Sin and Sensibility (37 page)

If he wanted to know firsthand what Melbourne might be plotting, he could probably apologize and be let back into the fold. Then he would have to sit and listen to it—listen to the brothers plan a life for Eleanor and know they had no real concept of what she wanted or needed or deserved.

324 / Suzanne Enoch

Twenty minutes after Tracey settled in to view the auctions, a servant in Griffin livery approached him with a note.
Damnation
. They were doing it. Of course, Nell might end up liking Tracey, even being happy with him.

Well, that wasn’t acceptable. Not when he would have to watch from a distance and know he might have had her for himself if he’d only taken action.

So it was time, then, to take action, and damn the consequences. With a deep breath, Valentine approached the war hero. “Tracey, I see you’ve been favored with Melbourne’s correspondence,” he commented, gesturing at the note.

“Deverill. Yes, apparently I’m to appear there this afternoon for an audience.”

“Any idea why?”

John looked at him. “I have an idea, yes. But if you don’t, then I don’t believe I should be discussing it with you.”

“Of course I know why you’ve been summoned,”

Valentine returned, managing his usual uncaring drawl.

“Are you interested in the match?”

“Who wouldn’t be? Lady Eleanor’s beautiful woman.”

“And the dowry won’t be anything to laugh at, either.”

Tracey frowned. “If I might ask, what, precisely, is your interest here?”

“I’m a family friend. I just want to be certain that Eleanor will be happy.”

“Then ask her.” The auctioneer called off another horse, and Tracey turned his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a team to bid on.”

Valentine inclined his head and moved away. He knew enough, now. Melbourne, and perhaps even Eleanor, had settled on a candidate, and the potential husband had no objection to the match, either.

Sin and Sensibility / 325

Well,
he
had an objection. No one had asked him who he thought might be the best match for Eleanor, and no one would consider him for it. No, not the blackhearted Marquis of Deverill. Not even if he managed to convince them how…important Eleanor had become to his life, or how he couldn’t imagine going through his days without having her to chat with, to kiss, just to look at.

According to the Church, in the person of Father Michael, he needed to make amends to Eleanor. It was simply the right thing to do. And with the amount of time he’d spent on the slopes of Hades, he’d best listen.

Valentine chuckled grimly. He was about to do the one thing he’d sworn to avoid at all costs: Lead with his heart.

He hoped the shriveled thing was up to the adventure.

Eleanor awoke abruptly. She felt thick and disoriented, as though she’d slept too hard and awakened too fast.

The clock on the mantel sat cloaked in inky blackness, but from the silence in the house and on the street, it must have been sometime after two and before five o’clock in the morning.

Sighing, she turned onto her side and resolutely closed her eyes again.
Don’t think about anything
, she ordered herself when her mind threatened images of the charming John Tracey and how happy he’d been to meet with her brother.
Count farm animals
.

A hand clamped over her mouth, and another pinned her crossed arms to the bed.

Her heart slammed against her rib cage. She yelped, the sound muffled beneath the hard grip. Kicking out beneath the heavy blankets, she tried to wrench her hands free.

“Surprise,” a harsh male whisper came in her ear.

In her mind she was shrieking. She had three formida-326 / Suzanne Enoch

ble brothers lying only yards away. A breaking vase, a cry, anything would wake them. And then the sound of his voice began to sink through her panic.

He yanked her upright, face-to-face with him. She could dimly make out a black panther’s half mask—and a pair of glittering green eyes—set beneath a battered-looking black hat. “
Valentine?
”

“Shh.”

“Get—get out of here!” she rasped.

“I can’t do that.” Before she could flinch away, he tied a kerchief around her face, covering and muffling her mouth. “Hold still,” he whispered, pulling her hands forward and binding them in the same way.

Plunking her back flat on the bed, Valentine went to her wardrobe and pulled out a large portmanteau. He began opening drawers and flinging clothing into the bag, hesitating and changing his mind about articles several times.

Even knowing who it was rifling through her things, Eleanor couldn’t quite believe it. And as hard as her heart was pounding, it only took a few seconds for her stark terror to twist into anger. Whatever he had in mind, and however mad at her he might be, she was through with being manhandled.

