Sin and Sensibility (22 page)

188 / Suzanne Enoch

under his skin, the sensation of looking forward to something with genuine excitement—and, of course, arousal.

And so instead of answering or even looking through his ample correspondence, he went downstairs to do something completely uncharacteristic for him. He went to his library to read.

Eleanor read her note. “‘A quadrille or something’?”

she repeated, scowling. “Heavens. If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

Zachary looked up from his own correspondence.

“What was that, Nell?”

“Nothing. Just a comment.”

She’d tried to respect Deverill’s wish to avoid any personal entanglements, though privately she didn’t see how they could become more involved than they were now, short of becoming naked. That thought, of course, made her blush, and sent heat skittering along her skin.

“You’re attending the Caster event tonight, aren’t you?”

Zachary pursued, scratching through a line of his writing.

“Caster says it’ll be the crush of the Season.”

“That’s because Lady Caster always says that. I’ll withhold judgment for the moment.”

“But are you going?”

Since she had to save a quadrille or something for Deverill, she supposed she had to. “Yes, I’m planning on it.”

“With us?”

“I’ll share the carriage ride, if you don’t mind.”

For a moment he was silent, then blew out his breath with an audible sigh. “How long are you going to do this?”

“I thought you were on my side.”

“I would be, if I thought it was gaining you something that would make you happy. But to be honest, Nell, I don’t

Sin and Sensibility / 189

see what this is getting you except for more arguments with Melbourne and tears when you see Aunt Tremaine.”

“Who told you that I cried?”

Zachary pushed to his feet, the expression on his lean face frustrated. “I’m not blind, you know. Your eyes were all red and puffy. And—”

“You aren’t supposed to say that to a lady, Zachary.”

“You aren’t a lady; you’re my sister. And between you and me, I would never let Melbourne force you into a marriage with someone you disliked.”

Marriage
. She’d actually forgotten that had been her main reason for rebellion, as far as her brothers were concerned. “Thank you for the thought, but you would never stand against Melbourne if he forced the issue. Both you and Shay bow to his every order, as if he’s something more fantastical than simply older by five years.”

“Eight years, in my case,” he pointed out. “And eleven, in yours. That’s eleven more years of experience and wisdom than you have. Not just age.”

“I still know what I want, and who I like. Eleven more years won’t change that. I won’t be dictated to, Zachary.”

Her brother raised his hands. “All right, all right. I surrender. I don’t want to argue with you. It just strikes me as odd that you’re taking advice from Deverill, when you won’t take any from me.”

“I’m listening to advice,” she amended. “I’m doing as I please.”

“And listening to Deverill advise you about matters of the heart is ridiculous. He doesn’t even have a heart. And that makes him probably the least qualified man in England to help you find a husband.”

Eleanor tucked Valentine’s missive into her pelisse pocket and stood. “I’m not going to discuss this any fur-190 / Suzanne Enoch

ther. Just consider who you might ask for advice when you want to make a change in your life.”

“But I like my life,” he said to her back as she left the room, but she pretended not to hear him.

She did appreciate that Zachary was happy, but it only made her long harder for the same thing. She wasn’t happy; everything seemed like a fight and a challenge, and still the chances of her getting something she wanted out of life remained abysmal.

Even her rebellion didn’t seem to be turning things entirely in her direction. The man in whose arms she wanted to be wrote her extremely bland letters and promised nothing, only suggesting they meet for a quadrille or something so that she could tell him her dreams.

And how he might respond to what she had to say, Eleanor had no idea—and a great deal of nervousness.

“Men,” she muttered, going upstairs to examine the new arrivals from Madame Costanza and decide what she wanted to wear for the evening.

Chapter 12

“J
ust how many new gowns do you have?” Charlemagne asked as they entered the Caster ballroom.

Eleanor twirled in the emerald creation so that it swished around her ankles. “They’re still arriving. I’ve ordered at least fifteen. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, except each one you wear shortens my life span by at least a decade.”

Grinning, Eleanor headed off to greet some friends.

“Then I’ll expect to attend your funeral by next Wednes-day.”

