“What if that’s the adventure I want, Valentine?” she asked softly.
He went hard. Good God. “Then I would suggest that you choose another. Two kisses for an innocent is my limit. After that, she doesn’t get to remain innocent.”
“You can’t—”
“You said you didn’t want to be ruined, Eleanor. Believe me, the next time I wouldn’t stop at a kiss, and you would be ruined.”
She pulled her hand free. “Then why are you here? You claim to be a selfish, mysogynistic heathen, and yet you arrived this morning just in time to make certain I didn’t get smashed into Westminster Bridge and drown. And you promised to assist me with Stephen. Why?”
If he answered that question truthfully, he would never have to worry again about the temptation of kissing her soft, warm skin. He wouldn’t get the chance if he whispered a word about his agreement with Melbourne to her. “I’m trying to be a friend, Eleanor. It’s not something I’m accustomed to, and certainly not with a female. It’s a new experience for me, and when I kissed you, it was a mistake.”
“And the second time?”
“An even bigger mistake.”
“A mistake,” she repeated, putting her hands on her hips. “That is not very flattering.”
Despite his frustration and the growing discomfort of his groin, Valentine grinned. “You’re upset that I don’t intend to seduce you, after all?”
She scowled. “I—”
“Be grateful. Remember, if there’s a scandal, you marry—how did you describe your nebulous potential husband?—a tree stump. You’re flirting with scandal just walking in public with me. So you need to choose. Are you looking for one adventure and a return to your safe, secure life, or are you looking to upend everything you know and pay the consequences?” He moved closer to her, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair. “Because if you bait me again I’ll act on it, and then you will pay, and I won’t.”
“I know the consequences.”
“Knowing in theory and knowing in fact are two different things. So I know you’re lying.”
She flushed. “Isn’t that my prerogative?”
When she turned her gaze away, hurt, he drew a breath. Christ, she’d surprised him. Even suggesting she might want him to be her adventure proved well enough just how naive she truly was. In any case, being rude and threatening obviously couldn’t dissuade her from liking him—she’d put him into some sort of daisies and roses fairy tale. And to himself he could admit that it would have been easier to be cold and brutal if he’d wanted to be excluded. “So tell me who you’re considering for marriage,” he suggested.
“Why, so you can make fun of them?”
“You asked for help. I’m offering it.”
“Just so long as you can remain on the periphery, yes? Two kisses, but no more than that because you might feel something?”
And he’d thought he was the one who would have to be direct. “That’s my prerogative,” Valentine said stiffly. He took another breath. “Come on now, Eleanor. Back to you and your experiment. At the least I may know whether any of the prospects have some unsavory habits unknown to their peers.”
“I’ll consider informing you. I thought you were going to come up with an adventure for me, though.”
Valentine forced a smile. “I’m still working on that particular task.”
They reached the spread of outdoor tables at Propero’s, and he handed her into a chair. As he expected, several acquaintances were there ahead of them, undoubtedly having been more enamored of the idea of watching scull races than actually doing so. And he heard the murmurs, the speculation as to why Deverill would be accompanying Lady Eleanor anywhere, and especially without a chaperone.
“Are you certain it’s not considered a scandal to be seen in my company?” he asked in a low voice, seating himself at her right elbow.
“Melbourne trusts you. I trust you,” she returned, though her gaze as she took in their fellow diners wasn’t quite as carefree as she pretended.
“Very well.” He signaled a footman. “Two glasses of Madeira,” he ordered when the man scampered over, “and whatever your best meal is.”
The footman bowed. “Immediately, my lord.”
“Take your time. We’re in no hurry.”
Eleanor watched as he placed the order. Her brothers were the same way; even if the person to whom they were speaking had no idea who they were, the “my lords” and bowing began immediately. It was as if they simply had an aura of nobility about them that everyone else recognized.
Without any other effort on his part, Deverill took over the café. The head waiter approached to pour the Madeira himself, and spent nearly five minutes discussing the rapturous quality of their roast pheasant, known throughout England and the Continent.
It was foolish for her to be angry with him. He’d been honest, which she’d requested and which was one of the central things she admired about him. She was the one with the questions, and for heaven’s sake, he’d agreed to answer some of them. And if he’d refused further intimacy, of course it was for her own good, whether it felt that way or not.
“Yes, that’ll do,” Valentine finally said, when the man seemed ready to weep as he discussed the complicated marination technique. “Leave us alone now, until it’s ready.”
The waiter bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
Eleanor chuckled. “For a debauched rakehell, you certainly seem able to command attention.”
He snorted, apparently as willing to forget their argument as she was. “My billfold commands attention. I could be a corpse, for all they care.”
“I disagree, but what do I know? He barely glanced at me.”
Valentine slid his chair a few inches closer to her. “The waiter didn’t, but the rest of the café knows precisely who you are and who you’re here with. And they all want to know why.”
He made the question sound so…wicked. “Why? Because you offered to take me to luncheon.”
“So I did.” Valentine tapped his glass of Madeira against hers and took a swallow. “Gads. It’s like pretty-colored water.”
