“The daylight will do you good.”
“That remains to be seen.” He sent a glance toward the shaved ice vendor. “Stephen Cobb-Harding,” he murmured. “Interesting choice of companion.”
Eleanor frowned, her pleasure at seeing the marquis dissipating. “Don’t tell me you’ve become stodgy.”
Both dark eyebrows lifted. “‘Stodgy’?” he repeated. “You wound me. My only complaint is against his poor choice of coat color. What is that, puce?”
“Ah. His coat color. Very likely.”
The marquis chuckled. “I suppose his dress is tolerable. I was just surprised to see you here in his company, and without a Griffin brother in sight.”
“I told you yesterday that things would change.”
“So they have. And for—”
“Here you are, Lady Eleanor,” Stephen interrupted, setting a pair of ices on the seat and clambering up beside them. “You did well. I think driving lessons may be next.”
“I’d love to,” she blurted.
Her escort’s attention, though, had already turned to Deverill. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Cobb-Harding. That’s a fine-looking pair.”
“Yes. Thank you. If you’ll excuse us?”
The marquis touched the brim of his hat again. “Of course. Good day to both of you.”
Eleanor watched Lord Deverill ride off toward the north part of the park. She didn’t know anyone who rode as well as Valentine Corbett—or any man who looked as fine in a rust-colored coat and tight buckskin breeches.
“I’ve always been surprised,” Stephen said into the silence, “that your brothers could be so protective of you and still allow Deverill into Griffin House.”
“Deverill and Melbourne attended Oxford together, and they inherited at nearly the same age. They’ve always been quite close—well, as close as Deverill gets to anyone. And the marquis has never been anything less than respectful toward me.”
“I meant no offense, Lady Eleanor.”
She smiled at him. “None taken.”
It was a question she’d asked herself from time to time anyway, considering how differently Melbourne and Deverill viewed the world. Mostly, though, she was just thankful for the marquis’s occasional visits. He always felt like a breath of fresh air, a contrary breeze in the face of her brothers’ harsh north wind. She’d even conjured his image when she’d written her declaration. There were certainly a few things about his style of living that she wanted to emulate, though the majority of them would see her married or in a convent.
There were other things she’d imagined about him too, about what she would do if those deep green eyes turned in her direction with more than mild amusement. And she’d imagined kisses, and warm hands, and pleasures she couldn’t put a name to, but could only guess about.
And the odd thing was, since he’d run into her outside Madame Costanza’s shop yesterday, she’d sensed a change in those eyes. A change that made her heart thud, and that made her recall her young girl’s fantasies all over again.
“How’s your ice?”
She shook herself. “Very refreshing. Thank you.”
“You know, my lady, I would very much like to escort you to the Hampton Ball tomorrow evening, if you would permit me.”
Oh, Melbourne would have an apoplexy if the same man escorted her twice in two days. “If you will come by at eight o’clock, I will be happy to have you escort me.”
Stephen nodded. “Splendid.”
As they passed between two rows of hedges, he leaned closer. Before she could move, he flicked the tip of his tongue along the left corner of her mouth. “What are you—” she stammered, shocked at the startling intimacy.
“Lemon ice,” he said easily. “Even sweeter, melted upon your lips.”
Eleanor spooned up another mouthful of lemon ice and tried to regain her breath. No man had ever dared to be so forward with her before now, and for a brief moment she’d been offended. This was what she’d wanted, in a manner of speaking—not some man she barely knew licking her mouth, but the freedom to have something out of the ordinary happen, with no one to chastise her for it later.
“You’re being very quiet. I haven’t offended you, I hope.”
“No! No. You only surprised me.”
One fine eyebrow lifted. “And you don’t like surprises, Lady Eleanor? I’m sorry if I’ve erred in my assessment of your charac—”
“You haven’t, Stephen,” she said quickly, frowning. Heavens, the last thing she wanted was for Mr. Cobb-Harding to think her timid or prudish. Not after she’d finally won the opportunity to be anything but. “I love surprises. And you may call me Eleanor.” If he kept calling her Lady Eleanor, neither of them would be able to forget her family’s large shadow.
The smile touched his mouth again. “I am very glad to hear you say that, Eleanor.”
After another pleasant hour spent chatting as they meandered about the park, Stephen returned her to Griffin House. As they turned up the drive, she could practically feel three pairs of frowning eyes glaring at her from the upstairs windows, and she sent a frown back in that direction just for good measure.
