Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

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.

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.”