The success of his endeavors was a source of, if not pride, then certainly satisfaction. He had accomplished what he'd set out to do, beyond his greatest hopes, in fact.
Not surprisingly, though, Damon had found himself yearning for England of late. A few short weeks ago, he'd decided he had wandered long enough, that it was time to return home and resume his former life. The rumors about Lazzara courting Eleanor had only hastened his departure.
Which brought him to this evening and the question of what to do about Elle.
He wouldn't repeat history by growing too close to her and then hurting her again when he walked away. Yet he couldn't just abandon her now. Not when she was being pursued by a rake who would make her a deplorable husband and only cause her misery. She deserved far better.
He wanted Eleanor to be happy, to be able to fulfill her dreams of marriage, love, children. The very future he had shunned when he'd deliberately and publicly betrayed her. If someday he married in order to carry on his title, it would be purely a union of convenience for him.
Still, he was certain Prince Lazzara was not the man of her dreams. Therefore, Damon thought darkly as he drained the last of his brandy, he intended to be in the park tomorrow morning on the chance he would encounter Eleanor there with her royal suitor.
Specifically so he could protect her from the profligate philanderer who was wooing the lovely, lively woman he had once thought to make his own wife.
* * *
Upon returning to their home in Portman Place, Eleanor accompanied her aunt upstairs and paused outside Lady Beldon's bedchamber to say good night.
“I am glad you enjoyed the evening, Aunt,” Elea nor said sincerely. “Signor Vecchi is quite agreeable, is he not?”
“He is indeed,” Beatrix answered with a slight blush at the mention of Prince Lazzara's elder relation. “The Signor is the epitome of charm. I suspect charm must be an inherent trait of Italian gentlemen, regardless of age.”
“You may be right.”
It warmed Eleanor's heart to think she could be witnessing a budding romance between her patrician aunt and the distinguished Italian diplomat. Since being widowed a half dozen years ago, Beatrix had shown no interest in any gentleman of any kind. But clearly her attention was engaged now by Signor Vecchi, who was likewise widowed. Moreover, he seemed to be attracted to her in return.
Aunt Beatrix's blush faded, however, as she gave Eleanor a careful scrutiny. “Did you enjoy the evening, my dear? You are not overly distressed by Wrexham's return, are you?”
“Certainly not,” Eleanor prevaricated. “He may go to the devil for all I care.”
“He already has gone to the devil, no doubt,” Bea trix replied tartly, “although you know very well that ladies do not use such coarse language as ‘devil.’ ”
“Yes, Aunt,” she murmured, hiding a smile. Her noble relative was fastidious about proper behavior, yet Eleanor wanted to please her aunt whenever possible, to repay her kindness for taking her in so long ago.
“I trust Wrexham's return will not interfere with Prince Lazzara's courtship of you,” her ladyship observed.
“I cannot imagine why it should. Wrexham has no interest in me any longer, nor I in him.” Under no circumstances would she divulge that Damon had kissed her witless in the gardens barely four hours ago, or that for an enchanted moment, she had returned his wonderful kiss with a shameful eagerness.
“Do you mean to drive with Don Antonio in the morning, Eleanor?”
“Yes, at ten o'clock.”
Beatrix raised an eyebrow. “That is rather late for you, is it not?”
“It is, but the prince claims to be a late riser.”
“In any event, be sure to take one of our own grooms with you, for appearances’ sake, you know.”
“I shall,” Eleanor replied without argument.
“Then sleep well, dear.”
“And you, Aunt,” she responded, although certain sleep wouldn't come easily to her tonight. She was infinitely glad her initial meeting with Damon was done with, yet he had only roused painful, poignant feelings of regret and desire inside her.
She did not kiss the older woman's cheek or even press her hand before turning away, since Lady Bel-don considered such demonstrations of affection ill-bred.
Perhaps, Eleanor reflected as she made for her own bedchamber in the adjacent wing of the house, her aunt's strict reserve was why she had responded so readily to Damon's warmth when he first started wooing her.
