her separate way on the second floor to unlock her schoolroom. She set about preparing her lessons for the coming day and when her students arrived at eleven, all was in readiness.

But the girls were not prepared to learn anything with the exciting display of objects being trundled into the building and up the stairs. Despite her remonstrances, her students kept running to the windows to monitor the activity, delivering pronouncements on each and every item as if they were participants at a Christies auction.

“This is no concern of ours. Come back to your seats, ladies,” Claire would decree to what turned out to be an increasingly unresponsive group. Very soon, she felt as if she were trying to herd cats.

Claire attempted to discuss their reading assignment with her students, but they would have no part of Julius Caesar. While it was never easy teaching young ladies of wealth and privilege who rightly assumed they could do as they pleased, it turned out to be impossible on this particular day.

Finally, Claire gave up, dismissed class and allowed the girls to ogle and stare without restraint. Speculative gossip was rife, the vast amount of furniture and the equally large number of workmen on site suggesting countless possibilities for fertile young minds. In this case, young minds much too familiar with gossip as the sine qua non of life.

The scraping of furniture being put into place was audible overhead, as was the sound of someone playing the pianoforte that had been hoisted in through a window. Perhaps a music conservatory was about to open for business or an opera star was moving in the girls surmised. But when a host of female servants began carrying up a large amount of women’s clothing, the girl’s began to giggle and speculate along entirely unsuitable lines.

“That will be quite enough,” Claire sternly declared, nipping such inappropriate comments in the bud. “I’m sure there’s some perfectly reasonable explanation.” She wished to point out that the furniture passing by was too splendid for a brothel, but she didn’t care to explain why she would possess such knowledge. Nor did she have personal experience in that area. But she strongly suspected that however elegant a brothel might be, it would hardly be furnished with pieces of such superior quality.

When at last the girls’ carriages began arriving, she felt profound relief.

Or was it giddy anticipation?

It was relief, she silently insisted as the last silly school-girl exited her schoolroom.

At times like this, she found the need to earn her own living more onerous than usual. An entire day of foolish chatter had been wearing on her nerves, while her students’ indifference to learning was exhausting both in terms of her patience and goodwill.

Or was it the sight of all the luxurious items passing by for hours that had brought her spirits low? She rarely allowed herself to dwell on the straitened circumstances of her life, but occasionally-as today-she was vividly reminded of the vast discrepancy between her past and present life.

Between her current poverty and her previous comfort.

Between what might have been and what had transpired.

At least Harriet would have a comfortable life, she thought, pleased her sister would not be obliged to earn her way in the world. It was only a matter of Harriet choosing which of her suitors best suited her. Tonight, perhaps, Harriet would tell her who that person might be.

Feeling slightly mollified by her sister’s prospects, Claire began tidying up the schoolroom-stacking the books on the shelves, putting the chairs back in order, picking up the papers scattered about.

Waiting.

Above all-waiting.

She glanced at the clock once, twice, three times before she stopped herself and cautioned prudence. There was a very good possibility that Ormond had forgotten their appointment.

In all likelihood he had already dismissed her from his mind.

She would wait until half past four and not a minute longer.

Seated at her desk, trying to concentrate on tomorrow’s assigned reading, she found herself stalled on a single sentence. Julius Caesar’s history of his campaigns in Gaul had always been one of her favorite books and she’d hoped to instill that same love in her students. But, today, like her students who rarely read their assignments, she found herself equally distracted.

She heard the sounds from the street outside as though magnified; the tick of the clock was thunderous in her ears. Even birdsong insinuated itself into her schoolroom despite the windows being closed. Until suddenly, she realized the entire building was silent. Walking to the windows, she looked down on a street empty of dray wagons and workmen. Returning to her desk, she sat down and attempted to read.

But her senses were on high alert.

High, quivering alert.

She jumped at the approaching sound of boot heels in the corridor outside.

As the measured footsteps halted at her door, she went rigid.

When the door opened and Ormond walked in, it seemed as if her heart had stopped.

“I’m early,” he said, his smile inexpressibly beautiful as he moved toward her. “I hope you don’t mind. I confess to a novel impatience.”

She thought he’d said four, but perhaps he hadn’t. “No, I don’t mind at all,” she said, smiling back, pleased by his confession.

He stopped before her desk, darkly handsome and superbly dressed in black trousers, a soft white linen shirt and silk waistcoat, dark cravat and bottle green frock coat. “So then, do we have a few hours in which to amuse ourselves?”

A blush rose on her cheeks.

“You decide on the amusement, of course,” he graciously said. “We could have tea and talk if you like.”

“I must be home by six. I left a note,” she explained, nervously, not at all sure she was dégagé enough to decide on anything having to do with Ormond.

“Excellent.” Time enough to explain that he too had sent a note to Mrs. Bellingham’s. In his experience, a lady was rather more amenable to a change in her schedule once she’d climaxed a few times. “Shall we?” Moving around her desk, he held out his hand.

He was so splendidly attired, she felt like a church mouse even though she’d worn her pretty tartan skirt. But as she rose from her chair and took his hand, his smile mitigated her unease, lush pleasure warmed her senses, and their mismatched lives suddenly were inconsequential.

As they exited the schoolroom, the viscount casually inquired, “Did you have a pleasant day?”

She glanced up, misgiving in her eyes. Was she no more than another in a long line of women who entertained him?

“Forgive me. I was trying to put you at your ease and obviously failed.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“I understand.” He smiled ruefully. “One falls into certain patterns. My apologies again. In truth, I have never done precisely this before either.”

“My life is not like yours. I cannot afford a mistake.”

His life had been a continuous series of mistakes-most commonly waking up where he didn’t wish to be. “Then we shall see that no mistakes befall you,” he said with a gravity she’d not heard before. Ormond was not a somber man.

