Sin and Sensibility (15 page)

“I’ll be there in just a moment,” she said, grasping her aunt’s hand.

Melbourne and Peep headed out to the coach, but Eleanor pulled Aunt Tremaine back toward the morning room. “May I call on you tomorrow?” she asked.

“Of course, my sweet. Something
is
wrong. I sensed it.”

“It’s not that it’s wrong, but that it could be,” she returned. “Please don’t tell Melbourne.”

“We young ladies must form a united front. You may tell me anything, Nell. You know that.”

“Thank you, Aunt.” Delivering another kiss to Gladys’s round cheek, Eleanor joined her brother and her niece in the coach.

126 / Suzanne Enoch

“What was that about?”

“It was private. But don’t worry, we weren’t discussing you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” He straightened one of the curls on his daughter’s head. “Are you attending the Feryon soiree this evening?”

“I think so.”

“And who will be escorting you?”

“Sebastian, this is not part of our agree—”

“I’m not preventing you from doing anything,” he countered. “I’m merely asking a question.”

True enough. And it was still close enough to her near-rape by Stephen that she was grateful for the question. “I thought I might join you, if you haven’t made other plans.”

“I never make plans that exclude my family.”

Eleanor frowned a little. “That’s because you’re perfectly happy with your life as it is. You can make grand state-ments about your benevolence because you have everything you want, just where you want it.”

Gray eyes looked calmly back at her for a long time, giving her a glimpse into their depths of what for a moment looked like pain. “That is a very short-sighted statement, Eleanor. And not at all like you.”

Penelope reached across the seat and took her hand.

“Aunt Nell is fighting for her independence,” she said wisely. “I think it’s difficult for her.”

Eleanor sighed. “Thank you, Peep.” Gazing back at her oldest brother, she gave a small smile. He didn’t have everything, though at one time he had. If Peep hadn’t been there three years ago when Charlotte had died and he’d become a widower, she wasn’t entirely certain what Sebastian would have done. What he
had
done was round his bachelor brothers back up and give them free rent in the

Sin and Sensibility / 127

old ancestral manor just to keep all of his family close by him and safe. No, Melbourne had a great deal, but he didn’t have everything. Not any longer. “I apologize, Sebastian,” she said quietly. “But you could make this a little easier for me.”

“I know I could. But I have no intention of doing so.”

Rather than arguing back and forth about who was making life difficult for whom, Eleanor elected to retreat to her bedchamber with a book. Once she was inside her room, though, she stopped by the window. She couldn’t exactly imagine Valentine retreating to his private rooms with a book when the late afternoon crowds of Bond Street and Hyde Park beckoned.

She supposed she could have a groom drive her to either location, or to the London Zoo or the British Museum—though those didn’t sound particularly exotic today, either. What did one do when one wanted to be wild and wicked?

One could always kiss the Marquis of Deverill again.

Eleanor ran a finger along her lips. She’d dreamed about being kissed by him for six years, since she’d been fifteen.

Then she’d been a child, and as she’d grown older there of course had been the rules. Friends of her brothers were allowed to chat with her and dance with her when the occasion called for it, but they were never to look at her as a woman, and they were never, ever, to kiss her.

Deverill obviously knew the rules, and yet he’d kissed her anyway. And oh, my goodness, what a kiss. She’d been kissed before, in those rare moments when some rake or beau or other had managed to maneuver her away from her brothers for a second or two, but no one had ever made her toes curl before. Of course, she’d never been as…infatuated with anyone as she was with Valentine Corbett.

128 / Suzanne Enoch

Eleanor shook herself. Her agreement wasn’t about Deverill; it was about her. Her choices, her wishes—and yet a great deal of her time seemed to be spent thinking either about the marquis or what he would do in a given situation.

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered, and plunked herself down at her small writing desk. What she needed to do was make a list of what she wished to accomplish and a list of potential husbands. That would do it. Then she could focus on her goals, and dismiss those things—and those people—standing between her and her adventure. Perhaps she could even match the adventure with the man, and in choosing her most-desired activity, find her best matrimonial prospect.

