Sin and Sensibility (7 page)

Whatever seduction Cobb-Harding had intended, it obviously hadn’t gone well. While Valentine could give the buffoon some credit for his boldness, he wasn’t certain he would have used the same strategy himself. Angering the Griffin brothers was a sure way to ruination—or worse. Aside from that, a kiss—a first kiss—between two potential lovers should never have to be squeezed in between hedge rows. And Eleanor’s renewed interest in her ice was
not
good news for Cobb-Harding.

Valentine sighed. Ordinarily one man’s misfortune with a chit could be his own good luck. Not this chit, however.

No matter how attractive she looked in her light green sprigged muslin gown. It hadn’t even been one of Madame Costanza’s creations, and in fact he was fairly certain he’d seen her in it before. But the light in her eyes, the defiant delight in her smile—that was new. And absurdly disturbing.

“Show a bit of control, Deverill,” he muttered at him-Sin and Sensibility / 53

self. Hell, if nothing else it would be a good exercise for him. The devil knew he didn’t ordinarily use the muscles, physical or mental, designed to aid in restraint.

By the time he left Jezebel’s he’d won enough to pay for a late luncheon and a bottle of fine claret, and feeling fairly satisfied with himself, he rode home to change for dinner.

“Any news?” he asked as the butler followed him down the hallway.

“You received a letter by private messenger, my lord,”

Hobbes said, offering the missive on a silver salver.

Valentine took it. The edges looked only a little warped, so the butler hadn’t had much luck reading the contents.

“Probably Lady Marie Quenton,” he speculated, holding it up to his nose and inhaling. Nothing. “Hm. Lydia, perhaps.”

“I couldn’t wager a guess, my lord,” the butler offered.

“Do you wish some tea?”

As Valentine unfolded the letter, he tossed the bottle of claret to Hobbes with his free hand. “Open this for me, will you?” he said, heading into his office to read in private.

The opening, written as was the rest of the letter in a spare, neat hand, was brief and to the point.

Deverill
,

According to Eleanor’s calendar she has accepted
invitations to the following
.

He looked up and reached for a cigar. “You must be joking, Melbourne,” he muttered, sinking back into his chair.

From the short, detailed list of places, dates, and times, 54 / Suzanne Enoch

the duke was extremely serious. Valentine skipped down past “Lady Delmond’s—Embroidery” to the bottom of the note.

Most of these outings won’t require your participation, but as you can see, there is a great deal of un-accounted-for time in between. That is where you
will have to be
.

Melbourne

Valentine’s first thought was to tear the note into small pieces and toss it into the fire. At the very bottom of the page in large letters, however, Sebastian had scrawled

“YOU OWE ME.”

Thankfully Hobbes picked that moment to scratch on the library door and enter with the glass of claret on a tray. “Anything else, my lord?”

“Yes. Bring me the bottle.” As the butler exited, Valentine skimmed through the list of Eleanor’s outings again. “You’d damned well better tear up my paper after this, Melbourne,” he growled, taking a swallow of the claret.

The gaps in her schedule would take all his free time, and then some. In addition, he would have to keep track of her without appearing to do so; if she realized that he was acting as her rather tarnished guardian angel, she’d never forgive him—and for some reason, that mattered.

Since according to her calendar the scheduled event for that evening was dinner with Lady Barbara Howsen and her family, he had until the Hampton Ball to decide what he meant to do. And of course attending that relatively tame affair meant he would miss the decadence and sin Sin and Sensibility / 55

going on at Lord Belmont’s more private soiree that same evening.

An abrupt thought occurred to him, and he smiled.

Eleanor would undoubtedly unveil another of Madame Costanza’s creations tomorrow evening. He hoped it would be something in red.

“Nell, it’s nearly eight o’clock!” Zachary’s voice came from the other side of her bedchamber door. “Are you ready yet?”

Eleanor turned in front of the mirror again. The gown had arrived only an hour ago, and it would take at least ten times that long for her to get used to seeing herself in it. “Goodness,” she murmured, running her fingers along the low crimson neckline that just barely concealed her bosom. “I feel practically naked.”