“Good afternoon, Lady Eleanor,” Stanton greeted, as he opened the front door for her.
“Stanton. Where might my brothers be?” She supposed she might as well get the argument over with.
“His Grace has gone to the House of Lords for a meeting. Lord Shay and Lord Zachary were to have luncheon at the Society Club, and they haven’t yet returned.”
“They—oh. Thank you. I’ll be attending to some correspondence in the morning room.”
“Very good, my lady. Shall I send in some tea?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
Her brothers weren’t even there? That didn’t make any sense at all. Melbourne had hounded her for better than twenty minutes before Stephen had arrived this morning, questioning the soundness of her mind and demanding to know what she hoped to gain from spending time with a fortune hunter—as if every single gentleman with a limited income was a fortune hunter. And yet now they couldn’t even be bothered to see whether she arrived home safely or not.
She seated herself at the writing desk, and with a sigh pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer. So they weren’t home. She hoped that meant they were finally taking her declaration seriously, and had realized that she wasn’t to be trifled with.
The morning room door flew open and she jumped, immediately steeling herself for a fight. “You might at least knock,” she said, wishing she’d begun her letter so she could protest being interrupted.
“I forgot,” Penelope’s small, sweet voice came.
Eleanor scowled. Wonderful. Now she was scolding little girls. “I’m sorry, Peep. I didn’t realize it was you.” She turned in her chair to face the doorway. “What might I do for you?”
“Mrs. Bevins said I may have a tea party,” the girl replied, prancing up to stand beside Eleanor. “I wish to invite you to attend.”
From her careful diction she’d memorized that last bit. “Well said, Peep. And I would be delighted to join you.”
“Thank you.” Peep took her hand to pull her to her feet. “Uncle Zachary was going to attend, but Uncle Shay made him leave for luncheon.”
“‘Made him?’” Eleanor repeated. Now that sounded interesting.
“Yes. Uncle Shay said Papa told them to vacate. What does that mean, anyway?”
It meant several things, and mostly that Sebastian was up to something. “It just means he wanted them to leave the house for a little while,” she explained.
“Oh, good. I thought it might be something worse, because Uncle Zachary said some bad words before he left.”
“Well, that’s Uncle Zachary for you.” Eleanor held on to her young niece’s hand as they climbed the stairs to the nursery. “Should I wear my bonnet to tea?”
Peep gave a dismissive wave of her free hand. “Miss Hooligan and Buttercup don’t have their bonnets on, so yo
u don’t have to either. Besides, I don’t like to wear bonnets. The ribbons scratch my chin.”
“Mine too. I hadn’t realized your doll and your pony were attending as well. Am I dressed appropriately?”
“Everyone wears whatever they want to my tea parties,” Peep declared. “I’m not stuffy.”
Heavens, Eleanor could remember those days, when she’d been six and hosted tea parties for her brothers and ridden horses astride and jumped into the estate’s lake wearing only her shift. It hadn’t even occurred to her then that in a few short years all of that would be taken away. She squeezed Penelope’s hand. “This will be a very nice tea party.”
“A splendid tea party,” Peep amended.
Eleanor smiled. “Yes, a splendid tea party.”
If Melbourne expected Valentine to render twenty-four hours of constant surveillance on his sister, the duke was going to be sorely disappointed. The marquis leaned forward in the saddle, hands crossed over the pommel, and watched as Eleanor left Cobb-Harding on the front drive and vanished into the depths of Griffin House.
He counted to ten, then decided he’d done his duty for the day and turned Iago toward Jezebel’s. If he could get some light wagering done, at least the outing wouldn’t be completely wasted.
Obligations. He hated them, and rarely found himself on the paying end—with one glaring exception. In truth, though, he’d thought if Melbourne had ever intended on calling in his favor, it would be for something more…nefarious than keeping an eye on a virtuous female.
Or perhaps Eleanor was a bit less virtuous than he’d previously thought. From his vantage point along one of Hyde Park’s riding trails, he’d seen Cobb-Harding kiss her. She hadn’t fainted or screamed or fled, but instead had taken another bite of her lemon ice. Calm and collected or not, though, Nell had best be careful if she wanted to avoid ending up in some gossip sheet.
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 himself. 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, 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 unaccounted-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 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 anything 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 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.”
Sin and Sensibility Page 5
