stranger.”
86 / Suzanne Enoch
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Does it have to be with a stranger? You might have mentioned your desires to someone with whom you’re a little better acquainted.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” she breathed, finding that speaking in a normal tone had become impossible.
“This is your fantasy, Eleanor. Perhaps you should tell me who you have in mind.” Slowly he leaned a little closer.
For a dozen heartbeats she held absolutely still, hoping he would finish his advance and kiss her. Oh, she wanted to experience a kiss from the Marquis of Deverill. But he didn’t move, and she knew why—and that was the reason she’d sought out a stranger. Decadent, hedonistic as he was, Valentine was still a member of the Griffin circle. “I have in mind someone who doesn’t know the rules the Griffins have set up regarding how and when I am to be approached.”
The half-raised whiskey glass paused at his mouth. She could almost see him pulling himself back, changing the track of his thoughts, though physically he didn’t move.
“So you said,” he returned, finishing off the whiskey. “I should be going. I can’t tolerate the House of Lords on an empty stomach.”
He turned away, but Eleanor grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Last night, was that it?” she whispered.
“Was that freedom? Or romance?”
Deverill stilled, his gaze meeting hers again with startling clarity. “Neither. That was sin. I’m told there’s a difference. All three, however, should be experienced at least once.”
“Sin?” she repeated.
“Yes. Though it should have been done consensually, Sin and Sensibility / 87
and more pleasurably than what you nearly experienced.”
Shrugging out of her grip, he strode for the door.
“I’ll see you soon, yes?” she called after him.
He gave her a half grin and a jaunty bow. “I’ll be about.”
Eleanor listened as his boots padded down the hallway, followed by the opening and closing of the front door.
He knew the answers. Even if he wasn’t very forthcoming, he knew the differences between sin and freedom—and how to find both of them. And she suspected that he knew something about romance as well, though he might never have put it into practice. She imagined he would know, anyway. No one could have so deliciously wicked a glint in his eyes and not know something. In addition, she’d learned one thing about the Marquis of Deverill that she hadn’t known before—she could trust him.
Obviously avoiding scandal was going to be more difficult than she’d realized. She couldn’t believe that she’d been so naive where Stephen was concerned, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. These moments she’d wrested from her brothers were too important for that.
What she needed was a guide around those barricades, and someone to lead her to a place she wasn’t quite sure yet where or how to find. She needed Valentine Corbett.
“Valentine, I need you.”
Valentine leaned back against the side of the coach parked along Bond Street and listened to the plaintive, disembodied voice inside. Or half listened, rather, since the majority of his attention was on the pair of young ladies strolling up the far side of the street toward a milliner’s.
88 / Suzanne Enoch
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m listening, Lydia,” he said, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Continue.”
“Do you know what it’s like for me, to have that wrinkled old man in my bed, inside me?”
“If it’s so offensive to you, my dear, you probably shouldn’t have married him.” He nodded as Miss Malthorpe and Miss Elizabeth Malthorpe and at least three of their younger sisters strolled by. They giggled, and he heard the words “eyes” and “reputation” pass between them.
“You’re not saying I should have passed up on all that money, are you? That’s not at all like you, Valentine.”
“Isn’t it? How odd.”
“I agree. And I do need
86 / Suzanne Enoch
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Does it have to be with a stranger? You might have mentioned your desires to someone with whom you’re a little better acquainted.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” she breathed, finding that speaking in a normal tone had become impossible.
“This is your fantasy, Eleanor. Perhaps you should tell me who you have in mind.” Slowly he leaned a little closer.
For a dozen heartbeats she held absolutely still, hoping he would finish his advance and kiss her. Oh, she wanted to experience a kiss from the Marquis of Deverill. But he didn’t move, and she knew why—and that was the reason she’d sought out a stranger. Decadent, hedonistic as he was, Valentine was still a member of the Griffin circle. “I have in mind someone who doesn’t know the rules the Griffins have set up regarding how and when I am to be approached.”
The half-raised whiskey glass paused at his mouth. She could almost see him pulling himself back, changing the track of his thoughts, though physically he didn’t move.
“So you said,” he returned, finishing off the whiskey. “I should be going. I can’t tolerate the House of Lords on an empty stomach.”
He turned away, but Eleanor grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Last night, was that it?” she whispered.
“Was that freedom? Or romance?”
Deverill stilled, his gaze meeting hers again with startling clarity. “Neither. That was sin. I’m told there’s a difference. All three, however, should be experienced at least once.”
“Sin?” she repeated.
“Yes. Though it should have been done consensually, Sin and Sensibility / 87
and more pleasurably than what you nearly experienced.”
Shrugging out of her grip, he strode for the door.
“I’ll see you soon, yes?” she called after him.
He gave her a half grin and a jaunty bow. “I’ll be about.”
Eleanor listened as his boots padded down the hallway, followed by the opening and closing of the front door.
He knew the answers. Even if he wasn’t very forthcoming, he knew the differences between sin and freedom—and how to find both of them. And she suspected that he knew something about romance as well, though he might never have put it into practice. She imagined he would know, anyway. No one could have so deliciously wicked a glint in his eyes and not know something. In addition, she’d learned one thing about the Marquis of Deverill that she hadn’t known before—she could trust him.
Obviously avoiding scandal was going to be more difficult than she’d realized. She couldn’t believe that she’d been so naive where Stephen was concerned, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. These moments she’d wrested from her brothers were too important for that.
What she needed was a guide around those barricades, and someone to lead her to a place she wasn’t quite sure yet where or how to find. She needed Valentine Corbett.
“Valentine, I need you.”
Valentine leaned back against the side of the coach parked along Bond Street and listened to the plaintive, disembodied voice inside. Or half listened, rather, since the majority of his attention was on the pair of young ladies strolling up the far side of the street toward a milliner’s.
88 / Suzanne Enoch
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m listening, Lydia,” he said, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Continue.”
“Do you know what it’s like for me, to have that wrinkled old man in my bed, inside me?”
“If it’s so offensive to you, my dear, you probably shouldn’t have married him.” He nodded as Miss Malthorpe and Miss Elizabeth Malthorpe and at least three of their younger sisters strolled by. They giggled, and he heard the words “eyes” and “reputation” pass between them.
“You’re not saying I should have passed up on all that money, are you? That’s not at all like you, Valentine.”
“Isn’t it? How odd.”
“I agree. And I do need
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