“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.