She'd had a rather lonely upbringing, growing up in the care of stern, very proper governesses. Her parents, Baron and Baroness Pierce, had a cold marriage of convenience and held little affection for each other or their children. And since Eleanor's beloved brother Marcus was almost a dozen years her senior, for most of her childhood he was away at boarding school and university.
Upon her parents’ deaths in a fatal carriage accident, Marcus became her legal guardian, yet Eleanor went to live with their mother's sister, Viscountess Beldon, since her ladyship was a far more suitable chaperone for a ten-year-old girl.
Supremely aware of her breeding and consequence, Aunt Beatrix refused to allow Eleanor to attend boarding school where she might have made close friends. And even now, despite her current popularity among the ton, she had few truly dear friends except for Drew Moncrief, the Duke of Arden, and Heath Griffin, the Marquess of Claybourne, who were both like older brothers to her.
Oh, Eleanor remembered wryly, she had attracted numerous suitors during her comeout at eighteen. Once she reached marriageable age, her fortune and lineage had made her highly sought after.
Marcus had worried that she might fall victim to a fortune hunter, while Aunt Beatrix had wanted her to make the brilliant marriage expected of most heiresses-a union of bloodlines and fortune-even if there was no chance for mutual affection. Eleanor, however, had a crystal clear vision for her future. She planned to hold out for a love match.
Then, barely six months after her debut, she met the wickedly charming rogue, Lord Wrexham.
She had initially resisted Damon on sheer principle. Every woman wanted him, so she was determined she would not. But even she had quickly fallen under his spell. He was unlike any man she'd ever known, virile and vital, with a sense of intensity, of danger about him that was exhilarating.
She would never forget that first unexpected kiss between them. They were strolling in the gardens of the Beldon country estate near Brighton, at the beginning of her aunt's annual house party, when he struck up an easy flirtation with her, one that challenged her wits and undermined all her defenses.
“You are too seductive for your own good,” Elea nor finally told him with a laugh. “It could lead you into trouble.”
His half smile was enchanting. “It already has upon occasion. But the potential rewards are worth the risk.”
Then and there Damon leaned toward her and boldly captured her lips, giving her a stunning taste of heat and arousal and pure captivation.
After a long, dazed moment, however, Eleanor reacted sheerly on principle, determined to show him that she was not to be trifled with. She pushed at his chest, catching him completely off guard and sending him tripping backward over the ledge of the nearby fountain.
With a splash, Damon sat down hard in the pool and sprawled there, staring up at her, his formal evening attire soaking through.
“I trust that cooled your ardor, my lord,” Eleanor said sweetly, trying to hide her breathlessness.
After a stunned moment, he started laughing. “If you think that, Miss Pierce, you don't know me very well.”
Her unconventional response had not cooled Damon's ardor in the least. It had merely made him more subtle in employing his powers of seduction.
That beguiling, enthralling kiss had been the first of many during their courtship, even though Damon had never allowed their passion to go beyond a few forbidden caresses. Remembering now, Eleanor lifted her fingers to gently touch her lips.
It h
ad been a grave mistake to succumb to Damon's sensual allure and offer him her heart, she'd learned. It was an even bigger mistake to hope that he would end her loneliness by coming to love her. Their short romance had held fireworks that flamed and burned out at the first test of fidelity.
If she had any regrets about terminating their betrothal, they were fleeting and usually haunted her in the small, lonely hours of the night. And regrets were easier to quell when she recalled that those few amazing weeks of joy and elation Damon had given her were followed by months of pain-and when she contemplated how much greater the pain would have been if she'd discovered his penchant for infidelity after she wed him.
No, Eleanor thought as she reached the door to her bedchamber, she would marry someday, but it would be on her terms, when she could be certain her husband bore her a true, undying, mutual love.
