Susan Johnson - Perfect Kisses

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.

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.

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-”