“I doubt it.”
“I’ll wager you anything that you’re wrong.”
“Ah, Zachary. I may be cynical, but I’m not a fool.”
And given how angry he’d been at Stephen Cobb-Harding last evening, he wasn’t willing to take that wager, anyway.
Chapter 7
“Why in the world do you want to attend a musical recital, Shay?” Eleanor asked, hands on her hips. If Melbourne was trying to alter the conditions of their agreement again by sending along the Griffin private army, he was in for a fight no matter whom he’d designated as his ambassador.
“I’ve decided I need to increase my exposure to culture. Shall we go?”
“Am I actually supposed to believe that?”
Charlemagne gave her an assessing look. “I suppose not. But you’ll have to forgive me if I want to make certain you reach your destination safely.”
“You will not—”
“After we arrive,” he said, running a hand through his straight brown hair and refusing to lower his gaze from hers, “I will sit at the back of the room and flirt with any unmarried females in the vicinity.”
At least her broad-shouldered middle brother was honest. “And when I do the same thing with every single gentleman in attendance?”
A muscle in his lean jaw twitched. “I am providing transportation. The remainder of the outing is yours.”
Eleanor closed the distance between them, only two steps in the narrow foyer. “I will hold you to that, Charlemagne.”
Though she’d never admit it to anyone except perhaps Deverill, the idea of having someone she trusted seated close by had become absurdly comforting since the Belmont House disaster. She would test Shay’s word and forbearance tonight, because she intended on flirting, if for no other reason than to crowd Stephen Cobb-Harding from her memory. But now she would proceed with caution—or at least with her eyes wide open.
They took the coach to Lord and Lady Llewellyn’s. Once they were through the door and into the ballroom where the recital was to be held, Shay did as he’d promised. Without a backward glance he crossed the room to converse with the host and hostess, leaving her to procure her own glass of punch. Eleanor took a deep, leveling breath. So what if her brother would see with whom she chatted? Other than telling Melbourne, there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“My lady, allow me.” Jeffrey, Earl Basingstoke, materialized in front of her, no easy feat for a man who weighed some twelve stone, and handed her a glass of punch.
“Thank you, my lord. You’ve read my mind.”
A smile folded into the wrinkles of the earl’s rotund face. “I always assume when a lady arrives somewhere that she will be in need of refreshment.”
The statement didn’t hold much logic, but at least it sounded harmless enough. “Do you often come to recitals?”
“I’ve found them a fair way to judge the talent of young ladies. Don’t want to waste my courting on someone who can’t entertain, don’t you know.”
“You’re looking for a spouse then, my lord?”
He nodded, jowls wagging in agreement. “My mother, the Countess Basingstoke, has requested that I marry. And she likes to listen to the pianoforte in the evening, so I would like to find a chit who plays well.”
“To please your mother,” she repeated, wondering how Basingstoke had escaped Melbourne’s notice. He was titled and had a nice income, and he certainly seemed to fit into the dull as dirt category of potential spouses. Goodness, she was surprised that they weren’t already engaged.
The pleasant part of her agreement was that she could now spend time and converse with whomever she wished—not just the gentlemen who would be considered acceptable. “What would please you?” she asked. She generally didn’t have the opportunity to ask men more than what they thought of the weather. Humorously as she regarded Basingstoke, it was still a real conversation.
“Finding a female to bear my mother company and play—”
“—play the pianoforte,” she finished for him. So much for male insight.
“You understand. Do you play, Lady Eleanor?”
Good heavens. “Not well enough to claim any skill at it,” she returned, shuddering.
She escaped the earl, but obviously by chatting with him she’d opened the floodgates. By the time the butler called for the guests to take their seats, and apparently seeing Shay’s lack of attention to her, seven other gentlemen—the sum total of unmarried males in attendance other than her brother—had approached to offer her punch or chocolate or their views on why she was by far the most attractive or most pleasant or most regal lady in the room.
Though she’d never been accosted in such a manner or in such volume before, she wasn’t so naive that she believed them. There was a reason Sebastian kept some of them away from her. They wanted her money, or their names joined with the Griffin standard. But for goodness’ sake, she didn’t need her brothers to decide whether they should be allowed to speak to her or not. True, Stephen had fooled her, but no one else would. And a few of these gentlemen, even the unacceptable ones, were at least amusing.
On the other hand, so much for her seeking out men with whom to flirt. It had taken all her energy to fend off their attentions, most of it so ham-fisted that she had to work not to laugh. Conversationalists, yes, but no potential husbands here tonight.
The first debutante took the low stage to a round of mild applause, and Eleanor settled back to listen. Miss Sanford looked terrified as she sat at the pianoforte, and Eleanor glanced at the girl’s preening mother. Little did Lady Sanford know that all her daughter needed was to make a good showing and she could very well end up as Lady Basingstoke.
“She can’t compare to you, Lady Eleanor,” another would-be beau, Lord Henry Anderton, said from beside her.
“Thank you,” she returned, pointedly keeping her attention on the performer.
“And your—”
“I’m quite thirsty,” she interrupted. “Would you please fetch me a punch?”