“No one forced you to request Madeira. Ask for whiskey. Isn’t that your liquor of choice?”
“It does the most damage in the least amount of time,” he agreed. “I’m attempting to remain sober this afternoon. Relatively so, anyway.”
Sober. For her? Stop it, Eleanor, she chastised herself. More likely it was too early in the day to imbibe, even for the Marquis of Deverill. He’d agreed to help her with Cobb-Harding, but that didn’t mean she suddenly had to view him as some sort of hero. It was better not to. Best to keep to safe topics, especially after she’d been such an idiot and actually suggested that he kiss her again—and he’d rebuffed her. “Any news regarding Cobb-Harding?” she asked, taking a rather large swallow of her own drink.
“I’ve taken care of it. Or I will have, rather, as soon as I return home.”
“Might I inquire as to how you’ve stopped him from blackmailing me?”
The delicious smile curved his mouth again. “A gentleman would never tell.”
“Yes, but—”
“Yes, I know. I’m not a gentleman. Very well, I’m blackmailing him.”
She froze for a moment. “With what?” she returned carefully. Good heavens, what had Deverill done to Cobb-Harding? Knowing the marquis, there were so many possibilities, she couldn’t begin to guess.
“Unfortunately, I’ve had to resort to the dullest of methods. Money.”
“Money.”
His eyes dancing, Valentine took another sip of Madeira. “You look so dubious. Shall I explain?”
“Please do.”
“Cobb-Harding is a gambler. And not a very proficient one. I’ve merely bought up all of his promissory notes. As soon as I return to Corbett House I’ll send him a letter informing him of that fact, and demanding that he either pay me for them or leave the country—in either case keeping his damned mouth shut regarding a certain dastardly
attempt he made to steal a woman’s virtue.”
“‘Dastardly?’” she repeated, hearing the anger in his voice. “That doesn’t sound like your usual vocabulary.”
“I was being considerate. That’s not the exact phrasing I intend to use in my letter.”
“What if he simply repays you for the promissory notes?”
Valentine laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “He won’t be able to. Not unless he finds an…He won’t be able to.”
Eleanor studied the marquis’s expression for a long moment. “You were going to say that he would only be able to repay the debt if he finds another heiress to marry, weren’t you?” He would have answered, but she shook her head at him. “I’m not hurt by his motives; I expect them, to a certain degree, and from every man who approaches me. For God’s sake, I knew it wasn’t love.” She frowned.
“Then I apologize for not being more direct, but you’re wrong.”
“You must always be direct with me, Valentine. But just what am I wrong about, pray tell?”
“About every man’s motive for approaching you being money.” He gave a short smile. “I mean, far be it from me to protest your cynicism, but you’re a very attractive young lady, Eleanor. Sometimes a man’s sensibilities aren’t able to run much beyond the though of sex.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “I did ask you to be direct, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. I’ll stop, if it bothers you.”
“It doesn’t.” It felt more like a privilege. Still, the vain part of her, the part that was insanely attracted to him, couldn’t leave it at that. “Do you always speak so frankly with your female friends?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t have any female friends.”
“You certainly know enough women.”
His jaded smile appeared again. “Yes, but I don’t talk with them.”
Oh, my. Now she was embarrassed again, and they were dreadfully off-topic. “I see,” she returned vaguely, “but I was about to make another request of you when you distracted me.”
To her surprise, his smile deepened, lighting his eyes in a way that made her breath catch. “I distracted you?”
And now he was doing it again. Concentrate, Eleanor. He was right; he could seduce her in a second, and until it ruined her, she’d be thankful for it. “Only momentarily. What I intended to say was that I won’t have Stephen forced into kidnapping some other poor girl and forcing her into marriage in order to satisfy his debt to you.”
Valentine sighed. “I suspected you might have some objection to the choices I offered him. Very well. I’ll put in a stipulation that he has one month to settle his affairs, and that if he attempts to marry in that time I’ll make sure that whoever’s in charge of the girl knows about the level of his debt—and his tendency toward being underhanded.”
“That doesn’t sound very…upstanding,” she muttered, realizing that her real objection was to his assumption that some male would be making all of the girl’s decisions on her behalf.
“Blackmail never is, my dear.”
“But how much is this costing you?” She also wanted to know what he might expect in return, but if she asked that question, he would respond. She wasn’t certain she was ready for that.
“No more than I’m willing to spend,” he answered. “In fact, I would be willing to spend quite a bit more to cut into Cobb-Harding’s hide.”
Their pheasant arrived, carried to the table by two waiters and led by the head man. It looked like a parade. Valentine shooed them away when they would have stayed to watch their customers savor their first mouthfuls, and she chuckled at him. “You’ve whipped them into a frenzy. The least you could do is let them know we appreciate their efforts.”
“I’ll let them know when I pay the bill—if the pheasant’s any good.”
He took a bite, chewing and swallowing with such serious concentration that she laughed again. Heavens, she’d known he was witty, but she hadn’t suspected until now that he was also quite funny. “And?” she prompted.
“The poor bird gave up its life for a good cause,” he stated, motioning her to eat. “I’ll reward them for well-executed sycophancy and a very nice wine sauce.”
