To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  She would not be alone, since there were small groups of strollers enjoying the lovely evening, including several ladies whom she recognized. And her aunt knew where she was after all, Eleanor reasoned.

  Thankfully the prince did not try to press her or take her to task for remaining unchaperoned in the gardens, but merely bowed gallantly and promised to return shortly. Eleanor watched him disappear down the path, then turned in the opposite direction, toward her friends.

  Her heart gave a leap, however, when another tall figure stepped out from the shadows. She recognized those broad shoulders in an instant; that sense of power, of vitality, of danger about him.

  She knew those bold dark eyes and the low voice that stroked her nerve-endings like velvet when he spoke, as he did now.

  “Elle,” Damon said simply.

  An arrow of pain pierced Eleanor at his casual form of address. The French word for “she” had been his pet name for her.

  She tried to catch her breath but couldn't manage it just then. Nor could she speak. Her throat had gone dry and she felt a trifle faint. Damon had rendered her paralyzed and tongue-tied-she who was never at a loss for words. Devil take him!

  Deploring her weakness for him, Eleanor squared her shoulders and found her voice. “My Lord Wrex-ham,” she murmured with a regal nod.

  In response, Damon cocked his head, studying her. “So you mean to treat me with distant formality? I confess relief.”

  “Relief? What did you expect from me, my lord? That I would box your ears?”

  His mouth curved with a hint of humor. “You did so the last time we met, as I recall.”

  Eleanor flushed. That last time she had been a woman scorned, and she'd taken her fury out on Damon's handsome face when she ended their betrothal.

  “I admit,” he said, lightly rubbing his left cheek as if in remembrance, “I deserved your scorn then.”

  “You did indeed,” Eleanor agreed, only slightly mollified. “But you may rest assured I will do nothing so unseemly tonight. Now, if you will please excuse me…”

  She made to pass him, but Damon reached out and touched her arm. “Pray, stay a moment. I went to some trouble to get you alone so we could speak in private before we must meet in public.”

  Her eyes widened in comprehension as she stared up at him. “You contrived to get me alone here in the gardens? You had Prince Lazzara called away by that footman?” Realizing her voice had risen unbecomingly, Eleanor lowered it to a tart whisper. “What Machiavellian gall!”

  Damon's faint smile was a bit rueful. “I am guilty of manipulation, true, but I thought we should attempt to clear the air between us, and I didn't trust what you might do if I approached you in a crowd. Hopefully you will not shove me into a fountain or worse just now.”

  Eleanor arched a skeptical eyebrow. “No? There are several fountains nearby.”

  She thought she saw humor spark in his dark eyes at her veiled threat. “At least suppress your urge for retribution until you hear me out.”

  Suppressing that urge would be harder than she'd thought. Yet Eleanor held her tongue as Damon continued more slowly. “I doubt you will readily forgive me for what happened two years ago-”

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” she interrupted sweetly. “Merely because you turned me into a laughingstock and a figure of pity in front of the entire ton, you think my magnanimity would be in short supply?”

  “No one would ever think you a figure of pity, Elle.”

  She stiffened this time at his soubriquet. “I prefer you not call me that silly name. The proper form of address now is ‘Lady Eleanor.’ ”

  “Ah, yes. I had heard Marcus petitioned the Crown to raise your precedence from a baron's sister to an earl's. Very well, then, my Lady Eleanor… will you grant me a brief audience?”

  Damon's cordiality was beginning to wear on her nerves. “What do you wish to say to me, Lord Wrex-ham? You needn't apologize for your despicable behavior so long ago. It is over and done with and I scarcely ever think of it anymore.”

  At her lie, his expression remained enigmatic, even as his gaze searched her face. “I regret hurting you, Eleanor, but I did not seek you out tonight in order to apologize.”

  “Then why did you employ such machinations?”

  “I hoped we could declare a truce. For your sake more than mine.”

  “My sake? How so?”