Anderton happily scampered away, and Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could simply listen.
“From sin to staid in one turn of the sun,” Deverill’s low voice murmured as he took the empty seat beside her. “How unexpected.”
Her heart hammered at his arrival, but she kept her gaze on the stage. And he thought her attendance was unexpected. “Lady Barbara’s older sister Mary is playing later. She invited me herself. But who invited you, my lord?”
“I’m not certain I was invited. I was driving by and saw coaches turning up the drive.” He shrugged. “No one warned me away.”
“They wouldn’t, not when this many young women are here looking for husbands,” she whispered back. “Even you might do for some poor chit.”
“Ah, so I’ve landed in a trap of some sort.”
She chuckled. “A very obvious trap, baited with punch and chocolate treats. And I thought you jaded.”
“Minx,” he drawled. “Any potential spouses here for you?”
Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “I’m only here for the chocolates, myself.”
Henry reappeared, a glass of punch in either hand. The polite thing would have been for Deverill to make his excuses and give way. Instead, Valentine merely sent the younger man a single glance. Paling, Anderton stammered something that sounded like a request for forgiveness and vanished.
“Valentine,” she chastised.
“What? I was merely saying that if I was seeking freedom and sin and romance, I’m not sure I would be spending my evening here. And as for husbands, you might—”
“Shh,” she returned, though Miss Sanford’s playing was enthusiastic enough that she didn’t think anyone could overhear them. “I’m not trying to completely ruin my life; I’m trying to improve it. I have no intention of forgoing my more quiet evenings, or requests to socialize with my friends. You do things for your friends, don’t you?”
“From time to time.”
Well, she’d ma
de an opening. Now was the time to see whether she had the courage to leap through it. “Valentine, would you…do something for me?”
He stayed silent for so long that she began to worry he would refuse her. She looked sideways at him. His own gaze was on her face, his expression unreadable but his green eyes glittering. Eleanor swallowed. If he ever realized how much time she’d spent thinking about him lately, she was doomed.
“What did you have in mind?” he murmured back.
A kiss. Your hands on me. “I need a guide.”
“Are you going to Africa?”
“Don’t tease. Not that kind of guide. Not precisely.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t know how long Melbourne will honor our agreement,” she said slowly, hoping that she hadn’t misread him last night and this morning, and that she could indeed trust him. “But I do know that I won’t have another opportunity when he declares this one finished. I want to find a husband, but that’s not all I want to do. I want to have a moment where I feel…free. And I don’t know how to go about it. I think you could guide me, help me figure out what I need to do.”
Somewhere far below their feet, Lucifer was laughing at him. Valentine knew it, even though the banging of the pianoforte overwhelmed the sound of anything more subterranean.
“You don’t want me for a guide, Eleanor. I’m not very nice.”
“My experience says otherwise. Who else would I trust for such a thing? Mr. Cobb-Harding?”
This time he was sure he could hear devilish laughter. “Sin and trust aren’t compatible. One betrays the other.”
The slow smile touched her mouth again. “Then why are you protesting, my lord?” she asked.
Coming here had been a bad idea. It had been another of Melbourne’s “safe” events, but he hadn’t been able to resist. And now she was asking him to teach her how to sin. “You’re my closest friend’s sister,” he grunted. “I doubt he would appreciate if I assisted you.”
“You’re correct. He would prefer that I sit in the morning room and embroider until he can find me some dull, proper husband. Then I’ll be expected to pop out a few children, don a matron’s cap, and host tea parties.”
“Isn’t that what all women want?”
She looked as though she wanted to punch him. “I can’t speak for all women, but it’s certainly not what I want. It’s not all I want.”
“Shh,” came from behind them.
Ordinarily he wouldn’t have cared whom he might be disturbing, but tonight he was grateful for the interruption. A female had never set him back on his heels before—and certainly not a chit ten years his junior. “Find a husband first,” he put out, in a last effort to avoid becoming entangled, “and let him teach you what you need to know.”
“What he needs me to know, you mean,” she countered. “I will be the one to decide what and how much I want to experience.”
Where in the world had this come from? Sweet little Eleanor Griffin had definitely grown up, and in ways he’d never expected. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation later,” he suggested, trying to give himself a little more time to think. His cock had already decided it wanted to help, but for once he intended not to listen.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Good. Now who is that playing—”
“Why don’t you take me driving in Hyde Park tomorrow morning?”
“What? Me?”
She grinned again. “You’ve already admitted to rising before noon.” Her gloved fingers discreetly brushed his sleeve. “Please, Deverill? Valentine? I don’t know what else to do. And I don’t want to make another mistake like last night.”
He sighed to cover the shudder of his muscles. “At eleven. And have a damned chaperone.”
“I will. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“I’d hold on to most of those for later. I don’t doubt you’ll regret using them.”
“I won’t.”
Perhaps not, but he would. Hell, he already did.
