Well, she’d begun that, though her first real attempt had drugged and attacked her. She couldn’t let that stop her, however. Melbourne’s elitism was well and good for him, but he’d already experienced the world. She couldn’t allow his standards to control her life.
“Number three.” Pausing over this one for a moment, she dipped her pen several times and then cleaned off the excess ink again. “Drive a phaeton as well as any man.”
Eleanor frowned, and nearly scratched the line out again. Not everything, though, had to be earth-shattering. And just because it had been Stephen who’d offered to teach her, it didn’t mean she had to stifle the desire to learn. She simply needed a different, a better, instructor. Deverill would probably do, if she could manage to convince him.
“Number four,” she continued. “Have an adventure.”
Hm. That was rather vague. Deverill had said he would look into something for her, but as she thought about it, she realized that she needed to find one for herself—and not simply because whatever he came up with would probably be scandalous enough to ruin her and anyone standing within fifty feet. Once she found her own adventure, everything else would fall into place.
Still, she’d only made her declaration four days earlier. Choosing an adventure merely to get it out of the way would be both ridiculous and counterproductive—and quite possibly dangerous to the rest of her plans. After all, the adventure was to come before the finding of a husband. At the same time, she couldn’t put off making a decision about either point indefinitely; her independence wouldn’t last forever, and if Melbourne put a halt to her rebellion before she’d done that one thing, she would never be satisfied or content.
Eleanor left a space to fill in the subject of her adventure later, and went to the other side of the page to begin on her list of husbands. She decided to label them by letter rather than number. After all, she wasn’t ranking them yet; it was merely a list of potential mates.
“‘A,’” she began, carefully writing the letter, and adding swirls and flourishes for artistic accent. Hm. Leaving space again, she labeled spaces “B” through “G” giving each of them the same attention she had the “A” so that she couldn’t assume a preference by design intricacy.
That done, she returned to the top of the page. “‘A,’” she repeated.
Nothing.
After twenty minutes she realized what the problem was. She hadn’t finished with goal number two of meeting a wide variety of people, so she hadn’t met enough single gentlemen—other than the Griffin preapproved—to compose a useful list. For heaven’s sake, the only name she was tempted to write down was Valentine’s, and not even she would go that far to make her point.
Aside from the fact that the Marquis of Deverill would make a terrible husband, aside from the fact that the choice would absolutely kill Sebastian, aside from a thousand other reasons, Deverill would never agree to it. She knew his taste—married women with few morals, and no hearts involved. Since she wanted to love her husband, and to have him love her in return, Valentine would never do.
And so her goals list remained unfinished. And her husband list nameless.
Nothing had altered by the time Helen arrived to help her dress for the ball. This evening’s gown, a midday blue at the neckline that deepened to midnight in the bottom folds of the skirt, she’d been saving for a special occasion. Tonight for some reason felt like one.
She debated wearing a cloak again, but by now her brothers knew the style of gown she favored, and she certainly didn’t want them thinking she’d worn something terribly scandalous. This gown was more beautiful than daring, anyway. As far as she was concerned, Madame Costanza had outdone herself. From the dressmaker’s conversation she’d been looking for a noblewoman client for years. She was obviously enjoying the challenge.
Zachary gave a low whistle as she descended the stairs. It had to be a sign that her wardrobe had improved, or at least become less conservative. Certainly none of her brothers had ever whistled at her before.
Charlemagne’s face folded into disapproving frown, but Melbourne’s reaction was more difficult to read. He looked at her for a long moment, then with a nod signaled Stanton to pull open the front door. “Shall we?”
As Zachary helped her up the steps into the coach, he squeezed her fingers. “You’re going to have every chit imitating you next Season,” he murmured. “We’ll see nothing but a whirl of Madame Costanza gowns. And I, for one, would like to thank you for that.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you becoming a sympathizer to the cause?” she whispered back.
“Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll be strung up as a traitor, but obviously you haven’t been happy lately. If this is what it takes to make you smile again, then you have my support.”
With that unexpected bit of good news, Eleanor rode to the ball feeling more optimistic than she had for the past few days. The situation remained far from perfect, but she did seem to be acquiring a few allies along the way.
The Feryon butler introduced the family, and she strolled into a swirl of light and noise and music. Her brothers made themselves scarce, though she could still feel Melbourne’s gaze on her even from across the room. So far, though, he’d kept his word, and hadn’t interfered.
Every male in London society seemed to have discovered that her chaperones were off duty, and her dance card filled in what felt like less than a minute. She did manage to keep one waltz free, though she had no idea whether Deverill would attend this evening or not. The Feryons were a bit staid for his taste.
She supposed she should give the dance away to further her quest to find at least one gentleman to put on her list, but she wanted an update from Valentine about both her adventure and whether he’d heard anything from Cobb-Harding. If someone had punched her like that she would have kept her mouth shut, but she wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. And rumors were circulating. Had Valentine heard them?
After two quadrilles and a country dance, the guests and the orchestra took a much-needed rest. Eleanor spied Barbara Howsen as she made her way to the refreshment table, and she changed direction to join her friend when a large male form blocked her path. Her heart skittered. He’d decided to come.
