Chapter Twelve

Turning his head on the pillow a few moments later, Ormond gazed at Claire lying beside him. “You make me happy,” he murmured, a contentment he’d thought forever lost, recaptured. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “What conjuring spell have you placed on me?”

Sluggishly coming to her senses, the deep timbre of his voice triggering every pleasure receptor in her body, Claire whispered, eyes shut, “Au contraire ‑I am bewitched by you .”

“Then stay. Don’t go. Stay now and tomorrow and‑”

His allusion to time burst her blissful bubble. Springing up into a sitting position, Claire shot a look at the clock. “It’s almost six!” she cried, scrambling to reach the edge of the bed.

Quickly grabbing her, Ormond pulled her back down. “Hush‑everything’s fine. Your family is having dinner at Catherine’s tonight. I forgot to tell you.”

“While I forget the world is yours to command,” she muttered pettishly, reminded once again with what ease he used his authority.

“I only did it because of you. I am caught in your enchanted web.” Rolling on his side, he dipped his head and kissed her gently. “And strangely, I don’t care.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You will soon enough.” Her life did not allow for prolonged flights of fancy.

Propped on one elbow, he gazed at her with amusement. “Since my feelings are my own, my mulish little darling, allow me to disagree. I don’t suppose you could close down your school for a time?” he went on with the restraint of a Quaker. “I’d like you to see my country home.”

“You know I can’t.” Wincing at the sourness in her words, she added, “I have enjoyed myself immensely, you know that. It’s just that I have obligations.”

“Think about it at least.”

“Very well.” She chose not to argue with Ormond; as she’d discovered recently, he had a most delicious way of challenging defiance. Not that she was complaining with her body still basking in the glow of numerous orgasms.

“Perfect.” He kissed her again, for a more lengthy interval this time.

For such a gratifying and beguiling interval that Claire began to waver on the prospect of a country holiday.

“I could find you a substitute teacher,” he whispered against her mouth, as if he knew, as if her heated little whimpers were a precursor to a more tractable position on the subject of visits to country homes. “You could tell your aunt you’ve been hired for‑”

A knock echoed from the drawing room.

Claire instantly recoiled, her wide‑eyed gaze filled with alarm. “You have servants here?” Servants’ gossip being what it was, her name would be linked with Ormond’s by morning.

“I thought you might need something,” he said with his usual disregard for the world at large and servants in particular.

“Good God, James!” she whispered, nervously pulling the covers up. “What could I possibly want from your servants?”

“I don’t know‑food or a bath,” Ormond calmly replied, rolling out of bed. “Or someone to help you with your hair,” he nonchalantly added, striding naked toward the drawing room. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Or so it was in his world, she noted, horror‑stricken that he hadn’t shut the bedroom door behind him.

As Claire lay in the princely bed fearful that she would be discovered, that her career would be in ruins‑that she would be ruined, the viscount opened the outside door without regard for his nudity. Taking the envelope offered him by his valet, he nodded in dismissal, shut the door, unfolded the sheet of paper and read the note as he walked back to the bedroom. He was smiling broadly as he handed the paper to Claire. “This was delivered to your schoolroom. Forgive me for opening it, but I saw it was from your aunt and I thought she might alarm you in some way. Actually she has excellent news‑her scurrilous comments aside.”

Sitting up, Claire rapidly scanned the sheet with her aunt’s large, bold handwriting. A moment later, she looked up, wide‑eyed at Ormond. “Eloped?” she whispered.

“The deed is done and unless I miss my guess, Seego’s parents had a hand in it. Seego would need a special license, not easily acquired, and of course a charitable curate‑his father’s no doubt. We must send congratulations to the happy couple.”

“My aunt is raging.”

“Very foolishly I would say. Harriet has made an excellent match.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled at her from the foot of the bed, thinking she belonged in his bed wherever it may be. “Why don’t I find out the particulars,” he pleasantly offered. “Will that assuage your doubts?”

“Certainly it would help. You don’t seem surprised.” Her gaze narrowed. “Did you have a hand in this?”

“I may have mentioned the word elopement, last night at Brooks,” he said with a flash of a grin. “And don’t say you’re angry with me when your sister has come off so well.”

“I’m not angry, if it’s true,” she answered, a modicum of doubt evident in her voice.

“Never fear. It’s true. If you had talked to Seego last night, you would know. But let me send off a messenger.” Turning away, he walked into the drawing room and shouted for his valet.

A small, wiry, middle‑aged man appeared on the run, the men exchanged a few brief words, and Ormond returned to the bedroom.

“Who was that?” Claire whispered, huddled under the covers, knowing she could never be so dégagé as to stand naked before a servant.

“Lamont, my valet. He’s completely trustworthy. Have no fear. I took the liberty of sending your aunt a message as well. I told her you were invited to dinner at Lord and Lady Arnoudt’s. She is not to worry.”

“It seems your world is always smooth water and fair winds.” She tried to keep the petulance out of her voice and failed.

