Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

She only nodded, his parting smile sending a jolt of desire racing through her senses. Clenching her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking, she watched him walk away, the crowd parting for him as though he were royalty. And like royalty, he accepted their deference as his due.

Had she known, his indifference to the crowd was the result of a preoccupation with other matters. He needed to talk to Seego. The boy normally appeared at Brooks later in the evening, as did most noblemen if not busy with their inamoratas. Still too wet behind the ears to have a mistress, Seego was a regular at Brooks in the wee hours. Although, from what Ormond heard, the boy was more apt to fall in love than set up a mistress.

The result, no doubt, of Seego’s parents’ unconventional love match.

Unlike his parents’ marriage of convenience that had turned out to be exceedingly inconvenient for everyone concerned.

If all went as planned Ormond was hoping to persuade young Seego to pay court to Harriet. The boy was the most acceptable of her suitors-and he knew of what he spoke.

Not that he expected the marquis would be difficult to persuade.

Although it never hurt to offer an inducement of one kind or another. He was thinking young Alastair might like one of his racehorses as a preengagement gift. Or some bauble for Harriet that would encourage her interest. As for baubles, he needed some of his own. Claire had little jewelry from what he could tell and what she had was inexpensive. A situation he was eminently qualified to correct; he had an open account at Grey’s. And then there was the matter of her wardrobe. If she didn’t wish to be beholden to her aunt, perhaps he could persuade her to let him refurbish it.

By the time he exited Catherine’s, Ormond was in extremely high spirits. Striding down the pavement, he began organizing his morning schedule. He would require the presence of his secretary, solicitor, Catherine’s decorator, his housekeeper, and a modiste in order to orchestrate the events required to bring his plans to fruition.

He actually considered going to bed before morning for the first time in years. He didn’t wish to be fatigued for his rendezvous with Claire.

He might even shock his chef and have him prepare breakfast for him.

Mrs. Bellingham fretted on the drive home, grumbling about noblemen’s manners with regard to Ormond leaving early. Although, she grudgingly had to admit that, overall, the evening had been a great success.

“And Ormond will call tomorrow, mark my words,” Mrs. Bellingham said with the absolutism that was a hallmark of her personality. “Lady Strand said his fortune is so vast, it defies speculation. His mother was an heiress and he was her sole heir. That is the way of the aristocracy, you know,” she went on in her same doctrinaire way. “Wealthy families make certain their money doesn’t go astray.”

“I understand Ormond’s father has considerable wealth as well,” Claire pointed out.

“That may be, but nothing like his mother’s. Lady Strand said when Annabella FitzClarence made her bow, she was not only the most beautiful girl of the season, but the richest.”

“It doesn’t matter whether the man you love is the richest or not,” Harriet said with a little sniff. “Everyone knows, money doesn’t buy happiness.”

Harriet’s comments were so shockingly contradictory to her previous views on the merits of love and money, that Claire and her aunt stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Claire said, finding her tongue first. “There are any number of wealthy marriages that are unhappy I’m sure.” Ormond’s family came to mind.

“Ormond’s mother ran away from her husband. And they were both rich. So you see,” Harriet declared as if she’d not only read Claire’s mind, but delivered irrefutable evidence that marriage without love was oppressive.

“My dear late husband always used to say that you can love a rich man as well as a poor one. He was quite right,” Mrs. Bellingham declared, undeterred by Harriet’s assertion. “And since Ormond is interested in you, my dear, the question of wealth is irrelevant, is it not?”

“I may find that I prefer another man,” Harriet muttered.

“Nonsense, you don’t know any other men,” Mrs. Bellingham returned, sharply.

Claire gave her sister a warning look.

Harriet wrinkled her nose, but judiciously curtailed the remark she was about to make. Then with a toss of her blond curls, she slumped down in her seat and sulked for the remainder of the drive.

Once they were home, Claire intended to speak with Harriet in private. But her aunt insisted Claire help her undress and ready herself for bed, rather than wake her maid. By the time Claire had completed her duties, Harriet was fast asleep.

She’d have to speak with her sister tomorrow. There was something about Harriet’s objection to their aunt’s sponsorship of Ormond that was perplexing. Prior to the rout tonight, Harriet had been unshakable in her resolve to become the next Viscountess Ormond.

And now?

What had changed?

As for the man intent on making that change, he was in the reading room at Brooks putting pen to paper, enumerating various tasks to be accomplished tomorrow-a bottle of cognac at hand to facilitate his labors.

He’d left orders to be notified when Seego arrived and he’d look up from time to time, as though impatient. When, at last, he saw the boy walk in, he immediately waved him over.

“I have been looking for you, sir,” the marquis said with a mannered bow on reaching Ormond’s side. “You were not at your usual locales.”

“We have been at cross-purposes, then. I have been here waiting for you. Sit down,” Ormond offered, indicating a chair opposite him with a nod of his head, pleased that they were apparently of one mind. “Cognac or something else?”

“Actually, I don’t drink much,” Alastair said, sitting down across from Ormond.

“Coffee? Tea?” He should have known. The youngster was so fresh-faced and unspoiled. “A lemon punch perhaps?”

“No, nothing. The thing is,” Seego said, nervously running his fingers through his pale hair, “I’ve come to ask something of you.”

Ormond pushed away his pen and paper and sat back in his chair. “Ask away.”

