“Indeed. Is there anything more you’d like?” she inquired archly.

Ormond grinned. “No.”

The countess laughed. “I gather you have not yet taken this miss to bed.”

His gaze narrowed faintly. “You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”

“No, darling. You never kiss and tell. I expect that’s one of the many reasons the ladies love you so.”

“And I them in return,” he lightly replied.

The countess gave Ormond a measured looked. “You seem happy.” The viscount wasn’t an exuberant man.

“I suppose I am.”

“Because of her?”

He shrugged. “Who knows.”

An ambivalent answer, Catherine decided, but not unexpected. James had been amorously involved with a great many ladies for a decade or more and had never shown any inclination to enter into a permanent arrangement. “I look forward to meeting this astonishing woman. Although you realize, while I may offer her every courtesy tonight, there may be others who will not be so cordial.”

“Leave them to me.”

She smiled. “I am forewarned.” Ormond was famous for his set-downs.

He nodded at the small bell beside her plate. “Be a dear and ring for pen and paper. The sooner I deliver your invitation the better.”

“You don’t intend to go calling in that condition.” She rang for a servant.

“No. I’ll detour by way of my apartment first.” He blew out a breath. “Then I shall have to offer a plausible excuse for the lateness of your invitation.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Suddenly hit with a wave of fatigue, he rose from his chair and moved to the buffet to pour himself another coffee. “She has the same color hair as my mother,” he casually remarked.

So that was it, the countess thought. “I always liked that shade of red,” she neutrally declared, looking up as Franson reentered the room and quickly giving him instructions.