Nor did she acknowledge his presence. Instead she pretended to be totally engrossed in conversation with the gentleman on her right, Parker Lawson of New York City. Lillian Titus had whispered in Claire’s ear that the blondly handsome Lawson, an eligible bachelor, was one of the heirs to the late Jay Gould’s vast fortune. Upon Gould’s death in ’92, Parker Lawson had become a very wealthy man.
But as she talked with him, Claire was vitally aware of Hank Cassidy. There was no doubt in her mind that this big, handsome Westerner knew how to please a lady. The prospect of making love to him made her wish that there was no need to wait. She wished that their heated, but impersonal affair could begin that very evening.
But she was too clever to let that happen. She could not let him know that she fully intended to entice him into her bed. Not yet. She would wait a week or two. And while she waited she would arouse his interest by feigning indifference.
Hank scowled when the duchess laughed merrily at something Lawson whispered to her. When finally Lawson was distracted by a lady seated on his right, Hank seized the opportunity.
“You’ll be here for the entire season?” he asked.
“That is my intention, Mr. Cassidy,” she said, then turned her attention to the bowl of vichyssoise before her.
“Call me Hank,” he coaxed. “And what do I call you?”
“Your Grace,” she said coolly.
She had set the tone and it did not change throughout the dinner. Hank broached every subject he thought might interest her. None did. He got clipped yes or no answers to any and all questions. And barely a nod of her golden head to any amusing story he shared. Nothing he said seemed to engage her. He tossed her many a signal. She swatted each one down without batting an eyelash.
Never had he tried so hard to charm a woman and failed so miserably. His ego was totally deflated. Damn her. He should dislike her for treating him badly. She was cold and rude and a terrible snob.
And he was captivated.
Claire knew her plan was working. And she was pleased.
She pretended, throughout dinner, to take little interest in him. In truth she clung to his every word, was amused by his entertaining tales, was warmed by his every smile and dreamed of the moment when he would come into her arms.
But she wouldn’t let it happen tonight. It was too soon. She’d make him wait.
When the seventh and final course was finished and the guests were directed back into the drawing room, Claire didn’t join them. Instead she bade her hosts good-night, explaining that she was still a trifle tired from the trip.
The carriage was promptly brought around. Parker Lawson, who’d been at her elbow from the minute they exited the dining room, suggested that he escort Claire back to her estate. She thanked him, but declined.
On Parker’s arm she descended the mansion’s front steps. He handed her up into the carriage and asked, “May I escort you to Congress Springs in the morning? Everyone will be there, you know.”
“You’re so kind, Parker. I’ve accepted an invitation to join a half-dozen of the ladies who are here this evening.”
“Then I will see you there?”
“I’m sure you will. And now, good night.”
“Good night, Your Grace,” he said and reluctantly backed away. Claire glanced past Parker to the lighted mansion. She smiled with satisfaction.
Hank Cassidy stood on the veranda in the moonlight, his muscular shoulder leaning against a pillar.
He didn’t look happy.
And that made the duchess very happy.
Nine
“Olivia, where are you? Come quickly! I’ve met him. I’ve met the man who will be my lover,” Claire announced the minute she reached the estate and stepped into the foyer.
“Already?” Olivia, in robe and gown, promptly came out of her room leaning on her hickory cane. “How can you be sure? We just arrived today. You’ve only met a handful of the—”
“Does it matter?” Claire interrupted, her violet eyes aglow. “I have found him and need look no further. He was at the dinner party and every female present envied me because I was seated next to him.”
Claire’s exhilaration was infectious. Olivia felt suddenly giddy with excitement. “Come to my room and tell me all about him.”
Arm in arm the two women went down the wide center hallway and into Olivia’s bedroom. They sat down on a sofa before the cold fireplace and Claire sighed happily.
“His name is Hank Cassidy,” she began. “A big, suntanned Westerner from Nevada. He’s handsome and charming and intelligent and eligible.” Claire breathlessly described Hank, concluding by declaring that there was a natural arrogance about him; an easy assurance of male power that was tremendously appealing. “I tell you the man is utterly irresistible.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Olivia, then asked, “What does he do? What is his profession?”
“I have no idea,” Claire said flippantly. “I never asked and he never said, but some of the guests called him the Silver King. Why should I care what he does? What difference does it make? I am not looking for a life mate. I only want a lover for a few thrilling nights.” She sighed.
“True enough. But tell me, is this irresistible Hank Cassidy the kind of man with whom you can have an affair and then end it with no regrets?”
“I don’t see why not,” Claire said with a smile. “Perhaps the repressed, unsophisticated Claire Orwell couldn’t. But no doubt the daring Duchess of Beaumont could.” Claire shrugged slender shoulders. “I will behave as she would. Love him and leave him.”
“And never look back, you naughty girl, you?”
“Never,” Claire was quick to answer. She stood up. “Now unhook me, please. I must get some rest so I’ll look my best in the morning.”
Olivia rose, stepped around behind Claire and made short work of the tiny hooks and eyes going down her back. “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“Out to Congress Park early in the morning to drink of the mineral waters,” Claire said. “Then breakfast with a Mr. Parker Lawson from New York City. Not that I’m romantically interested in Lawson. No, no, not at all. But I’m hoping Hank Cassidy will hear that I’ve been seen with him.” She smiled playfully, then continued, “Later I’m to have luncheon at the Grand Union with a half-dozen of the ladies I met this evening. Then back here in the afternoon to rest before attending a concert on the veranda of the United States Hotel at twilight.”
“Sounds like your dance card is sufficiently full.”
“You wouldn’t believe how these wealthy Americans fawned over me. I’m confident not a soul in attendance doubted that I’m the Duchess of Beaumont. I received so many invitations to parties and soirees, I can’t possibly attend all of them.”
“What
