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intrigued him.
    “I have no idea. Is figuring it out worth missing a fuck with me?”
    “Apparently it is. And there’s your husband, anyway.”
    He inclined his head in her direction. “Good evening, my dear.”
    As soon as Lady Franch left his side, he returned his attention to Eleanor. The waltz had ended, and the group of young men surrounding her, claiming spots on her dance card, were for the most part so-called gentlemen that her brothers would normally never have let bow in her direction—gamblers, fortune hunters, and general idiots, mostly. Well, they were bowing now, and practically falling over one another to get close to her. It never took long for the wolves to recognize new prey—even prey that had until yesterday been under the protection of a great, large lion and his two brothers.
    He kept his distance himself, but obviously Eleanor Griffin had had an effect on him as well. After all, he’d chosen to stand gazing at her from across the room rather than put Lydia Franch on her back.
    Something was out of balance—and quite interesting as a consequence. He looked at Eleanor again. Quite interesting.
    One consequence of a relatively early evening was that Valentine was actually downstairs eating breakfast when the knock came at the front door. If he’d known what 38 / Suzanne Enoch
    would transpire next, however, he would have stayed in bed.
    As it was, he continued with his roasted ham and biscuits; he daily updated his butler regarding which guests he was or wasn’t home to receive. Hobbes would see to it that no unapproved persons, especially of the female variety, entered the house. And this morning the list included Lydia, as well—in the space of an evening and through no real fault of her own, she’d gone from being a pleasant diversion to something of an annoyance. And she knew something—or rather, someone—had caught his attention before he’d acted on it, which he intensely disliked.
    Hobbes appeared in the breakfast room doorway. “My lord, His Grace, the Duke of Mel—”
    “Valentine,” the Duke of Melbourne interrupted, sweeping past the offended butler. “I need to speak with you.”
    “So I immediately surmised,” the marquis returned dryly. “It wouldn’t be concerning a particular female in a burgundy gown, would it?”
    “It’s private,” the duke said, striding to the window and back again, sending a glare at the attending servants as he repeated the motion.
    Chewing a mouthful of ham, Valentine eyed his unin-vited guest. For as long as he’d known Sebastian, he didn’t think he’d ever seen the duke quite so…agitated.
    He jerked his head at Hobbes, and without a word the butler and his two footmen vanished, closing the door behind them.
    “Have some breakfast,” he offered, indicating the laden sideboard.
    “I’ve eaten.”
    “Then for God’s sake stop pacing and let me finish eating. I’ve already got an aching head this morning, and you’re making me ill.”
    Sin and Sensibility / 39
    With a frown the duke seated himself at Valentine’s elbow. “You saw Eleanor last evening.”
    “Couldn’t help it, really. Why? Are you calling out every gentleman who ogled her?” He snorted. “That would take a week.”
    “Oh, shut up. And this stays between us, Valentine.”
    “I don’t gossip, Seb. You know that.”
    Melbourne let out a breath. “Yes, I do. And that’s partly why I’m here. The evening before last,” he continued, pulling a folded paper from his breast pocket, “Eleanor gave me this.”
    The marquis wiped jam from his fingers and took the paper. As he read through it, he was conscious once again of being extremely grateful to have been born without brothers and sisters. “And why are you showing me this?”
    he asked, handing it back. “Other than to allow me to admire the fine penmanship, of course.”
    “Last night was her first evening of playing this…game,”
    Melbourne muttered, tucking the letter away again. “And this