Sin and Sensibility

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I actually think that what I have to say will be to our mutual benefit.”

  The duke reflected that, apt as Peep’s warning about Nell’s suitors had been, if not for Cobb-Harding’s association with his sister, the lout would never have been granted an audience at all. He nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “I couldn’t help noticing a certain…distance in your family’s dealings with Lord Deverill last night. Given that fact, and considering the delicate nature of the information I’m about to impart, I would be grateful for your understanding.”

  Cobb-Harding seemed to flap his lips a great deal, and as yet he’d managed to say absolutely nothing. Stifling his annoyance, Melbourne nodded again. “I do have a meeting this morning, if you’d care to proceed.”

  “Yes, of course.” Cobb-Harding cleared his throat. “Lord Deverill has been attempting to blackmail me.”

  Well. Obviously he needed to acquire some better sources of information, Sebastian decided. “And what do you wish me to do about that?”

  Cobb-Harding was silent for a moment, as though taken aback by Sebastian’s lack of concern over his pronouncement. “I will be frank with you, Your Grace,” he said finally. “A few weeks ago your sister accompanied me to a soiree. A soiree hosted by Lord Belmont.”

  Sebastian curled his fingers into the mahogany edge of his desk. “Yes?”

  “Yes. I wanted to attend the Hampton Ball, but she insisted that Belmont’s would be more to her taste. Once there, I’m ashamed to say that we engaged in a mutual indiscretion. I, of course, immediately offered to do the honorable thing and take Lady Eleanor’s hand in marriage, but Lord Deverill interfered, attacking me and then threatening to bankrupt me if I revealed a word of your sister’s behavior to anyone.”

  “I see.” As he sat listening, Melbourne wondered whether Cobb-Harding had any idea just how much peril he was in. But the duke had long ago learned the virtues of patience, and so he remained in his chair. “Go on, if you please.”

  Apparently encouraged by the duke’s seeming interest, Cobb-Harding sat forward. “Yes. With you and Deverill on the outs, I fear there is nothing to prevent someone from revealing your sister’s scandalous behavior to the world at large. So I have come forward both to inform you first, and to once again offer to join my name to that of the Griffins and ensure that Lady Eleanor is not ruined.”

  “So your marriage to my sister will dissuade you from speaking of her alleged indiscretion.”

  “And it will protect her from Deverill if he should seek revenge on you by revealing the same.”

  Melbourne looked at him for a moment. Cobb-Harding obviously had no idea of the depth of the friendship between Deverill and himself—and thank God for that. Whatever happened, however, Valentine had some serious explaining to do. And so did Eleanor.

  “Mr. Cobb-Harding, I presume there are no other witnesses save you and Deverill?”

  “And a few guests who would only need a word to complete the puzzle. And Lady Eleanor, of course. Though I would call her a participant rather than a witness.”

  That was enough of that. “And what I would call you, I won’t say in this house. Get up, and leave. You have one minute to be gone from my front drive.”

  Cobb-Harding blinked. “I beg your pardon? I came here with the idea of making a mutually beneficial match. I am saving your sister’s—and your family’s—reputation.”

  “You are attempting your own breed of blackmail. Unfortunately for you, however, you’re an idiot.”

  “But I—”

  “You what, Mr. Cobb-Harding? You’ll ruin my sister if I refuse your kind offer? Whatever Deverill has been doing to ensure your silence doesn’t even begin to describe what I will do to you if you ever speak one word of this nonsense to anyone. Anyone.”

  He rose, and Cobb-Harding scrambled out of his own seat and around the back of the chair. “I will not be spoken to in this manner. I have proof, and I will use it if you force me to.”

  “What proof could you possibly have of such a lie?”