The hem of one of her gowns caught in the edge of the wardrobe, and with a curse he glanced down to free it.

Seizing her chance, Eleanor lurched to her feet and ran barefoot to the door. With her hands bound together it took her a moment to rattle the latch open. She was a second too slow.

One strong arm curled her into his hard chest, while with his free hand he gently shut the door again. “Stop that,” he

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murmured into her hair, half dragging her back to the bed again.

She kicked him. Valentine grunted, flinging her onto the rumpled bedsheets before he bent to rub his knee. If she’d had another second to aim or if she’d been wearing shoes, he would have been on the floor. One didn’t grow up with brothers and not learn how to kick effectively.

Eleanor wriggled off the side of the bed and onto her feet again. Before she could aim another kick at his lowered head, he tackled her back onto the mattress, landing her on her back with him on top of her.

“And I thought you wanted an adventure,” he muttered, grabbing her hands to keep her from punching him two-fisted in his masked face.

“What the devil are you doing?” she attempted around the gag.

“Sorry, haven’t clue what you’re saying. So shut up.”

He dumped a last item into the portmanteau, fastened it closed, and returned to the bed. Dragging her to her feet by one arm, he hauled her toward the door.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she snarled, her heart still pounding at quadruple its normal pace.

Valentine looked at her for a moment in the dim moonlight. Her hair was wild, coursing down her shoulders and sticking out at odd angles beneath the tightly tied kerchief. The terror had fled her eyes, but they remained large and filled with suspicion. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her, but obviously he’d underestimated how angry she would be. If she kicked him like that again she’d probably reduce his cock to pudding.

He couldn’t understand a word of what she was muttering at him, but she didn’t sound happy. He could guess the

328 / Suzanne Enoch

gist of her dialogue. “You’re having an adventure. So stop fighting and come with me.”

Eleanor shook her head, digging in her heels. The word she mangled sounded distinctly like an insult, but he ignored it. Instead, Valentine heaved her up over his shoulder, lifted the portmanteau in his other hand, and opened her bedchamber door. The house was as still as it had been when he’d broken in through the morning room window, but even so he kept all his attention on the closed doors lining the hallway as he made his way to the stairs. Running into another Griffin right now would lead to bloodshed.

She refused to remain still, and her struggling nearly sent them both headlong down the stairs. Leaning one shoulder against the wall for balance, he continued to descend. The fourth step down, though, let out a godawful squeak. Valentine froze, listening for a long moment. Nothing stirred above.

Hoping the sound was something the family was accustomed to, he tightened his grip across Eleanor’s bottom and continued down. Waiting about would only ensure that they were caught. And since Eleanor was wriggling but not attempting to shout, she evidently didn’t want him dead.

He’d already unlatched the front door from the inside, and it took only a moment to swing it open on well-oiled hinges and escape onto the portico. Closing it took a bit more effort, but if the damned stairs hadn’t roused the brethren, the front door latching wouldn’t, either.

His coach waited at the end of the drive, and his driver fastened the portmanteau at the back of the vehicle while Valentine waited, Eleanor still slung over his shoulder.

Dawson held the door steady while he hauled Eleanor up

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and dumped her onto the soft leather opposite him. “Go, Dawson.”

“Aye, my lord.”

They rolled onto the street, and Valentine sat back to remove his borrowed hat and the black mask. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he said conversationally, running a hand through his ruffled hair.

Eleanor had pushed herself upright, and with both hands still tied together in front of her she managed after a moment to lower the kerchief from across her mouth.

“This—you—” she sputtered, “what—what the devil do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m providing you with an adventure to replace the one I ruined with my duplicity,” he returned, offering her the flask from his pocket.

“Untie me.”

“In a moment. I don’t wish to be pummeled by a chit.”

“A pummeling by me will be the very least of your worries, Deverill,” she snapped. “Stop this coach and return me home at once!”

“No. And don’t threaten me with your brothers—if you’d let out a shout we’d never have made it out of the house.”