  “I don't want your reputation to suffer for my past sins, so I hoped we could avoid any awkwardness when we are seen in public together for the first time. Even if you were merely to cut me, it would provide more fodder for the tongue-waggers.”

  “I agree. We can behave civilly toward one another when we officially meet.”

  “I thought we could go one step further tonight. Perhaps I could request your hand for a set. A simple country dance, nothing more,” Damon added when her eyes narrowed.

  “Why on earth would I wish to dance with you?”

  “To put any gossip to rest.”

  “On the contrary, my dancing with you would only inflame the gossip by making it appear as if we were on familiar terms again. No, there is no need for such intimacy, Damon. But I will not cut you dead whenever I see you. Now, if that is all…?”

  “Don't go just yet.”

  His low remark was neither a command nor an entreaty, yet it made Eleanor pause. The temptation to stay with Damon was overwhelming, even if she didn't like being in such close proximity to him, particularly all alone at night. “I don't wish to be seen alone with you,” she began.

  “We can remedy that.”

  Startling her, Damon took her elbow and drew her a few yards off the gravel path, behind a topiary yew and deeper into the shadows.

  Eleanor didn't protest, even though she knew she should. Perhaps it was better to get their first meeting over in private, so there would be no awkward moments when they met in public. But understandably, she was not in a generous mood.

  “I cannot fathom what you hope to accomplish,” she said rather peevishly. “We can have little to say to each other.”

  “We can catch up on the past two years.”

  But she didn't wish to catch up, Eleanor thought. She didn't want to dwell on what Damon had been doing all the time he was away-what women he had been with-or to recall how lonely and abandoned she had felt when he left. Even so, she managed a polite response.

  “I understand you have been traveling on the Continent?”

  “For much of my absence, yes. Chiefly in Italy.”

  “And you have returned to England to stay?”

  “For a time, at least. I enjoyed my travels but found myself longing for home.”

  Eleanor felt a twinge of envy since she had always wanted to travel. A single young lady, however, jaunting all over the globe was considered highly improper, particularly by her aunt. Moreover, Europe had been extremely unsafe until the defeat of Napoleon's ar mies three years ago. But someday she hoped to fulfill her dream to see more of the world than her own country.

  Then Damon surprised her again by reaching up to touch a curling tendril on her forehead. For a moment she thought he meant to straighten the narrow silk bandeau she wore, which was adorned with blue ostrich plumes to match her empire-waisted gown of pale blue lustring and overskirt of silver net.

  “Your glorious hair… Why the devil did you cut it off?”

  The question took Eleanor aback. She wore her raven hair in short curls now. The style was quite fashionable, but in truth she'd cut it severely two years ago in an act of defiance, since Damon had professed to cherish her long hair.

  “What does it matter to you, my lord?” she retorted archly. “You haven't the right to care how I wear my hair.”

  “True.”

  Giving a casual shrug of his broad shoulders, he unexpectedly changed the subject again. “How is Marcus faring?”

  Eleanor breathed more easily. She could relax a measure if Damon would only speak of such mundane matters as her brother. “H
e is faring very well, as it happens.”

  “I understand he married this past summer.”

  “Yes… Marcus wed Miss Arabella Loring of Chis wick. They are in France at the moment, visiting Arabella's mother in Brittany, along with her two younger sisters, who also recently wed. I believe you know her sisters’ husbands, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne?”

  “I know them well.” Damon paused. “It surprises me they all three succumbed to matrimony so suddenly. I thought them confirmed bachelors.”

  “Matrimony is not catching, if that worries you.”

  Her wry quip elicited a quick smile from Damon. “I am cured of any desire to wed, believe me.”

  Eleanor bit her lip at his implication that she was the one who had cured him of his momentary madness.

  A long pause followed as Damon grimaced, appearing to regret his careless remark. And his tone was more serious when he said, “I heard that you were betrothed shortly after I left England, but that it did not last long.”