  “I can describe your sister’s breasts to perfec—”

  Melbourne grabbed him by the throat, shoving him backward toward the door. “You forget yourself, sir,” he said, using every ounce of hard-won self-control to keep his voice calm and quiet and steady. “I applaud your attempt to better your standing, but I will not tolerate your doing so at my family’s expense.” He bent his elbow, bringing his face to within inches of Cobb-Harding’s. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Cobb-Harding squeaked, his fingers grasping at the duke’s. “Perfectly,” he rasped.

  With his free hand Sebastian opened the door. Still gripping Cobb-Harding’s throat, he backed the shorter man toward the front door. Stanton, his face an immobile mask, pulled open the door and stood aside while Melbourne shoved. Staggering backward, Cobb-Harding stumbled down the shallow steps to the drive.

  “Good day, Mr. Cobb-Harding,” the duke said, nodding.

  “Well done, Your Grace,” Stanton commented, closing the door again with a thud.

  “Get Charlemagne and Zachary,” Sebastian rumbled, his temper beginning to flare past his hard control. “Now.”

  Not uttering a word, the butler turned and ran up the stairs. A moment later both of his brothers, one of them holding a newspaper and the other half dressed, emerged onto the balcony.

  “What is it, Melbourne?” Shay asked.

  “Down here,” he returned. “I am not going to shout.”

  Obviously sensing that something was amiss, they hurried down to the foyer. “What happened?”

  “Find me the Marquis of Deverill,” Melbourne murmured. “I don’t care where he is, or what or who he’s doing. I want him here by the top of the hour.”

  They glanced at one another, then Shay handed the newspaper over to the panting butler and headed for the front door. Zachary turned back for the stairs. “I’ll finish dressing and help him out.”

  “Is Eleanor still here?”

  “Yes. She has a few hopefuls waiting in the sitting room. I think she was going on a pic—”

  “Send them away. Keep her here.”

  “But what about your agreement with her, Mel—”

  The duke jabbed his youngest brother in the shoulder. “Keep her here. And you are not to tell her anything.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “You will. I just hope we’re the only ones who do. Damnation.” Still cursing, he strode back into his office and slammed the door. His little agreement with Eleanor had just ended.

  “Who’s in the gaggle this morning?” Eleanor asked, seeing Zachary lounging at the head of the stairs. She finished pulling on her lace gloves as she joined him.

  “Come down and wait with me,” he said, straightening.

  “Wait with you? For what? I’m going on a picnic. Or perhaps shopping. I haven’t decided yet. It depends on who I have to choose from.” It was beginning to be fun, having this amount of power—especially after Valentine’s kiss last night. For the first time she’d realized that she had some power over him, as well. The euphoria of that moment still kept her feet several inches above the floor.

  Of course if she had only the likes of Francis Henning or Howard Fanner waiting to escort her, she was likely to land on the floor with a thud. But even that couldn’t depress her overly much; Valentine would be calling sometime today. Of that she was certain.

  Zachary looked as though he had more to say, but after a moment he only gestured her to proceed. Chatty as her brother usually was, she immediately began to wonder whether something was amiss. Obviously, though, her senses had been somewhat askew over the past few days. Or perhaps it was merely that Valentine was here already, though it would be frightfully early for him. A thrill of goose bumps ran down her arms. If he appeared this early, it would mean something.

  The sitting room door stood open, and with a questioning glance at the nearby Stanton, she slipped inside. “Good morning, gentle—”

 
; The room was empty. Surprised, Eleanor turned around and nearly bumped into Zachary as he pressed in behind her. He didn’t look at all surprised, and when he closed the door and seated himself close by it, she knew for certain that something was afoot.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, abruptly worried.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you won’t say?”

  “I don’t know, and I wouldn’t say if I did. Just have a seat and drink your tea.”

  So whatever it was, she was supposed to stay out of it. How typical. And how very counter to their agreement—though Zachary wasn’t the one with whom she would need to take that up. “Might we at least move to the morning room?” she asked, trying to pretend she wasn’t that interested in whatever was going on. “The chairs are so much more comfortable in there.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come now, Zachary. Did Melbourne say you had to keep an eye on me, or did he say I was to stay right here in this room?”