She pulled out a piece of paper and dipped her pen into the ink. “Number one,” she stated, writing the number neatly at one edge of the page. “Acquire a more daring wardrobe which better reflects how I feel,” she wrote.

That was a splendid start, she decided. She could even check that one off, since she now had nearly a dozen gowns from Madame Costanza, even without the infamous red one.

“Number two,” she continued. “Speak with any man or woman I choose, and not just those preapproved by my family.”

Well, she’d begun that, though her first real attempt had drugged and attacked her. She couldn’t let that stop her, however. Melbourne’s elitism was well and good for him, but he’d already experienced the world. She couldn’t allow his standards to control her life.

“Number three.” Pausing over this one for a moment, she dipped her pen several times and then cleaned off the excess ink again. “Drive a phaeton as well as any man.”

Sin and Sensibility / 129

Eleanor frowned, and nearly scratched the line out again. Not everything, though, had to be earth-shattering.

And just because it had been Stephen who’d offered to teach her, it didn’t mean she had to stifle the desire to learn. She simply needed a different, a better, instructor.

Deverill would probably do, if she could manage to convince him.

“Number four,” she continued. “Have an adventure.”

Hm. That was rather vague. Deverill had said he would look into something for her, but as she thought about it, she realized that she needed to find one for herself—and not simply because whatever he came up with would probably be scandalous enough to ruin her and anyone standing within fifty feet. Once she found her own adventure, everything else would fall into place.

Still, she’d only made her declaration four days earlier.

Choosing an adventure merely to get it out of the way would be both ridiculous and counterproductive—and quite possibly dangerous to the rest of her plans. After all, the adventure was to come before the finding of a husband. At the same time, she couldn’t put off making a decision about either point indefinitely; her independence wouldn’t last forever, and if Melbourne put a halt to her rebellion before she’d done that one thing, she would never be satisfied or content.

Eleanor left a space to fill in the subject of her adventure later, and went to the other side of the page to begin on her list of husbands. She decided to label them by letter rather than number. After all, she wasn’t ranking them yet; it was merely a list of potential mates.

“‘A,’” she began, carefully writing the letter, and adding swirls and flourishes for artistic accent. Hm. Leav-130 / Suzanne Enoch

ing space again, she labeled spaces “B” through “G” giving each of them the same attention she had the “A” so that she couldn’t assume a preference by design intricacy.

That done, she returned to the top of the page. “‘A,’”

she repeated.

Nothing.

After twenty minutes she realized what the problem was. She hadn’t finished with goal number two of meeting a wide variety of people, so she hadn’t met enough single gentlemen—other than the Griffin preapproved—to compose a useful list. For heaven’s sake, the only name she was tempted to write down was Valentine’s, and not even she would go that far to make her point.

Aside from the fact that the Marquis of Deverill would make a terrible husband, aside from the fact that the choice would absolutely kill Sebastian, aside from a thousand other reasons, Deverill would never agree to it.

She knew his taste—married women with few morals, and no hearts involved. Since she wanted to love her husband, and to have him love her in return, Valentine would never do.

And so her goals list remained unfinished. And her husband list nameless.

Nothing had altered by the time Helen arrived to help her dress for the ball. This evening’s gown, a midday blue at the neckline that deepened to midnight in the bottom folds of the skirt, she’d been saving for a special occasion.

Tonight for some reason felt like one.

She debated wearing a cloak again, but by now her brothers knew the style of gown she favored, and she certainly didn’t want them thinking she’d worn something terribly scandalous. This gown was more beautiful than daring, anyway. As far as she was concerned, Madame Sin and Sensibility / 131

Costanza had outdone herself. From the dressmaker’s conversation she’d been looking for a noblewoman client for years. She was obviously enjoying the challenge.

Zachary gave a low whistle as she descended the stairs.