  Eleanor raised her chin, once more feeling defensive. “No, it did not.” She had quickly broken her second engagement, a betrothal she had made out of defiance and pain and had regretted almost instantly. “I decided I was not willing to settle for a marriage of convenience after all. I was not in love with him, nor he with me.”

  I still loved you, Damon, she thought with a wistful ache.

  Damon's voice lowered another register. “It is just as well that you broke off our betrothal. I could not have given you my heart.”

  “You could not, or would not?”

  His expression was unreadable. “I see little difference. And you deserved better for your husband.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And now you are being courted by Prince Laz-zara,” Damon observed, his tone prodding.

  Eleanor hesitated. “I would not say he is courting me, precisely. The prince came to England to see the sights.”

  “And to look for a bride?”

  “So rumor says.”

  “I am not surprised that he is showing a marked interest in a beautiful heiress.”

  Not inexplicably, Damon's observation stung. “You think my fortune is all he sees in me?”

  “Certainly not.” The corner of his mouth curved. “But you don't need me to flatter you by cataloguing your many appealing attributes. Nor, I suspect, does Lazzara. The man would have to be a fool not to be attracted to you as well as your fortune.”

  But you feel no such attraction any longer? Eleanor wondered, feeling the ache increase. Aloud, she said in an offhanded tone, “It can be of no import to you if he thinks to woo me.”

  “Even so, I am concerned. He would be fortunate to claim you for his wife, Eleanor, but you could do better for a husband. He is not good enough for you.”

  She frowned at Damon. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because I know you. You deserve better.”

  Eleanor truly did not know what to think of his remark, so finally she shrugged. “It is exceedingly presumptuous of you to set yourself to judge my suitors, Lord Wrexham.”

  “But then you know how presumptuous I can be.”

  She did indeed, she thought, as Damon unexpectedly stepped closer.

  He halted barely a foot away and stood looking down at her for a long moment. When his dark gaze held her transfixed, Eleanor's heart suddenly began wildly somersaulting again. Dear heaven, did Damon intend to kiss her? She would never forget the thrill of his kisses, never forget the taste of that firm, sensual mouth, which was moving slowly toward hers…

  Eleanor's breath faltered altogether when Damon reached up and traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. She felt overwhelmed by his nearness, his warmth, his scent. Then, as if he could not help himself, he slid one hand behind her nape and lowered his head, letting his warm lips cover hers.

  The delicious shock of it held her completely immobile; any thought of struggle melted at the softness of his kiss. His lips drifted, lingered, melded with hers, making her shiver.

  At her involuntary response, Damon angled his head and pressed deeper, as if refamiliarizing himself with her taste, relearning her texture, his tongue probing her inner recesses, exploring.

  Suddenly she was tumbling headlong into his kiss, falling. Myriad sensations poured through Eleanor at the magic of his mouth, while a rush of feeling blossomed in the depths of her body. She had no thought of escape. Damon had captured her completely. And the sweetness, the tenderness, the heat, all combined to rouse a trembling ache inside her.

  When a soft whimper lodged in her throat, Damon drew her even closer, bringing her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his sinewed ones. Her body reacted helplessly; her spine arched and her limbs weakened. Eleanor strained toward him with hungry yearning as his tongue continued stroking, tangling, mating with hers in a bewitching rhythm.

  When his hand rose to cup her breast, a fission of fiery sensation sparked within her-a stark reminder of how easily he could arouse her yearning.

  An even starker reminder of the pain he could bring her.

  Suddenly recollecting their circumstances, Eleanor fought the searing wash of desire that was flooding her. She'd let Damon beguile her with his sensual caresses once before, and he had broken her heart.

  The realization gave her strength to renew her struggle for control. Striving for willpower, she brought her hands up between them and pressed, trying to break free of his seductive embrace.

  When Damon didn't immediately release her, Eleanor shoved at his chest, thinking to push him into the yew hedge. Apparently he was prepared for just that response, for he braced himself against her force as he lightly grasped her upper arms.

