Sin and Sensibility

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Stephen, please. Sometimes I think people forget what they’re about to tell me by the time they’ve finished saying my name.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “I think it has an air of distinction about it, myself.”

  “In light of that compliment, Lady Eleanor, allow me to confide that I’ve heard some rather off-putting tales about men who don’t meet your brothers’ approval. Just how many limbs am I risking?”

  “None. That, I promise you. In fact, if they even scowl at you, please let me know, Stephen.”

  His deep laugh made her smile in return. “I would like to think I can call on you without having to hide behind your skirts.” He paused. “Though your skirts are exceptional.”

  Perhaps this could be more than mild fun. Stephen was a member of the nobility, after all, and didn’t have any scandal attached to his name. “Thank you. It’s something of a new style I’m trying.”

  “Please continue with the effort.” He gazed at her, admiration clear in his light blue eyes. “By God, you are lovely. And that is another thing I’ve been wanting to tell you for the past year.”

  She had the abrupt desire to punch each of her brothers in their arrogant noses. Already tonight she’d managed to have more fun and excitement than her brothers had allowed her since she’d turned fifteen—which was when Melbourne had decided it was time she stopped behaving like a child. In an instant he’d put a stop to her racing about barefoot and practicing her fencing with Zachary, and so many other things that it made her want to cry when she thought about them. Six years later, and she’d finally won her freedom again. Now, thanks to Stephen Cobb-Harding, she had a direction to go with it.

  “Perhaps you would care to escort me to Hyde Park tomorrow, then, Stephen?”

  His charming smile deepened. “Might eleven o’clock be acceptable?”

  “Eleven o’clock would be perfect.”

  “Valentine!”

  At the strident feminine hiss, the Marquis of Deverill looked away from the ballroom floor. “Lady Franch?”

  “Lord Franch isn’t feeling well, and he’ll want to leave early,” Lydia said, from her tone not for the first time.

  “Gout?”

  She edged closer. “I have no idea. Probably. So we must hurry.”

  A burgundy gown swirled by and vanished into the crowd of dancers again. “Hurry?” he repeated, shifting his gaze to the Griffin brethren. None of them were dancing, and none of them were looking at their sister. Eleanor had been right. Something significant had happened. Something that had allowed her to pour herself into one of Madame Costanza’s famously decadent creations. And considering the results, he could only applaud the change in the Griffin weather.

  Lady Franch moved closer still, so that he could feel her breath warm on his cheek. “Hurry to give me your cock,” she whispered.

  “Apologies, Lydia, but I need it elsewhere this evening.”

  He could practically feel the vibration of her abrupt annoyance as she turned to follow his gaze. “Lady Eleanor? Simply because she’s wearing that rag? You’ve never even looked at her before.”

  “I’ve never seen her before,” he returned absently.

  It was so odd. Though he’d known Eleanor Griffin for years, most of their encounters had consisted of light bantering and the occasional bit of frivolous nonbrotherly advice, generally concerning how to avoid entanglements with blackguards such as himself. He didn’t consider her a sister, mainly because he didn’t have siblings and didn’t care to acquire any through social adoption. Far too much of an obligation and a burden, family members were. Since this afternoon, though, Eleanor had abruptly become…interesting.

  “I don’t suppose I can do anything to distract you from the little upstart?” Lady Franch queried, her tone edged with frustration. Lord Franch would owe him a vote of thanks for tonight, no doubt. The old fool’s birthday had just come early.

  “I’d hardly call the Duke of Melbourne’s sister an ‘upstart,’ but actually I’m merely curious about her presence and appearance,” he returned. “What would cause Melbourne to escort her here, and then not pay any attention to what she does?”

  Except that the brothers, or the duke, at least, were paying attention. He’d lay a wager on that fact. They simply weren’t taking any action about it. And that intrigued him.

  “I have no idea. Is figuring it out worth missing a fuck with me?”