“I am somewhat relieved,” she said, mollified by his understanding.

“And I in turn will endeavor to see that you are further relieved of your concerns.” He lifted his chin as they reached the stairway to the third floor. “I believe tea is awaiting us upstairs.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You were behind all this activity today? The wagons and workmen and throngs of domestics?”

“I thought this locale would be more convenient for you.”

“Or you.”

He shrugged. “Very well. For us both. Come, don’t scowl at me before you see what I have wrought.”

A certain apprehension filled her mind as they ascended the stairs and walked down the hall. As Ormond stopped before a door directly above that of her schoolroom, he offered her a boyish smile. “I hope you like it.” Opening the door, he ushered her in.

“I am awestruck,” she whispered, standing just inside the threshold, gazing at a drawing room of impeccable style and beauty. The furniture was scaled to a woman’s size, many of the pieces spectacular in their ornament-although of a sumptuous rather than a grandiose nature. She had an uneasy feeling several of the items might have once resided at Versailles.

“Catherine’s decorator will be pleased you like it. Come, sit down.” He waved her forward. “Our tea is ready.”

If she had momentarily overlooked the discrepancies in their lives downstairs, those distinctions returned with a vengeance. She wore a hand-me-down skirt and shabby slippers while Ormond casually assembled a luxurious apartment on a whim. “I don’t know…this is all rather overwhelming.”

“The tea is quite ordinary, I assure you.” Taking her hand, he drew her toward a small table set for tea. “Sit, relax, tell me of your day.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I watched all your twittering students depart. How do you deal with their babbling silliness and stay sane?”

It was as if he not only understood how unmanageable her students were but fully sympathized with her plight. “I could use a few moments to relax,” she murmured, experiencing a sudden wave of self-pity that effectively forestalled issues of unequal status. “Trying to impart anything remotely educational to my young ladies is indeed an exercise in futility.”

“I expect I was the despair of my tutors as well,” he said, sitting down in a large chair apparently selected for him. After pouring her tea, he looked up to see if she wanted cream.

“Yes, please.” How pleasant it was to be waited on. Especially on a day like today when her schoolroom had been continuously at sixes and sevens.

Pouring cream into her tea, Ormond added sugar without asking, as though he knew women always took sugar. “When I grew into maturity, I read a great deal, but as a youth-” he shrugged-“I was completely indifferent.” He lifted a liquor decanter. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.”

“Would you like some? It’s a very fine cognac.”

“Perhaps just a little.” She smiled. “I had a very trying day.”

Pouring them both a glass, he set hers down beside her teacup, leaned back in his chair, and resting his goblet on his chair arm, said very softly, “You wouldn’t have to work.”

“Pray, say no more.” She held his gaze. “What I have agreed to is temporary.”

He gazed at her over the rim of his glass. “I dislike seeing you in such reduced straits. It seems unfair.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the world is unfair.” She smiled tightly. “Although, perhaps in your privileged case, that fact has escaped you.”

“Au contraire, darling. I have drunk away a good many years because the world has been unfair.” As though in illustration, he lifted his glass to his mouth and drained it.

“Then we need not argue.”

His smile was instant and above all amiable. “I agree.” Refilling his glass, he indicated her teacup with a dip of his head. “Drink your tea, try some of those pink frosted cakes, and we will speak of more pleasant things. Did your sister enjoy herself at Catherine’s rout?”

“She did. And I think she’s found a new beau. I hope you’re not offended.”

He laughed. “Not likely.”

“I’m not certain who it is. My aunt, of course, wouldn’t hear of anyone but you as a suitor, so Harriet dropped the subject.” Taking a sip of tea, she found the tension in her shoulders and neck noticeably lessen.

“I’d say it’s Seego.”

“He did look rather enamored last night. Might he be serious? I shouldn’t like Harriet hurt. By the way, these cakes are delicious.”

She had a delicate pink frosting residue on her lips that was tantalizing as hell. “I’ll let my chef know you liked them,” he said, restraining an impulse to kiss away the frosting. “As for Seego, he is most serious. He sought me out last night at Brooks. His concern was that I had some prior arrangement with your sister. I assured him that he was quite wrong in that regard.” Ormond grinned. “I have found the elder Miss Russell more to my liking.”

“If only you didn’t find every woman to your liking,” Claire sardonically noted, “your flattery would be more gratifying.” She smiled. “But thank you nonetheless. I find you extremely likable as well. As for Harriet’s prospects-Seego is a highly eligible party. We must hope that he is the man who Harriet found favor with last night.” She made a small moue. “Not that Harriet couldn’t be influenced by a future dukedom.”

“You may rest easy. It rather sounded as though the two youngsters were mutually enamored. I believe Seego used the romantic designation of-” the viscount’s brows rose-“soul mates.”

“No!”

“Oh yes.” Ormond’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “The young boy was quite positive.”

Claire sank back in her chair and softly exhaled. “I must say, I am greatly comforted by your news. If indeed, the two young people have an attachment, I am pleased. He is so much more suited to Harriet than-” she abruptly paused, realizing she’d almost been uncivil.

“You needn’t be tactful. I quite agree. And at the risk of offending you, I’m not likely to change.”

“I understand.” Ormond’s statement had been blunt in the extreme. “But then I am not an innocent like Harriet,” she calmly noted.

“So I discovered.” He peered at her with a searching gaze.

A small silence ensued.

“I needn’t explain to you,” she finally said.

“I just hope it wasn’t Charlie Rutledge.”

“No! My God, what do you take me for?” she cried, her face turning cherry red.

He was surprised at the degree of relief he felt. He was more surprised that he wished to be apprised of the men in her life when his philosophy had always been a cavalier live and let live. “If not Charlie-who then?”

Picking up her cognac, she held his gaze. “You don’t see me asking that of you, do you?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t care if you did. Tell me.”