As she looked up, though, anticipation dropped into dismay. Stephen Cobb-Harding stood squarely in front of her, his blue eyes taking in the neckline of her gown. Eleanor flinched, fighting the instinct to cover her bosom and flee.
Slowly his gaze lifted to her face. “Good evening, Eleanor. Might I request a dance?”
The question was so absurd that for a moment she didn’t know how to answer. “My card is full,” she finally said, backing away to give herself some breathing room and so she could go around him.
He stepped forward, matching her retreat. “Surely you have one spot left for your future husband.”
“You are the last man in London—in all the world—that I would ever marry,” she retorted. “And you should feel lucky that I haven’t contacted Bow Street to have you arrested.”
“Yes, and why haven’t you? Oh, that would be because you would have to admit to joining me at the Belmont party. And then I would have to confess that you had too much to drink, and that you and I went to a private room.”
She blanched. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I? I could even describe the small freckle you have right…there.” He pointed just outside her left breast.
Eleanor couldn’t breathe. Nothing, no one had ever been so dastardly. But she was still a Griffin, and Griffins didn’t back down from anything. “You think that will convince me to marry you?” she asked, both wishing that he’d chosen a more private setting for this discussion and relieved that he hadn’t.
He smiled. “No. But I don’t need to convince you, do I?” Cobb-Harding looked past her shoulder.
Melbourne. Oh, he would be so angry, and so disappointed in her. She couldn’t allow this. “If you tell anyone what happened,
I will make certain everyone knows what an animal you are, and how much your behavior disgusts me.”
“My dear, I asked if you wanted to join me at Belmont’s, and you agreed. I didn’t drag you there. And you’re the one who dressed like an actress and then tried to seduce me—no doubt to defy your brother. If I chose to take advantage of your misbehavior, that was my prerogative.” He stepped closer. “And I did and I do choose to take advantage.”
“And what if I choose to put a ball between your eyes?” Deverill’s low voice came. He stepped up beside her, close enough that his fingers brushed against hers. “That would be my prerogative.”
Cobb-Harding shook his head, backing away a step. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I’m merely here to discuss some things with the Duke of Melbourne.”
“Then you shouldn’t have threatened Lady Eleanor, and you shouldn’t have tried to run me down this afternoon.”
Eleanor ripped her gaze from Cobb-Harding to look at Deverill. “He what?”
“Tore the sleeve of my damned coat. So the more pressing question for you, Stephen, shouldn’t be whether you wish to speak to Melbourne, but whether you wish to meet me at sunrise somewhere private.”
The arrogant, confident expression on Cobb-Harding’s face slipped a little. “You have no proof about anything.”
“I don’t need proof. I was there, both times. And I have good eyesight, and a very long memory. Now turn around and leave this house, or choose a location for our meeting tomorrow. I’ve already selected pistols.”
“This is—”
The marquis edged closer. “If you don’t leave immediately, I won’t settle for embarrassing you or causing a scandal. I’ll kill you, Cobb-Harding. But I leave the choice up to you.”
Stephen pressed his lips together, sent a glare at Eleanor, and then with a stiff nod to Deverill turned on his heel and strode for the ballroom door. Eleanor looked after him, letting out the breath that had been locked into her chest for what felt like an age. “My goodness.”
“Apologies,” Deverill said, turning to take her hand and bring it to his lips. “I didn’t mean to barge in, but Cobb-Harding seems to bring out the worst in me.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or is it the best in me?”
“No need to apologize,” she returned, taking her fingers back, but not before she knew he felt them shaking. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t for you, Lady Eleanor. He ruined my coat. And I liked that coat more than I like most people.” The marquis offered his arm, tilting his head down as he did so. “You bit your lip. Lick it before anyone sees blood.”
She hadn’t even been aware that she’d done so. Eleanor licked her lip, tasting warm salt. “I didn’t expect to see him here.”
“I didn’t, either. The man’s a coward in the worst possible sense of the word.”
“And you threatened to kill him.”
“I knew he wouldn’t stay. He tried to hide his face this afternoon when he attempted to run me down, and he didn’t approach you in front of your brothers. He’s still sorting out the best way to get what he wants. Hopefully I gave him a third possible outcome to consider.”
“So you did.” She drew another breath, squaring her shoulders. “How much did you hear?”
“I heard him threatening you. That was enough.”
Eleanor had the oddest desire to smile, despite the upset of the evening. “He said that he wanted to marry me, and that he would go to Melbourne and reveal my indiscretions if I didn’t agree to it.”
He nodded as they reached the refreshment table. “I’m not surprised. Punch?”
She accepted the glass gratefully. “I wish this was stronger…No, I don’t. What am I saying?”
“There’s a difference between rum and rum topped with laudanum; though Lady Feryon would faint if she saw someone imbibing in her house.” With a faint smile he pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swallow.
Eleanor couldn’t help looking around for their rabidly teetotaling hostess. “Valentine!” she exclaimed, “put that away!”
“Only if you promise to smile.”
“That sounds very civilized of you. And very thoughtful.”
“Really?” he returned, his gaze touching hers. “You seem to bring out some very odd sentiments in me.”
