She kicked him. Valentine grunted, flinging her onto the rumpled bedsheets before he bent to rub his knee. If she’d had another second to aim or if she’d been wearing shoes, he would have been on the floor. One didn’t grow up with brothers and not learn how to kick effectively.
Eleanor wriggled off the side of the bed and onto her feet again. Before she could aim another kick at his lowered head, he tackled her back onto the mattress, landing her on her back with him on top of her.
“And I thought you wanted an adventure,” he muttered, grabbing her hands to keep her from punching him two-fisted in his masked face.
“What the devil are you doing?” she attempted around the gag.
“Sorry, haven’t clue what you’re saying. So shut up.”
He dumped a last item into the portmanteau, fastened it closed, and returned to the bed. Dragging her to her feet by one arm, he hauled her toward the door.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she snarled, her heart still pounding at quadruple its normal pace.
Valentine looked at her for a moment in the dim moonlight. Her hair was wild, coursing down her shoulders and sticking out at odd angles beneath the tightly tied kerchief. The terror had fled her eyes, but they remained large and filled with suspicion. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her, but obviously he’d underestimated how angry she would be. If she kicked him like that again she’d probably reduce his cock to pudding.
He couldn’t understand a word of what she was muttering at him, but she didn’t sound happy. He could guess the gist of her dialogue. “You’re having an adventure. So stop fighting and come with me.”
Eleanor shook her head, digging in her heels. The word she mangled sounded distinctly like an insult, but he ignored it. Instead, Valentine heaved her up over his shoulder, lifted the portmanteau in his other hand, and opened her bedchamber door. The house was as still as it had been when he’d broken in through the morning room window, but even so he kept all his attention on the closed doors lining the hallway as he made his way to the stairs. Running into another Griffin right now would lead to bloodshed.
She refused to remain still, and her struggling nearly sent them both headlong down the stairs. Leaning one shoulder against the wall for balance, he continued to descend. The fourth step down, though, let out a godawful squeak. Valentine froze, listening for a long moment. Nothing stirred above.
Hoping the sound was something the family was accustomed to, he tightened his grip across Eleanor’s bottom and continued down. Waiting about would only ensure that they were caught. And since Eleanor was wriggling but not attempting to shout, she evidently didn’t want him dead.
He’d already unlatched the front door from the inside, and it took only a moment to swing it open on well-oiled hinges and escape onto the portico. Closing it took a bit more effort, but if the damned stairs hadn’t roused the brethren, the front door latching wouldn’t, either.
His coach waited at the end of the drive, and his driver fastened the portmanteau at the back of the vehicle while Valentine waited, Eleanor still slung over his shoulder. Dawson held the door steady while he hauled Eleanor up and dumped her onto the soft leather opposite him. “Go, Dawson.”
“Aye, my lord.”
They rolled onto the street, and Valentine sat back to remove his borrowed hat and the black mask. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he said conversationally, running a hand through his ruffled hair.
Eleanor had pushed herself upright, and with both hands still tied together in front of her she managed after a moment to lower the kerchief from across her mouth. “This—you—” she sputtered, “what—what the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m providing you with an adventure to replace the one I ruined with my duplicity,” he returned, offering her the flask from his pocket.
“Untie me.”
“In a moment. I don’t wish to be pummeled by a chit.”
“A pummeling by me will be the very least of your worries, Deverill,” she snapped. “Stop this coach and return me home at once!”
“No. And don’t threaten me with your brothers—if you’d let out a shout we’d never have made it out of the house.”
She drew a breath, obviously trying to assess his sanity. He wished her luck with the task; he’d given up on being reasonable hours ago, even before he’d come up with the word that explained his lack of common sense. “I do not need your help to plan another adventure,” she finally said in a more reasonable tone. “I don’t need you for anything. Let me go.”
“At the moment you need me,” he returned, “considering that you’re wearing nothing but a cotton shift.” He finally let himself look at more than her face, and felt warm desire curl down his spine, as it had when he’d watched her sleeping. “A very thin shift, by the way.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“No, this is something you can’t control. Enjoy it, or not. I’m not turning around.”
Eleanor studied his expression for a long moment. “Then where are we going?” she finally asked. “You can tell me that, at least, can’t you?”
“Certainly.” He drew a breath of his own. “We’re going to Scotland.”
“Scotland?”
“Gretna Green, to be specific.”
She audibly swallowed. “Gret—So you…you think you’re going to marry me? Melbourne’s already spoken with John Tracey. You’re too late. And I wouldn’t have you in a million years anyway, Deverill. So you might as well turn this coach around now. If you do, no one needs to know that you kidnapped me.”
“I’m not letting anyone else have you.” Anger and worry clenched into his chest as he tried to imagine her in Tracey’s arms. In any man’s arms other than his.
“You’ve gone mad. What’s driven you to this nonsense?”