It had to be a sign that her wardrobe had improved, or at least become less conservative. Certainly none of her brothers had ever whistled at her before.

Charlemagne’s face folded into disapproving frown, but Melbourne’s reaction was more difficult to read. He looked at her for a long moment, then with a nod signaled Stanton to pull open the front door. “Shall we?”

As Zachary helped her up the steps into the coach, he squeezed her fingers. “You’re going to have every chit imitating you next Season,” he murmured. “We’ll see nothing but a whirl of Madame Costanza gowns. And I, for one, would like to thank you for that.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you becoming a sympathizer to the cause?” she whispered back.

“Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll be strung up as a traitor, but obviously you haven’t been happy lately. If this is what it takes to make you smile again, then you have my support.”

With that unexpected bit of good news, Eleanor rode to the ball feeling more optimistic than she had for the past few days. The situation remained far from perfect, but she did seem to be acquiring a few allies along the way.

The Feryon butler introduced the family, and she strolled into a swirl of light and noise and music. Her brothers made themselves scarce, though she could still feel Melbourne’s gaze on her even from across the room.

So far, though, he’d kept his word, and hadn’t interfered.

Every male in London society seemed to have discovered that her chaperones were off duty, and her dance card filled in what felt like less than a minute. She did manage

132 / Suzanne Enoch

to keep one waltz free, though she had no idea whether Deverill would attend this evening or not. The Feryons were a bit staid for his taste.

She supposed she should give the dance away to further her quest to find at least one gentleman to put on her list, but she wanted an update from Valentine about both her adventure and whether he’d heard anything from Cobb-Harding. If someone had punched her like that she would have kept her mouth shut, but she wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. And rumors were circu-lating. Had Valentine heard them?

After two quadrilles and a country dance, the guests and the orchestra took a much-needed rest. Eleanor spied Barbara Howsen as she made her way to the refreshment table, and she changed direction to join her friend when a large male form blocked her path. Her heart skittered.

He’d decided to come.

As she looked up, though, anticipation dropped into dismay. Stephen Cobb-Harding stood squarely in front of her, his blue eyes taking in the neckline of her gown.

Eleanor flinched, fighting the instinct to cover her bosom and flee.

Slowly his gaze lifted to her face. “Good evening, Eleanor. Might I request a dance?”

The question was so absurd that for a moment she didn’t know how to answer. “My card is full,” she finally said, backing away to give herself some breathing room and so she could go around him.

He stepped forward, matching her retreat. “Surely you have one spot left for your future husband.”

“You are the last man in London—in all the world—that I would ever marry,” she retorted. “And you should feel lucky that I haven’t contacted Bow Street to have you arrested.”

Sin and Sensibility / 133

“Yes, and why haven’t you? Oh, that would be because you would have to admit to joining me at the Belmont party. And then I would have to confess that you had too much to drink, and that you and I went to a private room.”

She blanched. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? I could even describe the small freckle you have right…there.” He pointed just outside her left breast.

Eleanor couldn’t breathe. Nothing, no one had ever been so dastardly. But she was still a Griffin, and Griffins didn’t back down from anything. “You think that will convince me to marry you?” she asked, both wishing that he’d chosen a more private setting for this discussion and relieved that he hadn’t.

He smiled. “No. But I don’t need to convince you, do I?” Cobb-Harding looked past her shoulder.

Melbourne. Oh, he would be so angry, and so disappointed in her. She couldn’t allow this. “If you tell anyone what happened, I will make certain everyone knows what an animal you are, and how much your behavior disgusts me.”

“My dear, I asked if you wanted to join me at Belmont’s, and you agreed. I didn’t drag you there. And you’re the one who dressed like an actress and then tried to seduce me—no doubt to defy your brother. If I chose to take advantage of your misbehavior, that was my prerogative.” He stepped closer. “And I did and I do choose to take advantage.”

“And what if I choose to put a ball between your eyes?”

Deverill’s low voice came. He stepped up beside her, close enough that his fingers brushed against hers. “That would be my prerogative.”