Oh, she enjoyed looking at him, trying to decipher what he might be thinking. He surprised her at every turn. “Perhaps we’re good for one another,” she suggested.
His voice lowered. “If you had any idea how very bad I wish to be for you, Eleanor, you would run away screaming.”
Good heavens. Heat swept just under her skin. “Tell me how bad,” she said unsteadily.
He took her fingers again, raising them slowly to his lips. “Very bad.”
“Do you think you could seduce me?” As she spoke, it occurred to her that he’d half done so already.
His fingers curled around hers, eyes lowering behind those dark lashes. “Yes,” he murmured, “I do. But I won’t.” Abruptly he released her hand, even taking a step back. “I suppose sometimes there is a good reason for rules.”
She felt as though she’d been dumped into a snowbank. “That is not fair.”
“So I should push you down on this table and lift your skirts? It would definitely be an adventure, but I don’t think it would do you much good.”
“It sounds to me like you’re the one who’s running now,” she pursued, hurt that he could have been…toying with her. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Then should I tell Sebastian about Cobb-Harding? He’ll kill me. And he’ll send me home to Melbourne Park, and then he’ll send some…walking tree stump to marry me. But I will have followed your stupid rules.”
“They aren’t my rules. They are merely the rules.” Valentine replaced his flask, using the moment to check on the location of her brothers. All three of them had certainly noticed her conversation with Cobb-Harding, but he didn’t think they had any idea how unfriendly it had been. No agreement would have kept Melbourne from storming to the rescue of a family member if he’d sensed that anything was amiss.
To himself he could admit that his first thought when he’d seen Cobb-Harding hadn’t been for his torn wardrobe. It had been for Eleanor, facing a man who’d drugged and assaulted her, a man who’d chosen to confront her when she stood without allies.
She’d obviously been dismayed, but at the same time she’d faced him squarely, her chin up and her eyes defiantly meeting his. Whatever freedom or adventure she craved, Eleanor was through and through a Griffin.
“Be angry with me if you wish,” he said in the mildest tone he could manage, “but don’t expect me to apologize for anything. I spent a great deal of time and energy becoming who I am. And I’m not changing for anyone.” And he had no intention of admitting that recently the idea of who he was had begun to take up some of his valuable drinking and gaming—and sleeping—time.
“Fine,” she said after a moment. “Just don’t you quote the rules anymore.”
She was still speaking to him. Hell, she hadn’t even stalked away. Eleanor Griffin was a remarkable woman.
“No promises.” With a sideways glance at her, he faced the refreshment table. “And tell Melbourne whatever you choose,” he said, handing her a biscuit, “but don’t do it because of Cobb-Harding. I warned him once what would happen if he confronted you again. Obviously he didn’t believe me.”
Eleanor curled her fingers into his sleeve, tugging him around so she could look up into his eyes. “You’re not going to kill him,” she exclaimed, thankfully just as a footman dropped a tray of glasses.
“I haven’t ruled it out,” he returned more quietly, wondering at the way his pulse sped when she touched him. “But it would only be a last resort. I told you that you wouldn’t have to worry about him, Eleanor, and I meant it.”
She looked down, tears welling in her eyes. Valentine handed her his handkerchief, and she made a show of pretending a sneeze so sh
e could dab at her eyes. When she lifted her head again, he couldn’t read her expression at all.
“You, my lord,” she said, “are a conundrum.”
He lifted an eyebrow, trying to hide the realization that her comment pleased him. “I’ve been called worse.”
She grimaced. “And you’re very kind, but I hate being the damsel in distress even more than I hate you, of all people, throwing rules at me.”
“You made a mistake in trusting him, Eleanor. The rest of it is no fault of yours.” He smiled. “And believe me, I know far more about being underhanded than you—or Cobb-Harding—could ever hope to learn.” Valentine turned her back toward the dance floor and her waiting quadrille partner. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Hm, let’s see. Vanquish my enemy, distract me from his threats, help me find freedom, conceal my poor behavior from my brothers…No, I can’t think of anything at the moment.”
He chuckled. God, she was a wit. He’d known before that she had a sense of humor, but had only paid enough attention to note that she could be mildly amusing. Obviously, though, she had a mind and a backbone to go with it. “Then I’ll see you later.”
As he started away, she clutched his sleeve again, bringing him to a halt as effectively as if she’d thrown a wall down in front of him. “I forgot,” she said. “There is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve one place left on my dance card. Would you—”
Valentine looked down from her face, taking the card from her free hand and penciling his name into the empty spot. “Are you certain you want me to take your waltz? You have an adventure to find.”
Color crept up her cheeks. “Yes, I’m certain.”
Chapter 9
With an hour to wait until his waltz with Eleanor, Valentine made for the gaming rooms. In keeping with the lack of liquor the games were excessively dull, but even whist and ombre were better than standing beside a wall, gawking at nothing.
He might dance with other women, he supposed, but Lydia Franch was there. Once his feet touched the thrice-waxed dance floor, she would manage to wrangle her way into his arms. Previously he wouldn’t have minded, but tonight he had little patience for the romantic complaints of women who married for money.
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