Sin and Sensibility (16 page)

Cobb-Harding shook his head, backing away a step. “I 134 / Suzanne Enoch

didn’t come here to fight with you. I’m merely here to discuss some things with the Duke of Melbourne.”

“Then you shouldn’t have threatened Lady Eleanor, and you shouldn’t have tried to run me down this afternoon.”

Eleanor ripped her gaze from Cobb-Harding to look at Deverill. “He what?”

“Tore the sleeve of my damned coat. So the more pressing question for you, Stephen, shouldn’t be whether you wish to speak to Melbourne, but whether you wish to meet me at sunrise somewhere private.”

The arrogant, confident expression on Cobb-Harding’s face slipped a little. “You have no proof about anything.”

“I don’t need proof. I was there, both times. And I have good eyesight, and a very long memory. Now turn around and leave this house, or choose a location for our meeting tomorrow. I’ve already selected pistols.”

“This is—”

The marquis edged closer. “If you don’t leave immediately, I won’t settle for embarrassing you or causing a scandal. I’ll kill you, Cobb-Harding. But I leave the choice up to you.”

Stephen pressed his lips together, sent a glare at Eleanor, and then with a stiff nod to Deverill turned on his heel and strode for the ballroom door. Eleanor looked after him, letting out the breath that had been locked into her chest for what felt like an age. “My goodness.”

“Apologies,” Deverill said, turning to take her hand and bring it to his lips. “I didn’t mean to barge in, but Cobb-Harding seems to bring out the worst in me.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or is it the best in me?”

“No need to apologize,” she returned, taking her fingers back, but not before she knew he felt them shaking.

“Thank you.”

Sin and Sensibility / 135

“It wasn’t for you, Lady Eleanor. He ruined my coat.

And I liked that coat more than I like most people.” The marquis offered his arm, tilting his head down as he did so. “You bit your lip. Lick it before anyone sees blood.”

She hadn’t even been aware that she’d done so.

Eleanor licked her lip, tasting warm salt. “I didn’t expect to see him here.”

“I didn’t, either. The man’s a coward in the worst possible sense of the word.”

“And you threatened to kill him.”

“I knew he wouldn’t stay. He tried to hide his face this afternoon when he attempted to run me down, and he didn’t approach you in front of your brothers. He’s still sorting out the best way to get what he wants. Hopefully I gave him a third possible outcome to consider.”

“So you did.” She drew another breath, squaring her shoulders. “How much did you hear?”

“I heard him threatening you. That was enough.”

Eleanor had the oddest desire to smile, despite the upset of the evening. “He said that he wanted to marry me, and that he would go to Melbourne and reveal my indiscretions if I didn’t agree to it.”

He nodded as they reached the refreshment table. “I’m not surprised. Punch?”

She accepted the glass gratefully. “I wish this was stronger…No, I don’t. What am I saying?”

“There’s a difference between rum and rum topped with laudanum; though Lady Feryon would faint if she saw someone imbibing in her house.” With a faint smile he pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swallow.

Eleanor couldn’t help looking around for their rabidly teetotaling hostess. “Valentine!” she exclaimed, “put that away!”

136 / Suzanne Enoch

“Only if you promise to smile.”

“That sounds very civilized of you. And very thoughtful.”

“Really?” he returned, his gaze touching hers. “You seem to bring out some very odd sentiments in me.”

Oh, she enjoyed looking at him, trying to decipher what he might be thinking. He surprised her at every turn.

“Perhaps we’re good for one another,” she suggested.

His voice lowered. “If you had any idea how very bad I wish to be for you, Eleanor, you would run away screaming.”

Good heavens
. Heat swept just under her skin. “Tell me how bad,” she said unsteadily.

He took her fingers again, raising them slowly to his lips. “Very bad.”

“Do you think you could seduce me?” As she spoke, it occurred to her that he’d half done so already.

His fingers curled around hers, eyes lowering behind those dark lashes. “Yes,” he murmured, “I do. But I won’t.”

Abruptly he released her hand, even taking a step back.

“I suppose sometimes there is a good reason for rules.”

She felt as though she’d been dumped into a snowbank.