  When he continued to claim her lips, Eleanor drew back her slippered foot and kicked Damon hard in the shin, striking the white silk stocking below his formal satin knee breeches.

  Thankfully her violence had the immediate result of prying loose his grasp-and even elicited a muffled sound of pain from him.

  Stifling her own whimper of pain, Eleanor freed herself completely and backed away.

  Breathing hard, her pulse leaping in fits and starts, she tried to regain her dazed senses as she stared up at Damon.

  His features had turned enigmatic again. To her surprise, there was no triumph in his expression. Instead, she glimpsed regret in the shadows that darkened his eyes.

  “Forgive me, I became carried away,” he said, his voice a husky rasp.

  So had she, much to her chagrin, Eleanor acknowledged unwillingly. She was furious at Damon for enchanting her so that she had actually returned his kisses, and yet she felt oddly bereft now that they had ended.

  “Donna Eleanora?” a deep masculine voice called out softly.

  She went rigid upon realizing Prince Lazzara had come in search of her.

  Hoping her lips were not too wet and swollen, Elea nor scurried out from behind the hedge. “Yes, your highness?”

  Don Antonio smiled charmingly when he spied her, although his smile faltered when Damon stepped out behind her.

  Heat staining her cheeks, Eleanor hastened to explain. “I encountered an old acquaintance, you see. In fact, I was just telling Lord Wrexham about my brother's recent marriage.”

  “Lord Wrexham?” Prince Lazzara repeated slowly as his gaze sharpened on Damon.

  Damon, however, made an easy reply. “Will you introduce us, Lady Eleanor?”

  When she reluctantly complied, the prince raked Damon from head to toe, obviously not liking what he saw. Bowing stiffly then, he dismissed Damon and pointedly held out his arm to Eleanor. “Shall we resume our stroll in the garden, cara mia?”

  She gratefully took the prince's arm and murmured a polite “Good evening, my lord” to Damon as she turned away.

  Admittedly Eleanor felt a vast measure of relief as she let Prince Lazzara lead her away. The wild thud of her pulse had calmed somewhat, yet she was enraged at herself for yearning for Damon's kisses, particularly since s
he still harbored more than a little residual anger and hurt from his betrayal two years ago. It had felt good to kick his shin, despite the pain her toes had suffered.

  At least she had survived their first encounter, even if she had acquitted herself poorly.

  Just then her princely escort broke into her distracted thoughts. “Lord Wrexham is the gentleman who was once your betrothed, is he not?”

  His tone held more than curiosity; a note of masculine jealousy tinged the question.

  “For a very brief while.” She offered the prince a bright smile. “My feelings for Wrexham cooled shortly, I assure you. He is nothing to me now, and I am quite over him. He is merely a friend of my brother's, no more.”

  And yet Eleanor couldn't help but note that the conviction in her declaration sounded weak to her own ears. She was not over Damon, if her reaction to him a moment ago was any indication.

  Of course, any woman would have been affected by his sensual assault. Damon's kisses were magical, passionate, swoonworthy… Worse, the sparks between them still flared in full force.

  Damn and blast him.

  I should have kicked him harder, Eleanor muttered silently to herself. The pain would make her remember just how dangerous Damon still was to her.

  Now she could only hope she had no more intimate encounters with him. She didn't trust herself not to behave in that same wanton manner if he ever attempted to kiss her again.

  And if he did? Well, she feared she was likely to succumb to Damon's wicked charm all over again, and she most certainly would not let that happen!

  Play the damsel in distress upon occasion. Your apparent helplessness will allow him to feel superior- and gentlemen greatly relish feeling superior. -An Anonymous Lady,

  Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband

  A distracted frown shadowed Damon's brow as he left Carlton House to climb into his town carriage. He had fully expected to see Eleanor again this evening. He'd even planned to speak privately with her-and had gone to great lengths to arrange it. But he sure as the devil hadn't intended to kiss her.