When they’d arrived she hadn’t been able to help looking around the room for both Cobb-Harding and Deverill, dreading seeing the first and anxious to see the second, if only to inform him that his letter-writing skills left something to be desired. Neither man, though, appeared to be in attendance. She supposed this might be one of those myriad events Valentine neglected because something more interesting had come along, but artfully or not, he had said he would be there.

191

192 / Suzanne Enoch

Once she began thinking along those lines, however, she couldn’t help wondering what—or rather, who—the more interesting something might be. She knew of at least three lovers he’d had already this Season, but lately he seemed to appear whenever she needed assistance.

Maintaining a schedule that flexible and still keeping a lover would not have been easy, even for someone of his skill and imagination.

She greeted her friends, chatting and laughing about the Season and about who had already received proposals from whom, but half her attention remained on the doorway. It continued to flood with guests, but not one of them was the Marquis of Deverill.

“Did you hear that Phillipa Roberts eloped?” Rachel Edderly whispered, just loudly enough for the dozen giggling and laughing ladies in their circle to hear. “With Lord Ulbright.”

“No!” Barbara gasped, covering her mouth. “Her father threatened to disown her if she saw the baron again.”

“Yes, but with Ulbright’s fortune, what does she care?”

“But he’s twenty years older than she is,” Eleanor put in, glancing again at the doorway.
Blast him, where was
he?
She’d managed to save a stupid quadrille, since that was the dance he’d suggested, but she hadn’t been able to help reserving a waltz as well. If he didn’t appear she’d either have to sit out the most popular dance of the evening or attempt to ascertain whether one of her brothers would partner her. Considering Sebastian’s mindset about her rebellion, she didn’t hold out much hope for that.

“Can you imagine Ulbright climbing a ladder in the middle of the night to whisk her away? It’s pure luck that no one’s neck was broken.”

Sin and Sensibility / 193

“She’ll hate living through the scandal when she returns,” Barbara commented. “She’s so shy.”

“Not that shy, if she inspired an elopement,” Rachel countered, chuckling again. “It must have been romantic, even with Ulbright involved.”

“I hope so, for Phillipa’s sake,” Eleanor muttered.

Rachel looked in her direction. “Speaking of scandal,”

she said slyly, “what about you and the Marquis of Deverill?”

Eleanor frowned, feigning puzzlement even while her heart pounded. They hadn’t done anything, for heaven’s sake. Just one secret ride in a carriage and one luncheon.

And two kisses. And quite a few heated thoughts on her part. “There’s nothing between myself and Deverill. He’s Melbourne’s dearest friend.”

“I know, but my mama saw you at Prospero’s with him, having luncheon. Unescorted,” she added, for the edifica-tion of the rest of the group.

This was where the scandal could start. Deverill had warned her that his company was dangerous, even with her brother’s blessing. “For heaven’s sake, Rachel,” she exclaimed, waving her fan in the air for emphasis, “I think I have the right to dine with a family friend if I choose to do so. At an outdoor café, with thirty other diners.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Miss Edderly conceded grudgingly. “Though I’m not certain I would have the courage to go anywhere with Deverill, escorted or…” She trailed off.

Without turning around, Eleanor knew that Valentine was standing behind her. She waited a moment, enjoying the stir of her pulse, the anticipation skittering through her muscles, before she turned around to look at him.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said, curtsying.

194 / Suzanne Enoch

“Lady Eleanor.”

The look in his eyes made her mouth go dry. Considering the nature of the adventure she’d decided on, perhaps she shouldn’t include him in her plans for it, after all. The problem, though, was that she didn’t know of anyone else she could trust. As if that were the only reason she wanted him to know. Now did not seem the moment, though, to strip away her delusions.

Practically in a line behind the marquis stood the usual gaggle of single gentlemen, all undoubtedly waiting to take the two remaining places on her dance card. Briefly she wondered what he would do if she gave away the quadrille. Unpredictable as he was, though, she wasn’t willing to take the risk of not being able to speak with him.

“I’m blocking the way to paradise, it seems,” he noted, obviously hearing the herd milling behind him. “Shall I see you later?”

