Perfect Kisses

turned to go.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Russell.” The viscount seized her arm with a quickness that belied his fashionable languor and pulled her back. “Perhaps you might stay a moment. We could discuss the-er-situation. Go now, poppet,” he urged since Harriet gave no appearance of obeying her sister. “I’m sure your sister is anxious to ring a peal over my head.” He smiled at Harriet to allay the sudden suspicion in her gaze. “I shall set this all right and tomorrow you and I will ride in Hyde Park. Would that please you?”

“Oh, very well,” Harriet grumbled with the petulance common to women who were widely admired for their beauty. Ormond couldn’t possibly be interested in Claire anyway unless he was a devotee of blue-stocking women which she very well knew he wasn’t. And riding with him in Hyde Park tomorrow for all the world to see would be ever so delicious. She shot a fretful glance at her sister. “Cleery ruined everything tonight anyway.”

“Indeed,” the viscount said with a faint smile. His lashes lowered almost infinitesimally and taking his cue, Jordan stepped forward to escort Harriet home.

And a moment later, Claire found herself alone with the man reputed to be the most handsome man in England.

Nor could she honestly deny the designation.

In truth-any woman, not just an innocent like her sister-would be hard-pressed to withstand his brute virility. His dark, sensual gaze seemed to offer ravishment and pleasure in equal measure while his muscled form was conspicuous even beneath his fine tailoring and indolent pose.

Quickly taking herself to task, she sternly reminded herself why she had come to this debauch: To save Harriet from disaster. To allow herself to be even fleetingly captivated by a flagrant libertine like Ormond was inexcusable.

Overcompensating perhaps for her injudicious thoughts, she addressed him with rare hauteur. “We really have nothing to discuss, my lord. I certainly have no intention of ringing a peal over your head. I doubt it would do any good. May I only state, firmly and clearly, that I do not wish Harriet to become involved with a man such as yourself.” Her duty done, once again she turned to leave.

And once again he stopped her, clasping her wrist lightly. “And what kind of man might that be?” he asked with a teasing smile.

She shook off his hold. “I need not explain the particulars to you, sir. Your reputation is one of long standing. Surely you know what you are.”

“Would you like tea, Miss Russell?”

She was taken aback, by his invitation and the manner of its delivery. His deep voice was inexpressibly attractive-amiable and gentle as though she’d not just disparaged him, as though they were friends and social equals. Which they clearly were not. Reminded of the vast disparity in their stations, prompted as well to recall his reputation for charming women, Claire replied, briskly, “No, thank you.”

“Sherry, perhaps.”

“No.”

“Ratafia? Women like it for some reason.” His grin was boyish. “I would dearly like you to stay and speak with me-about your sister,” he added, as though in afterthought. “You’re not afraid, are you?” he murmured. “I assure you, much as you may dislike me, I do not, I think, have a reputation for violence to women.”

Nor would he have to, Claire decided, succumbing partially to his avowal…and perhaps to his great beauty as well. His black hair was artfully arranged in stylish disarray, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes were mesmerizing, his stark features were saved from harshness by his provocatively sensual mouth. Nor would he ever be judged effeminate even with his glorious looks, for he was all honed muscle and strength. Even elegant evening rig could not disguise the athletic power beneath the superb tailoring. She looked up to find his amused gaze on her, as though he was familiar with female adulation. “I’m sorry, I really must leave,” she firmly said. Sensible by nature, she knew better than to trust an invitation from a man like Ormond.

“Let me see you home.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Do you have a carriage outside?”

“No.” He knew very well they couldn’t afford a carriage.

“Surely I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you safe transit at this time of night. We could find a duenna if you wish. I have a housekeeper somewhere on the premises.”

Would he think her completely ludicrous if she refused such an innocuous offer? Was she indeed foolish to reject a ride home at this time of night? How much did decorum and propriety matter when she was at risk on the streets?

And he had offered a chaperone.

Perhaps his smile or his grand handsomeness-or perhaps his effortless charm-weighted her decision. Or maybe it was the simple delight she felt in having a man look at her the way he was…after so long. Whatever the reason she heard herself saying, “Very well. Thank you for the offer. Truth be told, it was a bit frightening making my way here tonight.” Terrifying in fact-the night streets of London were not for the faint of heart. “I confess I ran most of the way.”

“You didn’t bring a maid or manservant?”

“No.” She hadn’t dared; if anyone else knew of Harriet’s indiscretion it could have meant her ruin.

“Ah,” he said, softly.

“You know very well why.” Suddenly aware of a strange, restive light in his eyes, understanding a chaperone from his household might not be completely trustworthy, she lied without a qualm. “I left a note for my aunt should something untoward befall me.”

“I see. Very prudent, I’m sure. Does that mean I may dispense with rousing my housekeeper from her sleep?” He smiled, his gaze once again benign.

She hesitated, trying to reconcile her lie with his query. “If you give me your word,” she finally said.

“Of course, you have my word. Shall we?” Crooking his elbow, he offered her his arm, fully aware she’d not defined the exactitude of what she meant by his word. Nor had he.

Chapter Two

The viscount’s carriage was brought up with all speed, Claire was handed in, Ormond spoke briefly to his driver and then joined her. Sliding into a lazy sprawl beside her, he took note as she shifted in the seat to distance herself from him. Not that the narrow confines of the carriage allowed much distance.

“I have no grand designs on your sister,” he offered, as though to assuage both her immediate and future fears. “Please rest easy on that score.”

Her gaze was direct. “You and I both know your designs on Harriet are very much less than grand, so I shall not rest easy until you stop amusing yourself with my naive sister.”

“And you are not naive?”

“Not in the least.”

His brows lifted minutely. “Why is that?”

“I live in the real world, not in some fairyland like Harriet. Poor darling thinks wealthy, titled men actually marry women without family or fortune.”

“It’s not unheard of,” he pointed out.

“Are you implying you intend to propose?” she silkily murmured.

“No.”

“I thought not.” Her retort was a blunt as his. “Now if you’d tell Harriet as much, we could both get on with our lives. You would be free to pursue some other silly chit and I could stop monitoring my sister’s activities.”

“Even if I do what you wish, you may still find yourself chasing after Harriet.” He chose not to say that the pretty little baggage had given him the impression she was more than willing.

Claire was not obtuse. She understood what he meant. “It’s not Harriet’s fault entirely. I’m afraid our aunt has been filling her head with impossible dreams. My sister is not fast and loose.”

In his experience women of every stamp were inclined to be amenable when a title and fortune were involved.