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Chapter Six

 

The carriage ride was largely silent, both occupants immersed in their own thoughts. Or in the case of the viscount‑in making plans.

He didn’t feel he could press Claire now for times and places.

But that didn’t curtail him from speculating on appropriate venues.

Nor did it diminish his buoyant good cheer.

First things first, though. He must see that Harriet made an appropriate splash tonight.

Feeling it would be acceptable to at least discuss Harriet’s entree into society, he said, “If you’ll excuse me tonight, I plan to pay considerable attention to your sister. At the risk of sounding vain, it will add to her consequence.”

“I understand.”

He could barely hear her reply. “You are distraught. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

He held her gaze for a moment, understanding what she meant. “Not completely, I’m afraid,” he said with a sigh. “Forgive me.”

“I would be more apt to forgive you if you were less mercenary.”

“If I were truly mercenary, I would accept your sister’s overtures and discard her when I was done.”

Claire grimaced. “She is truly naive.”

“Not entirely,” he softly replied. “And I don’t mean to impugn your sister’s character, but she has a kind of determination that’s not uncommon with women who are‑” he hesitated.

“Looking to ensnare a husband,” she finished with a small sigh. “I understand and I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Ormond.”

“James, please.”

“You must know I am unsettled by all this.”

“I’ll treat you kindly.” He touched her hand. “You have my word.”

She looked away before she met his gaze once again. “And Harriet will have her husband.”

“I promise.”

“Very well,” she said as if she were mounting the scaffold. “I shall endeavor to please you.”

“You do without trying. Just looking at you makes me smile.” The outrageous significance of his remark went unnoticed, so beguiled was he by her sudden smile. “There now. That’s better. Ah, here we are. Save a dance for me tonight, Miss Russell.”

“Claire.”

“Thank you.” Stepping from the carriage, he turned and offered her his hand.

As she placed her fingers on his palm, she felt a delicious, heated jolt race from her fingertips through her body with such velocity, she gasped.

He heard and engulfed her small hand in his for the briefest of moments. “Until tonight,” he murmured, his voice hushed and low, helping her step to the pavement before releasing her hand. “I may need more than one dance,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

What she minded was that she couldn’t resist his allure. “What if I said I minded?”

His smile was instant. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Damn you,” she muttered.

“I have no control either if it helps,” he said. “I’m seriously thinking about throwing you back into my carriage and taking you somewhere far away, and damn the consequences.”

“Easy for you to say,” she pointedly retorted.

“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.

 


Date: 2015-04-20; view: 628


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