“Allow me the pleasure of easing your life as well,” he gently said, understanding the reasons for her peevishness.

“I should become spoiled. Then how would I feel when you grew bored with me?”

“I won’t.” He was unprepared for the intense pleasure he felt at his reply. “Furthermore,” he added, her mention of boredom bringing to mind the reason he’d needed his solicitor that morning, “I have a guarantee that you will enjoy independence in all respects‑although hopefully not from me.”

Moving to a small bonheur du jour in the corner of the bedroom, he extracted a sheaf of papers from the drawer. “You are the new owner of this building,” he said, returning to the bed and handing her the papers. “So you will no longer be beholden to your aunt, your school will not be in jeopardy, and I will continue as your tenant as long as you want me .” Dropping onto the bed, he stretched out in a lazy sprawl. “You see,” he said very softly, “you hold my happiness in your hands.”

Pushing up on the pillows, she quickly scanned the document. “I can’t take so generous a gift,” she said, dropping the papers on Ormond’s chest.

“Too late.” He tossed the pages on the carpet. “Your name’s on the deed. Sell it if you don’t want it.”

“It’s too much,” she explained. “It’s outrageously extravagant.”

How to reply without belittling her worth when the purchase price was a mere bagatelle for him. “You deserve much more, darling,” he replied. Tracing the curve of her arm with his fingertip, he knew he didn’t wish to let her go, not now, not ever. Whether it was primal male prerogative or the more admirable emotion called love he knew not. But he didn’t want her to leave him. “What would you say to the proposition that we take a page out of Seego’s book and elope?” A gambler by instinct and choice, he went for broke.

It took her a moment to reply. Unlike Ormond, she was no gambler. “You’d be sorry within the week. You would soon find me no different from all your other women. Admit it‑you are even now wondering why you said what you said.”

“I beg to differ with you. As for me not knowing the difference between one woman and another‑” his brows rose‑“I am an authority on the subject.”

“Kindly don’t remind me,” she said, half pettishly, half teasing because he was lying beside her in all his godlike splendor with his lazy, sardonic smile directed at her. “I would much prefer you were a virgin.”

He laughed. “Surely, you jest. You like to play‑admit it.”

“Perhaps…just a little.”

“More than a little.” He grinned. “I have had to utilize all my‑if I do say so myself‑considerable resources to keep you happy.”

“And I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

He smiled. “The feeling’s mutual, believe me. In fact, I’m feeling all warm and cozy when I’m usually looking for the nearest exit. It must be a sign. So what do you say?” He’d spent his life taking risks. “Come darling, Fortune sides with him who dares. And what do you have to lose? Life with your aunt?”

She sat up as though if she were upright, she would be more rational. “You wish me to elope with you on a dare?”

“You were cautious once‑and lost,” he gently noted. “Think of that.”

She had been; he was right. And the years since then had offered her little. “So I should throw caution to the winds?” she whispered.

He smiled. “The scandal sheets would be pleased if you did.”

“Because I have brought the infamous Ormond to heel?”

He grinned. “I couldn’t have said it better. We will save the editions for our grandchildren to see.”

“Grandchildren?”

“Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. I’ve never wanted children; I’ve been scrupulously cautious as you know. And suddenly the notion of your children‑our children‑” he smiled‑“pleases me. Say yes and I will see that we are married.”

“Just like that?”

“Say, yes.”

“I don’t know‑”

Reaching up, he stopped her protest with a finger to her mouth. “Yes‑say it.”

She saw something in his eyes that she’d never seen even with John whose memory she’d cherished for so long. It was a wild and heady consciousness that life was for living and Ormond was offering himself to her in all his prodigal beauty and entanglements.

If she but had the nerve.

“You are rash,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“And headstrong.”

He nodded.

“Bold and audacious, too,” she murmured, uncertainty in her voice and eyes.

“But I will make you happy.” He was not a man who harbored doubts. “Now, say it,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms so his scent filled her nostrils, so his breathtaking beauty overwhelmed her‑so she could no longer pretend she didn’t want what he wanted.

“Yes.”

It was the smallest, most trifling of sounds, but he heard it with the clarity of thunderous artillery. “Don’t move,” he muttered, quickly kissing her before leaping out of bed and bellowing for his valet.

They were married in the drawing room three hours later, the bride attired in a sumptuous gown of gold‑embroidered lace, the groom point‑de‑vice in somber black. The minister had been dragooned from the king’s own household, the witnesses Ormond’s servants, the special license signed by the bishop of London.

It was a quiet affair, but joyous in every respect for the bride and groom knew better than most that happiness was exceedingly rare in the world.

They were grateful beyond measure.

The scandal sheets were even more grateful.

Every detail of Ormond’s life was hashed and rehashed in the following fortnight, while his new bride was portrayed as a sorceress of mesmerizing charms to have bewitched the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.

Not that the Viscount or Viscountess Ormond paid any mind to the tittle and tattle that passed for amusement in the ton .

They were at the viscount’s country house, busy making babies.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 525