Chapter Five

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‑”

“Harville,” Ormond smoothly interposed.

“Harville, of course. Now, gentlemen, if you’d excuse me. My students are waiting.”

There was nothing for the men to do but take their dismissal with good grace. As they stood outside on the pavement a few moments later, Rutledge noted snidely, “I thought you were enamored of the blond sister with the huge tits and come‑hither look.”

“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.”

“Do tell.” A sound as cool as the winter sea.

“Are you always so off‑putting?” he asked with a smile.

“Always,” she replied, without a smile.

But she hadn’t said no and she was still talking to him, he observed, skilled at recognizing interest in a woman‑however minuscule in this instance. He pressed on. “I shan’t mince words, then. Here’s what I had in mind: If you would be willing to offer me your friendship, I would endeavor to see that Harriet is launched in the ton . Not by me personally, which wouldn’t do, but Catherine could be induced to serve as her patroness. Now, you know as well as I that Harriet doesn’t give a fig whether she marries me or some other wealthy nobleman. Don’t feign surprise; it’s clear as the nose on her face. Should I go on?” he unnecessarily inquired. Claire was clearly listening.

“Yes.”

Miss Russell would make an excellent gambler, he thought. No emotion was evident on her face. “Very well. Once Harriet has entree into society, she will be besieged by any number of suitors, many of whom would be more than willing to marry such a lovely young woman. At the risk of offending you, might I point out that aristocratic men are rarely attuned to a woman’s sensibilities, only their beauty. And in that regard, Harriet will outshine her competition. I’ll wager you she’ll be engaged within the month. So you see, I shan’t break her heart and she will have the fine marriage she wants.”

“You’re very generous.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Ask Catherine. She understands me better than anyone.”

“Apropos this friendship of ours. What duration did you have in mind?”

“We’ll have to see.”

“How soon do you normally get bored with a woman?”

“Does anything ever excite you?” he queried, not sure if he should take umbrage or be grateful for her dispassionate view of his proposal.

“Any number of things excite me. But acquit me, Ormond, of wild excitement over being bought and paid for by a man like you.”

“Would some other kind of man elicit wild excitement in you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then I should endeavor to become that man.”

“You can’t.”

“So sure?”

“Very sure.”

“If I should be mindful to try anyway, would you allow it?”

“For a month? Why not? You did promise my sister would be engaged within a month, did you not?”

“And she shall be.”

“Only to a man of her choice.”

“Of course. What did you think?”

“You have enough money to buy someone‑that’s what I thought.”

Like you, he reflected, but kept his tongue. “It must be a man of her choice. My word on it.”

“How will I know that you’ll keep your word if I agree to this proposal of yours?”

“Catherine will vouch for me. Privately, of course,” he added to allay the sudden fear in her eyes.

A heavy silence fell.

He spoke first because he was more impatient‑or less apprehensive. “I would not dream of forcing you in any way. I mean it most sincerely. Although,” he added with the faintest of smiles, “may I remind you now of the time. If you wish to get ready for tonight, we should leave.”

“Very well,” she said.

Unsure of her meaning, he inquired, “Very well what?”

“Very well, you may take me to your bed.”

“You make it sound like a penance.”

“We do not all live in the beau monde, Ormond, where amorous love is a form of entertainment. To people like me, love is love not sex. To simply agree to have sex with you because your bored gaze has fallen on me at the moment is not an easy decision.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did.” Suddenly he was tired of coaxing and cajoling and explaining the unexplainable. “Do you want to or don’t you?” he asked, gruffly. “It’s up to you.”

“No, it’s up to you. You hold all the cards, Ormond. And for my sister’s sake, I’ll play your game.”

He almost said, Forget it. I don’t have to beg for sex . But something stopped him. “Then allow me to escort you home, Miss Russell,” he cordially offered.

“Don’t you ever get angry, Ormond?”

“Only hope you never see me angry,” he softly replied. “Shall we?” He offered her his arm.

A shiver raced up her spine as she placed her hand on his forearm.

Was it fear or something more provocative?

She looked up to find him staring at her.

“I think we’ll muddle along just fine, Miss Russell,” he murmured, as though he knew something she didn’t know. “You please me immeasurably.”

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 684