He’d noticed Shay Griffin seated several rows behind them. From the glazed expression in his eyes the middle Griffin brother had apparently lost the coin toss and been forced to escort Eleanor. After he heard from Zachary about the horse incident, the brethren’s protectiveness toward their sister made more sense. Considering what he’d seen firsthand last night, he was glad she hadn’t protested Shay’s presence.
What surprised him more was Eleanor’s seeming determination to break from her family’s wishes and carve her own path. If she’d been a male, she would have been expected to make her own way. But she was definitely not a male. And in his experience chits didn’t defy those who controlled their money and their future; they connived and manipulated beneath the surface while outwardly behaving as complacently and compliantly as milk cows.
The first set of performances ended, and Eleanor excused herself to go congratulate Lady Mary Howsen. Valentine considered it an adequate performance at best and that, coupled with his distaste for conversing with blushing, stammering virgins, was enough to convince him to remain seated.
“The strongest drink they’re serving tonight is punch,” Shay said, sinking into Eleanor’s vacated chair. “It’s a blistering combination, bad music and sobriety.”
Wordlessly Valentine reached into his coat pocket and produced a flask of whiskey. He handed it over, keeping an eye on the host and hostess as Charlemagne took a long swallow.
“You’ve saved my life,” the middle Griffin brother muttered feelingly, returning the flask.
Valentine took a swallow himself before screwing the lid back on and dumping the thing back into his pocket. “It does dull the pain a little.”
“So I know why I’m here,” Shay commented, sending a glance in his youngest sibling’s direction, “but what the devil are you doing here? Melbourne sent me because he assumed nothing short of God himself could drag you here tonight.”
“I just wandered by,” Valentine returned, repeating the lie he’d told Eleanor. The fewer versions of the tales he had to remember, the easier time he’d have of it. But it hadn’t been God who’d convinced him to enter. It had been that horned fellow who obviously had no regard for, or loyalty toward, the already fallen.
“You and Nell seemed quite chatty.”
Now would be the difficult part. “She thinks I’m the epitome of freedom and adventure, and she wanted some direction in finding her own way there.”
Shay blinked. “And so she asked you?”
“Why not? I am irresistibly charming, and not one of her brothers.”
“You know,” Lord Griffin said slowly, “this could be to our advantage. You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her anyway, and if she’s chatting with you she can’t be encouraging ne’er-do-wells like Cobb-Harding or Anderton. God, the last thing we need to hear is that she’s eloped with some professional gambler just because she thinks Melbourne handed her too many rules.”
“‘Elope’?” Valentine repeated, lifting an eyebrow. “She said she’s looking for a husband, but you think she’s that desperate?”
“I think she’s looking to escape. And now that Melbourne’s opened the door, I doubt she’ll voluntarily fly back into the cage.”
“Did you tell him your opinion of this?”
Shay blew out his breath. “Several times. I’ve been ordered to abide by the agreement for as long as she does.”
“Well, I’m supposed to take her driving tomorrow so she can attempt to convince me to assist her,” Valentine commented, making an effort to sound reluctant and put-upon. He was reluctant, though not for any reason Shay could possibly realize. “I don’t suppose you have a list of acceptable spouses for my reference? It would be easier if I knew who I was supposed to sponsor.”
“I’m certain Melbourne has a list, but I’m not privy to it. Don’t you think that’d be a bit suspicious, anyway, if you were to suddenly begin pointing out potential husbands? Especially since they’re likely to be gentlemen
you’d ordinarily never speak a word to.”
“That dull, are they?”
“Compared with you, Admiral Nelson is dull.”
He shrugged, unable to argue with that. “I’m just trying to repay my debt to Melbourne and free myself for decadence and debauchery again.”
“Hm. Really, then, her request should make that even easier for you.”
“I don’t see—”
“I mean, if she thinks she’s learning something nefarious from you, she can’t be parading about and causing a stir now, can she? And then hopefully Melbourne will come to his senses and put a stop to this before she can actually do anything questionable.”
It was too late for that already. And she’d been exploring on her own, without anything but her own nose to guide her into trouble. With his assistance, and even without his active participation, there was no telling what might befall.
Valentine reflected that he should have stayed in this evening. All he needed was for someone else to encourage him to spend time with Eleanor, when what he should do was stay as far away from her as possible. “You can’t possibly want her to spend time with me,” he stated. “Not in public or for any reason. I’m the wolf that mamas warn their daughters about.”
Shay grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yes, but you’re our wolf at the moment, now aren’t you? And you know the rules where Nell is concerned.”
With his last breath of sanity, Valentine uttered another protest. “This is not what Melbourne asked me to do.”
“It will be, as soon as I return home and tell him about it.”
Scowling, Valentine pushed to his feet. “I’m warning you, Shay. This is a bad idea.”
“No, it’s perfect, because you know what’s going on. Eleanor’s already asked you to help her out, and you’re one of our cronies so we know her reputation is safe with you.” He chuckled again. “She may be the only female whose reputation is safe with you.”
“Ha ha,” Valentine grumbled, and headed for the door.
He’d landed precisely where he didn’t want to be—in the middle of a family quarrel, and with an obligation to both sides. And a definite lust on one.
Sin and Sensibility Page 9
