A Little Bit Sinful (11 page)

Bianca bit her bottom lip. “You are certain?”

“I am. You will look ravishing.”

Bianca smiled, but the smile seemed forced.

“Why are you so worried about your appearance tonight?” Eleanor asked, fearing she already knew the answer. “Lady Dorothea assured us it was going to be a casual dinner party.”

“Oh, Eleanor, you know why.” Bianca glanced away.

“Viscount Benton?”

Bianca nodded enthusiastically. “I’m a bundle of nerves thinking I might see him again. He’s already singled me out. At the Duke of Warren’s ball and again at the park the other day. I shiver thinking about what might happen the next time we are together.”

Inwardly Eleanor cringed. She too had thought a
great deal about her sister and the viscount, and it never once had a happy ending. “Bianca, dearest, you must not get your hopes raised too high. For a man like Benton, flirtation comes as naturally as breathing.”

Bianca sank down on the edge of the bed, miraculously finding the one small spot not covered by one of her new gowns. “I’ve heard the gossip about his reputation and I’ve told myself quite sternly that his attention is nothing special, nothing I should take too seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Bianca leapt from the bed, hugging her arms tightly around her waist. “Oh, but he is so dashing and sophisticated. I feel so different when I am in his company. I am excited and happy, yet nervous too. My breath quickens, my palms become damp. I vow my heart flutters and my stomach rumbles every time I am near him. What do you think that means?”

“He gives you indigestion?”

Bianca groaned. “I am serious, Eleanor.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Really?” Bianca leaned forward and grabbed Eleanor’s hand. “There is something indefinable about the viscount, something compelling, something that goes far deeper than his handsome face and devilish smile.”

Eleanor bit her bottom lip. It was even worse than she had feared. Bianca was feeling a dangerously strong attraction to the viscount, something that Eleanor felt very certain would lead to heartache. “‘Tis natural for a woman to be attracted to such a handsome man.”

“Is it? But, Eleanor, what does he see in me?”

A new conquest?
Eleanor was tempted to give her brutally honest opinion, yet she could not bring herself to be so cruelly blunt. Especially when she had no specific proof. Only an uneasy feeling about the viscount’s intentions.

“You are a beautiful girl with a warm, tender heart and a pleasing disposition,” Eleanor replied, squeezing her hand.

Bianca pulled her hand away. “The viscount can hardly
see
my disposition. I’m worried that he might think I have a large dowry.” Bianca reached down and smoothed her skirt. “Papa has never said, but I know that funds are tight.”

“Not really, we have—”

“Stop, Eleanor, please.” Bianca’s mouth tightened. “You scrimp and save on everything. At home you juggle the tradesmen, trying to make sure everyone receives some payment, though I know the bills are never paid in full. And this house, well, ‘tis nice enough, I suppose, but not in the best condition.”

Eleanor’s heart plummeted. She thought she had been so clever hiding the truth from her sister. “I don’t know the true state of our financial affairs. Perhaps the earl has just been frugal with regard to our care.”

“I should like to think that is the case. Now that we are in Town he has been more generous. With me.” Bianca studied her with a probing gaze. “Oh, Eleanor, I feel awful. Papa has spent lavishly for my wardrobe but spared barely a shilling for you.”

The comment struck a painful nerve and Eleanor struggled to keep her expression impassive. “This is
your coming-out Season, not mine. I do not need a bunch of fancy clothes.”

“It’s been ages since you had a new dress. Ordering at least a gown or two would have been the decent thing for Papa to do. I was going to speak with him—”

“No!” Eleanor shot forward. “There is no need. Promise me you will let the matter drop.”

Bianca smiled mischievously. “You did not let me finish. What I was trying to say was that I was going to speak with him, but then worried what I would do if he refused. I feared a terrific row, which I might very well lose. So instead I commissioned a few gowns from Madame Claudette with your measurements.”

“Bianca!” Eleanor was shocked. Deception was not a part of her sister’s personality.

Bianca turned and rummaged through the pile of gowns on the bed. Triumphantly she pulled out a gown and presented it proudly to Eleanor.

Tears threatened, but Eleanor blinked them away. The dress was truly lovely, simple without being severe, plain, yet elegant. Fashioned of deep blue silk, with rounded half sleeves and a low sweetheart neckline, it was a style that would flatter and enhance her figure. Instead of embroidery, there was a sheer white tulle overskirt gathered under the bust, trimmed with a matching blue ribbon to lend sophistication to the garment.