“That is not fair.”

“So I should push you down on this table and lift your skirts? It would definitely be an adventure, but I don’t think it would do you much good.”

“It sounds to me like you’re the one who’s running now,” she pursued, hurt that he could have been…toying with her. “So that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Then should I tell Sebastian about Cobb-Harding?

He’ll kill me. And he’ll send me home to Melbourne Park, Sin and Sensibility / 137

and then he’ll send some…walking tree stump to marry me. But I will have followed your stupid rules.”

“They aren’t my rules. They are merely
the
rules.”

Valentine replaced his flask, using the moment to check on the location of her brothers. All three of them had certainly noticed her conversation with Cobb-Harding, but he didn’t think they had any idea how unfriendly it had been. No agreement would have kept Melbourne from storming to the rescue of a family member if he’d sensed that anything was amiss.

To himself he could admit that his first thought when he’d seen Cobb-Harding hadn’t been for his torn wardrobe. It had been for Eleanor, facing a man who’d drugged and assaulted her, a man who’d chosen to confront her when she stood without allies.

She’d obviously been dismayed, but at the same time she’d faced him squarely, her chin up and her eyes defiantly meeting his. Whatever freedom or adventure she craved, Eleanor was through and through a Griffin.

“Be angry with me if you wish,” he said in the mildest tone he could manage, “but don’t expect me to apologize for anything. I spent a great deal of time and energy becoming who I am. And I’m not changing for anyone.”

And he had no intention of admitting that recently the idea of who he was had begun to take up some of his valuable drinking and gaming—and sleeping—time.

“Fine,” she said after a moment. “Just don’t you quote the rules anymore.”

She was still speaking to him. Hell, she hadn’t even stalked away. Eleanor Griffin was a remarkable woman.

“No promises.” With a sideways glance at her, he faced the refreshment table. “And tell Melbourne whatever you choose,” he said, handing her a biscuit, “but 138 / Suzanne Enoch

don’t do it because of Cobb-Harding. I warned him once what would happen if he confronted you again. Obviously he didn’t believe me.”

Eleanor curled her fingers into his sleeve, tugging him around so she could look up into his eyes. “You’re not going to kill him,” she exclaimed, thankfully just as a footman dropped a tray of glasses.

“I haven’t ruled it out,” he returned more quietly, wondering at the way his pulse sped when she touched him. “But it would only be a last resort. I told you that you wouldn’t have to worry about him, Eleanor, and I meant it.”

She looked down, tears welling in her eyes. Valentine handed her his handkerchief, and she made a show of pretending a sneeze so she could dab at her eyes. When she lifted her head again, he couldn’t read her expression at all.

“You, my lord,” she said, “are a conundrum.”

He lifted an eyebrow, trying to hide the realization that her comment pleased him. “I’ve been called worse.”

She grimaced. “And you’re very kind, but I hate being the damsel in distress even more than I hate you, of all people, throwing rules at me.”

“You made a mistake in trusting him, Eleanor. The rest of it is no fault of yours.” He smiled. “And believe me, I know far more about being underhanded than you—or Cobb-Harding—could ever hope to learn.” Valentine turned her back toward the dance floor and her waiting quadrille partner. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Hm, let’s see. Vanquish my enemy, distract me from his threats, help me find freedom, conceal my poor behavior from my brothers…No, I can’t think of anything at the moment.”

Sin and Sensibility / 139

He chuckled. God, she was a wit. He’d known before that she had a sense of humor, but had only paid enough attention to note that she could be mildly amusing. Obviously, though, she had a mind and a backbone to go with it. “Then I’ll see you later.”

As he started away, she clutched his sleeve again, bringing him to a halt as effectively as if she’d thrown a wall down in front of him. “I forgot,” she said. “There is one thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve one place left on my dance card. Would you—”

Valentine looked down from her face, taking the card from her free hand and penciling his name into the empty spot. “Are you certain you want me to take your waltz?

You have an adventure to find.”

Color crept up her cheeks. “Yes, I’m certain.”

Chapter 9

W
ith an hour to wait until his waltz with Eleanor, Valentine made for the gaming rooms. In keeping with the lack of liquor the games were excessively dull, but even whist and ombre were better than standing beside a wall, gawking at nothing.