She drew a breath, obviously trying to assess his sanity.

He wished her luck with the task; he’d given up on being reasonable hours ago, even before he’d come up with the word that explained his lack of common sense. “I do not need your help to plan another adventure,” she finally said in a more reasonable tone. “I don’t need you for anything. Let me go.”

“At the moment you need me,” he returned, “considering that you’re wearing nothing but a cotton shift.” He fi-330 / Suzanne Enoch

nally let himself look at more than her face, and felt warm desire curl down his spine, as it had when he’d watched her sleeping. “A very thin shift, by the way.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, this is something you can’t control. Enjoy it, or not. I’m not turning around.”

Eleanor studied his expression for a long moment.

“Then where are we going?” she finally asked. “You can tell me that, at least, can’t you?”

“Certainly.” He drew a breath of his own. “We’re going to Scotland.”

“
Scotland?
”

“Gretna Green, to be specific.”

She audibly swallowed. “Gret—So you…you think you’re going to marry me? Melbourne’s already spoken with John Tracey. You’re too late. And I wouldn’t have you in a million years anyway, Deverill. So you might as well turn this coach around now. If you do, no one needs to know that you kidnapped me.”

“I’m not letting anyone else have you.” Anger and worry clenched into his chest as he tried to imagine her in Tracey’s arms. In any man’s arms other than his.

“You’ve gone mad. What’s driven you to this nonsense?”

“You have,” he snarled. “You, with your pretty gray eyes and your smile and the way you speak your mind.

The sound of your laugh, your tears when something makes you sad.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine anyone else who had ever made him feel the way he did when he was with her. Emptiness looked back at him. There wasn’t anyone else. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever…liked.”

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“‘Liked’?” she repeated stiffly, her gray eyes deep pools of midnight.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “That’s quite the confession for me, my dear. And more than you’ve gotten from Tracey, I’ll wager.”

“It is, isn’t it? But if you became acquainted with more females, I think you’d find I’m not that unique. And I’m all but engaged to someone else.”

It jolted him, that she could so easily go along with Melbourne’s plans for her. Was it his fault? Had he hurt her that much? “I’d venture to say that I’m acquainted with more women than you are, Nell,” he countered, “and I—”

“I don’t mean acquainted physically. That doesn’t count.”

“I don’t know about that,” he argued, amused.

She straightened. “I thought I was here because you wanted to marry me. I wouldn’t recommend discussing—”

“I didn’t want to talk with them,” he interrupted.

“There’s a difference between spending time with someone until something more interesting comes along, and spending time with someone because you can’t imagine not doing so.”

“Oh,” she whispered, her gaze half wary and half surprised. “But if you felt this way, why didn’t you tell me before? All of this—”

“Because I didn’t know before,” he returned sharply, beginning to become annoyed. He was fairly certain that a chit wasn’t supposed to question the whys and wherefores of a declaration like this.

“How do you know now, then?”

“Damnation, Eleanor. I didn’t know until you started 332 / Suzanne Enoch

yelling at me and calling me worthless, and then I realized that probably the next day Melbourne would go out and find a husband for you. And he did, didn’t he? I…” He trailed off, studying the soft lines of her face. “That isn’t acceptable. It shouldn’t be for you either.”

She hesitated. “I knew my rebellion wouldn’t last forever.”

“But you didn’t have that adventure you wanted, did you? You said I ruined it. And therefore your rebellion isn’t over.”

“So
you
decided
you
would marry me? Without even asking me? How does that give me an adventure?”

“The adventure is the journey,” he returned. “And I didn’t have a chance to ask you. Instead I discussed it with someone else. He gave me some very good advice.”

“And who might this someone be? A butler? A horse trader?”

“A priest. He said if I’d done something to wrong you, I should do something to set it right.”

“And to you that meant marriage.”

Unless he was mistaken, most of the anger had left her voice. That was a very good sign, especially considering that he was perfectly serious. He wasn’t taking her back home. If she didn’t want to marry him, he would convince her otherwise. She was not marrying John Tracey.