A Little Bit Sinful (16 page)

“Are you enjoying the performance?” Lord Benton asked. “Lysander is doing a splendid job, but I thought the actor playing Puck too old for the part.”

“‘Tis all quite extraordinary,” she replied, realizing she had no real idea of what she had just seen, having been too distracted by the viscount to pay proper attention.

Eleanor turned away deliberately to speak with Lady Dorothea, gratefully accepting Lord Atwood’s offer to bring her a glass of lemonade. Belatedly she realized it might have been wiser to accompany the couple, since it would have provided an opportunity to escape the close confines of the box and clear her head.

Almost as if sensing her desire to escape him, Lord Benton moved his chair closer. “Now that the lights are up, we must survey the crowd and relate the latest
on-dits
to each other.”

Eleanor squinted at him. “Why is everyone so interested in what others are doing?”

“Because their own lives lack interest and meaning?” He tilted his head and let out a wistful sigh. “You aren’t going to be offended by this, are you?”

Eleanor knew she should be. Truly, what business of hers was it when it involved the activities of other people? “I will listen, my lord. But I will not repeat any of it, not one single word. To anyone.”

“Ah, a virtuous gossipmonger. Now that puts me firmly in my place, does it not?”

She raised her brow and assumed a haughty expression, but he was looking ahead and smiling and missed her reaction. Yet it soon became clear that the viscount was intent on having some fun.

“Pity you don’t have a pair of opera glasses to magnify the view inside the private boxes,” Eleanor said. “Heaven only knows what you could discover.”

“Only amateurs and dowagers with failing eyesight use glasses.” He took her hand and set it on his sleeve, allowing him to lean in very close. Her eyelids nearly fluttered closed as she caught a whiff of his clean, male scent. “There is an art to this that you must learn and learn quickly. Now, glance casually about the theatre, acting as though you are searching for someone. Quickly take in all that you survey, never allowing your eyes to linger too long on any one particular individual.”

“Is this truly how the nobility spend their time?” she asked. “‘Tis no wonder the House of Lords is in shambles.”

“Knowing the best gossip always gives one an advantage. Prinny is the worst of the lot, by far. If you wish to survive, you must learn the art. Go ahead, try it.”

Eleanor knew he was jesting, but she couldn’t
resist the dare. Dutifully she turned her head and quickly scanned the crowd. “How was that?”

“Passable. For a first time.” His voice lowered to a conspiring whisper. “Did you notice the couple one tier below directly to our left?”

“Which couple, my lord? Honestly, you must give me more of a clue.”

“The lady is dressed in yellow and wearing the most godawful headdress man or woman ever created.”

Eleanor tipped her chin and casually turned her head. Her eyes widened involuntarily when she caught sight of the group. “I believe I have found them.”

“They are causing quite a sensation this evening.”

“Because the lady lacks any fashion sense?”

“The lady’s lack of taste should be an unpardonable offense, but that is not what has those who know abuzz.” The viscount paused. “The man on her right is her husband. The one on her left, her lover.”

Eleanor raised her brows and Lord Benton shrugged. She risked another glance at this group, wondering what sort of woman had the audacity to appear in public with her husband and lover. The husband suddenly looked up and caught Eleanor staring at him. He gave her a wide, knowing smile.

Eleanor gasped. “Oh my. I’ve been caught.”

“Made a conquest too. Bravo, Lady Eleanor.”

She felt a spurt of merriment. “I can’t believe I’m finding this amusing.”

A rueful gleam came into his eyes. “It passes the time when things get dull. I figure I have provided
more than my share of fodder for the gossip mill. I should be entitled to some indulgence.”

“Your drink, Lady Eleanor.”

“Thank you, Lord Atwood.” Eleanor accepted the glass gratefully, surprised to realize how parched her throat felt.

Mrs. Barrington, sipping a glass of wine, turned in her chair and they exchanged impressions of the play and the performances. The men discussed some political news, their views seemingly in accordance. There was no gossip shared and before long the play resumed.

Throughout the next act, it was Eleanor who kept glancing over at Lord Benton. His eyes were always on the stage, though she noted he drummed his fingers lightly on his knee.