“No.” She took a sip of cognac. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Obviously,” he drawled.

“Should I leave?” Purse-lipped, she set her glass down.

“No.” He could have said we have an agreement and I’ve already settled things with Seego, but he didn’t. Then perhaps because he had been selfish so long, and he was here today for his own pleasure, he sensibly shifted his stance. “It was wrong of me to press you,” he said with a conciliatory smile. “I apologize. Am I forgiven?”

How many times had he spoken thusly with that disarming smile and imploring gaze? How many times had women like her, forgiven him? “There’s no need to apologize,” she said, perhaps as selfish as he. “I just prefer not laying bare my life. I hope you understand.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Neither could be faulted for their deft volte-face.

“Are you finished?” He nodded at her tea.

There was an authority in his voice that demanded compliance or was it the seductive allure in his dark gaze that made her answer, “Yes.”

He stood instantly, as though he’d been impatiently biding his time, and walking around the table, he pulled out her chair.

She took note of the small tick over his cheekbone as he helped her rise and the hard, firm line of his jaw. “You’re still angry.”

“Not in the least,” he smoothly replied.

“Nevertheless, I’m uncomfortable with you looking at me like that.” Was this situation turning out to be more perilous than she’d foreseen?

Quickly composing his features, he offered her his most charming smile. “Better? And if you need further verification of my good intentions,” he said, waving her toward a inner doorway, “very shortly, I pledge to make you exceedingly comfortable.”

He was being gracious. She would be foolish to relinquish the pleasure he offered since she’d thought of little else the hours past. “I gather you don’t like to be thwarted,” she murmured, moving past him.

“Generally not.” He smiled, in better humor now that he was moments away from doing what he’d come here to do. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

“As I will for you. We agree then.”

She was a stubborn little minx, but then she was a hot-blooded little vixen as well and the latter easily trumped the former. “I gathered as much last night-that we agreed…in any number of ways.” In the grip of a novel possessive impulse, he heard himself say, “In fact, I may decide to lock the doors and keep you here for myself alone.”

She smiled at his absurdity. “Even you would not be so rash as to draw my aunt’s wrath upon your head.”

His surprise overcome, he answered with the lordly presumption of his class. “I would without question.”

“Then I must find some other deterrent to your threat,” she offered, sportively, thinking surely he couldn’t mean it.

“Good luck.”

His curtness stopped her in her tracks. She shot him a look. “Have I mentioned how much I detest authoritarian men?”

“Do you know many?”

She understood from his tone that she’d broached a contentious subject, but she refused to be intimidated. “No, I do not. Satisfied?”

He wasn’t, nor would he be until he knew the extent of her amorous amusements. But he replied, “Yes,” because he neither cared to acknowledge why her amusements mattered to him nor-more important-did he wish to delay further having sex with her. Taking her by the arm, he propelled her forward into the bedchamber. “Perhaps we can concentrate on satisfying ourselves in other ways, right now. We can discuss your dislike of authoritarian men,” he added, crisply, kicking the door shut behind him, “after you and I both come.”

“I may not want to come.” Her tone was as crisp as his, her spine rigid with affront.

“Let me be the judge of that,” he murmured, astonished even as he spoke that his words had such an arbitrary ring. “As for what you may or may not want, need I remind you that you have already agreed to please me.”

A taut hush fell.

“Would you like to withdraw from our agreement?” he inquired, breaking the silence. “If so, I could tell Seego that my partiality for Harriet terminated once I had my way with her.”

“Knave!” Claire spat, her eyes hot with temper. “You would ruin my sister so callously?”

“That and more I assure you,” he calmly replied. “You know as well as I that I am a rogue. So what will it be? You decide.” That he was experiencing the pangs of jealousy, he would not affirm. That he wanted what he wanted was more easily acknowledged.

“I seem to have no choice,” she said with icy disdain.

“Virtue is it’s own reward, is it not?” he noted with excessive sarcasm. “I’m sure your sister will profit by your sacrifice.” He nodded curtly toward the bed. “Take off your clothes and wait for me there.”

She should summarily refuse. And had Ormond not threatened cruelly to wreak havoc on Harriet’s prospects, she might have, she thought, moving toward the bed. Although the harsh truth was that it was not Harriet’s happiness alone that caused her to stay-but hers as well…however fleeting it may be.

At the sound of a key turning in a lock, she spun around.

“I’m not in the mood for interruptions,” he said, tossing the key on a table.

“You’re expecting company?” A hot, resentful query.

He didn’t answer for a moment, then he softly sighed. “I’m in a brutish mood. I apologize. Perhaps I’m too sober. I’m rarely sober at times like this.”

“My misfortune.”

He stared at her with a jaundiced gaze. “You’re a prickly little bitch. I should throw you out.”

“If the door wasn’t locked, you wouldn’t have to throw me out-I’d leave!”

Taking a step toward the table on which the key rested, he picked it up and without explanation, slipped it in his coat pocket. “I need a drink. Sit down,” he said, nodding at two chairs flanking the fireplace. “Relax. I’m not going to attack you.”

Much preferring his last suggestion to his previous order, Claire quickly complied, sitting down on an elegant green brocade fauteuil. She watched him pour himself a drink from a decanter set on a small pietra dura table. She watched him drink it down, refill his glass and do the same once again with a kind of strange acceptance, as though his moodiness matched hers.

She knew very well that she shouldn’t give into her passions, that making a pact with the devil for Harriet’s sake was unwise. Any sensible woman knew that when all was said and done, Ormond would bring her misery. But as Dryden said, “We loathe our manna, and we long for quails.” And dear God, the wild, heady passion Ormond offered-however transient-was the undoing of every woman who came within his scope.

She was no different.

And perhaps therein lay the rub.

