Free Some Enchanted Evening by Christina Dodd

those glorious blue eyes and managed to convey both aggression and passion. And she . . . she wanted both to skitter away and move closer.
    The man was a sensual weapon.
    "Please tell me what it is you want of me." That was too blunt and sounded vaguely . . . well, it sounded like a question a courtesan would ask.
    He knew it too, for he smiled at her. Smiled in a way that had her once again think about the open road and how easy it would be to ride away and never look back.
    "It would be easier if you spelled out the duties you want me to assume as your resident beauty maker."
    He still smiled and, of course, answered evasively. "For now you have only to be kind to Millicent, be patient with Prudence, and handle my relatives, who are descending on us even as we speak. Keep the girl-cousins entertained. There are scores of them, and when the lasses giggle in that high-pitched tone, they can shatter glass."
    "You aren't being completely honest with me."
    "When the time comes, I'll let you know what I require of you." He looked deep into her eyes, so deep she wanted to protect the dim, almost forgotten corners of her soul. Softly he repeated, "When the time comes."
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Never smile. It causes smile lines,
    — The Dowager Queen of Beaumontagne
    Hepburn hadn't been exaggerating. He did have a lot of girl-cousins. And girlfriends of those cousins, and girlfriends of his sisters, and kin so distantly related, the kinship couldn't be explained with a single breath. All of those girls had mothers, and all of them had arrived that afternoon to prepare for the ball honoring the renowned hero Colonel Ogley — and to prepare for their debuts.
    Wisely their fathers and brothers had gone fishing.
    Clarice sat a little apart, sipped her tea, and gazed across the huge dressing room filled with ruffles and bows, beads and feathers. She listened to the clink of cups and the sound of female conversation, watched as the girls pounced on the teatime sandwiches and cakes, and found herself relaxing about Hepburn's intentions. Because he really did need her to entertain, assist, and organize.
    Hepburn's sister Prudence was useless. A pretty, curvaceous blonde of seventeen, she fit right into the giggling, shrieking crowd of young women.
    Nor was Millicent of any aid. Since the girls and their mothers saw no reason to respect a plain, unassuming, and unmarried lady, they ran rampant over Millicent's suggestions and pleas.
    Now Clarice watched as Millicent stepped over mounds of shoes, separated two of the girls who were loudly disputing the ownership of a bonnet, and pressed a handkerchief into Miss Symlen's hand so she could wipe her incipient tears. While she paused, Lady Blackston roundly informed her that the menus needed to be planned this minute. This minute!
    When at last Millicent arrived at the place where Clarice sat a little apart from the others, Clarice said in a mock-haughty tone, "You have been remarkably lax about planning this ball. It's a good thing your relatives have descended on you en masse or you would never have it done in time."
    Millicent sagged against the wall and laughed hollowly. "But Lady Blackston's right. I should have the dinner planned by now."
    "Silly you, not to realize they would arrive four days early." Clarice pressed a cup of tea into Millicent's hands and a plate filled with lemon cakes. "Now sit down and drink your tea."
    Millicent dropped into the chair beside her and laughed a little more naturally. "Yes. Silly me."
    Clarice scanned the crowd. She'd already memorized most of the names.
    There was Lady White, an austere woman whose daughter, the thoughtful Lady Lorraine, watched the proceedings with calm interest.
    Mrs. Symlen's gracious smile hid a smug determination to place her sixteen-year-old daughter, Miss Georgia Symlen, into society and marriage long before that immature child was ready to leave the classroom.
    Miss Diantha Erembourg, plain and sulky, was there without a parent;