Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

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.”

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.

The level of joy in the Bellingham household was so resounding, Claire couldn’t help but be drawn into the excitement.

Harriet had come running the instant she walked in the door, waving the invitation. “Cleery, LOOK, LOOK what Lord Ormond delivered today! You won’t believe it, but we’ve been invited to a grand rout at Lord and Lady Harville’s! Auntie bought me the most gorgeous gown in all the world and the most gorgeous silk slippers and the most, most beautiful silk stockings with roses on them! We have arrived, Cleery! We have arrived!”

“Let me see.” Claire took the invitation from her sister and quickly perused it just to make sure Harriet was correct and Ormond was telling the truth. “My goodness,” she murmured, astonished at the friendly tone of her ladyship’s note.