The safest, most logical route would seem to be for him to play the poor example that he was to the utmost, and convince Eleanor that she was better off safely back in the Griffin fold. Then it would be her own decision to forgo using his services, and at the same time the end of her rebellion would free him from his obligation to Melbourne.
He paused in the doorway to look back at Eleanor, chatting with the Howsen sisters. His abdomen tightened in pure lust. And the devil laughed again.
“He’s late,” Eleanor said, pacing the foyer.
“Yes, my lady,” Stanton returned, turning his head to watch her stride back and forth.
She felt restless and agitated, and sitting demurely in the morning room to wait for Deverill’s arrival would have driven her mad. Even pacing only moved her feet at a quarter of the speed her mind raced.
It made so much sense, recruiting the marquis for her plans. If she wanted to learn how to be carefree, who better to teach her than the most carefree man in London? It also made sense that any man he knew and liked would also be possessed of those same qualities—so perhaps he could be the one to point her to her future husband. She certainly wasn’t going to marry one of the dull, dim crowd just because Melbourne allowed them to speak to her. Yes, she felt attracted to Lord Deverill, but that had nothing to do with her decision to include him. Nothing at all.
Her only hesitation was that as titillating as she found his presence, he was a friend of her brothers. He was relatively safe, and he was familiar. And he, like any of her brothers’ male friends, knew the rules.
“Rules,” she grumbled, cocking her hat a little more jauntily on her head as she paced. That was why she needed to use Valentine to meet someone new. The rules. The rules about not touching Nell, not taking her seriously as a female or as anything but a…a…a puppy dog. Yes, that was it, pat her on the head and send her on her way with an admonition to be a good girl.
Well, damn it all, she was tired of being a good girl. Admittedly her first foray had gone horribly wrong, but she wouldn’t be so unwise in her choice of companion—or activity—again.
A sporty curricle turned up the drive. Eleanor walked out onto the portico to draw a breath as the Marquis of Deverill pulled his matching pair of gray horses to a halt. He wore a complementary gray coat with a black waistcoat and trousers, the image of a proper nobleman—except for the devilish twinkle in his green eyes.
“Good morning,” he said, doffing his gray beaver hat as his liveried tiger jumped from the back of the curricle to hold the team.
“You’re late,” she complained, mostly to give herself a moment to take in the sight of him and to remind herself that she’d requested his presence.
“I thought this had something to do with freedom,” he drawled, hopping to the ground. “I freely decided to remain in bed this morning.” He flashed a grin. “I tossed and turned all night.”
Whatever he baited her with, she would rise to the occasion; how else was she to learn, except by example? “And what caused your restless night?” she asked.
“A very nice y—”
“Valentine,” Sebastian interrupted, moving past her down the step to offer his hand.
“Melbourne. Lady Eleanor and I are going for a drive.”
“So I see.” The duke slid his gaze to her. “Am I permitted to request that you return early enough to join Peep and me for tea at Aunt Tremaine’s?”
Aunt Tremaine. For goodness’ sake, their one close blood relation, the nearest thing she had to a mother, and she’d completely forgotten they were to have tea. “I’ll return by two,” she said, and her brother nodded.
Deverill stepped in to offer his hand to her, but when Sebastian took her elbow to help her into the curricle’s high seat, the marquis gave a short grin and went back around to climb up the other side. Despite the quickness and the ease of it, something had happened just then. Had Melbourne warned Deverill off? For goodness’ sake, she hadn’t asked Valentine there to seduce her—just to learn how it was done, and to take advantage of his knowledge of like-minded men who had better reputations and who wouldn’t resort to drugging her. And besides, there was still the entire “rules” complication. Still, she wondered what Sebastian thought of her going driving with his friend. His rakehell of a friend.
“To the park, then?” Deverill asked, as Melbourne helped Helen onto the small back platform and the marquis’s tiger joined her there.
“Unless you can think of somewhere with more opportunities,” she returned, still determined not to be cowed by him and his much greater knowledge of sin.
“Opportunities?”
“For me to observe and learn from your example.”
His soft grin deepened. “The park will suffice.” They rumbled down the drive and turned toward Park Avenue. “I thought you were determined to become free and unfettered,” he commented after a moment.
“I am.”
“Then why did you let Melbourne dictate how long your outing would last?”
“Because I want to see my aunt. He only reminded me of my promise to visit her.”
The marquis sent her a glance as he navigated through the heavy traffic. “There are no rules regarding a true state of freedom, I suppose,” he said, “but I do know that I don’t make promises.”
“Because you worry you won’t be able to keep your word?”
“No, because I don’t like to feel obligated. That’s the thing, Lady Eleanor. I do as I please, when I please.”
Eleanor furrowed her brow. “I think you’re wrong,” she said slowly. “Being free is not about disobliging everyone else.”
“True. It’s about not caring about anyone else.”
“That’s horrid!”
“It’s the truth. You are here to learn, you said.”