In fact, just the sight of him approaching her now, sent a shiver of anticipation through her senses. She sat up straighter as though uncompromising deportment might fortify her against temptation.

Taking the seat opposite her, Ormond set the decanter he’d carried over on the floor beside his chair, and slid into a lounging pose. “Why don’t you just tell me about the men in your life,” he murmured, appraising her with a moody gaze, “and I’ll become normal again.”

“Normal? I doubt it.” She’d heard all the stories. Who hadn’t?

“Normal for me, then. It’s not as if I’d ever slept with a virgin or even wanted to-until you.” He smiled tightly. “Although, my luck held out. You weren’t.”

“How fortunate for you,” she replied, huffily, loathe to be categorized with the throngs of women in his past.

He ignored her huffiness; a few stiff drinks perhaps blurred the nuances. “I am mystified by my need to know,” he said, his singular focus undiminished. “But there it is. So humor me. Consider how gratified Harriet will be if Seego comes up to scratch.”

“Are we haggling here?”

“Call it what you like.” Picking up the decanter, he pulled out the stopper, lifted the cut-glass bottle to his mouth, and poured a large draught of liquor down his throat.

Concerned that he might become even more unmanageable should he empty the decanter, Claire weighed her options-along with her rather potent amorous desires-and came to a decision. A foregone conclusion any objective observer might have pointed out. “If I tell you what you want to know, will this conversation be at an end?”

“Yes.” Immediately setting down the decanter, Ormond gave her his full attention, an anomaly in situations like this. His normal pattern with women was to be attentive only to the degree tact and courtesy was required to attain his sexual goal.

Claire didn’t speak for some moments, finding it difficult to exhume feelings long buried. She had never before divulged her relationship with John Darton. But with Harriet’s future at stake, she steeled herself against painful memory. “I was once secretly engaged,” she began, speaking briskly as though once having made her decision, she wished the conversation quickly done. “My fiancé did not have the means to offer marriage at the time and we were content to wait. A wealthy uncle of John’s consented to purchase a captain’s commission for him and John sailed for India with the Light Dragoons. He hoped to prosper there and we would marry on his return. He died of fever in Calcutta instead,” she finished, holding Ormond’s gaze for a moment as though to say-Are you satisfied now?

“Your family didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “There was no point. Our marriage was impossible at the time. My father was retired on a colonel’s half pay; there was no money for my dowry and John’s family was in equal straits.”

“And there has been no one else?”

“Dear God, have you no heart?” she peevishly exclaimed. “I offer up bitter memories and that is all you can say?”

He shrugged. “I have no heart of late, it seems. My apologies.”

“Why does it matter anyway-whom I have known?” she asked with asperity. “You and I are nothing more than partners in lust.”

“It matters. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t tell you.”

His stark statement had none of his mannered nonchalance. It was blunt and grudging. “There has been no one else,” she shot back, speaking with equal bad grace.

He had been reaching for the decanter and stopped. His dark gaze held hers for a telling moment before he pulled himself upright in his chair. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice was gentle, the moodiness gone from his eyes. “Having traveled that mournful path myself, I offer you my condolences.”

Disarmed by both his humanity and his recognition of their shared afflictions, she answered him more kindly. “Time heals I’ve found-at least to a degree.”

He smiled ruefully. “So I’ve been told.”

Experiencing a compassion she had not felt short moments ago, she wondered whether his sulky discontent only added to his allure, whether other women, too, felt the need to console him. “Let us not be blue-deviled today,” she murmured, “when we have reason instead to relish life.”

He smiled faintly. “Indeed-we should gather our rosebuds while we may.” He ran a hand through his ruffled curls. “I am grateful for your company, even though,” he added with a small grin, “I have done my best to disabuse you of that notion. Forgive my boorishness.”

She waved away his apology. “We both have our demons.” Perhaps now was the time to stop grieving over what might have been, she precipitously thought, her sudden postulate making her feel as though a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “Let us dwell on pleasure today.”

“Agreed. May I offer you a drink? I find the world is always more tolerable after a drink or two.” She might need time to deal with her confession, he reflected, while he, in turn, needed time to digest her disclosure. Another layer had been added to the intriguing Miss Russell.

She smiled. “Perhaps one.”

Ormond lit the fire that had been laid and with their drinks in hand, they watched the dancing flames in an atmosphere of harmony and calm.

“You color my world most pleasantly,” Ormond said after a time, smiling across the small distance separating them.

“You offer me a degree of pleasure I find impossible to resist.”

“How is it,” he murmured contemplatively, “that we found each other in this vast and brittle world?”

“I believe you were trying to seduce my sister.”

He laughed. “Fortune, it seems, was on my side. I found you instead.”

“Or fortune was on mine,” she flirtatiously replied.

“Speaking of mutual desires,” he softly drawled, “might I interest you in trying that rather flamboyant bed over there? I’m told it was once in the Trianon.”

“I rather thought it had the look of France. And yes, you could indeed interest me in your bed.”

“Your bed.”

“We’ll see.”

He didn’t argue, but set down his glass instead, stood and offered her his hand.

He undressed her slowly, slowly, as though wanting to remember this occasion, as though these moments were auspicious.

She did the same for him with a kind of fastidiousness he found charming-with a kind of breathless awe that was particularly provocative. Regardless of her engagement, she was still relatively uninitiated in the world of amour and for a man who had always preferred experienced women, he found her naivete wildly arousing.

When she at last stripped away his linen small clothes, her eyes opened wide at the sight of his upthrust erection. “My goodness,” she breathed, glancing up at him. “Did all of that fit inside me?”

He smiled faintly. “To perfection as I recall.”

“May I touch it?”

She was already about to do so, her fingertips poised a hairsbreadth away. Not that he would have said no in any case. “By all means. We would like that immensely.”

