A Little Bit Sinful (15 page)

Sebastian leaned casually against a towering oak tree and watched Eleanor climb into her carriage. Bianca soon followed and he was struck anew at the startling differences between the two women. Eleanor could hardly compete with her sister’s ethereal beauty, yet the lines of Eleanor’s figure were vastly appealing, the grace of her movement strangely sensual. If one peeled away the unfashionable clothes and tossed away that ridiculous bonnet, it was clear Eleanor was an attractive woman, one he found surprisingly desirable.

He had come to the party with the specific intent of seeking her out and was pleased with the outcome. He had made a good start this afternoon, though he knew he would have to take care. Eleanor was not a naive young girl. She was intelligent and insightful. He could tell from her speculative glances and puzzled frowns she was suspicious of him and the attention he had so unexpectedly bestowed upon her.

Yet he had also seen something else, something that gave him encouragement. A spark of interest, a flare of excitement. Though she fought hard against it, she was attracted to him. And he fully intended to use that attraction to get past her barriers and win her trust. Once he accomplished that, it would be child’s play to lead her precisely where he wanted.

The one obstacle that had most concerned him was her sister. Eleanor’s loyalty toward Bianca was
wholehearted and tenacious; she would avoid him completely if she felt it would upset her sister. He had blundered badly by first setting his sights on Bianca, but fortunately, she seemed to suffer no ill effects from his brief courtship. Indeed, her interest in Lord Waverly seemed genuine.

Ah, the fickle heart of a young woman.

He wondered if Eleanor’s heart was equally as fickle, then quickly dismissed the notion. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in her heart. He was intent on leading her down a path of seduction, just far enough to cause her ruin. Far enough to provoke her father into a duel and gain the revenge that ate at him.

Considering his next move, Sebastian strode toward the refreshment table, deciding he had earned a drink. A fitting reward for an afternoon of good work.

The following morning as Eleanor embroidered and Bianca read, bouquets of flowers were delivered. Hothouse roses, long-stem lilies, along with nosegays of violets and daffodils. The colors enlivened the entire drawing room, the perfumed scent seeping into every corner. The servants were kept busy searching for vases while Eleanor and Bianca arranged the floral bounty.

“The violets are from Mr. Hartgrove. The daffodils from Sir Whitney. Viscount Ogden sent the lilies. Are they not lovely, Eleanor?” Bianca’s face was beaming with excitement. “Oh, and look, these beautiful roses are from Lord Waverly.”

“Red roses from Lord Waverly. That’s rather forward.” Eleanor arched her brow in a teasing manner. “Yet you don’t seem very surprised.”

“But I am. Ouch! That thorn is sharp.” Bianca pressed her finger against her mouth to stop the small prick of blood. “Lord Waverly was charming and attentive yesterday, but I learned my lesson with
Viscount Benton. I intend to wait until a gentleman shows
true
interest before I reciprocate.”

“‘Tis about time some flowers were delivered,” the earl said from the doorway. “I don’t understand why it has taken so long for the single gentlemen to take notice of you, Bianca.”

Startled, Eleanor whirled around. The earl was the last person she expected to see, since he was never up at this hour of the morning. Belatedly, she wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. “Bianca has made a most favorable impression on several gentlemen,” Eleanor said.

“I can see,” the earl replied. “The room looks like a hothouse. Well done, my girl.”

Without asking, he reached out and took the cards from Bianca’s hand. His expression remained stoic as he read each one and Eleanor wondered if he was searching for a particular name.

Giving no clue to his true feelings, the earl turned. As he was leaving, a footman entered. In his arms was the largest bouquet of all, a glorious arrangement of three dozen long-stem white roses. But when he plucked the card from the center of the blooms, the earl’s brows drew together in a heavy scowl.

“Believe it or not, these are for Eleanor.”

For me?
Eleanor’s hand shot to her mouth to stifle her gasp. She refused to give the earl the satisfaction of seeing her surprise. He handed her the sealed card without comment, then continued on his way.

A stab of hurt pierced her at his obvious disinterest, but she shook it away.

