Sin and Sensibility (24 page)

“Shoes,” she muttered, heading into the dressing closet.

She couldn’t very well run down to the corner in her bare feet. Heavens. No one was that brazen.

Squinting, she could just make out the hands of the clock over her fireplace. Two minutes after twelve. She’d tried for half an hour to get her brothers to take her home 206

Sin and Sensibility / 207

from dinner with the Gurnseys, but Zachary had been determined to win at least one game of charades.
Damned
charades
. And now she was late.

She knew the Marquis of Deverill had a very finite amount of patience, and while he’d likely waited around the corner for young ladies to join him in his coach before, she doubted it had been with so little reward for himself in the offing. She had no idea how long he would wait before he decided to drive off and find amusement elsewhere, so with barely a thought as to whether they matched, she pulled out a pair of soft slippers, yanked them on, and hurried to the door.

At the last moment she decided to wear a bonnet; if someone saw her climbing into or out of his coach, at least her face would be partially concealed. After all, this was about freedom, not being ruined beyond repair.

The bonnet on, she then remembered it had been quite cool when they’d returned from the Gurnseys’, so she freed a shawl from her wardrobe and pulled that across her shoulders. “Stop stalling,” she hissed at herself, and resolutely stalked to her door.

Her fingers on the handle, she paused again, taking a deep breath. This was it; this was where she had to decide whether she was actually going to go through with it or not. On the surface, of course, going for a late-night swim with a trusted friend to keep watch seemed insignificant.

When she took into account, though, that she was one-and-twenty, and that she hadn’t been permitted to swim for eight years, and that the trusted friend was an infamous rakehell with whom she seemed to be quite infatuated, the idea didn’t seem nearly as brilliant, if no less appealing.

Open the door, Nell
, she ordered herself, and with a last breath she turned the handle and stepped into the hallway.

208 / Suzanne Enoch

A few of the hall candles were still burning, which at best meant at least one servant was still on duty. At worst, one of her brothers still roamed the house. Eleanor prayed for a servant even as she moved quietly to the stairs and started down, avoiding the fourth stair with its infamous squeak.

Her heart pounded. If this was what an adventure felt like, she wasn’t certain she would be able to survive anything more strenuous. In fact, the actual escaping of the house—and Melbourne’s watchful gaze—concerned her more than what would come after. That, however, would change as soon as she reached Valentine’s coach. If she reached Valentine’s coach.

She paused in the foyer, listening for footsteps or voices or anything that might indicate she wasn’t the only soul awake in Griffin House. Complete silence met her ears.

According to the rules, she should have been able to inform her brothers of what she was doing, and then be perfectly free to go swimming. Since the Vauxhall lie, she was
supposed
to inform them of her whereabouts. In the face of reality, though, she was far from being that naive.

Sebastian would never allow this, no matter what he might have agreed to in principle.

The clock on the landing kept ticking, reminding her that she was already several minutes late. Testing Valentine’s patience was an uncertain prospect at best, and she didn’t think she would have the nerve to do this again, rebellion or not. “On the count of five,” she whispered soundlessly, then had to go through the count twice before she could make her legs move to the front door.

Gripping the handle, she slowly turned it until it clicked free. Even more gently now she pulled, and the door smoothly, silently, swung open. Before she could change her mind, Eleanor stepped onto the front portico and Sin and Sensibility / 209

closed the door behind her. The click as the latch engaged seemed deafening, but she couldn’t afford to wait and see if anyone had heard and would come to investigate.

Gathering her skirt in one hand, she hurried for the corner, running with every few steps as she neared her destination. “Please be there,” she muttered, rounding onto Brook’s Mew.

Silently beneath one of the gas lamps, a black coach waited. There in the dark it abruptly occurred to her that someone could possibly have overheard their plans, that it could be Stephen Cobb-Harding waiting in the black night for her to wander by. She slowed, but made herself keep walking. She was not going to stop just because of her wild imaginings.

