It was not precisely the answer Eleanor sought, but she knew for now it would have to suffice.
Chapter 6
Eleanor drew in an inaudible breath as she crossed the threshold of Lord and Lady Atwood’s home, the wind and rain swirling behind her. Two liveried footmen hurried forward to wrestle the door shut, while a third bent down to towel dry the floor.
The outside facade of the house was classic and understated, the interior fashionably elegant with a black and white marble-floored entry, a sweeping staircase, and a fresco painting of the heavens adorning the domed ceiling.
Beside her she felt Bianca tuck her hand against her hip to stop its trembling. Eleanor couldn’t tell whether her sister was shivering from the damp weather, intimidated by the sumptuous, refined surroundings, or anxious at the prospect of seeing Lord Benton. Perhaps a combination of all three.
Eleanor could feel Bianca’s trembling increase when they entered the drawing room. Trimmed in shades of gold, the decor was opulent and lavish, but Eleanor had little time to appreciate it. Lord Benton, starkly handsome in black evening clothes with a silver embroidered waistcoat and a flawlessly tied white cravat, descended upon them.
Eleanor braced herself, but before the viscount reached them, Lady Dorothea appeared, a tall, handsome gentleman by her side.
“‘Tis delightful to see you both,” Lady Dorothea said, her lovely features alighting with pleasure. “It’s been raining so hard tonight I was afraid not all of the guests would be able to come.”
“Thankfully the ones who matter most made it safely,” Lord Benton interrupted as his white, even teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “Good evening, Lady Bianca. Lady Eleanor.”
He bowed sharply, then reached for Bianca’s hand and held it tightly. Eleanor watched in dismay as her sister stared into his eyes, swaying ever so slightly toward him. Panicking, she cleared her throat. Loudly. Bianca jumped, a charming blush flowering in her cheeks as she pulled her hand away.
“Stop accosting my guests, Benton,” the other man said softly, “or else I’ll banish you to the kitchens to eat with the staff.”
“Oh dear, that will never do,” Lady Dorothea remarked with a smile. “The maids will be swooning into their supper plates with Benton at the table. Better to send him out into the storm if he misbehaves.”
“Yes, he can dine in the doghouse.” Lines of puzzlement suddenly appeared in the other gentleman’s face. “We did have the builder put up a doghouse, did we not, my love?”
“We did, though I’m embarrassed to admit Lancelot has never once set foot inside it. And I am even more embarrassed at our unforgivable rudeness, for I have not yet introduced you to our guests. Lady Eleanor, Lady Bianca, I am pleased to present my husband, Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood.”
Eleanor and Bianca swept into a curtsy while the marquess bowed. The Marquess of Atwood was a classic example of a tall, dark, and handsome man. He possessed an inbred aristocratic manner of absolute authority that would have been exceedingly off-putting if not for his charming smile. Eleanor was favorably impressed.
His father, the Duke of Hansborough, whom they were introduced to next, was another matter entirely. In Eleanor’s opinion, the older man embodied every cliché about the aristocracy in one neat package. Cold, arrogant, and superior, he was a truly intimidating figure.
He fixed his gaze steadily on her as she made her curtsy, his expression undisguised curiosity. “So you’re Hetfield’s eldest girl?”
Eleanor nodded.
“I knew your mother. A charming, fine-looking woman. Very graceful on the dance floor, as I recall.” The duke lifted his brow as he made a sympathetic murmur. “You don’t favor her much in looks.”
Eleanor bit down hard on her lower lip to muffle her gasp of indignation. “My sister inherited our mother’s coloring,” she said through tight lips.
“And Lady Eleanor inherited her grace and charm,” a masculine voice added.
Eleanor turned, uncertain who else was near enough to have heard the duke’s insulting remark. She suspected it was Lord Atwood, but instead Lord Benton stared back at her.
“The old man’s testing your mettle,” the viscount whispered. “As far as I know, the duke doesn’t bite.” The corners of Lord Benton’s mouth turned up. “Very often.”