Her abigail was awaiting her and helped her undress and prepare for bed. After dismissing the cheerful girl, Eleanor climbed into bed, although she didn't immediately extinguish the lamp flame. Instead, she picked up the small, leatherbound book that lay on her bedside table.
Recently published, Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband had been penned by “An Anonymous Lady.” Yet Eleanor knew firsthand that the author was actually the Loring sisters’ close friend from their girlhood, Fanny Irwin, who had left home at sixteen to become one of London's most renowned Cyprians.
In her book, Fanny shared her secrets not only for landing a husband, but for infatuating him once he was locked in matrimony.
In short, making a man fall madly in love.
Eleanor had told a number of her friends about the book, mainly as a favor to Arabella, her new sister by marriage. Word had spread quickly, though, and now the entire female half of the ton was talking about Advice with great excitement.
Even though most of Eleanor's peers-the young ladies who had made their comeouts with her during her first Season-had already married, they were eager to try out the Anonymous Lady's wisdom on their husbands. And of course, the new crop of debutantes and their matchmaking mamas were even more eager to use it to capture a coveted husband. For them, Advice was like catnip to cats.
Eleanor had little patience for such social intrigue, which seemed to smack of dishonesty in luring a man to his doom. Yet she was fiercely determined to fall in love and marry a man who loved her deeply in return. She would not end up a lonely spinster who led a solitary, barren life. She would not end up like her Aunt Beatrix, either, a widow who had never experienced the joys of love.
Therefore, Eleanor had concluded, if she meant to rule her own destiny, she would have to take her romantic future into her own hands, starting with Prince Lazzara.
Undeniably she was attracted to the handsome, passionate, Italian nobleman, yet she wasn't convinced he could ever love her as she yearned to be loved, or that he would be faithful to her in marriage.
Which is why she had resolved to allow the prince to court her while she attempted to win his love by employing the secrets of Fanny's book.
However, she certainly had not counted on Damon coming back into her life again just when she was beginning to make progress with Prince Lazzara!
Oh, why could Damon not have stayed away for just a few more months? Eleanor wondered with more than a little vexation. Even if she could manage to ignore his unwanted presence in town, she knew her mind would insist on making comparisons between him and any other suitors-and few would likely measure up to him.
There was so much about Damon that she had treasured. His sharp wit, for one. The way he'd challenged her, indeed, dared her to be her own woman. The way he never patronized her or treated her as a fragile blossom, as too many of her other beaux did.
He didn't treat her as an heiress whose fortune he coveted, either. Instead he ragged her and teased her-sometimes enough to rouse her ire-the way her brother did, the way Marcus's two close friends, Heath and Drew, did.
Realizing how her thoughts had wandered to Damon, Eleanor snapped the book shut, put out the lamp, pulled up the covers, and shut her eyes.
To her utter dismay, Damon had made her lose her head tonight. But she would never let it happen again.
She would not think about that charming devil, either. She simply would not!
She dreamed about him, however. A vivid, captivating fantasy that overwhelmed her with desire and yearning. Damon's embrace was demanding and passionate, yet tender enough to draw the very soul from her body… and stirring enough to make her weep.
Eleanor woke in the night with tears on her face and a savage ache in her heart.
For a moment she lay there in the dark, pining for what she had lost when she'd repudiated Damon. It was not only the sweet promise of first love, but their blossoming friendship also. She had lost a friend as well as the ideal husband.
She wondered if Damon ever thought of her, ever dreamed of her, as she still did of him. She had felt as if he were her soulmate-
But quite obviously he had not felt the same way about her, Eleanor thought with a growl of self-disgust. Rolling over in bed and punching her pillow, she renewed her vow to forget all about him.
However, she was very glad to have a goal to distract her and occupy her attention just now. Practicing the techniques laid out in Fanny's book to make Prince Lazzara fall madly in love with her should offer an antidote to her deplorable tendency to dwell far too much on her lost dreams and the heartless rogue who had shattered them.
