“And your brothers didn’t give you any trouble when you said you’d be attending with me tonight?”
“No.” She frowned. Dishonesty hadn’t been part of her plan, but she seemed to be doing more than her share of lying. “I…didn’t actually tell them.”
“You didn’t? Did you say you’d be arriving with someone more acceptable, then? Eleanor, I don’t—”
“I told them I had an aching head and wouldn’t be attending at all,” she cut in. “One complete surprise and ensuing argument seemed better than several smaller ones.”
He sat beside her in silence for a minute. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but he already knew that he wasn’t on her brothers’ list of acceptable suitors, or he wouldn’t have made those comments the other night about having wanted to talk to her for the past year. To her surprise, Stephen Cobb-Harding seemed to understand her need for freedom and excitement and romance better than any other male she knew, including the Marquis of Deverill. And though he occasionally made her feel a tad uncomfortable, that was only because she wasn’t yet used to spreading her wings. Yes, that was it.
“I have an idea,” Stephen said abruptly.
“What sort of idea?”
A slow, attractive smile touched his mouth. “Do you want to go to the Hampton Ball, or do you wish a real, genuine taste of freedom and adventure?”
The ball, her sensible voice shouted. She’d make quite the stir there. But would that be real, genuine freedom? Or was she merely making a spectacle of herself for the sake of unsettling her brothers? “What would I be tasting?” she hedged.
“It’s another soiree, at a perfectly respectable house, but the ladies are permitted to wager and to drink and to ask gentlemen to dance.”
This sounded like trouble. “I don’t—”
“And everyone wears masks, so you won’t have to worry about any kind of scandal. We could leave if you feel the least bit uncomfortable, of course. But I thought freedom was—”
“Yes,” she blurted. “Let’s go.”
With a mask, she could attend. In a crimson gown and a mask, no one but Stephen would know she was Lady Eleanor. She could at least look about and decide if she wanted to stay. Her brothers thought her at home in bed, anyway, so they wouldn’t cause a stir when she didn’t arrive at the Hampton Ball.
“Are you certain?” Stephen asked.
“Yes. I want to go.”
His smile deepened. “Good. We’ll have fun. You’ll see.” Stephen chuckled, obviously reading her uncertain expression. “And it will be exciting and romantic. Everything you want.”
She dearly hoped so, because the sensible voice in her head was still yelling at her to change her mind.
Chapter 5
Valentine arrived at the Hampton Ball at precisely seven thirty-five in the evening. According to the invitation the soiree began five minutes before that, and indeed, he was the third guest to arrive. Certainly no gray-eyed chit in a daring gown of red, or any other color, had yet made an appearance.
It was ridiculous. He made a point of not being early—or even on time—anywhere, and even after Eleanor arrived nothing interesting was likely to happen tonight. At two hours or more before his usual arrival time, he’d be lucky not to die of boredom before she did put in an appearance.
He was on the verge of striking up a conversation with a footman when the next group of guests came through the door. The butler announced each one, though he certainly wasn’t impressed, and the other couple there were too deaf to hear anything short of a cannon shot. After the fifth round of introductions, he was ready to gouge out his own ears and join them.
“Deverill?” a surprised voice came from the edge of the ballroom.
With a sigh Valentine turned around. “Francis Henning,” he acknowledged, shaking the rotund young man’s hand.
“What the devil are you doing here already?” Henning cast his gaze about the slowly filling room. “I say, which game are you stalking tonight?”
“None,” he answered. “I’m here for the roast duck.”
Henning’s open face folded into bafflement. “Duck? You mean there’s no chit?”
Valentine smiled. “There’s always a chit.”
“So who is—”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
After a moment, Henning burst into uncertain laughter. “Oh, I understand. Very good, Deverill. Ha ha.”
Luckily for Henning the butler took that moment to bellow Melbourne’s name, and Valentine looked up. “Ah. There he is. If you’ll excuse me, Henning, I’ll have to stop toying with you now.”
He made his way over to the doorway where Sebastian, Shay, and Zachary lingered, accepting greetings from the host and hostess. Halfway there, he frowned. Where was Eleanor? Under normal circumstances she was at least as easy to spot as her powerful brothers, but tonight she should have stood out like a dove among crows. Wonderful. Now he was paraphrasing Shakespeare.
“Deverill,” Zachary greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. “You just won me twenty quid. Shay said you’d never be here when we arrived.”
“Well, I am here,” he returned, scowling at the duke. “Where is she? I’m definitely not doing this for my health, you know.”
The duke had the bad manners to chuckle at him. “You, my friend, are off the hook tonight.”
Valentine glared at him. “Beg pardon?”
“She had an aching head, and is home in bed. You’re free to go off and damage your health to your heart’s content tonight.”
To his surprise, Valentine felt…disappointed. He wouldn’t be able to see the gown she’d chosen for this evening. “You might have sent over a damned note.”
“We didn’t know until the last moment,” Zachary protested. “She wanted to come; I think she might even have dressed. It’s not our fault.”
Now that was interesting. “She ‘might’ have dressed?” he repeated. “You didn’t see her tucked into bed?”