“I am not worried, my lord,” Eleanor hissed back. “I have faced down far worse in my day then a temperamental, insensitive duke. I imagine he will be vastly disappointed if I don’t quiver and crumble.”
“He will.”
“Then I shall take great delight in disappointing him.” Eleanor smiled pleasantly as the duke turned to speak with another guest. “Though I don’t understand why he would take a particular interest in me.”
“He’s very protective of his daughter-in-law,” Benton answered. “He wants to know everything about the people who become her friends.”
Become her friend? An unexpected wave of melancholy swept over Eleanor. Her time in London would be brief. Even if she did form a friendship with Lady Dorothea, there was a very small chance that she would see her again after the Season was over.
Swallowing the sudden rush of self-pity, Eleanor turned her attention to the conversation swirling around her. Emma had joined their circle and she and the duke were engaged in a lively exchange.
“I for one am not disappointed he can’t be here tonight. Lord Sullivan is a buffoon,” the duke grumbled. “Thinks he’s an expert on everything under the sun and takes great pleasure in spouting his nonsensical opinions.”
“When asked or not,” Lord Benton muttered under his breath. Eleanor dipped her chin to hide her smile.
“Lord Sullivan might be a bore, Your Grace,” Emma said. “But at least he refrains from discussing his ailments, a topic that most older people seem to embrace with fanatical enthusiasm.”
The duke stared at her, his silver eyebrows rising. “You had better not be lumping me into that category, young lady, or else I’ll be forced to box your ears.”
“I said older people, Your Grace,” Emma replied with a saucy grin. “That could not possibly include you.”
“Ha!” The duke smiled in appreciation, then turned to his son. “You had better watch this one carefully, Carter. She’s going to lead some hapless fellow on a merry chase.”
“I know that all too well, sir.” The marquess grinned at his sister-in-law. “But eventually a clever man will catch her and then she shall be his problem.”
“Carter!” Lady Dorothea wrinkled her nose at her husband. “I do not appreciate you referring to Emma as a problem.”
“Come now, Lady Dorothea, you know Atwood was merely jesting,” Lord Benton interjected. “Indeed, every man with an ounce of intelligence knows the only wives worth having are the problem kind.”
“Benton’s talking about having a wife?” Creases formed on the duke’s forehead. “He must be royally foxed.”
A hearty laugh rumbled from the viscount’s chest. “I was referring to other men’s wives, Your Grace. Not one of my own.”
“I have talked myself blue in the face over the joys of matrimony, yet sadly for him, Benton is still not convinced of the benefits of a wife.” Atwood looked at Lord Benton, one eyebrow cocked in affection. Clearly he was very fond of the viscount.
“Nevertheless, it’s deuced bad form to scare an old man like that, Benton,” the duke said. “You know my heart could give out at any time.”
“Surely you jest, Your Grace,” Eleanor interjected smoothly. “I imagine your heart can withstand a great deal.”
There was a slight pause. Then, with an irritable expression, the duke turned his full attention on Eleanor. “You sound surprised to hear that I have a heart.”
“Not at all. However, if that particular thought ever crossed my mind, I would never be so rude as to express it out loud,” Eleanor replied. “Especially when others are near enough to overhear such an unflattering remark.”
Her lips curved. It was a clever set-down,
one Eleanor was proud to have delivered. She had rebuked the duke’s earlier discourtesy in a subtle, yet pointed manner.
“Benton,” the duke said, his eyes still squarely on Eleanor. “If you were ever of a mind to get yourself a bride, you’d be wise to look no further.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Lady Eleanor has much to recommend her. Alas, I worry that she also possesses the good sense to refuse me.”
“She is a smart woman,” Lord Atwood joked and everyone laughed.
Eleanor felt the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks. Her and Lord Benton? Whatever was the duke thinking? She examined the conversation in her mind, deciding the duke had surely been jesting. True, she was closer in age to him than her sister, but honestly what man would be interested in her when Bianca was available?
That was of course assuming the viscount was interested in acquiring a wife. Based on all that she had heard, including the good-natured barbs this evening from those who knew him best, it seemed unlikely.