She glanced up at the amusement in his tone. “I suppose every woman asks you the same.”

“Some do,” he lied. His partners were not so virtuous as to be astonished at a cock in full rut. That they touched him, he couldn’t deny, but for reasons other than Miss Russell’s guileless sense of discovery.

She tentatively brushed the engorged head of his penis with her fingertips and watched amazed as his erection increased, stretching upward, each pulse beat fueling its expansion visible in the corded veins of his penis.

He took a small sustaining breath, his self-discipline legendary in the boudoir. Along with his stamina.

“I know now why you are so much in demand,” she whispered, slipping her cupped fingers under his heavy testicles. “Everything about you is-gigantic.”

“As long as you are tempted, I am content.”

She looked up again, his testis warm on her palm. “Everything about you tempts me. As you no doubt can tell.” No woman could resist him, she thought, gazing up his hard, muscled form, wondering if his amorous activities alone accounted for his strength and virility.

“And you me as you can see,” he murmured. “If you do this-” he took her hand in his, curled her fingers around his rigid length and eased her hand downward-“see what it does?”

“Oh,” she squeaked. She shot him a quick smile. “How exciting. May I do it again?”

She was an eager student and he in turn was highly appreciative, but there came a time when a man could only take so much. “Why don’t we see if you’re as ready as I? Come,” he said, easing away her grip on his penis. “Lay with me.” Without waiting for an answer-he had no intention of climaxing before exploring her luscious cunt-he drew her to the bed. Throwing back the coverlet, he lifted her onto the bed and joined her.

“Unlike last night, we don’t have to rush,” he whispered, lying beside her, leaning over and kissing her mouth and eyes, her fine straight nose and rosy cheeks, taking a novel pleasure in his artless spinster. He’d always avoided women of moral piety and yet his libertine soul liked the taste and feel of the naive Miss Russell.

Warmed by his kisses, by his hard, taut body lightly touching hers, by the delicious possibility of lying with him in this gorgeous bed-like ordinary people might in love and friendship-provoked such wistful longing Claire had to remind herself that Ormond had gone to these great lengths today for sex not love. That he had manipulated scores of people for sexual gratification alone.

Not that her lustful desires were not in full, impetuous accord, nor was she averse to orgasmic pleasure. In fact, the intensity of her passion was perhaps more fierce than his. A master of this game, he was a man jaded by sensation-when she was not. While in terms of sexual restraint, she was clearly inept. He wasn’t even breathing hard, while her breathing was becoming erratic. “Are we going to kiss much longer?” she blurted out, hot desire spreading like wildfire through her blood.

“We don’t have to.” He pulled away enough to smile at her. “Would you rather move on?” he murmured, soft suggestion in his tone.

“That would be ever so nice. I don’t mean to-er-pressure you…but-that is, I am absolutely famished for you.”

He softly chuckled, his gaze amused. “So I needn’t be polite?”

“Please no. I suppose I seem incredibly unsophisticated, but you felt so wondrous last night and made me feel more glorious than I’ve ever felt before and the thing is-” she shuddered as a jolt of desire rippled through her vagina-“I don’t think-I-can wait,” she gasped.

“Nor should you have to,” he gently said, smoothly rolling over her, more than willing to cut to the chase. How unlike she was from the usual ladies in his life who preferred flirtatious coyness to honesty.

“I’ve been wanting to feel you inside me all day and all of last night and ever since I first saw you at the masquerade,” she whispered, spreading her legs wide and clutching his arms as though he were her salvation.

He smiled faintly at her candor. She was soft and warm and sweetly willing, too-everything he wanted in a woman.

She was also, he decided, as he obliged her and slid inside her honeyed warmth, a woman who incited a degree of pleasure quite separate from the sensational, slippery friction of cock against cunt, of raw nerve endings vibrating in fervent unison. She was a woman he felt an unquenchable need to fuck-when in the past sexual glut and swift boredom were always the norm.

In some undefined and inexplicable way, she inspired previously untouched emotions. Or was it simply her high-strung, frantic neediness and the wild oscillation of her hips beneath him? “You’re going to have to stop me when you’ve had enough,” he murmured, feeling a kind of reckless indiscretion foreign to his persona. “I’m not in a particularly reasonable mood.”

“I know what you mean; don’t worry,” she breathed, raising her hips high into his downstroke, shutting her eyes at the fierce, flame-hot spasm shocking her senses.

He wasn’t worried for himself-his penis was calloused from hard use. Her vaginal tissue on the other hand might be more fragile. But a second later, he dismissed speculation in favor of raw sensation for she’d wrapped her legs around his hips and was drawing him in with some amazing, vaginal muscles.

In very short order she was frenzied and frantic like he remembered. She was dripping wet and flame-hot simultaneously-a combination that offered him the sleekest plunging descent and the most silken of withdrawals. She was deliciously tight-really, a-gift-from-heaven tight-their ensuing flesh to flesh contact jolting through his brain with such wild delirium he literally gasped on each downstroke.

She didn’t notice, her own feverish respiration claiming her attention, the deafening echo of her heartbeat in her ears further adding to the tumult in her brain. A manic litany-in and out, up and down, harder, deeper, more, more, more-overwhelmed her senses and insensible to all but her selfish, volatile, all-consuming passions, she exchanged reality for a phantasm of overwrought bliss.

Until she abruptly cried out-a small suppressed sound.

“No one can hear,” he breathed, recognizing her preorgasmic utterance no matter how restrained. Immediately sliding his hands under her hips for better traction, he said, “Scream all you want.” Then, lifting her into his downstroke, he crammed her full, wanting her to feel every possible taut, shimmering sensation, each deep, forceful downthrust-a not entirely unselfish intent. “Am I in far enough?” he murmured, swinging his lower body forward, driving in deeper. “Can you feel me?”