  “Apparently it is. And there’s your husband, anyway.” He inclined his head in her direction. “Good evening, my dear.”

  As soon as Lady Franch left his side, he returned his attention to Eleanor. The waltz had ended, and the group of young men surrounding her, claiming spots on her dance card, were for the most part so-called gentlemen that her brothers would normally never have let bow in her direction—gamblers, fortune hunters, and general idiots, mostly. Well, they were bowing now, and practically falling over one another to get close to her. It never took long for the wolves to recognize new prey—even prey that had until yesterday been under the protection of a great, large lion and his two brothers.

  He kept his distance himself, but obviously Eleanor Griffin had had an effect on him as well. After all, he’d chosen to stand gazing at her from across the room rather than put Lydia Franch on her back.

  Something was out of balance—and quite interesting as a consequence. He looked at Eleanor again. Quite interesting.

  One consequence of a relatively early evening was that Valentine was actually downstairs eating breakfast when the knock came at the front door. If he’d known what would transpire next, however, he would have stayed in bed.

  As it was, he continued with his roasted ham and biscuits; he daily updated his butler regarding which guests he was or wasn’t home to receive. Hobbes would see to it that no unapproved persons, especially of the female variety, entered the house. And this morning the list included Lydia, as well—in the space of an evening and through no real fault of her own, she’d gone from being a pleasant diversion to something of an annoyance. And she knew something—or rather, someone—had caught his attention before he’d acted on it, which he intensely disliked.

  Hobbes appeared in the breakfast room doorway. “My lord, His Grace, the Duke of Mel—”

  “Valentine,” the Duke of Melbourne interrupted, sweeping past the offended butler. “I need to speak with you.”

  “So I immediately surmised,” the marquis returned dryly. “It wouldn’t be concerning a particular female in a burgundy gown, would it?”

  “It’s private,” the duke said, striding to the window and back again, sending a glare at the attending servants as he repeated the motion.

  Chewing a mouthful of ham, Valentine eyed his uninvited guest. For as long as he’d known Sebastian, he didn’t think he’d ever seen the duke quite so…agitated. He jerked his head at Hobbes, and without a word the butler and his two footmen vanished, closing the door behind them.

  “Have some breakfast,” he offered, indicating the laden sideboard.

  “I’ve eaten.”

  “Then for God’s sake stop pacing and let me finish eating. I’ve already got an aching head this morning, and you’re making me ill.”

  With a frown the duke seated himself at Valentine’s elbow. “You saw Eleanor last evening.”

  “Couldn’t help it, really. Why? Are you calling out every gentleman who ogled her?” He snorted. “That would take a week.”

  “Oh, shut up. And this stays between us, Valentine.”

  “I don’t gossip, Seb. You know that.”

  Melbourne let out a breath. “Yes, I do. And that’s partly why I’m here. The evening before last,” he continued, pulling a folded paper from his breast pocket, “Eleanor gave me this.”

  The marquis wiped jam from his fingers and took the paper. As he read through it, he was conscious once again of being extremely grateful to have been born without brothers and sisters. “And why are you showing me this?” he asked, handing it back. “Other than to allow m
e to admire the fine penmanship, of course.”

  “Last night was her first evening of playing this…game,” Melbourne muttered, tucking the letter away again. “And this morning she left with that damned Cobb-Harding for some outing in Hyde Park.”

  For a moment Valentine gazed at his friend. One of his few friends, when he considered it, for he was more choosey than most people might think. Something he’d learned from his father, he supposed; sleep with any chit you like, but choose your friends with care. “Her behavior obviously annoys, you, Melbourne, so put a stop to it. You control her purse, don’t you? But you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “It’s not that simple. I…agreed to her terms, as long as she doesn’t become embroiled in a scandal.”

  “You agreed?” Valentine repeated, lifting an eyebrow and truly surprised. “You?”

  “Yes, I agreed, damn it all. She made me angry.”

  “Then you have to let her be, don’t you? I’m sure Madame Costanza will appreciate the business.”