She wondered whether he was baiting her, playing devil’s advocate so she could convince herself that her little adventure was wrong. Still, Deverill did have a definite streak of jaded cynicism running through him, so thick sometimes that she could barely see him for it. “So you don’t care about anyone else? Then why did you rescue me the other night?”
Deverill indicated Helen seated behind her. “Firstly, are we free to speak?”
“I trust Helen,” she stated, hoping that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced, as she couldn’t think of any other way to hold a conversation with Deverill without being ruined. “But by asking me about my maid you’ve once again demonstrated that you care about someone besides yourself—and specifically about my reputation.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I? Odd, that.” He turned his attention to the street for a moment. “I like you. So I suppose that seeing you ruined would make me unhappy.”
For a moment her mind seized onto the words “I like you” and refused to look beyond them. Oh, she was such a goose. Valentine chewed up and spit out females much more worldly than she, and on a regular basis. “You don’t consider helping me to be an obligation, then?”
“Not when I agreed to it because I wanted to.”
“So it’s just a happy coincidence when what you want to do happens to be the right thing to do?”
“Exactly.”
Eleanor drew a breath, frustration pulling at her. She wanted answers, a guideline, some sort of rule book to follow that would enable her to change her life permanently without alienating her family. She wanted something that would allow her to obtain what she wanted, to marry whom she wanted, without everyone else dictating to her and making their priorities hers. “I’m beginning to sense that you’re not going to give me a straightforward answer.”
“Ask me a straightforward question, and we’ll see.”
“I think I may have to kick you,” she said.
Laughter burst from his chest. She’d never heard him laugh like that before, easy and carefree and genuinely amused. The sound alone made her heart race. Good heavens.
“I was serious,” he finally said, still chuckling. “I would prefer having a better idea of what it
is you want to accomplish.”
“All right.” She sat beside him for a moment, thinking and trying not to notice the way his thigh brushed hers as he turned the pair into Hyde Park. “When your father…when you became the Marquis of Deverill, were you ready? For the responsibility, I mean.”
For a second, gone almost too quickly for her to notice, his expression changed, hardened, then eased again. “My father spent his last few years as a stark raving lunatic. I ran the properties for three years before I took his title. So yes, I was ready for the responsibility.”
For a moment she didn’t know what to say. She’d known when Valentine had inherited, but Sebastian had never mentioned how it had come about. To do so, she supposed, would have been highly uncharacteristic of her overprotective brother.
She’d been schooled in etiquette since she could talk, and of course she knew how to reply appropriately to someone’s news of a tragic loss. This, however, was a great deal more complicated than that. Valentine didn’t sound so much hurt or bitter as he did relieved.
“How old were you?” she asked quietly.
“When he died? Eighteen. My uncle, Lord Waddell, was furious that the old man lasted until I reached my majority. He used to practically drool, he was so anxious to get his hands on the Deverill guardianship.” Valentine snorted. “I haven’t seen him since then.”
“That must have been a great deal of responsibility for you to shoulder at age fifteen.”
He shrugged. “I did what I had to do. Now I do as I please.”
“So your flaunting of the rules now is your way of rebelling, like Sebastian says I’m—”
“It’s not a rebellion,” he stated flatly, drawing the team sharply to a halt.
“Deverill, what—”
He gestured his tiger around to the horses and hopped to the ground. “Walk with me.”
“But—”
Valentine circled to her side of the curricle while she tried to figure out what he might be up to. He did know the rules, but the Marquis of Deverill disregarded them on a regular basis. And if she’d made him angry…
He held a hand up to her. “I’m taking a stroll. You may wait here if you wish.”
She had no doubt that he would leave her sitting there while he strolled off to meet some female or other. Eleanor stood and lowered her arms to him. For a swift, breathless moment he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her to the ground.
Behind them Helen started to scramble less gracefully to the grass, but Deverill jabbed a finger at her. “You wait here.”
Helen sank back onto her perch.
This was all falling madly out of control. Eleanor put her hands on her hips. “Do not tell my maid what to do.”
He leaned closer, folding his own arms across his chest. “Is your worry over propriety, or scandal?”
“Scandal,” she returned promptly.
“Then don’t worry,” he said dismissively. Deverill offered her his arm. “And we’ll be back in a moment. We’re just taking a short stroll though a very crowded park.”
They headed for the nearby pond, turning to follow the path that paralleled its reed-choked bank. For a moment Eleanor walked quietly beside him, trying to read his expression. If he was trying to remind her of how…helpless she’d felt in Stephen’s company, he was having moderate success. He wasn’t holding her against her will, or drugging her, or taking her somewhere she couldn’t find her way back home, but she was still basically alone with a man who’d taken pains to earn his very poor reputation. And one who already held a secret of hers.
“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” she blurted.
He glanced sideways at her. “I’m not trying to frighten you.”
“What I meant was, if you’re trying to intimidate me by not telling me where we’re going or what you’re planning, it’s not working.”
Deverill’s mouth curved in a brief smile. “I could change your opinion in a heartbeat,” he murmured.
Oh, dear. Wonderful, provoke the rakehell into doing something she would undoubtedly regret. “I—”
“You and I need to have a chat, Eleanor. Without loyal servants or anyone else to overhear.”