A footman holding a silver tray laden with filled glasses approached. Conversation ceased as everyone shifted about and made their selections. Eleanor picked a glass of ratafia for herself and was about to offer Bianca a tumbler of lemonade when she noticed her sister walking away, Lord Benton at her side.
Eleanor opened her mouth to call her back, but the command faded on her lips. Try as she might, she could not control Bianca’s every move. But she could, and would, keep a close eye on the viscount.
Settling herself on the end of an unoccupied couch, Eleanor slowly sipped her drink as she watched Lord Benton and her sister. Judging by Bianca’s frequent smiles, blushing cheeks, and lowered eyes, Eleanor concluded the viscount was flirting outrageously, but she surmised even he could not behave with too much impropriety when in plain view.
Eleanor was soon aware that she was not the only one who had noticed the pair. Emma was positively mesmerized by them.
“They make a rather striking couple, my sister and the viscount,” Eleanor remarked casually.
For a heartbeat Emma hesitated, a fleeting look of concern on her face. Then she leaned toward Eleanor. “Benton is trouble,” Emma insisted, her voice pitched low. “You must not allow your sister to be deceived by his quick-witted charm and striking good looks.”
“Strange, I thought you liked him.” Emma’s eyes sparkled. “I do. He is marvelously entertaining. But I am not blind to his faults. Nor am I naive. He is a handsome, titled man in his early thirties who is known for charming women into his bed and has vowed not to marry until he is at least forty.”
“One would have to question why you keep company with such a man,” Eleanor replied, wondering at Emma’s lack of restraint. Close friends tried to shield each other’s reputations, not taint them. “Indeed, why would your entire family embrace him so completely if he is such an unscrupulous rake?”
Emma shrugged, her sharp gaze giving no quarter. “The friendship between my brother-in-law and Lord Benton is of long standing. They were schoolmates as boys, along with Mr. Dawson. The marquess would never stoop so low as to abandon his friends, no matter how tarnished their reputation. He has, however, expressly forbid me to be alone in Benton’s company.”
“Sound, prudent advice for any young girl.” Eleanor’s smile was wry. “I hope you take it.”
“I know all about proper, acceptable society behavior,” Emma answered. “Yet I am uncertain if the same can be said of your sister.”
Eleanor’s hackles rose automatically at the slight. Sister of the hostess be damned, she was about to deliver a scathing retort when she noticed Emma’s fingers curling into a tight fist. Goodness, the girl was twisted in knots. Over Benton?
Perhaps. Still, the slight could not go completely unchallenged. Eleanor reached out and patted Emma’s knuckles. “‘Tis a great relief then, is it not, that Bianca is my concern and not yours.”
Emma gave her a long, level look. But then her demeanor changed instantly, her face almost glowing as if lit from within. Eleanor turned her head and noticed Lord Benton walking across the drawing room toward them. He was alone. Bianca had remained on the other side of the room, talking with the marquess and two other young women whose names Eleanor did not recall.
As he drew closer, Eleanor saw the truth revealed in Emma’s eyes. She was in love with the viscount. Eleanor glanced about the room to see if anyone had noticed, but no one thought anything unusual. It appeared what was so blatantly in front of them was too obvious to see.
For one brief moment Eleanor almost felt sorry for Emma. While it was clear that Lord Benton held her in great affection, he treated her as a younger sibling, not a possible wife.
Then again, the viscount was a close friend of her brother-in-law’s. He might well marry her in the end, for men were ever practical when selecting a mate.
Eleanor pondered what this might mean for Bianca as the Atwoods’ butler signaled supper was served. The guests strolled informally to the dining room and Eleanor’s breath hitched.
It was a stunning room, boasting three chandeliers and easily seating the forty invited guests. It was a number Eleanor herself would never have assigned to a small dinner party, of course, she moved little in society and had never actually presided over one.
Her nerves eased as the meal progressed. Peter Dawson, seated on her left, was an interesting dinner companion. He soon had her laughing over tales of his boyhood antics with Lord Atwood and Lord Benton. She kept a close eye on Bianca but for long stretches allowed herself to relax and enjoy the delicious meal and witty conversation.