“Gracious, Eleanor, open the card already,”
Bianca pleaded, an edge of curious excitement in her voice.

Despite her attempts to prevent it, Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat as she broke the seal.
“With thanks for an adventurous afternoon. Your most ardent admirer,”
Eleanor read aloud. Puzzled, she turned the card over, but there was no signature.

“Let me see.” Bianca impatiently grabbed the missive. “The handwriting is bold and distinctive. No doubt the gentleman wrote the card himself.”

“The only person I spent any significant time with yesterday afternoon was Viscount Benton….” Eleanor’s voice trailed off in confusion.

Bianca’s eyes widened. “Do you think he sent them?”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Perhaps he admires you,” Bianca suggested. “He might be a rake, but he isn’t a fool.”

Eleanor let out a disbelieving snort. “‘Tis more likely a joke.”

“Eleanor, don’t,” Bianca scolded. “It pains me to hear you underestimate yourself. You have a great deal to recommend you. You are pretty and smart, loyal and witty. A gentleman would be lucky indeed to gain your affection.”

Eleanor stared at the card. The bold, dark strokes demonstrated the strength and determination of the writer. That most certainly defined Lord Benton. Was it he? If so, why did he not sign his name? Glancing up, she met her sister’s gaze. “Though I again say ‘tis highly unlikely, I need to ask, would it distress you if the flowers were from Lord Benton?”

Bianca was silent for a moment. “No, not one
bit,” she replied, taking Eleanor’s hands. “There is no reason to think ill of him on my account. Though as a good and loyal sister I feel it my duty to warn you about him. He’s a rogue. And fickle to boot.”

Bianca smiled and the knot of worry inside Eleanor eased. If by some insane circumstance the viscount was showing an interest, she would be free to explore it. If she wanted. Did she? Eleanor honestly didn’t know.

No sooner had the flowers been sorted out and placed around the room, the invitations began arriving. The pitifully small trickle that had marred their first week in Town had overnight turned into a tidal wave. Eleanor knew it was Lady Dorothea’s stamp of approval that had opened so many doors for them and she was grateful for the support.

There were the usual balls, soirees, and theatre party invites, along with a more select number of concerts, dinners, and picnics.

“Goodness, it will take us a week to open all of these,” Eleanor said with satisfaction.

“There are no less than three invitations for this evening,” Bianca said with awe. “How will we ever decide which to attend?”

“We have already committed to a theatre outing organized by Lady Dorothea,” Eleanor reminded Bianca. “Her father-in-law had graciously offered the use of his private box. It would be monstrously rude to cancel so late.”

“I thought that was tomorrow night. I don’t know where my head has gotten to these days.” Bianca picked up the vase containing Lord Waverly’s red roses and buried her face in the fragrant bouquet.

Her dreamy expression let Eleanor know precisely
where her sister’s mind had gone. “‘Tis the opening-night performance of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Society will be out in full force. I’m certain we’ll encounter many of our new acquaintances.”

Bianca smiled softly. “You don’t have to talk me into going, Eleanor. I am looking forward to it, actually.”

“As am I,” Eleanor agreed, looking behind her sister to the vase of carefully arranged white roses. “Shakespeare’s plays are always so riveting.”

Eleanor had only been to the Drury Lane Theatre once, many years ago during her forgettable London Season. She had been included in a party more as an afterthought, a warm female body to even out the numbers. It had begun pleasantly enough, but ten minutes into the performance she noted a striking resemblance between the actor playing the lead role of Hamlet and her estranged love, John Tanner.

The sight had rattled her completely, the stab of pain coursing through her heart swift and sharp, an aching reminder of what she had lost. Of the life she would never know, the love she would never share, of the future forever gone.

She had struggled to hold in her grief, allowing herself the release of a few tears during the more emotional moments of the performance, thankful there was so much misery in this particular Shakespeare tragedy. Her reaction, however, had been noticed and the incident caused her to be labeled an overly sensitive female, putting yet another nail in her socially unacceptable coffin.