At the next interval, the viscount stood and offered to escort Emma outside for some fresh air before the final act began. Watching them leave, a sliver of regret jabbed at Eleanor. She snapped open her fan, trying to chase away the heat of disappointment spreading up her neck to her face. It would have been great fun strolling the hallways, her arm on Lord Benton’s.

No sooner had the emotion surfaced, Eleanor firmly scolded herself for such foolish thoughts. Her attraction to the viscount was both misplaced and foolish. By all accounts, there were numerous women already infatuated with him. Younger, prettier, far more interesting women. He did not need Eleanor to be added to the list.

At least Bianca had gotten over her interest in him. There had been a steady stream of young men paying calls during the intermissions, Lord Waverly
among them. Eleanor could plainly see her sister laughing and flirting with them, encouraged by, of all people, the duke.

Since she had been so distracted by Lord Benton during the performance, the final act failed to hold Eleanor’s interest. A sigh rushed past her lips when the play ended, but Eleanor was unsure whether it was relief or disappointment. Perhaps she just wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed the theatre.

The duke declared himself too tired to join them for a late-night supper, but everyone else seemed eager for the evening to continue. The ceaseless rain once again fell upon them when they left the theatre and there was a bit of confusion as everyone scrambled to get inside their carriages.

Rushing forward, Eleanor gratefully accepted the helping hand of a liveried footman as she stepped into the marquess’s coach-and-four. Believing that Bianca was following behind her, Eleanor relaxed against the plush velvet squabs, shaking the raindrops off her cloak.

The carriage door remained open and she gazed out the window through the steady rain, waiting for Bianca. But instead of her sister, a gentleman entered, his face cast in the shadows. He sat directly across from her, then lifted his head. Amusement lit his face.

Lord Benton! Eleanor blinked, for a moment too stunned to react. “I am waiting for my sister,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

“I saw Lady Bianca enter Atwood’s coach, which is just ahead of us. I believe Lady Dorothea, Emma, and the duke were also with them.”

“This isn’t the marquess’s coach?”

“No. It’s mine.”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon.” Face flushed with embarrassment, Eleanor started to rise, but the viscount held out his hand.

“No need to leave. ‘Tis a short carriage ride and we are all going to the same place.”

It sounded perfectly reasonable. Indeed, it would seem ridiculously churlish to remove herself since it was, as he said, only a short carriage ride, and the rain was coming down even harder. Yet why did her stomach tingle with a sense of forbidden emotion as if somehow knowing being alone with him was unwise?

“Thank you. I shall accept your kind offer, my lord,” she said a trifle nervously.

He nodded. “I do, however, have a small request. I can’t ride with my back to the driver. The swaying of the carriage does disgraceful things to my stomach. Would you mind if we switched seats?”

“Of course. We would not want you to disgrace yourself.” Eleanor smiled.

He frowned. “Do you find my discomfort amusing, Lady Eleanor?”

“Not at all. I was just thinking how much fun you must be on a long journey.”

He grimaced. “A carriage is necessary for certain Town events, but I travel almost exclusively on my horse and avoid the inside of a coach whenever possible.”

Eleanor glanced around the luxurious interior. “Then why own such a well-turned-out vehicle?”

“The coach is part of an inheritance from my grandmother’s estate.”

“Oh. I am sorry for your loss. Was it recent?”

“Last month.” He cleared his throat. “I miss her very much.”

The vulnerable emotion in his voice twisted her heart. It was never easy losing someone you loved. She wished she could say something to ease his sadness, to cushion his pain, but she knew words would offer little relief.

Eleanor stood, crouching inside the coach. She moved to her right, in order to allow the viscount room to maneuver as they exchanged places. He quickly scrambled to the other side. Eleanor waited until he was settled before attempting to sit down herself, but the coach suddenly lurched forward.

She screeched in alarm, thrusting her hand blindly forward. It landed directly above the viscount’s head and she braced herself there, trying desperately to stay on her feet.

His hands moved up immediately, clasping her firmly around her waist. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I … uhm …” Eleanor struggled to let the words out. The feel of his strong fingers holding her so possessively sent a delicious, disturbing tingle throughout her body.