She promptly screamed-and screamed some more, her high-pitched cries echoing her orgasmic tremors, initiating the Trianon bed in its new London location, bringing a satisfied smile to the viscount’s face-in due time leaving the lady prostrate and in thrall to Lord Ormond’s sexual expertise and phallic perfection.

After a time, she opened her eyes very, very slowly and gazed up at the viscount with a balmy, sybaritic smile. “If you could do that again I would be ever so grateful,” she breathed. “Or do I have to wait?”

He smiled at her beguiling query. “You don’t have to wait.” His capacity for dalliance was honed to perfection; self-control was rarely an issue. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

“Would you think me too greedy if I said, now?”

“Not in the least.” Holding her impaled on his cock, he rolled over on his back.

“How strong you are-everywhere,” she whispered, easing upright astride his hips, shifting her bottom in a little voluptuous wiggle that made his erection surge higher.

“How pink and plump these are.” His fingers slid over the high rounded curves of her breasts, down the deep Vee of her cleavage. “And your nipples-” he squeezed the taut buds lightly. “I’d say they’re ready for sucking.”

She softly moaned, awash in blissful sensation-his erection buried deep inside her, his fingers delicately stroking her nipples, her vagina bathed in a fresh rush of slick arousal.

“I can’t reach you,” he whispered, tugging on her breasts to bring her closer, half rising himself in a ripple of stomach muscles until her nipples were within reach.

As his mouth closed over one taut peak, she gasped at the flame-hot rapture streaking downward to meet the seething pool of frenzied nerve endings in her vagina and clit. Obsessed, ravenous with desire, she ground her bottom against his crotch in a frantic gyration of her hips, greedy to feel every virile flesh and blood contour of his huge, rigid erection.

He watched her through his lashes with an inexplicable pride, as though he was the means and instrument of her delight, as though he had discovered this unravished beauty who wished now to be ravished by him.

How was it that her innocence stirred him so profoundly? Why did her dewy-eyed sensuality disarm him so completely? More shocking-why did Miss Russell and the thought of permanence suddenly leap into his mind? Never one to allow an injudicious thought to endure, however, he quickly turned his attention to more pleasant conceits.

She came twice more before he decided to take his turn. It was either that or come in her-a consideration so beyond the pale he instantly dismissed it. Although she said afterward, “It wouldn’t really matter if you came in me once would it?”

He stopped breathing for a second, her words the equivalent of a trap about to spring. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea,” he replied in an excessively courteous tone. “For your sake, of course,” he added, quickly easing away from her. “Let me get a towel.”

What had come over her to even voice such a question? Claire restively thought, alarmed at how close she had come to disaster. It just went to show, how passion could overrun reason. How the gratifying pleasures of sex with a gorgeous, superbly endowed man like Ormond could affect one’s better judgment. How infatuation could turn too quickly to fondness or more when in Ormond’s embrace. It would not happen again, she silently affirmed.

When the viscount returned to the bed, he brought two items of jewelry as a means of diverting the lady from further thoughts of his coming in her. Jewelry, he’d found, generally soothed over any and all awkwardnesses.

As he placed the two items in her palm, Claire murmured, “You shouldn’t.”

“Take them, they’re small.” Sitting next to her, he added, “Try them on.”

They weren’t small, of course, the necklace and earrings of large pearls an extravagant gift. “Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t be more sure.”

Indecisive, she looked at the pearls, then at him.

“Come, darling.” He held out his hand. “Pearls are a innocuous gift. Let me help you put them on.”

She had never had so grand a gift. “I don’t know…”

“Leave them here to wear if you’d rather,” he offered, suspecting her reservations had to do with propriety. “No one need know.”

Her misgivings eased by Ormond’s discrete alternative, she gave into wistful desires. “I thank you then, most kindly. They’re very beautiful.”

Her delight pleased him more than he would have thought possible. After helping her put on the baroque pearl earrings and necklace, he watched her flushed smile as she gazed at herself in the hand mirror he’d brought over. How fortunate he was to have invited Miss Harriet to his masquerade, he reflected. If not for that calculated lure, he would not have met this little auburn-haired tigress with her lush body and greedy cunt. And he would not now be trying to decide how long he wished to keep her.

Which thought prompted him to rise from the bed, walk to the armoire and take out one of the new gowns he’d commissioned. He, better than most, understood how a new wardrobe could influence a lady’s decisions.

“No, no, I can’t possible take it!” Claire exclaimed as he carried over a sumptuous yellow tulle gown embellished with diamont sparkles that shimmered like sunbeams.

“I thought this color would go well with your coloring,” he said, ignoring her protest and dropping the frothy cloud of tulle on her lap.

“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.

“You could wear it to Catherine’s next entertainment,” he said, knowing that Madame Leonie’s creation had accomplished its mission.

“How did you know the size?” Claire inquired a few minutes later, twirling before the cheval glass, wide-eyed in awe.

“I guessed.” He was standing nearby after having hooked up the back of the gown, admiring her mounded breasts spilling over the low décolletage.

She stopped twirling. “Because you do this often.”

“Never,” he lied. “Don’t look at me like that. I was fortunate. I guessed right, that’s all. Now come here so I can take it off. I’m going through withdrawal already.”

“What if I say no?” Whether she was half teasing or dead serious, she wasn’t quite sure. Her obsession with him was unnerving; everything about this luxurious apartment he’d forged in a day for his sexual pleasure was disquieting.

“I’d say don’t waste your time.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”

“I don’t have to do everything you say.” Could she resist or couldn’t she? Did she even want to when he offered a degree of pleasure beyond her wildest imagination?

“Of course you don’t,” he murmured, advancing toward her.

“James, don’t you dare!” She ran behind a chair, her feelings volatile and capricious. Her body on the other hand, already liquid with longing.