Eleanor took a bite herself, closing her eyes at the tender, succulent flavor. “Oh, my.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Her eyes met his. The things she imagined in that deep green gaze made her breath come faster, her pulse speed. He didn’t say any of them aloud, though, and in fact he was the one who looked away first.
“So, Eleanor,” he said conversationally, when they’d both returned to eating, “you were going to tell me which prospective husbands appear on your list.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. You might as well tell me anyway, or I’ll simply wheedle it out of you.”
He probably would. “I haven’t thought that much about it,” she lied. Confessing that she’d spent two unsuccessful hours plus endless nights trying to come up with anyone she even wanted on her list would make her sound unbearably snobbish—and that was precisely what she didn’t want to be.
“Was Cobb-Harding on the list?”
The question, and the honest curiosity in his tone, surprised her. “Yes. I mean, if on better acquaintance I had liked him, I would have considered him.”
“Odd, isn’t it, that if he’d behaved himself, he might have gotten what he’d planned to take by force,” he mused quietly.
She’d never thought about it that way, but it dismayed her to realize that Deverill was probably right. “I would like to think that I would have realized his true character sooner rather than later,” she said slowly, suppressing a shudder.
“Well, I think we can safely say he’s been crossed off the list now.” He leaned toward her. “So tell me, you must have at least another name or two in mind.”
“Lord Dennis Cranston seems pleasant enough,” she blurted, just so he wouldn’t think she hadn’t found anyone else who intrigued her at all—no one but him.
“Nerriton’s son? Come now, Eleanor. You can do better than that mush-for-brains.”
“He’s handsome,” she protested. “And you said you wouldn’t make fun.”
“I distinctly recall not promising any such thing. Who else?”
“Hm. I believe, my lord, that you’re familiar with the saying, ‘Once gullible, twice a fool’?”
Deverill laughed. It was the same merry sound she’d heard before, and it had the same effect on her insides. By rights no one should be that attractive and at the same time that black-hearted—though she had the growing feeling that much of his cynicism was a defense, a reaction to the self-involved, fawning people of his past. As for the womanizing, she could surmise, but she knew very little about the old marquis, his father. From what Sebastian had said, Valentine had nearly been sent down from Oxford twice for having a female in his room. A married female, as she recalled.
“Very well, no potential spouses. What about your adventure, then?” he asked, still chuckling. “Have you given it any more thought? Any direction in particular I should focus my efforts?”
“What would you do, Valentine? If you could do anything, just once, what would it be?”
He cast his gaze to the far side of the street, his jaw working. “I’m not you,” he finally said, looking back at her. “I can’t make that decision.”
“But—”
“I can make suggestions, of course. Riding in a balloon, singing on an opera stage, sailing across the Pacific Ocean, meeting an Indian, journeying to India or to China, riding bare-breasted through Grosvenor Square, flinging a cake into Prinny’s carriage, shooting a weapon in Parliam—”
“Oh, stop it!” Torn between horror and laughter, Eleanor downed the rest of her Madeira. “Nothing like that—though the balloon ride might be interesting.”
“Out of all those suggestions?”
“Most of which would cause me to be arrested, in addition to ruining me,” she po
inted out.
“There is that, I suppose.” Reaching across the corner of the table, he took her fingers in his. “Consider what you want, my dear. I’ll find a way to see it happen for you.”
It should have been easy to choose something wild and wicked and free. It probably would have been, except for one troubling fact: She’d told him the truth before—he was the adventure she wanted.
Chapter 11
Valentine sent Eleanor home in a hack again. When she arrived at the front door, the greeting committee looked much like the one who’d been in attendance after the fiasco at Belmont’s—with one exception.
“Aunt Tremaine!” she exclaimed, shaking her mind free of visions of seductive green eyes. Quickly she stepped down from the carriage with Stanton’s assistance and hurried up to her aunt. “We were to have luncheon! I’m so sorry!”
“No worries, my dear. I was only concerned about you, since you didn’t send over a note.”
“Oh, I have abysmal manners, and a worse memory.” Eleanor took in Sebastian’s still, grim countenance, and gripped her aunt’s arm. “Have you eaten? Should I have Stanton bring some sandwiches? Or would you prefer tea?” she rambled, guiding her round aunt into the house and toward the morning room.
“Eleanor.”
Her spine stiffened at the dark tone of her eldest brother’s voice. “Yes?” she asked, turning around to face him. The expression in his eyes made her shiver.
“My office. Now.”
Aunt Tremaine extracted her arm from Eleanor’s. “I’ll be in the morning room, my dear,” she said. “Stanton will bring me my tea.”
“Of course, my lady,” the butler put in, gesturing a maid toward the kitchen.
So Aunt Tremaine thought she needed to be yelled at, as well. Considering how easily she’d forgotten a luncheon engagement when Valentine had smiled at her, she probably did deserve it. Keeping her expression calm and her gaze steady, Eleanor followed Sebastian into his office. She couldn’t help flinching when he closed the door, but she hoped his back had been turned and he hadn’t noticed.
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