She swallowed. “I’m listening.”
“What do you want? Really? And tell me the truth, if you please.”
So he’d guessed. He’d realized that all she’d known the night she wrote her declaration was that something had to change. What that was or how to accomplish it, she had no idea. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”
He shook his head. “I don’t make promises.”
“Fine.” She pulled her hand free from his arm and strode ahead on the path. “I don’t know.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But that’s why I’ve requested your help, Deverill. You have infinitely more experience in…everything, than I do.”
He caught up to her, but didn’t offer his arm again. “You can’t want to pattern your life after mine, so I can’t figure what it is you want from me.”
“I do want to pattern my life after yours. Part of it, anyway.”
Deverill snorted. “Which part? The section where I have affairs with married women because they have the degree of experience and impermanence that I enjoy? Or the bit where I miss appointments with friends when something more amusing comes along? Or the wagering? Or the drinking?”
She stared at him for a moment, surprised into silence. “That is not what you’re like.”
“Yes, it is.”
Eleanor stomped to a halt, flicking her hand over a stand of reeds and wishing she knew enough of the real Valentine Corbett that she could sound more confident. “Well, perhaps it is, but that’s not all there is to you.”
His eyes narrowed as he stopped a few feet from her. “Really? Please tell me my character, then, if I’ve been misleading myself.”
“Don’t forget, you saved me the other night. And you were angry at Stephen’s behavior. My recollections may be a bit fuzzy, but I remember that. And you saw me home safely, and didn’t try to take advantage of me.”
“My dear, one good deed in a lifetime does not a hero make. But this isn’t about my poor habits; it’s about the poor habits you want to cultivate in yourself.”
“I don’t want any poor habits.”
“Then what, pray tell, am I doing here?” he repeated at higher volume.
How could she explain that the man he described was not necessarily the one she saw? Yes, he had some abysmal tendencies—he’d been the first one to acknowledge them. But he also had some fine qualities, aside from his obvious intelligence and wit. And honesty. She’d never heard him tell a lie, even to protect his own best interests—except to protect her.
“I like you,” she answered.
Deverill blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“You said you liked me, and I like you. I like the way you don’t try to elevate yourself above everyone because you have a title, or an old, respected name. You are who you are. You don’t change your appearance for anyone else’s pleasure or comfort, but you can still be charming and kind when you choose to be.”
“At the risk of sounding sentimental, you seem to be describing yourself. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ve already found it.”
“No,” she returned, trying not to be distracted by the unexpected compliment, “those things are why I like you. What I want is the way you live.”
“The—”
“Not the way you described it, but that…freedom. You don’t have to chat about the weather, or dance with someone because he’s rich and titled and doesn’t need you, or not dance—or even talk—with someone because he’s not titled and does need you. You don’t have to measure every word you say even to your friends for fear that you might cause a bump in eight hundred years of Griffin superiority and arrogance.” She drew a breath, frustration pitching her voice higher. “It’s all of that, and everything in between.”
“Then be that person,” he returned a
fter a moment of silence.
“I’m trying to be. But I can’t…I can’t figure out how to do it without causing my family pain and damage. There are other people whose lives and reputations I have to consider. I love my family. They will always matter.”
He shook his head. “If your first thought is that you might do something wrong, that’s not freedom, Eleanor. That’s fear.”
“But I do have more than being free to consider. I’m not a man, and—”
“I noticed that.”
“—and I don’t want to be forced into my brother’s idea of a good marriage. I want to make my own. In order to do that, there are rules I have to follow. Ignoring that would just be stupid.”
“Then follow them.” At her reluctant expression, he moved closer. “I think you do know what you want, and I know that I’m not the one you should emulate if your concern is making everyone happy. And for damned sure you’re not going to find the kind of husband you would want to marry if you insist on my company and guidance. I assume that you want a good man. And I have it on good authority that there are good men in London—who I’m certain would be happy to have you.”
“But I—”
“The best way to do that is to continue being who you are. From what you’re telling me and what I’ve seen, you want to be good—a good sister, a good Griffin. You have no intention of giving up your obligations, and you don’t wish to become a sinner. My best advice to you, Eleanor, is to go home and tell Melbourne ‘no’ until he brings home the spouse you want.”
Damnation. She hated that he was absolutely correct—again. A tear ran down one cheek before she could swipe it away. “I have ideas about what I want, but in the Griffin fortress I’ll never see them. Maybe I don’t know precisely what I want or who I want,” she retorted, her voice shaking, “but I’m not giving up until I find out. I won’t go back to being dull and dreamless without at least one grand adventure. I won’t. I can’t, Valentine.”
To her surprise, he cocked his head at her. “An adventure,” he repeated. “What sort of adventure?”
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to imagine what she might do, if she could do anything, anything she wanted, just once. “Something wild and free, and completely mad. Something wicked.” Eleanor opened her eyes again. “And then I think I could find a husband who would suit me and at least not anger Melbourne.”
Sin and Sensibility Page 10