Melbourne pushed in front of the youngest Griffin brother. “Are you implying that she waited for us to leave and then snuck out somewhere?”
Valentine shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s not my sister. But the fact that it didn’t occur to you until now makes me ashamed to know you.”
The duke looked at him for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Finally he began to swear, quietly and vehemently. “Her maid watched out the window for us to leave,” he muttered. “I saw her, and I didn’t think anything of it.”
“But Nell has an agreement with us,” Zachary protested. “She doesn’t need to sneak about.”
“That, my friend, would probably depend on what she’s up to.” Valentine stifled the urge to smile. A chit had outsmarted the Griffin brethren; that didn’t happen every day. “I could be wrong, you know. She could be at home, asleep.”
“Shay, go and see,” Melbourne ordered.
Without another word Charlemagne turned on his heel and slipped back down the hallway. Zachary, on the other hand, backed away and headed into the depths of the room.
“I’ll see which of her friends are here,” he said as he vanished.
“Most of them,” Valentine supplied.
“Deverill, you—”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You lost her. I’ve been granted the evening off. I’ll be lurking in your damned shrubbery in the morning. But if you find out where she might be going tomorrow, send me a bloody note.”
Melbourne gave a short grin. “Have a good evening.”
“I intend to.”
“So, my lady swan, are you enjoying yourself?”
Eleanor blinked. She’d never seen chandelier light glow so brightly, and she kept catching herself staring at the massive wrought-silver piece hanging above the center of the ballroom. “I think I’ve been too liberal with the brandy and…whatever else that is.”
“Rum,” the man in the black fox half mask replied. “And you’ve had less than most of the other females here.”
With a grin that didn’
t feel quite centered, Eleanor gestured for one of the footmen, who were all dressed as white doormice. “Another rum if you please, my good mouse.”
In the corner a bear and another swan swooned across a chair, masks bumping as their mouths locked. Quietly in the background an orchestra of pan flutes and sitars played something that sounded Eastern and erotic, while a pair of wolves, male and female, emerged from one of the many closeted alcoves along the far side of the room. The male wolf’s hand was firmly attached to the female’s left breast, which barely had enough material over it to call it covered, anyway.
Other muted sounds of women moaning and men’s lower-pitched grunts were even more unsettling. She pretended to ignore them. The liquor helped her accept the idea of staying, but it also seemed to attune her to the illicit activities going on all over the house. Eleanor took another long swallow of rum and swayed.
The fox cupped her elbow, his voice soft in her ear. “Perhaps you should sit down for a moment, my lady swan.”
Exotic perfumes mingled with the smell of liquor and heated bodies. With her third snifter of brandy the sensible voice in her head had become slurred and unintelligible, but even the part of her that acknowledged that she’d never been anywhere as decadent and wild in her life knew she should be elsewhere. Every time she thought to suggest that she and Stephen leave, however, another glass appeared in her hand, and another slightly condescending taunt came softly regarding her courage and her resolve.
“Yes,” she returned, hearing the slur in her own voice, “I think I would like to sit down for a moment.”
She took a step toward a free chair, but the floor was lower under her feet than she expected. Stumbling, she would have fallen flat on her swan mask if Stephen hadn’t caught her.
“Steady there,” he said, amusement dripping from his voice. “This way. There’s somewhere private where we can relax a little.”
“I really think I should go home,” she managed, casting one hand out for balance. She’d had a little too much wine before, though rarely, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling so…thick, and dreamy. “We’ve been here for a very long time.”
“We’ll go shortly,” Stephen agreed. “After you’ve recovered yourself a little. We can’t have Melbourne seeing you like this, now can we?”
“Oh, no.” Eleanor put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Don’t say his name. I don’t want anyone to know who I am.”
“Right.” Stephen pulled aside a heavy curtain and helped her into a small room with only a couch and a small table bearing one candle. “There you go. Have a seat, lady swan.”
She sank gratefully onto the soft couch, so weary she could have fallen asleep then and there. Stephen sat beside her and reached over to pull the mask from her face. “Better?” he asked.
Her eyes closed dreamily, and she forced them open again. “Yes, thank you.”
He stroked a finger along her cheek. “Good. Just relax for a few minutes. Close your eyes if you like. I’ll keep watch.”
A helpless giggle crossed her lips as her eyelids sank down again. “So gallant, you are.”
The finger stroked her cheek again, then glided down the length of her throat. It lingered there for a moment while Eleanor tried to muster enough of a thought to tell him to please stop that and take her home. Then the fingers sank lower again, drawing across her chest along her low neckline.
“You are so lovely, Eleanor,” Mr. Cobb-Harding murmured, and lips covered hers, sucking and pulling so that she could barely breathe. The material on one shoulder slid down her arm, lowering the front of her dress, and a hand abruptly covered her bare right breast, cupping and tugging and kneading.
“Stop!” she shouted, except that only an unintelligible whimper escaped her. Forcing open her eyes, she could see nothing but the black fox half mask looming over her and smell only harsh, liquor-tinged breath in her face. “No.”