“You have,” he snarled. “You, with your pretty gray eyes and your smile and the way you speak your mind. The sound of your laugh, your tears when something makes you sad.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine anyone else who had ever made him feel the way he did when he was with her. Emptiness looked back at him. There wasn’t anyone else. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever…liked.”
“‘Liked’?” she repeated stiffly, her gray eyes deep pools of midnight.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “That’s quite the confession for me, my dear. And more than you’ve gotten from Tracey, I’ll wager.”
“It is, isn’t it? But if you became acquainted with more females, I think you’d find I’m not that unique. And I’m all but engaged to someone else.”
It jolted him, that she could so easily go along with Melbourne’s plans for her. Was it his fault? Had he hurt her that much? “I’d venture to say that I’m acquainted with more women than you are, Nell,” he countered, “and I—”
“I don’t mean acquainted physically. That doesn’t count.”
“I don’t know about that,” he argued, amused.
She straightened. “I thought I was here because you wanted to marry me. I wouldn’t recommend discussing—”
“I didn’t want to talk with them,” he interrupted. “There’s a difference between spending time with someone until something more interesting comes along, and spending time with someone because you can’t imagine not doing so.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her gaze half wary and half surprised. “But if you felt this way, why didn’t you tell me before? All of this—”
“Because I didn’t know before,” he returned sharply, beginning to become annoyed. He was fairly certain that a chit wasn’t supposed to question the whys and wherefores of a declaration like this.
“How do you know now, then?”
“Damnation, Eleanor. I didn’t know until you started yelling at me and calling me worthless, and then I realized that probably the next day Melbourne would go out and find a husband for you. And he did, didn’t he? I…” He trailed off, studying the soft lines of her face. “That isn’t acceptable. It shou
ldn’t be for you either.”
She hesitated. “I knew my rebellion wouldn’t last forever.”
“But you didn’t have that adventure you wanted, did you? You said I ruined it. And therefore your rebellion isn’t over.”
“So you decided you would marry me? Without even asking me? How does that give me an adventure?”
“The adventure is the journey,” he returned. “And I didn’t have a chance to ask you. Instead I discussed it with someone else. He gave me some very good advice.”
“And who might this someone be? A butler? A horse trader?”
“A priest. He said if I’d done something to wrong you, I should do something to set it right.”
“And to you that meant marriage.”
Unless he was mistaken, most of the anger had left her voice. That was a very good sign, especially considering that he was perfectly serious. He wasn’t taking her back home. If she didn’t want to marry him, he would convince her otherwise. She was not marrying John Tracey.
“Well, Father Michael did speak rather strongly against sin. And when I asked him about how quickly he could marry us, he said if I was that desperate, Gretna Green was an alternative I might consider.”
“‘Consider’. That means ‘think about,’ not ‘rush headlong into’.”
He grinned. “Yes, but as I said, this way it has the added attraction of being an adventure.”
“I didn’t think you ever meant to marry, Valentine. What about all of your lovers and paramours who keep you from boredom? Isn’t that all you want?”
“I haven’t touched another woman since I kissed you, Eleanor. My butler’s ready to call in a physician. He’s convinced I’m ill.” Valentine paused. “I think I am ill. And there’s no cure.” Swallowing, he sat up straighter. “I like this sickness, Eleanor.”
“But I said that I’d used you,” she said slowly, holding her bound hands out to him again.
He was going to have to release her sooner or later. With a frown he untied the bonds, careful not to scratch or bruise her soft skin. “I don’t think you used me, Eleanor,” he returned. “And the only thing I kept from you was that Melbourne asked me to keep an eye on you. After that first night, I would have done it, regardless.”
Slowly she reached out to touch his cheek. “I just wish I could rely on this being the real Valentine Corbett. I like this man, but sometimes I can’t find him at all.”
“He’s new to this,” he replied, leaning forward to touch his lips to hers. His pulse sped as her mouth softened to his embrace. “But he’s trying. And he does have three days to convince you. Will you give him a chance?”
Rising, he moved to sit beside her, drawing her arms up over his shoulders as he took her mouth again. God, he could kiss her forever. The thought of not being able to see her whenever he wished, of not being able to chat with her and hear her warmer view of the world, had driven him into a near panic. He’d only been half serious when he’d spoken to Father Michael, but hell, if a priest thought it was a good plan, who was he to argue? Besides, it seemed the very best idea he’d had in three decades and two years of life.
She moaned softly against his mouth, and he went hard. True, she hadn’t agreed to marry him, but she hadn’t said no, either. And he had nothing against doing some convincing—especially if it involved being inside her again.
“You’re truly going to ruin me,” she said quietly, a small tremor shaking her voice.
“I am. That way you’ll have to marry me.”
“I won’t, if I don’t want to. Melbourne could probably still convince Tracey.”
“I’ll convince you, first,” he murmured, pulling her onto his lap so he could kiss her more deeply.
“Or I could enter a convent,” Eleanor suggested, licking his ear.
“Not now,” he said with a soft chuckle. “You’d never be able to stand going a lifetime without feeling a man’s touch again.” He slowly ran his hand up her leg, pulling her thin shift up as he went from her ankle to her thigh.