When Eleanor woke again in the early morning, she reiterated her plan in her mind as she dressed and breakfasted and prepared for her drive with the prince.
And even though she felt somewhat restless and out of sorts, she managed a bright smile when his highness called on her promptly at ten. Once she had settled in his elegant high-perch phaeton-with a young Beldon groom mounted on the tiger's stand behind-Eleanor kept up a cheerful conversation as they bowled along the crowded streets to Hyde Park.
She kept an eye on the prince's driving, however, and his high-strung pair of gray Thoroughbreds.
“Your pair is very spirited,” Eleanor observed, wincing as he jabbed at his horses’ mouths.
“Yes, indeed. Spirit is a prime requirement in my horses. I purchased these at Tattersall's.”
Marcus would have called Lazzara ham-handed or worse. Suspecting she would handle the ribbons far better than the prince, Eleanor wished she could take over the reins. But she held her tongue and did not offer to drive as she recalled Fanny's specific advice. No gentleman would be flattered to think a female was more accomplished at any task, and she wanted to earn the prince's admiration, not affront his pride.
Eleanor was grateful when they reached the park entrance and turned onto the wide, tree-lined avenue of Rotten Row, since the restless grays seemed less fitful here.
Her heart skipped a beat, however, when she saw a rider approaching the prince's phaeton and recognized Damon.
Of all the ill luck, Eleanor thought in vexation.
When Damon slowed his mount and, out of politeness, raised his tall beaver hat in greeting, Lazzara was compelled to halt his vehicle and return the bow.
Eleanor managed a graceful nod as well, even though her feminine sensibilities couldn't help but admire how Damon's broad shoulders filled out his elegant burgundy coat and the way he sat on his magnificent black horse. Damon always was a splendid rider, which was one more thing they'd had in common. Another pang of regret twisted her heart when she recalled the glorious rides in the countryside they had shared during the early days of their betrothal.
“Lady Eleanor, what a pleasant surprise,” was the first thing Damon said. “It is quite unexpected to encounter you here just now.”
Eleanor's eyes narrowed slightly. Damon knew very well she enjoyed coming to the park every morning, rain or shine. “Unexpected, my lord? How so?”
“I know you would much rather ride than drive- and furthermore, your outings usually begin two hours earlier than this.”
&n
bsp; Ignoring Damon's reminder that he had intimate knowledge of her habits, she offered him a bland smile. “But I enjoy driving quite well, my lord. Particularly with an escort so agreeable as Prince Lazzara,” she added pointedly, not so much to flatter the prince as to remind Damon of the gentleman sitting beside her.
“No doubt,” Damon returned, “Prince Lazzara is delighted with such a charming companion as yourself.”
“Indeed,” the prince said, finally joining the conversation.
Damon's gaze shifted to him. “Your highness,” he said with an amiable nod. “I recently spent many pleasant months in your country.”
“Oh?” the Italian replied courteously. “Did you visit our magnificent cities? Rome? Florence? Naples?”
“Yes, but mainly I was in the south…”
Eleanor sat there silently while the two noblemen conversed, all the while wishing Damon would move on. Couldn't he tell that she wanted nothing more to do with him?
She was in full accord when Prince Lazzara eventually ended the discussion of his country and bowed again, then snapped the reins and sent his grays trotting off at a brisk pace.
Eleanor resisted the urge to look behind her to see if Damon was watching their departure, yet she felt his gaze following her as they picked up speed.
She clutched at the side rail when the grays broke into a canter-but then suddenly the phaeton gave a lurch, followed by a violent jolt.
Thrown sideways against the prince, Eleanor gasped, while behind her, the tiger gave a yelp as he was tossed off his perch. It took her another shocked moment for her to realize that a rear wheel had come off the phaeton.
Startled, the frightened horses bolted into a gallop and went careening down the Row, heedless of the carriages and riders directly in their path. Prince Laz-zara not only had lost complete control of his pair but had dropped the reins and was clinging to the rail with both hands.
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