“Only if you take a spot on my card,” she returned with feigned nonchalance, handing it to him.

His mouth twitched. “As long as you don’t think it’ll begin a riot.” Not waiting for a reply, he scratched in his name and handed it back. When he’d returned it to her, he aimed his gaze at Rachel Edderly. “If you ever drum up the courage, let me know,” he murmured. He glanced at Eleanor, his eyes dancing, then strolled away toward her brothers.

Rachel clapped both hands over her mouth. “He heard me,” she whispered in a muffled voice. “Oh, no.”

“He only offered,” Eleanor said, torn between amusement at her friend’s apparent terror and jealousy that Valentine would flirt in front of her, even in such a blatantly teasing way. “You don’t have to accept.”

Sin and Sensibility / 195

“The only reason you can be so stoic,” Rachel retorted,

“is because Deverill wouldn’t dare try to seduce you with your brothers about. I don’t have any such protection.”

Eleanor could have informed her friend that Deverill only pursued where the attraction was mutual, but that would have been admitting to her familiarity and friendship with him. Besides, she wasn’t all that happy about what Rachel had said regarding Deverill’s restraint, especially because despite a few deliciously weak moments it was the truth.

She looked down at her dance card as the rest of the male horde swarmed around her. And swallowed.

Valentine hadn’t come for the quadrille. He’d written his name beside the waltz—the first one of the evening.

Barbara leaned over her shoulder while in front of her the first gentleman took the quadrille and the rest of them handed her card around—or snatched it from one another, rather like a pack of hungry dogs. “Friends, hm?” she whispered. “Are you certain
he
knows that?”

“Of course he does. We both do. He has some information I’ve been finding useful, is all. And as luncheon companions go, at least he doesn’t spend the entire encounter bemoaning the weather or the color of the sky in London this Season.”

“Just be careful, Nell,” her friend continued in the same low tone. “Rachel’s an amateur compared to some of the wags in attendance tonight. They would love nothing better than to imagine some sort of sordid episode between you and the marquis.”

“I know.” Eleanor sighed. “At least Melbourne knows not to pay attention to any such nonsense. Otherwise my declaration would have been void a week ago.”

“Do you have any prospects in mind?” Barbara contin-196 / Suzanne Enoch

ued, nodding as the card returned. Roger Noleville had penciled in his name beside the one remaining dance, the quadrille.

“A few,” Eleanor lied. “I’m not quite ready to name the contenders, yet.”

“Well, if you’re lucky, some of them will kill one another, and you’ll have only the fittest to choose from.”

With a laugh, Eleanor put the completed dance card back into her reticule. “I’ll only have to step over the fallen challengers to find my mate,” she chortled.

“Are you ready, Lady Eleanor?” Thomas Chesterfield made his way through the crush of guests to offer his arm.

“I believe the country dance is mine.”

“Of course, Mr. Chesterfield,” Eleanor returned, trying to stifle her chuckles. In an out-and-out brawl, she would have to give the advantage to Lord Deverill, because she couldn’t imagine that he would bother to follow the rules of fair play. Except that he wouldn’t be involved in the fight, because he was a friend rather than a suitor, and because he didn’t like to be involved in any stickiness.

With the start of the music she and her partner bowed to each other and then began the winding parade around the other dancers. She actually liked country dances; they provided the best opportunity for seeing who else was in attendance, and she could actually smile at persons with whom she might otherwise not be permitted to socialize.

That restriction didn’t hold true any longer, of course, and she could smile at or chat with whomever she chose, but the thought of that only made her enjoy the dance more. Over the course of the last few soirees she’d ended the evening with her face hurting, she’d done so much smiling.

“You look lovelier than Venus,” her partner said as they met and parted again.

Sin and Sensibility / 197

She hoped he didn’t mean Botticelli’s naked
Venus
Rising from the Clam Shell
. True, she’d worn another low-cut gown, but after Stephen Cobb-Harding, she had become a little sensitive to compliments about her bosom—especially when her dance partner hadn’t even discussed the weather or the number of guests in attendance.