He drew her closer and her hand slipped, landing squarely on the center of his chest. She looked down and found him watching her. Their gazes locked, their faces close enough for her to see the dark spikes of his lashes. Surprisingly long, full lashes that framed the most intense eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were gazing very directly into her own.

The air drained from Eleanor’s lungs. She always thought him a handsome man. He was all
sleek, strong male, the embodiment of every wicked dream she had ever had. Yet it was more than his physical beauty that touched her, called to her. It was that unspoken promise, the sleepy sensuality in his eyes, the hint of a wicked, knowing grin that told her in no uncertain terms he would willingly fulfill her secret dreams of forbidden sensual delight.

For a split second Eleanor felt gloriously alive. She allowed the heat of his gaze to invade her senses, allowed the sharp excitement churning deep inside to spiral upward. It was as though everything else around her had fallen away and there were only the two of them trapped together in this moment.

They remained perfectly still for one additional instant and then she came back to herself, back to the reality of who she was, and more important, who
he
was and the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

He was a handsome rake, doing what men of his ilk always did, even with plain creatures like herself. Abruptly she pushed away, leveraging herself against his solid chest. He released an
oomph
of surprise and let go of her waist.

Legs trembling, Eleanor scrambled backward and fell haphazardly into her seat. The strength of her attraction left her feeling flustered and confused. “There, is that better, my lord?”

His brow furrowed into a frown. “Better than what?”

“Better than tossing up your accounts in the coach. Or rather all over me.” She smiled brightly, willing herself not to reveal any of her inner turmoil,
knowing she must look the fool, yet not caring. An awkward conversation was far preferable to what had just happened.

He stared at her, his eyes sharp with awareness. The light from the street lamps illuminated one side of his face, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. The sight made her mind grow hazy. She shivered, uncertain why.

They rode the short distance to the supper party in silence and Eleanor was glad. The quiet gave her time to compose herself, time to push aside her ridiculous thoughts. Lord Benton was an accomplished rake; his sensual stares meant nothing. For him, it was as natural as breathing.

Time and again Eleanor had cautioned Bianca against losing her head when she was around him. With a wry smile, Eleanor admitted she would be wise indeed to heed her own very good advice.

Two nights later Eleanor stood on the edge of the Hartgroves’ dance floor and scanned the crowded ballroom. As with so many other balls, the space was packed so tightly it was difficult to see who was here. Suddenly Bianca whirled by, a bright smile on her face. She was partnered by Sir Reginald Black, a pleasant-looking young man with an outwardly kind disposition.

He had been paying particular attention to Bianca all evening, to the consternation of Lord Waverly, who hovered nearby. Eleanor reminded herself she needed to learn more about Lord Waverly’s, and now, Sir Reginald’s, situations. She could not relax her vigilance until Bianca was safely married to a worthy man.

But at this moment it was not her sister Eleanor’s eyes so diligently sought to locate. It was Viscount Benton.

Ever since their carriage ride from the theatre, Eleanor had not been able to keep him from her mind. She had been vastly disappointed when
Benton had not made an appearance at the card party last night and even more dejected that he was not riding in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour this afternoon.

No additional bouquets of flowers had been delivered, forcing her to wonder if her suspicion that the viscount had sent the white roses was incorrect. But if not him, then who?

Eleanor had taken extra care with her appearance tonight, wearing a daring gown of gold silk that showcased a fair portion of her bosom. Her hair was arranged in a fashionable upsweep, and pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace that belonged to her mother adorned her ears and throat.

She had secretly been hoping to dance with the viscount this evening, perhaps even be so bold as to try a waltz. But her preparations and anticipation were all for naught. After searching the ballroom, the card room, the refreshment area, and the terrace, she was forced to a most disappointing conclusion. Lord Benton was not here.

Eleanor sighed, trying to shake off her foolishness.
I’m tired, and this exhaustion has brought on a wave of unfamiliar emotions. ‘Tis past time I let go of this morbid fascination I’ve developed for him. His initial interest in Bianca is gone, along with any excuse I have for being in his company.