Claire literally gasped as one young buck caressed his dance partner’s breast right before her eyes.

Clutching her cloak tightly, as if it would serve to shield her, she nervously scanned the room, searching for her sister.

Neither she nor Harriet were so fine that either of them possessed a fashionable black domino, so she surveyed the crowd for a glimpse of Harriet’s blue silk cloak. It was sky blue like her sister’s eyes; it should stand out in the throng of black cloaks if she was still here. At the thought, Claire’s heart sank.

What if she were too late?

What if the viscount’s renowned seductive skills were already in play?

Her young sister would be ruined.

Claire stepped into the room, determined to brave the raucous crowd for the sake of Harriet’s future. Threading her way through the throng, she avoided those groups most in their cups, dodged the occasional importuning hand, on two occasions offered such a forbidding look and set-down to lewd invitations, that the young men jumped back as if burned.

Her piercing gaze, sharp tongue, and air of command had it advantages.

Finally, just as she was about to despair of finding her sister, she saw Harriet and the notorious James Bell near one of the far windows overlooking the street. The viscount was leaning back against the narrow wall of the alcove, floor to ceiling French doors to his right, the ballroom to his left, and Harriet in his arms.

Her face was raised to him as though waiting for his kiss.

Taking his cue, he did exactly that. He kissed her.

For so lengthy an interval that Claire was able to approach them unheeded.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Claire said, keeping her tone severe even as she grappled with the powerful impact of the viscount’s outrageous beauty. “My sister is not allowed at entertainments such as this. Come, Harriet. I’m here to take you home.”