He stopped in his tracks, gauging her response, assured after surveying her flushed cheeks and heaving breasts that what she said and what she meant were at odds. “That chair’s not going to save you, darling.”

“If you must know, I’m fighting my obsession with you. There, I have confessed. You may add me to your adoring ranks of females.”

“We are both obsessed, darling. I’m obsessed with everything about you,” he said, surprising himself with his honesty. “And to be perfectly frank-” he paused for a moment, debating whether to voice his surprising thought-“I’ve never felt this way before.” There, that was truthful and ambiguous at the same time; he relaxed.

“Oh, that is excellent above all things,” Claire said with relief, “because I’m not sure I can actually do without-well-” she paused, her gaze on his upthrust erection lying flat against his stomach.

“This?” Back on familiar ground, he smiled. “It’s all yours,” he added, running his fingertips up his turgid cock.

She took a small breath as his erection soared higher. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whispered, passion and reason at loggerheads.

“I do,” he said, very, very softly, moving forward, lifting the chair aside. “You and I are going to make love,” he murmured, taking her in his arms. “And afterward I’m going to hold you close and tell you how wonderful you make me feel.”

“This is very strange,” she breathed, gazing up at him.

“It’s good strange, darling.”

She nodded and smiled and gave herself up to the pleasure he so casually dispensed.

Her gown was removed with dispatch. Ormond’s facility for undressing women was second to none. In the course of the afternoon, they made love in infinite, passionate variety. She had a tyro’s enthusiasm that could awaken the most jaded appetites, while his expertise was put to the test by the lady’s insatiable desires.

At last, recognizing she was becoming weak from pleasure-her last climax ending in a voiceless sigh-he paused for an intermission.

Not that he wasn’t still in hot pursuit.

But for the interim, he was hugely and unconditionally gratified.

Chapter Twelve

Turning his head on the pillow a few moments later, Ormond gazed at Claire lying beside him. “You make me happy,” he murmured, a contentment he’d thought forever lost, recaptured. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “What conjuring spell have you placed on me?”

Sluggishly coming to her senses, the deep timbre of his voice triggering every pleasure receptor in her body, Claire whispered, eyes shut, “Au contraire-I am bewitched by you.”

“Then stay. Don’t go. Stay now and tomorrow and-”

His allusion to time burst her blissful bubble. Springing up into a sitting position, Claire shot a look at the clock. “It’s almost six!” she cried, scrambling to reach the edge of the bed.

Quickly grabbing her, Ormond pulled her back down. “Hush-everything’s fine. Your family is having dinner at Catherine’s tonight. I forgot to tell you.”

“While I forget the world is yours to command,” she muttered pettishly, reminded once again with what ease he used his authority.

“I only did it because of you. I am caught in your enchanted web.” Rolling on his side, he dipped his head and kissed her gently. “And strangely, I don’t care.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You will soon enough.” Her life did not allow for prolonged flights of fancy.

Propped on one elbow, he gazed at her with amusement. “Since my feelings are my own, my mulish little darling, allow me to disagree. I don’t suppose you could close down your school for a time?” he went on with the restraint of a Quaker. “I’d like you to see my country home.”

“You know I can’t.” Wincing at the sourness in her words, she added, “I have enjoyed myself immensely, you know that. It’s just that I have obligations.”

“Think about it at least.”

“Very well.” She chose not to argue with Ormond; as she’d discovered recently, he had a most delicious way of challenging defiance. Not that she was complaining with her body still basking in the glow of numerous orgasms.

“Perfect.” He kissed her again, for a more lengthy interval this time.

For such a gratifying and beguiling interval that Claire began to waver on the prospect of a country holiday.

“I could find you a substitute teacher,” he whispered against her mouth, as if he knew, as if her heated little whimpers were a precursor to a more tractable position on the subject of visits to country homes. “You could tell your aunt you’ve been hired for-”

A knock echoed from the drawing room.

Claire instantly recoiled, her wide-eyed gaze filled with alarm. “You have servants here?” Servants’ gossip being what it was, her name would be linked with Ormond’s by morning.

“I thought you might need something,” he said with his usual disregard for the world at large and servants in particular.

“Good God, James!” she whispered, nervously pulling the covers up. “What could I possibly want from your servants?”

“I don’t know-food or a bath,” Ormond calmly replied, rolling out of bed. “Or someone to help you with your hair,” he nonchalantly added, striding naked toward the drawing room. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Or so it was in his world, she noted, horror-stricken that he hadn’t shut the bedroom door behind him.

As Claire lay in the princely bed fearful that she would be discovered, that her career would be in ruins-that she would be ruined, the viscount opened the outside door without regard for his nudity. Taking the envelope offered him by his valet, he nodded in dismissal, shut the door, unfolded the sheet of paper and read the note as he walked back to the bedroom. He was smiling broadly as he handed the paper to Claire. “This was delivered to your schoolroom. Forgive me for opening it, but I saw it was from your aunt and I thought she might alarm you in some way. Actually she has excellent news-her scurrilous comments aside.”

Sitting up, Claire rapidly scanned the sheet with her aunt’s large, bold handwriting. A moment later, she looked up, wide-eyed at Ormond. “Eloped?” she whispered.

“The deed is done and unless I miss my guess, Seego’s parents had a hand in it. Seego would need a special license, not easily acquired, and of course a charitable curate-his father’s no doubt. We must send congratulations to the happy couple.”

“My aunt is raging.”

“Very foolishly I would say. Harriet has made an excellent match.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled at her from the foot of the bed, thinking she belonged in his bed wherever it may be. “Why don’t I find out the particulars,” he pleasantly offered. “Will that assuage your doubts?”

“Certainly it would help. You don’t seem surprised.” Her gaze narrowed. “Did you have a hand in this?”