He might dance with other women, he supposed, but Lydia Franch was there. Once his feet touched the thrice-waxed dance floor, she would manage to wrangle her way into his arms. Previously he wouldn’t have minded, but tonight he had little patience for the romantic complaints of women who married for money.

How did he end up with unhappy fortune hunters, time after time? He knew the answer, though, even as he asked the question. They were familiar. He’d grown up with them. “Aunties,” his father had expected him to call them, as if an eight-year-old couldn’t recognize that the parade of women falling onto their backs in Corbett House weren’t his relations. They wanted to be—the more hope-140

Sin and Sensibility / 141

ful, ambitious ones had even called him son. That hadn’t fooled him for a moment, and his father for even less time than that.

Every one of them had looked at the old Marquis of Deverill and thought to become the new marchioness.

After all, it wasn’t as if he’d married the love of his life and would never recover, and he’d been a widower since Valentine was five. Alastair Corbett let them all think whatever they wanted, took them to bed, used them up, and then discarded them when they became too clinging or too dull or another, prettier, younger one caught his attention.

Valentine had asked him once if he ever meant to re-marry, and his father had laughed at him. “I already have an heir,” he had said. “Why should I fund what they give for free?” None of the ladies knew that, of course. Not at first, anyway.

In the end, they had gotten their revenge. The fifty-two-year-old marquis who finally succumbed to madness and disease little resembled the tall, handsome wastrel they’d so wanted to marry. By then, they’d turned their greedy attention to his eighteen-year-old son. And so he took his own revenge, scorning the single, eligible ladies in favor of those who offered and wanted nothing but a little passion.

None of that, though, explained his attraction to Eleanor Griffin. It would pass, he was certain, but at the moment every time he was in her company, he had the oddest desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her.

And more than that—he wanted to rip those revealing new gowns from her slender body and run his hands over her warm, smooth skin, and bury himself deep inside her.

“Deverill.”

142 / Suzanne Enoch

He looked up from the whist table. “Melbourne.”

“I need a word with you.”

Of course he did. The duke wanted a report on Eleanor’s behavior—and Valentine had promised not to deliver one. “Give me a moment to take all of Everton’s money.

I’ll meet you on the landing.”

With a nod the duke left the gaming room. His concentration broken, Valentine lost the next hand and departed twenty quid lighter. He’d spent some time trying to decide how much he wanted to tell Sebastian, and how much he
could
tell without breaking his word to Eleanor.

Nothing had seemed satisfactory, and now he’d run out of time.

Sebastian had actually gone out to the adjoining balcony beyond the gaming room and was puffing on a cigar when Valentine joined him. “I hope you have another one of those,” he said, breathing in the heady scent of tobacco. American cigars. Melbourne had expensive tastes, but then so did he.

The duke pulled one from his inner coat pocket and handed it over. After Valentine lit it on one of the balcony lanterns, the two men crossed to the railing that overlooked the garden. They smoked in silence for several minutes, while Valentine made another effort to figure out what to say, and Sebastian tried to give the impression that he already knew everything that was going on and merely wanted confirmation. Valentine had known of that tactic for sixteen years, however, and it had never worked on him before.

“All right, what’s going on?” the duke finally said.

“Nothing much. A few dances with a few gentlemen, and a ride in Hyde Park with Cobb-Harding.”

“Has she shown favor to any other particular man? She did claim to be husband hunting, after all.”

Sin and Sensibility / 143

“Not that I’ve seen.” Valentine paused. He needed to give Melbourne something, or the duke would begin to suspect duplicity. “You did just grant her complete freedom. I doubt she’s in a hurry to settle into any damned marriage shackles.”

Melbourne glanced down at the garden. “Since we’re discussing Nell, I’ll refrain from pointing out that your word choice implies a certain…cynicism.”

“If you want my help, you also get my refreshing point of view.”

“I suppose so. Now what were you discussing with Nell tonight? And don’t attempt to look innocent, because that is something you’ve never been.”

“You wound me. Shay told you that she asked me for advice on debauchery, didn’t he?”