  “So that’s where she got that bloody gown.” Hard gray eyes met his and slid away again. “It’s more complicated than that, Valentine. Whatever she’s up to, she still bears the Griffin name. And the Griffin reputation. I tried to warn her again this morning that if it was a spouse she wanted, she needed to stay out of trouble and not waste her time with fortune-hunting fools like Cobb-Harding, but trouble and fools seem to be precisely her goal. And the more it irritates me, the further she goes in that direction.”

  With a short smile, Valentine finished off his tea. “Then let her go. She’d never marry Cobb-Harding. Seems Nell just wants some fun—take a look at the herd before she chooses her stallion.”

  “I can’t let her go—and please desist from the allusions. She’s not you, Valentine. Scandal will affect her. It could ruin her.”

  “And the Griffin reputation.”

  “Precisely. However bright she is, she’s never stepped outside our circle before. She wants fun without scandal, but she has no idea how to accomplish that—or how badly it could turn out.”

  “I still don’t see how you can dissuade her, if you agreed to this,” Valentine continued, “you being a man of your word and all. The harder you pull on her tether, the harder she’ll pull against it.”

  The duke slammed his fist against the table. “Correct once again. And that is why I’m here.”

  Valentine had the queasy feeling he’d just stumbled into some sort of trap. “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain that?”

  “You’re the most hedonistic man I know.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  Melbourne snorted. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “Yes, I had that suspicion. What’s your point?”

  “That you come from the opposite place I do, propriety-wise. And Eleanor knows that. So where she won’t take advice or guidance from me, she will very likely do so from you.”

  Valentine pushed to his feet, an uncomfortable heaviness thudding into his gut. And he didn’t think it was the ham. “What? You want me to mentor Eleanor? In sin?”

  “Good God, no. But as you observed so astutely, all my interference will do is push her further into this insanity. You’re already more immersed in decadence than she could ever hope to become. She’ll listen to you. She even respects you, I think. Therefore you, Valentine, can keep her out of serious trouble.”

  “I need a drink,” Valentine said, exiting the breakfast room in favor of the library and its well-stocked liquor cabinet.

  “I’ve put a great deal of thought into this,” Melbourne continued, following him. “You can keep an eye on her, keep her out of trouble, where Shay, Zachary, or I would only push her to do worse.”

  Suppressing a shudder, Valentine poured himself a whiskey. “What in the devil’s name makes you think I’d want to have anything to do with this?” That, in addition to the fact that over the past day he’d been having distinctly impure thoughts about Eleanor Griffin. “Go away, Melbourne.”

  To his growing dismay, the duke smiled. “I thought you might be reluctant to participate, which is why I also brought this.” From another pocket he produced a yellowing, much-folded scrap of paper.

  Valentine stared at the paper, wishing he could cause it to burst into flames by power of thought alone. “That is not fair, Melbourne,” he grunted when the missive didn’t combust. “I was drunk when I wrote that.” Swearing, he downed half his whiskey. “Damnation.”

  “And I was drunk when I accepted it. We were equally inebriated, so you can’t possibly claim that I took some sort of advantage of you.”

  “You should have been a bloody solicitor, Sebastian.”

  The duke only smiled again. “Insulting me is not going to help your cause.” Dangling the paper in his fingers, he sank into one of the ill-used reading chairs by the fireplace. “I could read it to you, though I actually have it memorized.”

  “Spare me. It’s bad form to remind someone of their one moment of weakness.”

  “One? Ahem. ‘In exchange for services rendered in regards to turning away a certain persistent female,’” His Grace recited, “‘I hereby owe the bearer of this note one favor of his choosing. Signed, Valentine Eugene Corbett, Marquis of Deverill.’”

  Valentine dropped into the opposing chair. “For God’s sake, all right. You win, you bastard. Just never repeat my full name to anyone ever again, myself included.”

