“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.”