She hoped Olivia was as successful bucking the tables as she was playing the belle of the ball.
Claire had also succeeded in concealing her fierce attraction to the handsome Hank Cassidy.
When Hank took his seat next to her, she didn’t turn and smile at him. 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.
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