With a firm force of will, Eleanor pushed the incident to the back of her mind as she entered the theatre this evening. As expected, the arrival of their large, boisterous party caused a bit of a sensation. She could hear the increase in the volume of conversation as they gathered inside the duke’s box, shifting to and fro while selecting their seats.

Eleanor took a chair at the rear of the box, encouraging Bianca to move to the front. She wanted her sister to be able to see everything as she took in this unique experience, but she also wanted Bianca to be
seen,
especially by the single gentlemen down in the pit.

The duke sat in the front with Emma flanking him on his right and Bianca to his left, leaving an empty chair beside each girl. Directly behind him were the Atwoods, Lady Dorothea’s sister Gwendolyn and her husband, Mr. Jason Barrington. Eleanor gladly occupied the third row, taking the end seat and leaving a pair of chairs beside her unoccupied.

Though at the rear, the view was excellent and Eleanor took her time as she slowly surveyed the crowd. The nobility were out in full force, easy to distinguish in their silks and satins and glittering jewels. She recognized many of them, though in so public a venue there were many new faces as well. Her attention occupied by her surroundings, Eleanor sensed rather than saw someone ease into the chair next to her.

“Sorry I’m late. The traffic was impossible. Have I missed anything of interest?” inquired the deep, masculine voice beside her.

A shiver tingled over her flesh. Eleanor turned
sharply and found herself glancing into a pair of smiling eyes.

“Lord Benton!”

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” Straightening, Eleanor stiffened her spine and folded her arms self-consciously around her waist. “I’m just surprised. I was unaware that you’d be included in the theatre party this evening.”

“Beg pardon. Should I have sent a note ‘round preparing you?”

“Warning
me would have been the courteous thing to do.”

He let out a sharp laugh. Several heads turned in their direction. Eleanor attempted a smile to distract from her blush, yet feared it only made it worse.

The viscount winked at her, then turned his attention to the occupants of the box, greeting each lady, including Bianca, with a charming smile. Eleanor swallowed hard.

She had a chance to study him as he spoke with the others, noticing how the ends of his dark hair curled attractively at his collar. Though his jaw looked smoothly shaved, there was a faint shadow of whiskers on his face. Instead of distracting from his polished looks, the rugged appearance was a handsome addition.

“The duke is in a fine humor tonight,” Lord Benton commented. “Seated between two lovely young women, like a thorn amongst the roses.”

“I believe the correct expression is a rose amongst the thorns.”

“I know, but that metaphor hardly applies to the duke. He is far more a thorn than a rose.”

Clearing her throat, Eleanor cast him a sidelong look. “Funny that you should mention roses, my lord. I received a lovely bouquet of them this morning.”

“Not surprising.” The viscount shifted in his chair, then glanced down at the playbill in his hand.

She paused, gauging him. “The flowers were very beautiful and I should like to thank the sender. But the accompanying card was somewhat cryptic and merely signed ‘your most ardent admirer.’”

His head lifted. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Lady Eleanor? A standard feminine ploy that rarely works as it is intended.” Eleanor felt her face tighten, yet before she could say anything the viscount added, “What color were the roses?”

“White.”

His lips curled. “Hmm, if I am not mistaken, white roses are often associated with marriage.”

“Forgive me for being so foolishly mistaken,” she said. “Naturally they could not have come from you.”

Leaning toward her, he lowered his voice. “Are you certain?”

She gave him a severe stare, which only produced a devilish grin. Fortunately for Eleanor, at that moment the lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and the performance began.

She turned her attention diligently toward the stage, but alas the Bard’s lyrical words could not capture her thoughts. She was restless and distracted and soon became aware of that strange, indescribable sensation of being watched. Eleanor could feel the tiny beads of sweat beginning to form on her upper lip as she struggled to keep her gaze focused straight ahead.

She knew without looking that it was Lord Benton’s eyes that were trained so intently upon her and she flatly refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

He was playing some sort of game with her. A game that intrigued her, frustrated her, excited her, puzzled her. A game whose rules she did not understand, which made the consequences all the more dangerous.

After what felt like an eternity, the theatre lights came back up and the audience started rustling about. Eleanor nearly slumped forward in her chair, so great was her sense of relief.