Immediately he realized that he’d said something wrong, because she lifted her head away from his throat to look at him. “What about you going a lifetime without feeling another woman’s touch? You, Valentine. Because if you think I’ll tolerate you having mistresses, you can—”
He ignored the “tolerate” part of her sentence, feeling a small tremor run through him at the jealousy in her voice. “All I have is my word, which probably isn’t worth much. But I…don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
“This is all very nice, but it’s also convenient.”
“‘Convenient’? You think it was convenient for me to arrange all this? To break into your house and kidnap you?”
“Convenient that you only decided to do this after Melbourne told you to stay away from me, and after he summoned John Tracey.”
That definitely had something to do with it; he was in a weak position, and he knew it. “Before that, I’d thought we—I—would have more time to figure out why you make me feel this way. Cobb-Harding’s idiocy slammed that door.” He gave a short grin. “So I broke in through the window.”
“Is this for me or for you, then, Valentine?”
“Can’t it be for both of us?”
“You—”
“I don’t know how to be proper, Eleanor,” he breathed, kissing her again, feeling her melt against him in response, “and I don’t suppose I’m capable of doing something completely against my own self-interest. If I could, I still wouldn’t let you marry Tracey.”
She sighed. “I don’t think you would,” she agreed slowly, tangling her fingers through his hair. “But are you better for me than he would be?”
He smiled against her mouth. “Much better. Consider this: Since you don’t want to be proper, perhaps we’ll make a good match.”
She took a ragged breath. “This is all well and good, for you to seduce me while I’m in a night shift and completely reliant on you for protection and for my reputation. But what about tomorrow?”
Part of what Valentine enjoyed so much about Eleanor was the way she looked at the world, and the way she spoke her mind. Tonight, though, he would have accepted her quiet acquiescence without complaint. With a last smoldering kiss that had him pointing the way to Gretna Green, he set her back on the opposite seat.
“What I know is that you have no feelings for John Tracey, or you would have leaped out of the coach by now, moving or not. But you’re right. I can’t convince you to trust me, and you don’t have to believe that I would never do anything to hurt you. I could try to bribe you, tell you that I’ll build you a private bathing pool if you’d like, and that I’ll never try to stop you from riding astride or speaking to whomever you please. And I would do those things, if you wanted them.”
“Val—”
“But I’m just going to tell you what you already know,” he continued, “that you and I are good together. We have fun, and we understand one another. Hell, you understand me better than I do, and I think I can say the same about you.” Valentine brushed a finger along her cheek because he needed to touch her. “But that’s just words, and you need to think. So I’ll be over here, napping, if you should make up your mind tonight.”
He settled back into the corner, closing his eyes and trying to convince his nether regions that the delay was for a good cause. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire life. More than he would want anything ever again. But neither did he want to be a haphazard decision that she made in a last effort to thwart Melbourne.
Good God. He was closing his eyes. He never closed his eyes in the company of a female—but it wasn’t the first time he’d done so with Eleanor. That gesture on his part spoke more to him than all of the rationalizations and protestations he could make. He trusted her. Not just with his physical well-being, but with his heart—which apparently meant that he had one.
As the silence lengthened, he opened one eye. She was sitting in the opposite corner, her arms cros
sed over her chest and her gaze steady on him. Valentine frowned.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“Why the devil didn’t you say something?” he asked, shrugging out of his greatcoat and standing to wrap it around her shoulders.
“I’m not familiar with the rules for a kidnapping,” she returned, tucking her chin into the heavy coat.
He let the comment go, considering that he’d half expected an all-out battle. “So had you decided to marry Tracey?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. He’s certainly the least offensive of the candidates Melbourne and I discussed.”
“He discussed candidates with you? That’s surprise. I expected a sweeping pronouncement immediately followed by a special marriage license.”
“So did I, at first. He did make it clear that I was to stop carousing about London and marry, both for my own safety and for the good of the family.”
“‘Carousing’? Is that what he called it?”
“Yes. What would you call it?”
“Having a bit of fun,” he returned. “Exploring. Deciding the course of your life.”
Eleanor smiled a little. “You do understand.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, my dear. And that brings up something else which bears mentioning. I’m good at sex.”
“I assumed that, after—”
“But I’ve never been as good as when I’m with you.” Valentine drew a breath, willing her to understand what he was trying to say. “And I don’t think you’ll find anyone else who makes you feel the way I can, Eleanor.”
“Oh, my.” Her color deepening, she sat forward. The coat sagged from her shoulders. “Tomorrow will you still be this Valentine Corbett?”
He was only just discovering that there was another Valentine Corbett, and that aside from the insanity, he didn’t seem to be a bad fellow. “You hate the other one—and for good reason.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. And I’m beginning to realize that they’re both you. You’ve done some awful things, but in the past few weeks, I’ve discovered that you can be…frightfully insightful.”
Sin and Sensibility Page 29