“You won’t hear an argument from me, my lady,” Helen put in, fitting a silver shawl across her shoulders. “What will your brothers say?”

She’d thought about that. Agreement or not, she’d never make it out the front door without them demanding to see what she was wearing. And it would be even worse if she told them that they weren’t escorting her to the ball.

“It’s time, I suppose. Please inform Zachary that we’ve tried cool compresses and violet nosegays, but I still have a terrible head, and so I won’t be attending tonight.”

“You want
me
to tell him that?” Helen squeaked.

“I can’t do it,” Eleanor whispered back. “At once, if you please, before he breaks down the door.”

She hid out of view of the doorway while Helen did as she was bid. With the agreement in place, she should have been able to waltz out the front door wearing any-56 / Suzanne Enoch

thing she chose and climb into anyone’s carriage without a word of explanation, as long as she was willing to face the consequences. In truth, though, she was quite aware that her agreement was only a piece of paper, and that her brothers had twenty-one years each of overprotective, arrogant behavior burned into their thick skulls. Better, then, to avoid tempting them to act.

Helen closed the door and turned around to lean back against it. “Saints preserve me, I’m going to the devil for this,” she muttered.

Eleanor came out of hiding. “Nonsense. When I arrive at the ball they’ll know I put you up to it. I’m just attempting to avoid any unnecessary stickiness, is all.”

“Yes, my lady. But what do we do now?”

“We watch out the window until they’re gone, and then we go downstairs to await my escort.”

She actually made Helen watch out the window, because it would never do for one of her brothers to catch sight either of her or of her loose hair woven through with crimson ribbons. They’d see her soon enough at the ball—where they wouldn’t be able to do anything about either her hair or her gown.
She
knew that while her clothes might cause conversation, they couldn’t truthfully cause a scandal—whatever her brothers might choose to think.

“They’ve gone, my lady,” Helen said after a few moments. “I swear His Grace looked right at me.”

“Even if he did, it doesn’t signify.” A nervous flutter went down her spine. She was going to do this, in complete defiance of anything Melbourne might wish.
This
was freedom, and romance—and it was exhilarating, if exceedingly nerve-racking. She wondered briefly how Sin and Sensibility / 57

Deverill could so constantly maintain such a level of excessive behavior without suffering an apoplexy.

They hurried downstairs. Stanton looked as though he wanted to drop dead rather than be responsible for letting her out of the house, but she gave him her version of the Griffin glare, and he swallowed whatever it was he’d been about to say. As a coach rattled up outside, he silently pulled open the door.

Not a coach, she amended as she stepped out to the front portico. The racing phaeton again.

“No need for chaperones,” Stephen said, evidently reading the question in her expression. He extended a hand to help her into the high seat. “And we can make a quick getaway, if need be.”

Eleanor laughed. “I hope we won’t need to flee into the night,” she returned. “Helen, you’re excused for the evening, it seems.”

The maid looked at her, concern plain on her upturned face. “But my lady, you—”

“Good evening,” she said firmly, facing forward again.

“Shall we?”

“As you wish.” With a cluck Stephen Cobb-Harding sent the team into a smart trot. “And may I say you look…beyond stunning this evening?”

She’d noticed that several times his gaze had focused on her breasts. The attention made her feel both desirable and surprisingly uncomfortable, and she pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. Eleanor shook herself. She simply wasn’t used to that sort of attention. “Thank you, Stephen.”

“And your brothers didn’t give you any trouble when you said you’d be attending with me tonight?”

58 / Suzanne Enoch

“No.” She frowned. Dishonesty hadn’t been part of her plan, but she seemed to be doing more than her share of lying. “I…didn’t actually tell them.”

“You didn’t? Did you say you’d be arriving with someone more acceptable, then? Eleanor, I don’t—”

“I told them I had an aching head and wouldn’t be attending at all,” she cut in. “One complete surprise and ensuing argument seemed better than several smaller ones.”

He sat beside her in silence for a minute. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but he already knew that he wasn’t on her brothers’ list of acceptable suitors, or he wouldn’t have made those comments the other night about having wanted to talk to her for the past year. To her surprise, Stephen Cobb-Harding seemed to understand her need for freedom and excitement and romance better than any other male she knew, including the Marquis of Deverill.