“I chose it from a drawing, but it seemed so right for you,” Bianca said with an anxious smile. “Do you like it?”

“Very much, indeed. I could not have done better
if I selected it myself.” Bianca smiled again and Eleanor tried to lighten her own heart.

“‘Tis settled. I will wear the green and you shall wear the blue silk.” Bianca walked across the chamber carrying both garments in her arms. “I have some matching slippers you can borrow and Anne will do our hair. She is a wonder with the curling tongs.”

Bianca’s excitement was nearly contagious, but Eleanor forced herself to be practical. “I agree to wear my new gown on the condition that you promise to be careful around Lord Benton,” she bargained.

Bianca’s brows furrowed together and Eleanor swore she could see her sister’s inner struggles. “Very well,” she finally replied. “I shall endeavor to be sensible about him.”

It was not precisely the answer Eleanor sought, but she knew for now it would have to suffice.

Eleanor drew in an inaudible breath as she crossed the threshold of Lord and Lady Atwood’s home, the wind and rain swirling behind her. Two liveried footmen hurried forward to wrestle the door shut, while a third bent down to towel dry the floor.

The outside facade of the house was classic and understated, the interior fashionably elegant with a black and white marble-floored entry, a sweeping staircase, and a fresco painting of the heavens adorning the domed ceiling.

Beside her she felt Bianca tuck her hand against her hip to stop its trembling. Eleanor couldn’t tell whether her sister was shivering from the damp weather, intimidated by the sumptuous, refined surroundings, or anxious at the prospect of seeing Lord Benton. Perhaps a combination of all three.

Eleanor could feel Bianca’s trembling increase when they entered the drawing room. Trimmed in shades of gold, the decor was opulent and lavish,
but Eleanor had little time to appreciate it. Lord Benton, starkly handsome in black evening clothes with a silver embroidered waistcoat and a flawlessly tied white cravat, descended upon them.

Eleanor braced herself, but before the viscount reached them, Lady Dorothea appeared, a tall, handsome gentleman by her side.

“‘Tis delightful to see you both,” Lady Dorothea said, her lovely features alighting with pleasure. “It’s been raining so hard tonight I was afraid not all of the guests would be able to come.”

“Thankfully the ones who matter most made it safely,” Lord Benton interrupted as his white, even teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “Good evening, Lady Bianca. Lady Eleanor.”

He bowed sharply, then reached for Bianca’s hand and held it tightly. Eleanor watched in dismay as her sister stared into his eyes, swaying ever so slightly toward him. Panicking, she cleared her throat. Loudly. Bianca jumped, a charming blush flowering in her cheeks as she pulled her hand away.

“Stop accosting my guests, Benton,” the other man said softly, “or else I’ll banish you to the kitchens to eat with the staff.”

“Oh dear, that will never do,” Lady Dorothea remarked with a smile. “The maids will be swooning into their supper plates with Benton at the table. Better to send him out into the storm if he misbehaves.”

“Yes, he can dine in the doghouse.” Lines of puzzlement suddenly appeared in the other gentleman’s face. “We did have the builder put up a doghouse, did we not, my love?”

“We did, though I’m embarrassed to admit Lancelot has never once set foot inside it. And I am even more embarrassed at our unforgivable rudeness, for I have not yet introduced you to our guests. Lady Eleanor, Lady Bianca, I am pleased to present my husband, Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood.”

Eleanor and Bianca swept into a curtsy while the marquess bowed. The Marquess of Atwood was a classic example of a tall, dark, and handsome man. He possessed an inbred aristocratic manner of absolute authority that would have been exceedingly off-putting if not for his charming smile. Eleanor was favorably impressed.

His father, the Duke of Hansborough, whom they were introduced to next, was another matter entirely. In Eleanor’s opinion, the older man embodied every cliché about the aristocracy in one neat package. Cold, arrogant, and superior, he was a truly intimidating figure.

He fixed his gaze steadily on her as she made her curtsy, his expression undisguised curiosity. “So you’re Hetfield’s eldest girl?”

Eleanor nodded.