  “Splendid.” The Duke of Melbourne rose again, tucking the damned scrap away. “She should be somewhere in Hyde Park by now. I suggest you not delay.”

  “You want me to go now?”

  “Cobb-Harding came for her in a high-perch phaeton. That should make your search a bit easier.”

  “Melbourne—”

  At the doorway the duke faced into the depths of the library again. “Keep her out of trouble, Valentine. That’s all I ask. I’m putting my trust in you. I’m putting my family’s honor in your hands.”

  Valentine favored Sebastian with a two-fingered salute as the duke left, and then sank back to polish off his whiskey. That hadn’t gone well by any stretch of the imagination. Because of that damned note, he’d just become embroiled in a family dispute, something he’d managed to avoid since he’d been eighteen and his father had finally succumbed to oblivion.

  Sebastian had to be desperate, to come to him. Even so, and even with the qualifications the duke had listed, he was fairly certain that he wasn’t the wisest choice to become anyone’s chaperone. And although a week ago he would have considered the favor vaguely annoying, since yesterday it had become much more troubling than that. “Talk about sending a fox to guard the henhouse,” he muttered, rising to have his horse saddled.

  The problem was, this fox now had a prestigious family’s honor, a friend’s honor, in his hands. And so Eleanor Griffin would have to remain safely out of his reach, no matter what he might be considering in private.

  Chapter 4

  “I still don’t understand how you managed it,” Stephen Cobb-Harding said, as he angled the sporty, high-perch racing phaeton into the shade of some oak trees.

  Across the driving path a group of mamas had gathered, likely to discuss marriage matches for their sons and daughters. Eleanor couldn’t imagine her austere brother Melbourne in such a gaggle, but neither did she think he’d never discussed her matrimonial future with anyone. “As I said, His Grace and I have an understanding. I prefer not to discuss the details of it.”

  “Very well. Far be it from me to ruin the day with sticky questions.”

  His charming grin made her smile in return. “That’s very diplomatic of you, Stephen.”

  He shrugged. “I have the feeling that a lack of strife might be a pleasant change for you.”

  Her smile deepened. Shame on her brothers for keeping her from such pleasant exchanges—for heaven’s sake, speaking with Mr. Cobb-Harding didn’t mean she’d end up married to him. It only meant she could laugh and feel carefree and have a bit of
fun for a few hours. Of course, she could consider the matrimonial portion of her declaration if she wanted to. “Diplomatic and perceptive. My goodness.”

  “And in need of something cool. Would you care for a lemon ice?”

  “That sounds delightful.”

  Under the circumstances it also sounded impossible, though she didn’t say so. Free or not, she wouldn’t have joined Stephen without a chaperone if he’d arrived for her in anything but a high-perch phaeton. As the saying went, a racing phaeton was the friend of a girl’s good name—mostly because once a driver took the ribbons, he couldn’t let them go unless a groom was present to hold the team, and there was no room for a groom on board. It did ensure his female companion’s virtue, but at the same time made it impossible for the driver to disembark for the purpose of procuring lemon ices, for example.

  Mr. Cobb-Harding glanced at the ribbons in his hands, then over at the ice vendor. “You seem like a lady who enjoys new experiences,” he said, facing her again. “Have you ever held a phaeton?”

  “Really?” A delighted giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Not since I was fifteen. Are you certain?”

  He handed her the reins. “They’ll try to pull forward. Hold them hard.”

  “I will.”

  He jumped to the ground. The bay pair immediately took a step forward, pulling so hard that Eleanor slid forward on the narrow seat. She leaned back, hauling against them, and they settled down again.

  “First that dress, and now horses,” a low drawl came from her left. “You’re becoming a Gypsy, aren’t you?”

  A low flutter of amused excitement started low in her chest. “Lord Deverill. Whatever are you doing out and about before noontime?”

  The marquis, mounted on his prime and infamously bad-tempered stallion Iago, tilted his beaver hat at her. “Good God, is it that early? I must be ill.”