As she drew nearer, the yellow crest of Deverill became visible on the door panel, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He’d come, and he’d waited. The driver ignored her, and in fact seemed to make a point of looking in the opposite direction. Undoubtedly he was used to the marquis and his odd hours and secretive rendezvous.

Eleanor rapped on the coach’s door, and it swung open.

“Good evening, my dear,” Deverill’s deep voice came, and he extended a hand to help her up the steps into the vehicle.

“I didn’t think you would be here,” she panted, taking the seat opposite him and grateful for the lamp lit beside his head. In the dark, wearing a black, austere coat and trousers with a gray waistcoat, he seemed even more…arousing—especially now, when all her senses felt awake and attuned to the world around her. Whether that was from excitement or anxiety she wasn’t certain, but her heart had never pounded so hard in her life.

“I said I would be,” he returned, pulling the door closed 210 / Suzanne Enoch

and rapping on the ceiling with his walking cane. It wasn’t for walking; she’d seen him with it before, mostly in the late evenings when he stopped in to see Melbourne after a night at some club or other. It held a razor-sharp rapier, for “unwelcome encounters,” he’d said.

“I know, but I’m late.”

“I expected you to be.” He pulled a flask from his pocket, lifting an eyebrow as he offered it to her. “Whiskey?”

She was tempted. Tonight was not about liquid courage, however, and after a moment she shook her head.

“No, thank you. But keep it close by; I may require it later.”

He pocketed it again without drinking. “I may, as well.”

That was the first time she’d heard anything that might be reluctance from him. “I didn’t mean to drag you into anything,” she said quietly, abruptly disappointed—not in him, but in herself. This adventure scheme of hers must be terribly boring for someone of his experience and reputation. “I can hire a hack if you don’t—”

“That would be a sight,” he interrupted, eyes shadowed in the dim carriage. “You arriving home, sopping wet, in a hired hack.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I rarely know what I mean, Eleanor. Don’t let it trouble you. I never let it bother me.”

She smiled despite her nerves. For someone so dangerous, he had an uncanny knack for putting her at ease.

And always at times she never would have expected it.

“Very well. Are we going to Hyde Park?”

“That’s what you requested. I wouldn’t let a duck bathe in some of that water, much less a pretty young lady, but I found a nice, secluded pond in the northwest corner.

And it has the additional attraction of being at the farthest possible point from Griffin House.”

Sin and Sensibility / 211

“Oh.” Secluded and far from home and safety. For a moment the realization left her distinctly uneasy.

Valentine seemed to sense the swaying of her courage, because even as he sank back in his seat, he offered her a calm smile. “I told you how I pursue chits,” he said. “It must be mutual, or I’m not interested. And any time you wish to turn around, tell me, or tell Dawson, and it will be done. He has instructions to take your orders over mine.”

The gesture surprised her, and though she would never admit it, it calmed her immensely. “So what if I should tell Dawson to leave you behind and return me home?”

“Then I will be walking. And not very happily.”

“I shall try to refrain from doing so, then.”

“Thank you.” His gaze, which had been steady on her face, wandered down the length of her body and back again. “Interesting choice of wardrobe.”

Eleanor fought to keep the blush from her face, though she couldn’t help the warmth spreading beneath her skin everywhere his eyes had wandered. “I thought something simple would be appropriate.”

“Since you won’t be wearing it long, you mean. Unless you plan to swim fully clothed?”

Hm
. “I do trust you, Deverill, but it seems to me the less you know about my precise plans, the better.”

“As you wish. I’m merely curious, anyway. I can’t recall a single chit of my acquaintance who has made a point of swimming through a London pond. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Then I shall feel sorry for all of them when I’ve done it.”

“I feel sorry for them now, just for being well-enough acquainted with me that I should know of their bathing habits.”

“You’re not so bad, Valentine,” she said, keeping her 212 / Suzanne Enoch

voice as distantly friendly as she could manage, considering that she was torn between fleeing home and throwing herself on him. “I don’t mind being acquainted with you.”

Not at all. What would he do, she wondered, if she altered what she wanted for her adventure?