“I knew your mother. A charming, fine-looking woman. Very graceful on the dance floor, as I recall.” The duke lifted his brow as he made a sympathetic murmur. “You don’t favor her much in looks.”

Eleanor bit down hard on her lower lip to muffle her gasp of indignation. “My sister inherited our mother’s coloring,” she said through tight lips.

“And Lady Eleanor inherited her grace and charm,” a masculine voice added.

Eleanor turned, uncertain who else was near
enough to have heard the duke’s insulting remark. She suspected it was Lord Atwood, but instead Lord Benton stared back at her.

“The old man’s testing your mettle,” the viscount whispered. “As far as I know, the duke doesn’t bite.” The corners of Lord Benton’s mouth turned up. “Very often.”

“I am not worried, my lord,” Eleanor hissed back. “I have faced down far worse in my day then a temperamental, insensitive duke. I imagine he will be vastly disappointed if I don’t quiver and crumble.”

“He will.”

“Then I shall take great delight in disappointing him.” Eleanor smiled pleasantly as the duke turned to speak with another guest. “Though I don’t understand why he would take a particular interest in me.”

“He’s very protective of his daughter-in-law,” Benton answered. “He wants to know everything about the people who become her friends.”

Become her friend?
An unexpected wave of melancholy swept over Eleanor. Her time in London would be brief. Even if she did form a friendship with Lady Dorothea, there was a very small chance that she would see her again after the Season was over.

Swallowing the sudden rush of self-pity, Eleanor turned her attention to the conversation swirling around her. Emma had joined their circle and she and the duke were engaged in a lively exchange.

“I for one am not disappointed he can’t be here tonight. Lord Sullivan is a buffoon,” the duke grumbled. “Thinks he’s an expert on everything under
the sun and takes great pleasure in spouting his nonsensical opinions.”

“When asked or not,” Lord Benton muttered under his breath. Eleanor dipped her chin to hide her smile.

“Lord Sullivan might be a bore, Your Grace,” Emma said. “But at least he refrains from discussing his ailments, a topic that most older people seem to embrace with fanatical enthusiasm.”

The duke stared at her, his silver eyebrows rising. “You had better not be lumping me into that category, young lady, or else I’ll be forced to box your ears.”

“I said
older people,
Your Grace,” Emma replied with a saucy grin. “That could not possibly include you.”

“Ha!” The duke smiled in appreciation, then turned to his son. “You had better watch this one carefully, Carter. She’s going to lead some hapless fellow on a merry chase.”

“I know that all too well, sir.” The marquess grinned at his sister-in-law. “But eventually a clever man will catch her and then she shall be his problem.”

“Carter!” Lady Dorothea wrinkled her nose at her husband. “I do not appreciate you referring to Emma as a problem.”

“Come now, Lady Dorothea, you know Atwood was merely jesting,” Lord Benton interjected. “Indeed, every man with an ounce of intelligence knows the only wives worth having are the problem kind.”

“Benton’s talking about having a wife?” Creases
formed on the duke’s forehead. “He must be royally foxed.”

A hearty laugh rumbled from the viscount’s chest. “I was referring to other men’s wives, Your Grace. Not one of my own.”

“I have talked myself blue in the face over the joys of matrimony, yet sadly for him, Benton is still not convinced of the benefits of a wife.” Atwood looked at Lord Benton, one eyebrow cocked in affection. Clearly he was very fond of the viscount.

“Nevertheless, it’s deuced bad form to scare an old man like that, Benton,” the duke said. “You know my heart could give out at any time.”

“Surely you jest, Your Grace,” Eleanor interjected smoothly. “I imagine your heart can withstand a great deal.”

There was a slight pause. Then, with an irritable expression, the duke turned his full attention on Eleanor. “You sound surprised to hear that I have a heart.”

“Not at all. However, if that particular thought ever crossed my mind, I would never be so rude as to express it out loud,” Eleanor replied. “Especially when others are near enough to overhear such an unflattering remark.”

Her lips curved. It was a clever set-down, one Eleanor was proud to have delivered. She had rebuked the duke’s earlier discourtesy in a subtle, yet pointed manner.

“Benton,” the duke said, his eyes still squarely on Eleanor. “If you were ever of a mind to get yourself a bride, you’d be wise to look no further.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. Lady Eleanor has much to
recommend her. Alas, I worry that she also possesses the good sense to refuse me.”