Perfect Kisses

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 degage 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