Kit frowned. "What are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything," Alderton said, laughter clear in his voice. "Just curious as to why you're glaring at the man as though he'd just called you out for a duel."
"I was not glaring," he lied.
Alderton followed his gaze to where Clarissa and Hartley were still deep in conversation. "It's working well, you know. This scheme of yours."
"I wouldn't say it was my scheme." He forced a smile. "I'm merely following my aunt's orders."
"Mmm." Alderton's murmur of agreement held an edge of disbelief. "You've gone above and beyond, by the looks of it. My sister has her pick of suitors."
"That was the plan," Kit said. His smile faded as he watched Lord Hartley lean in even farther, his eyes lit up with adoration as he listened to Clarissa speak. "I'm pleased it worked so well."
Alderton turned to him. "You don't sound particularly pleased."
"I'm thrilled." Kit watched Hartley say something that made Clarissa laugh. It wasn't a real laugh, more like a polite giggle. And yet…
He hated it. He hated that another man made her laugh.
He hated it with such intensity, it nearly knocked him sideways.
But Alderton was watching him. So Kit said what he knew he ought. "This is what we wanted."
Alderton took a sip of his drink and said nothing, which was somehow worse than if he'd argued.
But this was good news, he told himself. Clarissa was shining. Other men were seeing what he'd seen—the warmth, the honesty. And they were charmed. Just as he'd intended.
Just as he'd been.
He'd claimed the supper dance, and when he took her hand for the set, her fingers were warm through her gloves and she was smiling so big, it made his chest ache.
"I believe it's official." He tugged her a little closer. "You, my dear Lady Clarissa…are a success."
Her eyes sparkled. "I've danced four times tonight. Four different men."
"I know." He'd counted. "Like I said. A success."
She laughed as if he was joking, but he wasn't. He wasn't sure she realized yet just how successful their ruse had been.
"Lord Hartley has been to India." Her comment cut into his thoughts and he had to blink to focus on her.
"Pardon?"
"India. He was there, and do you know what he saw?"
"I can't imagine," he said.
Her eyes were wide with delight. She clearly couldn't wait to tell him. And when she did tell him about the food and the animals—in detail, and with a flurry of hand movements—he had to stifle a sound that threatened to escape. He couldn't say if it had been a laugh or a groan.
Goodness, but she was precious. He never knew what she was going to say next.
He suspected she rarely knew either. And he loved that she was regaling him now with all the sights some stuffy lord had seen on his travels. He truly did.
He just wished that she wasn't so very delighted by another man's stories. Was that so wrong? Was it selfish of him to want her to be entertained by him and him alone?
Yes. It very likely was the height of selfishness.
"Did you enjoy dancing with him?" The words came out suddenly, and he realized he'd interrupted her story.