“I know you like this,” he whispered, shifting to slide the gown off her other shoulder. “All females d—”
Abruptly a black-clothed arm and attached fist darted into her vision and connected with the fox’s pointed nose. In great detail she saw the nose cave in, then Stephen lurched backward.
“What—”
“Stay down if you want to keep breathing,” a low voice growled. A heartbeat later a black panther’s half mask with glittering green eyes entered her vision.
“Deverill,” she muttered, trying to sit up.
“At your service,” he returned in a tight voice she’d never heard from him before. It chilled her to the bone, and she was grateful it wasn’t directed at her.
At least she didn’t think it was. “I tried—”
“No worries. Are you hurt?”
“No. Very fuzzy.”
He moved closer, and she felt the warm silk of her dress slide back up over her shoulder. Abruptly she remembered that at least one of her breasts had been bare, and that he’d seen it. “Deverill?”
“Shh. Here. You have to put this on again.” He held up the mask, watched her try to reach for it, then gently placed it over her face himself.
“I want to go home, Valentine.”
“We’re going. In just a moment.” He shifted, and in a second she heard flesh hitting flesh again. “If you breathe a word about tonight to anyone,” the quiet, black voice came again, “I will destroy you. Is that clear?”
“Y…yes.”
Though he didn’t want to settle for delivering a warning, Valentine clearly had more urgent matters to deal with. He returned to Eleanor, who just moments before had had the shimmering folds of her crimson skirt pushed up past her knees, and one breast bared like an Amazon princess. Now she half lay limply on the couch, barely able to keep her eyes open. Cobb-Harding was a damned, bloody bastard.
Taking both of her hands, Valentine pulled Eleanor to her feet. With a sigh she collapsed against his chest. Walking wasn’t going to work. With another glare at the prone, bloody-faced Cobb-Harding through the slits of his panther eyes, he lifted her into his arms. Ducking through the heavy curtains, he carried her through the main room, ignoring the hidden faces and sly smiles from the guests who hadn’t already vanished into private rooms. Most of them knew who he was, but they would have no idea who the black swan in the crimson gown—one hand coiled into his lapel and her face tucked against his shoulder—could possibly be.
Thank Lucifer he’d taken his coach to his second outing of this evening, though he’d done so with a less innocent conclusion in mind. As he emerged from Belmont House he whistled for his driver, and a moment later the large black vehicle with the yellow crest on the door pulled into the drive.
“Drive around Hyde Park,” Valentine instructed as he lifted Eleanor into the vehicle and settled her onto the cushioned seat.
The coach rocked into motion, and he pushed up both windows to allow in the damp night air, then settled into the opposite seat to pull off his panther mask, flinging the thing to the floor. He’d never thought particularly much of Stephen Cobb-Harding, if he’d thought anything at all, but this was beyond what even he might have expected.
“Deverill,” Eleanor’s weak, dreamy voice came.
“Relax, love. You’re safe.”
“I feel very strange.”
He leaned forward, gently lifting the swan mask from her face. “You’ve been drugged. Laudanum in your rum, I would wager.”
“Why…why would he do that?”
“So you wouldn’t protest overly much, I should imagine.”
With obvious effort she grabbed one of the wall straps and pulled herself more upright. For a long moment she looked at him, her face pale and her pupils enormous. “Do you—”
Valentine scowled. “I don’t drug chits,” he growled. “She either wants to be with me, or she doesn’t.”
“But you were there. At Belmont’s.”
“Only for consensual sin.” He sat back, twirling her mask in his fingers. “Why did you think you were there?”
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, color tinging her cheeks. “I don’t know. He was supposed to take me to the Hampton Ball, but then he suggested another soiree, and it sounded…it sounded like something Melbourne would never have allowed me to attend.”
“So you knew there would be sin.”
A lone tear ran down her face. “I don’t know. I wanted…I wanted to feel free. Like you.”
Valentine gazed at her in the lantern-lit darkness for a long moment. The fright and the cool night air seemed to be rousing her physically, but obviously her mind remained murky. Women might wish to sleep with him, but they didn’t want to emulate him. That was insane. And extremely unnerving. “Being like me would ruin you, darling.”
“But I—” She stopped, her face going white again. “I’m going to be ill,” she rasped, clutching one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth.
Flinging open the coach door, Valentine leaned out. “Stop the coach, Dawson!”
The driver complied, and Valentine pulled Eleanor back out the door, half carrying her to the shelter of some bushes, where she bent over and vomited. He wouldn’t recommend it for fun, but casting up her accounts would at least help her clear her head.
“My goodness,” she said weakly, straightening.
Wordlessly Valentine handed over his handkerchief and offered an arm to help her back to the waiting coach. At the foot of the steps she hesitated, looking around.
“We’re not anywhere near home,” she said, shifting a little away from him.
“I don’t kidnap chits, either,” he grunted. “If you appeared back at home half unconscious, Melbourne would h—”
“No!” she interrupted, shuddering. “They think I’m at home, asleep. They can’t know anything about this!” She clutched his sleeve. “Deverill, if I cause a scandal Sebastian will marry me off immediately, and to whomever he pleases. I have to get home without them ever knowing I left.”
Sin and Sensibility Page 6