His teeth shown in the dimness. “You’ve only seen my good side. Think of me as a triangle. What you’ve witnessed is the narrow point. To the rest of London I show my broad backside.”

She grinned. “But you’ve forgotten two other complete sides. If you’re isosceles, which I assume you are.”

The expression in his eyes softened for a brief moment.

“Thank you for noting that I might have them.”

“I’ve seen them, Valentine. What you’ve done for me wouldn’t fit on the point of a triangle.”

The marquis shifted. “Yes, well, the thing with triangles is that you can never see all three sides at the same time.”

The coach bumped, turning sharply. “We’ve reached the park. Do you care to enlighten me about the general plan?

Am I to lead you to water and then turn my back and stand guard? Or should I wait in the coach and let you splash about in peace?”

She wanted him to be there, even though it seemed like the worst idea in history. “I would feel…better if you would remain somewhere in earshot, but once you point out the direction of the pond I shall proceed on my own.”

He nodded. “And a blanket? Something to cover your wet body?” Valentine moved again. “Not that I’m trying to discover details, but this coach does have rather expensive leather seats.”

Eleanor flushed. “I forgot a blanket.”

He produced one from the cabinet beneath his seat. “I didn’t.”

Sin and Sensibility / 213

Their fingers brushed as he handed it over. It might have been an accident, but since their last kiss, she couldn’t be as certain any longer. Nor did she truly wish to be. Wondering whether the Marquis of Deverill lusted after her made life seem much more exciting. “Thank you.”

“No detail forgotten. That’s my motto.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I thought your motto was
carpe diem
.”

“Actually, it’s
carpe femme
, but I’m expanding my rep-ertoire.”

Glancing toward the curtain-covered window, Eleanor couldn’t help a nervous fidget. “What time do you think we’ll be back? Stanton rises before five o’clock, I believe.”

“We can be back in twenty minutes or less, so I suppose it depends on how long you plan to go swimming.”

“And that would depend on how cold the water is.”

He grinned. “I found a location; I make no guarantees about temperature.”

“Fair enough.” For a moment she debated whether to ask the next question, but with the dark and the coach and her companion, she couldn’t help thinking about a similar situation last week. “Have you heard anything new from Mr. Cobb-Harding? I have to say, I expected to see him present at the Caster soiree.”

“I haven’t heard anything. And I don’t expect to.”

“So you sent him your letter. What, precisely, did you say in it, Valentine?”

He liked when she used his Christian name. Females used it often in his company; they seemed to find it romantical. For as long as he’d known Eleanor, though, she’d only begun using it over the last few days, only since they’d started this odd partnership, and that made it seem somehow more…significant.

214 / Suzanne Enoch

“Nothing to worry about,” he returned. “Unless he’s shot himself, of course. One can always hope for the best, I suppose.”

“Valentine! I may find him disgusting, but I certainly don’t wish him to kill himself.”

“Then you may hope he doesn’t, and I will hope he does, and we’ll all have done our duty.”

“But what did you say?” she insisted.

Eleanor had a tendency to be very hard to distract.

Valentine blew out his breath. “That I had discovered his level of indebtedness and made him responsible to me for it. And that unless he wished me to force repayment and the consequences thereof, he needed to make plans to leave the country.”

Her soft lips pursed. “Thank you. I have to confess, though, that the further I get from the actual incident, the stronger my desire to confront him myself and deliver a punch to his nose.”

There she went again, expressing that odd independent streak, that desire to do for herself. Considering how much experience he had with females, the level of confusion she caused in him was astounding. And as few morals as he had, he was still aware that the level of arousal he felt around her was completely unacceptable and best throttled and killed. A damned difficult prospect for someone far more used to indulging his passions than stifling them.

While she sat silently opposite him, Valentine concentrated on thoughts of ugly old chits and losing at faro. It didn’t help much, but the more he had to think about, the less opportunity he had to dwell on any one thing.

The one thing stirred in her seat. “How much did you have to pay?” she asked.