“Lady Harville says a Lady Whiteside knows of you, Cleery! What do you think of that! Maybe even you will find a beau!” Harriet exclaimed with unflattering honesty.

Maybe she already had, Claire thought, although she was not naive enough to consider Ormond precisely a beau. A sexual partner, a lover, a charming companion. And for now, she would be content with that. Since John had died, she’d never thought of marriage again anyway. Ormond was looking for amusement, and maybe she was ready for a diversion as well after so many years. “Show me your new gown, darling,” Claire said, smiling at her sister. “I’m sure you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“Of course I will,” Harriet cheerfully agreed. “I’m always the most beautiful woman in the room.”

And so it went in the hours before the viscount arrived. Harriet was in ecstasy, their aunt was dispensing advice at every turn, and Claire was trying to find something in her wardrobe that would suit for an elegant entertainment such as the one tonight.

Perhaps she wished to look her best for other reasons, too.

Not that she openly acknowledged those feelings, but she took special care with her hair and found her mother’s pearl ear bobs that she’d put away and even wore a gown that she might have considered too youthful yesterday.

It was a watered-silk in apple green, the style several years old, the fabric worn slightly at the hem, but in a crush such as the one she expected, her hem wouldn’t show. She wondered if the scooped décolletage exposed too much bosom and apparently it did, for her aunt sniffed on seeing her.

“Really, Claire,” Mrs. Bellingham said, her lips pursed. “Don’t you think your gown is a bit daring?”

“It doesn’t matter, Auntie,” Harriet brightly proclaimed. “You said yourself that Society ladies show almost their entire bosom. Don’t worry, Cleery, no one will notice.”

Claire understood that Harriet meant no one would notice her when she stood beside her pretty, blond sister. She didn’t take affront; Harriet always spoke without thought for other’s feelings. And in that regard, Claire hoped Ormond was right and noblemen wouldn’t regard anything but Harriet’s beauty. To date, that certainly had been the case, although their aunt’s social circle was very distant from the rareified world of the ton.

When their parents were alive, their entertainments had been generally small house parties to which the gentry in the neighborhood were invited. As a retired colonel and the younger son of a younger son, their father had not had the resources to entertain on a grand scale.

Since Harriet was still in the schoolroom when their parents had died, her experience with country Society had consisted largely of making her curtsy at teatime and answering the usual questions put to children.

Not that she hadn’t taken to their aunt’s bourgeoise entertainments like the veritable duck to water. She adored being the center of attention. She was a natural flirt. And she confidently viewed the male admiration directed at her as her due.

Claire hoped that Harriet would attract as many gentlemen in the fashionable world.

She was, after all, paying a considerable price toward that end.

The knock at the door came precisely at half past eight and Harriet’s squeal of delight resonated throughout the house.

“For heaven’s sake, child, hush!” Mrs. Bellingham cautioned. “No man likes a raucous woman.”

Harriet instantly put her hand over her mouth and said, “Yes, Auntie,” through her gloved fingers.

Claire couldn’t help but smile. Harriet was always more than willing to please. And if her girlish aspirations were achieved, Claire didn’t doubt that she would make some frivolous young nobleman an accommodating wife.

Ormond was courteous in the extreme as he greeted the ladies, complimenting each of them in turn, paying particular attention to Harriet.

She preened under his regard and winked at Claire as though to say, You see. I shall soon be his wife.

Thankfully, her aunt and sister chattered constantly on the drive to the Harvilles, allowing Claire the opportunity to prepare herself for the hours ahead. Not that she expected Ormond to press himself on her tonight. He’d already mentioned that he would concentrate on entertaining Harriet. But still, she was mildly daunted by the prospect of such lofty company and so elegant an affair.

She was in the minority in that regard, however, both her sister and aunt were anticipating the evening’s events without a qualm. Mrs. Bellingham’s favorite expression parroted her late husband’s observation that Everyone puts their pants on one leg at a time. And that’s a fact, she would firmly declare, secure in her position in the world.

Mr. Bellingham had owned a small brewery, earned a good living, and subscribed to democratic views he’d expressed with great frequency.

His wife was equally forthright.

A point of no small concern for Claire.

She only hoped the guests tonight would be as open to her aunt’s proletarian principles.

“Don’t worry,” the viscount murmured, as he helped her alight from his carriage a short time later. “Relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

She shot him a quick look.

“You’ve been frowning since we left your aunt’s,” he whispered, as though reading her mind. “Come, ladies,” he went on in a normal tone. “I’m looking forward to introducing you to my family.”

Mrs. Bellingham beamed, Harriet smiled smugly, and Claire forced her mouth into what she hoped was a credible smile. This subterfuge and playacting may be effortless for Ormond, but she wasn’t as accomplished at artifice. Nor was her unease lessened when they entered the luxurious townhouse to find several nobles in the entrance hall, divesting themselves of their capes and greeting each other with the casual intimacy of old friends.

Ignoring the raised eyebrows and veiled looks directed at his guests, Ormond guided the ladies through the curious, disposed of their cloaks, and escorted them to the top of the broad staircase where Catherine and Harry were waiting to greet their guests.

The viscount introduced the ladies with a casual politesse and his cousin and her husband welcomed them to their home with equal courtesy. Then, following the few guests who had arrived as early as they-dowagers who were anxious to set about playing cards, young men who had come from their clubs looking for a different location in which to gamble and drink, a smattering of relatives who had been invited to dinner earlier-the viscount’s party moved toward the ballroom.