  “No one said anything.” He shifted, frowning at the stiff-backed chair. “But you’re correct about the furniture. All right, we can move to the morning room.”

  “Thank you.”

  She would have led the way, but he actually took her hand to wrap around his arm. Eleanor suppressed a shudder. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good. Had someone seen her kissing Valentine? Or worse? Eleanor blanched, her imagination diving through logic and straight on to panic. Everything would be finished. She would be finished.

  “Stop it,” she muttered, shaking herself.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Nothing.” All she needed to do was fight her way back to logic. No one would have kept news of their tryst secret for this long and then tell. The gossip would have been too hard to resist.

  As they crossed the hall, though, the front door opened, and logic leaped out the window again. Charlemagne entered, followed closely by Valentine himself. Neither man looked particularly happy, and Eleanor’s already thundering heart skipped another beat. Valentine glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before he turned his attention back to Shay.

  “You’re beginning to perturb me,” he said, shrugging out of his greatcoat and tossing it at Stanton. “What the devil is so pressing that you had drag me out of my own bloody house before I’ve had breakfast?”

  “In the office,” was all Shay said.

  “Come on,” Zachary told Eleanor, tugging her down the hallway.

  She dug in her heels, pulling free of her brother’s grip. “If this has something to do with me, I demand that you tell me what’s going on, Zachary. I am not a child. And this subterfuge is ridic—”

  Sebastian stepped out of his office. The dark, furious expression on his face stopped her cold. “Get into the morning room and stay there until I summon you,” he growled. “This is not a game any longer.”

  Valentine watched the color leave Eleanor’s face. Her wide gray eyes spoke her worst fear so clearly that he was surprised her brothers didn’t drag him out and hang him from the front portico. He wanted to tell her to be calm, not to worry, that he had every intention of claiming responsibility for whatever it was the Griffin men were frothing about. And considering how uncharacteristic of him that sentiment was, he was almost as amused as he was annoyed when he followed Melbourne into his austere office.

  “You’re beginning to bear a frightening resemblance to the Spanish Inquisitors,” he commented, noting that neither of the other brothers had been allowed into the room.

  The duke moved with a measured stride to his desk. “I had a visitor this morning,” he said, his voice the deceptively cool one that Valentine had heard on only a rare handful of occasions.

  The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. “I assume you’re going to tell me who came calling.”

  “Stephen Cobb-Harding.”

  It took everything Valentine had not to lurch to his feet. Melbourne was watching him, however, so he only crossed his ankles. “How exciting for you. I wish you’d waited until a decent hour to share the news with me.”

  “You’re blackmailing him.”

  Thank God Melbourne had gone to him for information first. Confronting Eleanor with whatever accusations Cobb-Harding might have leveled would have been both unfair and unnecessarily cruel. He shrugged. “It’s been a bit dull this Season. I had to do something for excitement.”

  The duke pounded his fist on the desk. “Dammit, Valentine! Do you know what he told me? How he offered to preserve my family’s—my sister’s—reputation through an offer of marriage?”

  “Melbourne, you—”

  “And I had to sit here and listen to it, because no one bloody told me about any of it! I recruited you to keep Eleanor out of trouble, not to let her do as she pleased and then conceal if from me!”

  Valentine sat and listened to the duke rant. Since Melbourne didn’t seem to expect an answer or even a response at the moment, it gave him time to think.

  He could lie about it, of course, tell Sebastian that he had no idea what Cobb-Harding was talking about. That would suffice if he were the only party involved, but Eleanor complicated the issue immensely. In the first place she probably wouldn’t sit for a lie, and in the second place she would consider the fabrication an injustice. This had been about her right to some freedom, and pretending now that she’d been sitting demurely on her hands that night at Vauxhall would counter everything her rebellion had been about.

  “Deverill,” Melbourne bellowed, jolting him out of his thoughts, “you owed me a simple favor. I hardly consider this appropriate repayment. Explain yourself.”

