“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.