And though he occasionally made her feel a tad uncomfortable, that was only because she wasn’t yet used to spreading her wings. Yes, that was it.

“I have an idea,” Stephen said abruptly.

“What sort of idea?”

A slow, attractive smile touched his mouth. “Do you want to go to the Hampton Ball, or do you wish a real, genuine taste of freedom and adventure?”

The ball
, her sensible voice shouted. She’d make quite the stir there. But would that be real, genuine freedom?

Or was she merely making a spectacle of herself for the sake of unsettling her brothers? “What would I be tasting?” she hedged.

“It’s another soiree, at a perfectly respectable house, but the ladies are permitted to wager and to drink and to ask gentlemen to dance.”

This sounded like trouble. “I don’t—”

Sin and Sensibility / 59

“And everyone wears masks, so you won’t have to worry about any kind of scandal. We could leave if you feel the least bit uncomfortable, of course. But I thought freedom was—”

“Yes,” she blurted. “Let’s go.”

With a mask, she could attend. In a crimson gown and a mask, no one but Stephen would know she was Lady Eleanor. She could at least look about and decide if she wanted to stay. Her brothers thought her at home in bed, anyway, so they wouldn’t cause a stir when she didn’t arrive at the Hampton Ball.

“Are you certain?” Stephen asked.

“Yes. I want to go.”

His smile deepened. “Good. We’ll have fun. You’ll see.”

Stephen chuckled, obviously reading her uncertain expression. “And it will be exciting and romantic. Everything you want.”

She dearly hoped so, because the sensible voice in her head was still yelling at her to change her mind.

Chapter 5

V
alentine arrived at the Hampton Ball at precisely seven thirty-five in the evening. According to the invitation the soiree began five minutes before that, and indeed, he was the third guest to arrive. Certainly no gray-eyed chit in a daring gown of red, or any other color, had yet made an appearance.

It was ridiculous. He made a point of not being early—or even on time—anywhere, and even after Eleanor arrived nothing interesting was likely to happen tonight. At two hours or more before his usual arrival time, he’d be lucky not to die of boredom before she did put in an appearance.

He was on the verge of striking up a conversation with a footman when the next group of guests came through the door. The butler announced each one, though he certainly wasn’t impressed, and the other couple there were too deaf to hear anything short of a cannon shot.

After the fifth round of introductions, he was ready to gouge out his own ears and join them.

60

Sin and Sensibility / 61

“Deverill?” a surprised voice came from the edge of the ballroom.

With a sigh Valentine turned around. “Francis Henning,” he acknowledged, shaking the rotund young man’s hand.

“What the devil are you doing here already?” Henning cast his gaze about the slowly filling room. “I say, which game are you stalking tonight?”

“None,” he answered. “I’m here for the roast duck.”

Henning’s open face folded into bafflement. “Duck?

You mean there’s no chit?”

Valentine smiled. “There’s always a chit.”

“So who is—”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

After a moment, Henning burst into uncertain laughter.

“Oh, I understand. Very good, Deverill. Ha ha.”

Luckily for Henning the butler took that moment to bellow Melbourne’s name, and Valentine looked up. “Ah.

There he is. If you’ll excuse me, Henning, I’ll have to stop toying with you now.”

He made his way over to the doorway where Sebastian, Shay, and Zachary lingered, accepting greetings from the host and hostess. Halfway there, he frowned. Where was Eleanor? Under normal circumstances she was at least as easy to spot as her powerful brothers, but tonight she should have stood out like a dove among crows.
Wonderful
. Now he was paraphrasing Shakespeare.

“Deverill,” Zachary greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. “You just won me twenty quid. Shay said you’d never be here when we arrived.”

“Well, I
am
here,” he returned, scowling at the duke.

“Where is she? I’m definitely not doing this for my health, you know.”

62 / Suzanne Enoch

The duke had the bad manners to chuckle at him. “You, my friend, are off the hook tonight.”

Valentine glared at him. “Beg pardon?”

“She had an aching head, and is home in bed. You’re free to go off and damage your health to your heart’s content tonight.”