Claire was astonished at her sister’s superb aplomb. Harriet was neither nervous nor disquieted by the company or the palatial surroundings. She stood on the edge of the largely empty ballroom floor with a faint smile on her face, waiting to be noticed.

She was-very quickly.

A number of men came in from the gaming rooms in a lemminglike rush, led by Baron Worth who first spied her. They made their bows and asked Ormond for introductions. As the viscount obliged, a becoming blush colored Harriet’s cheeks, and she turned an angelic smile on her suitors. Men liked innocence, she’d discovered. Playing her role to perfection, she responded to their flattery and compliments with an artless flutter of her lashes or a demure lowering of the same-exhibiting a chaste, tantalizing purity that clearly appealed to her swains.

The phrase Lead us not into temptation would be appropriate to the drama, Ormond cynically thought.

But then was that not the aim.

After having introduced everyone in what turned out to be an ever-increasing throng, Ormond turned to Harriet. “Let me find your sister and aunt a chair and then I’ll lead you out in a dance.”

“Thank you so much,” Harriet purred, lifting her innocent blue gaze to the viscount. “I would dearly love to dance.”

But no sooner had the viscount secured chairs in which Claire and Mrs. Bellingham could view the festivities, than he found himself displaced. Harriet and Lord Seego were already on the dance floor, Harriet smiling up at the duke’s heir with what could only be termed adoration and young Seego returning her regard with an equally worshipful gaze.

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” Mrs. Bellingham apologized, her eyes snapping with displeasure at the sight. “I’m afraid Harriet has forgotten her manners.”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Bellingham. I wish above all for Harriet to enjoy herself tonight.”

“How gracious of you,” she murmured, thinking that the aristocracy were strange indeed. The viscount didn’t display an iota of jealousy. She wasn’t quite sure whether that was good or not.

“Perhaps I could induce you to dance, Miss Russell,” Ormond smoothly interposed. “It doesn’t seem right for you to sit out the dance.”

“I shouldn’t,” Claire demurred, aware of her aunt’s frown.

“Nonsense. If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Bellingham,” the viscount added, politely, taking Claire’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “This song is a favorite of mine.”

“My aunt is scowling at us,” Claire whispered as he led her away.

“It doesn’t matter.” The bluntness of the privileged. He nodded toward her sister. “Was I right about Harriet or not?” he queried with a grin, smoothly drawing Claire onto the floor and into a waltz.

“So it seems.”

“In spades,” he cheerfully observed. “She has a swarm of suitors-not to mention Seego is in the market for a wife. His father wants to see the dukedom further extended before he dies. He’s ill, so time is of the essence.”

Claire frowned faintly. “How cold that sounds.”

“It needn’t be. Seego’s a pleasant enough fellow.”

“But a dukedom. I doubt Harriet can fly so high.”

“The present duke married his governess. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not disparaging the union, simply stating a fact. The family is open to new blood.”

“My goodness.” Claire glanced at her sister and her partner with a speculative gaze. “Perhaps Harriet will be engaged soon.”

“I’m not sure soon is in my best interests,” the viscount said with a wicked smile, twirling gracefully around two couples. “Perhaps we should have something in writing,” he teased.

Suddenly aware that they were the cynosure of burning interest, Claire wondered if her gown had ripped in an embarrassing spot. “Why are those people staring?” she nervously inquired.

“I never dance, that’s why. Ignore them.”

Only partially relieved, she muttered, “If only I were as dégagé as you, Ormond.” He was always the center of attention, she suspected.

“James, if you please or I shall charge you tuppence each time you call me otherwise.” His voice was playful.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Try to collect.”

“Oh, ho…what a charming prospect.”

“For a man who never dances, you’re very good,” she said, intent on changing the topic to something less licentious.

“Dancing was one of my mother’s great pleasures,” he smoothly replied, ever courteous to a lady’s sensibilities. “You pass muster rather well yourself.”

“We entertained ourselves in our household; my father played the violin, my mother the pianoforte, and we girls danced.”

“Definitely an asset for Harriet in her quest for a husband,” he murmured. “As for your accomplishments as a dancer, those I intend to keep for myself.”

“Am I obliged to yield to those wishes?”

Was that flirtatious or provocation? “Let’s just say it would please me if you did,” he carefully returned. “I believe I’m jealous,” he said with a look of surprise. “It must be your beguiling décolletage inspiring me,” he drawled, quick to ascribe his curious feelings to more familiar causes.

“Do you think it’s too daring?” Claire nervously queried. “Auntie said it was.”

“Hardly,” he said. “Most females display their breasts without compunction.”

She found herself annoyed at his observation. But she’d no more than acknowledged her resentment, than she chastised herself for a fool. Did she really think a man like Ormond would be anything more than he was? Why wouldn’t a rake and libertine notice breasts? Do not forget the kind of man you are dealing with, she warned herself.

But as the music came to an end, Ormond himself prompted her to face the reality of her agreement with him. “Come, we’ll see that Harriet is content in the company of her swains, and then I’ll show you my cousin’s library.”

“Meaning?” Did he propose to drag her off without regard for propriety?

“Meaning, I thought you might enjoy seeing the late earl’s renowned collection of maps and books on exploration.” He smiled faintly. “I have no plans to seduce you this minute if that’s what you were thinking. Ah, here comes Catherine. Would you like her to come with us and save your reputation?” he teased.