  For a fleeting moment he wondered how Melbourne would react to the information that the evening at the Belmont soiree was the very least of what Eleanor had done, and how integral his own participation had been. “I don’t carry tales,” he said shortly. “And keep your damned voice down. They could hear you in Paris.”

  Melbourne leaned over the desk, jamming his fists into the hard surface. “Don’t change the subject. And this tale, you will carry.”

  “Sebastian, it’s complicated. And it’s not what you think.” It was worse, actually.

  “Then enlighten me, damn it all. I am out of patience.”

  “Cobb-Harding tricked her into attending the Belmont party. It was a masked gathering, so no one saw her face.”

  The duke made a strangling sound. “He offered to describe certain…aspects of Nell’s anatomy to me.”

  Cobb-Harding was a dead man. “He drugged her. Laudanum. And then he dragged her into a room and attacked her. I arrived in time to prevent the worst of it. It wasn’t her fault, Seb.”

  For a moment Melbourne remained where he was. Finally he sank back into his chair. “And why didn’t you inform me about this? It would have ended Nell’s little rebellion weeks ago.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you.” That, and the fact that she’d begged him not to say anything. “It was her first attempt at freedom. She bungled it. I thought she deserved another chance.”

  “You thought. That’s hardly your place, Deverill. You are not part of this family. Your involvement was to settle a debt of honor.”

  “There’s a reason you recruited me to be her nanny, as I recall. None of you could manage it. I could. You said no scandal, and there hasn’t been one. Even Cobb-Harding only came to you. No one else knows anything.”

  “True. All I have is that little scab lingering about and trying to worm money or power or influence out of me, now.”

  “Not even that. According to our…agreement, he has to leave England in the next fortnight.”

  “How fortunate for him. This is finished. As you said, she bungled it. Now it’s my turn. She needs to be married and have a family and responsibility. I daresay she wouldn’t feel the need to seek out scandal, then.”

  Valentine laughed. He didn’t feel particularly amused, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes. A married woman is immune to temptation and scandal. For God’
s sake, Sebastian, what do you think I do with my nights?”

  The duke looked at him. “I am not going to overlook this. Someone will find out, and someone will talk. The gossip is too good to let pass by. If she’s married, she’ll be protected from the worst of the insinuations of her being some sort of lightskirt.”

  “She’s not—” He drew a breath. “She’ll resent you for the rest of her life if you take this away from her now. Don’t do it.”

  “I thought you’d be relieved. You didn’t want anything to do with this in the first place.”

  God, he hadn’t, had he? “It’s been more…interesting than I expected.”

  “I see. So what else has she done that you haven’t bothered to tell me?”

  Standing, Valentine walked to the window and back. He wanted to defend Eleanor, both her actions and the reasons behind them. If he did so, however, Melbourne would see just how involved he had become in this—not just with Eleanor’s project, but with her. “Take a step back and look at this from her viewpoint,” he suggested instead.

  “What? You’re telling me that a chit has a right to any viewpoint other than what we tell her?”

  “She isn’t just a female, the sister of my friend,” Valentine spat, too angry to ignore the wise part of his brain which was telling him to keep his mouth shut. “She’s a woman with wants and needs, and she will be miserable in any life you choose for her—especially now that she’s experienced some freedom. Let her find her own happiness.”

  “What the dev—”

  The door burst open, Eleanor storming into the room with both Zachary and Charlemagne on her heels.

  “We tried to stop her,” Zachary said, rubbing a red mark on his cheek where he’d obviously been hit.

  “You were talking rather loudly,” Shay added, his own tone tight and angry.

  Valentine vaguely heard the duke order everyone out of the room, but he wasn’t paying much attention. Rather, his gaze was on Eleanor as she stalked up to him and stood, hands on her hips, glaring at him. He couldn’t put a word to the expression in her eyes, but it cut deep into his chest.

  “You what?” she said tightly.