“I understand you have been calling on Miss Harriet Russell.”

“I have.”

“Then my question is-” the marquis swallowed hard-“exactly what might your intentions be with regard to Miss Harriet? If I might be so bold as to ask,” he quickly added, turning bright red under Ormond’s studied gaze.

“Rest easy, my boy. I have no intentions at all. As you know, I am accused of inconstancy in my relationships with women and that is an accurate assessment.”

“Sir, how dare you use Miss Harriet in such a cavalier fashion!”

The youth had gone from unease to indignation with such lightning speed, that Ormond spoke in his most soothing voice-wishing above all things to avoid being called out by the silly boy. “You misunderstand. My friendship with Miss Harriet was of the most casual nature. What I meant to say is that I have no claim on her affections.”

An instant smile reversed Seego’s former frenzy. “That’s exactly what she said,” the boy blurted out. “Her damned crotchety old aunt’s interference notwithstanding. Not that Miss Harriet spoke in such strong terms, sir,” he quickly amended.

“Naturally. I understand. Do I detect a certain interest on your part in Miss Harriet?” Ormond inquired, blandly.

“Indeed. I love her with all my heart,” Seego pronounced with sweeping conviction.

“On such short acquaintance? What might your parents say of such a sudden attachment?” Ormond debated bringing up the subject, but if obstacles were at hand, it was better to be forewarned.

“Oh, they, too, will love her instantly,” the marquis enthused. “She is the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he added with an adoring sigh. “And ever so sweet as well. We talked and talked tonight and discovered that in all things we agree.”

“Admirable,” Ormond murmured. He didn’t realize Harriet could actually carry on a conversation, having experienced only her tiresome banter. But then, his interest in Harriet had not been of a conversational nature. “I wish you all the best, Seego. If I may be of any assistance in your courtship, you need but ask.”

“Actually,” the marquis replied, leaning forward as he spoke, “if you don’t mind, I do have a question or two. In contrast to you, I am relatively inexperienced with women so I was wondering…”

For a lengthy interval, the men discussed a number of issues having to do with women-what they liked and didn’t like, how best to please them, what gifts were most likely to gain their affection, in particular what a young woman like Harriet would find attractive in a man.

When at last, the marquis rose from his chair, he said with a great deal of feeling, “You have been exceedingly gracious, Ormond. Thank you for your advice.”

“I’m pleased to be of help, my boy. How old are you?” Ormond asked on the spur of the moment.

“Twenty-two, sir.”

Good God, he felt old. Had he ever been as innocent as Seego? The sad truth was-no. And now, at thirty, it seemed as if he’d already lived a dozen lifetimes. “I wish you happiness,” Ormond said, envying the boy his artless joy in living.

“And you too, sir,” Seego replied as he took his leave.

Not likely that, Ormond thought, as he watched the boy jauntily stride away. Too much had transpired in his life for him to ever recapture that same youthful zest for living. Or perhaps it was only that he was too familiar with melancholy to begin again, his demons too numerous to defeat.

Oppressive memory was a constant in his life. It kept him awake at night, gave rise to his excesses, made him the man he was.

Reaching for the cognac bottle, he poured his glass full once again in an effort to numb his afflictions. As he lifted the glass to his mouth, he suddenly saw Claire’s smiling face in his mind’s eye and he couldn’t help but smile back. With what ease her image cured his black mood. How simple it was to forget when she reminded him of more pleasant pastimes. How intriguing it was to think about seeing her tomorrow.

Setting the glass down untouched, he picked up his pen and returned to his list-making.

Before long he was humming under his breath.

Neither Harriet nor Mrs. Bellingham had wakened by the time Claire departed for work in the morning. Her conversation with her sister would have to wait. Not that it was particularly pressing. There would be time enough later.

And in all honesty, her thoughts were rather obsessively devoted to Ormond anyway. Fond memories of last night occupied her thoughts, causing her to smile a good deal as she readied herself for work. There was no doubt why the viscount was in such demand with the ladies. He offered incredible pleasure with the most delightfully casual charm. As though carnal passions were perfectly natural-perfect the operative word.

In anticipation of perhaps feeling perfect again today, Claire took particular care with her toilette. Passing over her serviceable gray and navy bombazine gowns that had become her uniforms of late, she chose a tartan silk skirt that had once been her mother’s and a muslin blouse she’d not worn in years. She was being silly, perhaps, she thought a few moments later, tying the bow on the collar of her pelisse. There was a very good chance Ormond wouldn’t remember their plans to meet after school.

She wasn’t entirely sure a man of his immoderate nature would recall what he had promised the evening past. Or care if he did. He’d left any number of women in the lurch, she suspected.

It might be wise to steel herself against disappointment. A not uncommon state since the death of her parents, she reflected, setting her bonnet on her head and tucking her curls under the brim. Silver linings seemed to have disappeared from her world.

As though in contradiction to her sober mood, the morning was sunny and bright as she walked the several blocks to work. The air was fresh and clear, not always the case in the city. Even the birds in the trees seemed intent on joyfully greeting the new day.

How could one not succumb to the glorious morning?

Having moved through the streets with all the other workers on their way to their labors, Claire reached the building housing her schoolroom and found even more bustle and activity. Dray wagons lined the entire block, waiting their turn to unload, while scores of workmen were busy carrying items of every ilk into the building.