“I may have mentioned the word elopement, last night at Brooks,” he said with a flash of a grin. “And don’t say you’re angry with me when your sister has come off so well.”

“I’m not angry, if it’s true,” she answered, a modicum of doubt evident in her voice.

“Never fear. It’s true. If you had talked to Seego last night, you would know. But let me send off a messenger.” Turning away, he walked into the drawing room and shouted for his valet.

A small, wiry, middle-aged man appeared on the run, the men exchanged a few brief words, and Ormond returned to the bedroom.

“Who was that?” Claire whispered, huddled under the covers, knowing she could never be so dégagé as to stand naked before a servant.

“Lamont, my valet. He’s completely trustworthy. Have no fear. I took the liberty of sending your aunt a message as well. I told her you were invited to dinner at Lord and Lady Arnoudt’s. She is not to worry.”

“It seems your world is always smooth water and fair winds.” She tried to keep the petulance out of her voice and failed.

“Allow me the pleasure of easing your life as well,” he gently said, understanding the reasons for her peevishness.

“I should become spoiled. Then how would I feel when you grew bored with me?”

“I won’t.” He was unprepared for the intense pleasure he felt at his reply. “Furthermore,” he added, her mention of boredom bringing to mind the reason he’d needed his solicitor that morning, “I have a guarantee that you will enjoy independence in all respects-although hopefully not from me.”

Moving to a small bonheur du jour in the corner of the bedroom, he extracted a sheaf of papers from the drawer. “You are the new owner of this building,” he said, returning to the bed and handing her the papers. “So you will no longer be beholden to your aunt, your school will not be in jeopardy, and I will continue as your tenant as long as you want me.” Dropping onto the bed, he stretched out in a lazy sprawl. “You see,” he said very softly, “you hold my happiness in your hands.”

Pushing up on the pillows, she quickly scanned the document. “I can’t take so generous a gift,” she said, dropping the papers on Ormond’s chest.

“Too late.” He tossed the pages on the carpet. “Your name’s on the deed. Sell it if you don’t want it.”

“It’s too much,” she explained. “It’s outrageously extravagant.”

How to reply without belittling her worth when the purchase price was a mere bagatelle for him. “You deserve much more, darling,” he replied. Tracing the curve of her arm with his fingertip, he knew he didn’t wish to let her go, not now, not ever. Whether it was primal male prerogative or the more admirable emotion called love he knew not. But he didn’t want her to leave him. “What would you say to the proposition that we take a page out of Seego’s book and elope?” A gambler by instinct and choice, he went for broke.

It took her a moment to reply. Unlike Ormond, she was no gambler. “You’d be sorry within the week. You would soon find me no different from all your other women. Admit it-you are even now wondering why you said what you said.”

“I beg to differ with you. As for me not knowing the difference between one woman and another-” his brows rose-“I am an authority on the subject.”

“Kindly don’t remind me,” she said, half pettishly, half teasing because he was lying beside her in all his godlike splendor with his lazy, sardonic smile directed at her. “I would much prefer you were a virgin.”

He laughed. “Surely, you jest. You like to play-admit it.”

“Perhaps…just a little.”

“More than a little.” He grinned. “I have had to utilize all my-if I do say so myself-considerable resources to keep you happy.”

“And I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

He smiled. “The feeling’s mutual, believe me. In fact, I’m feeling all warm and cozy when I’m usually looking for the nearest exit. It must be a sign. So what do you say?” He’d spent his life taking risks. “Come darling, Fortune sides with him who dares. And what do you have to lose? Life with your aunt?”

She sat up as though if she were upright, she would be more rational. “You wish me to elope with you on a dare?”

“You were cautious once-and lost,” he gently noted. “Think of that.”

She had been; he was right. And the years since then had offered her little. “So I should throw caution to the winds?” she whispered.

He smiled. “The scandal sheets would be pleased if you did.”

“Because I have brought the infamous Ormond to heel?”

He grinned. “I couldn’t have said it better. We will save the editions for our grandchildren to see.”

“Grandchildren?”

“Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. I’ve never wanted children; I’ve been scrupulously cautious as you know. And suddenly the notion of your children-our children-” he smiled-“pleases me. Say yes and I will see that we are married.”

“Just like that?”

“Say, yes.”

“I don’t know-”

Reaching up, he stopped her protest with a finger to her mouth. “Yes-say it.”

She saw something in his eyes that she’d never seen even with John whose memory she’d cherished for so long. It was a wild and heady consciousness that life was for living and Ormond was offering himself to her in all his prodigal beauty and entanglements.

If she but had the nerve.

“You are rash,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“And headstrong.”

He nodded.

“Bold and audacious, too,” she murmured, uncertainty in her voice and eyes.

“But I will make you happy.” He was not a man who harbored doubts. “Now, say it,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms so his scent filled her nostrils, so his breathtaking beauty overwhelmed her-so she could no longer pretend she didn’t want what he wanted.

“Yes.”

It was the smallest, most trifling of sounds, but he heard it with the clarity of thunderous artillery. “Don’t move,” he muttered, quickly kissing her before leaping out of bed and bellowing for his valet.

They were married in the drawing room three hours later, the bride attired in a sumptuous gown of gold-embroidered lace, the groom point-de-vice in somber black. The minister had been dragooned from the king’s own household, the witnesses Ormond’s servants, the special license signed by the bishop of London.

It was a quiet affair, but joyous in every respect for the bride and groom knew better than most that happiness was exceedingly rare in the world.

They were grateful beyond measure.

The scandal sheets were even more grateful.

Every detail of Ormond’s life was hashed and rehashed in the following fortnight, while his new bride was portrayed as a sorceress of mesmerizing charms to have bewitched the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.

Not that the Viscount or Viscountess Ormond paid any mind to the tittle and tattle that passed for amusement in the ton.

They were at the viscount’s country house, busy making babies.