It was amazing how a glass of wine could mellow her nerves. Eleanor drained the first goblet by the time the meat course was served. She glanced down the table to where Bianca was speaking to two women, her face wreathed in a smile, then checked to see where Lord Benton was seated.
Relief swamped her when she saw the viscount was on the opposite side, several chairs away from her sister.
“More wine, Lady Eleanor?”
Mr. Dawson smiled at her while the liveried footman holding the bottle waited for her to answer. “Perhaps just a half glass,” she replied, deciding it couldn’t hurt.
The situation with Bianca and the viscount seemed under control for the moment. It would be foolish indeed not to take advantage of this rare opportunity and enjoy herself.
As the dessert course was being served, Sebastian was surprised to find himself having a good time. Dinner parties at the Atwoods’ were always lively affairs and tonight was no exception. The food was delicious, though he thought the fricassee of veal a tad overspiced, the conversation stimulating, if one avoided the duke’s barbs, the company congenial, except for the occasional suspicious stares from Lady Eleanor.
Though seated several chairs away, he had been near enough to Lady Bianca to flirt with her intermittently during the meal, her shy smiles and warm blushes a sure sign of her interest. Sebastian’s luck held as the gentlemen left the dining room after their port and cigars had been enjoyed and joined the ladies. The wicked weather had calmed considerably, from torrential rains to a lighter spring drizzle and now to a balmy mist.
Several of the guests used the opportunity to stroll in the garden and Sebastian promptly placed himself at Lady Bianca’s side. She bestowed a welcoming smile upon her lips when he joined her, the moonlight casting a golden shadow over her delicate features.
Tucking her hand into his arm, Sebastian smoothly maneuvered down a secluded path, away from the others. Like a lamb to the slaughter. Damn, it was so much easier dealing with a female who didn’t have a suspicious bone in her body.
They strolled leisurely down the garden path past formal flower beds in neat symmetrical shapes to a section where the shrubs grew denser in a wild, untamed manner. Torches had been lit in anticipation of the guests going outside, so it was easy to find their way.
Bianca chatted in a breathless manner that revealed her nerves. Sebastian listened only enough to make an encouraging murmur or pose a question to k
eep her talking, all the while plotting his next move, searching for the perfect spot to steal a kiss.
And after the kiss—what then? Be discovered? It truly wasn’t all that shocking for a man of his reputation to be spied kissing a woman. The incident might stain Bianca’s reputation but it would not ruin it.
No, he needed a grander gesture to facilitate her ruin. And anyway, he refused to do anything so crass as to create a scandal in the home of his closest friend. No, instead he would use this opportunity to ensnare her, to tempt her with a single private kiss followed by the promise of more. He would earn her trust, then skillfully plant the seeds that would lead to her reckless abandon, and that in turn would cause her father to defend her honor.
They reached a stone bench set in a small alcove. The scent of fresh rain and spring flowers filled the air, lending a touch of mystery and romance.
“Allow me.” With a sultry smile, Sebastian gallantly removed his linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the droplets of moisture from the bench.
Bianca giggled before settling herself gracefully. Then she tilted her head and gazed up at him with luminous eyes. Encouraged, Sebastian placed his foot beside her on the bench and leaned in, taking her right hand in both of his.
“You look very beautiful in the moonlight,” he said in a silky tone. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist softly.
Her eyes twinkled brightly. “I could say the same of you, my lord. Though I believe men prefer to be called handsome.”
He moved her hand, placing it gingerly on his bent knee, then slowly released his grip. She swallowed deeply, her expression slightly dazed, yet she kept her hand resting intimately where he had placed it. The gesture spoke volumes, but instead of delight, a fission of guilt raked through him. Stalling, he cleared his throat.
“The air is damp,” he said. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. Sebastian felt her fingers curl over his knee, their warm strength causing the tension inside him to rise. He gazed into her wide eyes and a flush of dread washed over him. He could see her innocence clearly on her face, sense her trembling excitement.
A Little Bit Sinful Page 9