To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  “Not at the moment. I can think of nothing more enjoyable than assisting a beautiful lady to achieve her heart's desire.”

  At the mischief glittering in his eyes, Eleanor pressed her lips together. Just now her heart's desire was to be rid of Damon. But he was the same wicked rogue he had always been. She should know better than to expect him to observe proper rules of etiquette.

  She also knew better than to fight him overtly. He was not above using his formidable powers of persuasion to gain whatever he wanted, but conducting a battle of wills in front of the prince would not help her win Lazzara's admiration. Thus, she left it to his highness to give his approval or not.

  “You may ride with us in my barouche, my lord,” he said with evident reluctance.

  “You are all kindness, sir.” Damon turned to Eleanor. “Do you mean to leave at once?”

  “I must fetch my pelisse and reticule and alert my abigail that we are leaving sooner than expected.” For propriety's sake, her lady's maid would attend her during her shopping expedition with the prince.

  “Then why don't you proceed? I will keep his highness entertained in your absence,” Damon asserted.

  Entertained? That possibility worried her exceedingly, Eleanor thought, experiencing a fierce urge to tell Damon to go to the devil. He was clearly amused by her struggle to hold her tongue.

  Annoyed that she amused him, she smiled graciously at Don Antonio and said aloud, “If you will excuse me for a moment, your highness…?”

  “Naturally, mia signorina.”

  Yet Eleanor felt a strong measure of trepidation when she left the parlor and went upstairs in search of her maid, Jenny. She didn't particularly trust Damon alone with the prince. Not after his gibes about her using Fanny's book to attract her royal suitor.

  The remembrance made her want to squirm. Yet who was he to judge her attempts at romance? Eleanor muttered to herself, still piqued that she was required to defend her actions to Damon.

  Somehow he had known that the sparks were missing from her current courtship. She felt a physical attraction to Prince Lazzara, true, but nothing whatso ever like what she had felt for Damon. At least not yet. Then again, it was still early in their courtship. She hadn't had much opportunity to apply Fanny's sage advice.

  She meant to remedy that very shortly. She intended to rouse Lazzara's ardor-and increase her own ardor for him at the same time.

  It would be far more difficult with her former betrothed underfoot, but she would manage, Eleanor vowed. Moreover, she reminded herself with a determined surge of optimism, wooing another nobleman should go a long way in helping her crush her continued foolish captivation with the provoking rake who had once meant so much to her.

  Keeping his hands clasped over his lap as he settled again on the sofa, Damon crossed one booted leg over the other and surreptitiously arranged his breeches to hide his swollen arousal. Kissing Elle had left him woefully hot and painfully hard.

  A rather unseemly state, given that he was face-to-face now with her royal courtier.

  Damon was glad to have this opportunity, however. All his instincts shouted that Lazzara wasn't the right match for Eleanor. She was not precisely gullible where men were concerned, but she genuinely liked most people. As a result, she would be too willing to overlook Lazzara's faults and fail to examine his character closely enough in favor of his more superficial qualities of charm and physical appeal.

  Especially since she was set on using that damned advice primer to help her win his affection.

  Damon felt a muscle flex in his jaw. He had pretended amusement at Eleanor's professed determination to entice the prince into marriage, but there was nothing amusing about it.

  Of course, he admitted rather grudgingly, jealousy was possibly driving him in addition to his determination to protect her.

  And from Lazzara's expression as he took a seat opposite, the prince was feeling a strong measure of jealousy himself. They were like two bucks sizing up each other before battle, fighting over the same doe.

  However, the prince's next words surprised him. “I understood, Lord Wrexham, that you no longer have any claim to Donna Eleanora. Was I mistaken? Shall I consider you a rival for her hand?”

  Although appreciating that Lazzara had come straight to the heart of the matter, Damon sidestepped a direct reply. “I gave up my claim to Lady Eleanor some time ago, as she will attest. But that does not mean that I am not concerned for her.” His regard intensified. “What are your intentions toward Lady Eleanor, your highness?”

  Lazzara lifted his chin with royal hauteur, as if wondering how anyone dared to ask him such a thing.

  Damon held back a tight smile. It was ironic that he was questioning Eleanor's latest suitor just as Marcus had questioned him two years ago when he'd sought her hand in marriage.

  “You presume a great deal, sir,” the prince finally said.

  “Her elder brother, Lord Danvers, is a friend of mine,” Damon replied, shading the truth a little. “In his absence, I feel obliged to keep an eye out for her.”

  Which was only partly accurate. His callous treatment of Marcus's sister had cost Damon their longtime friendship. Indeed, Marcus had threatened to carve out his liver if he didn't leave London immediately so the sensation could die down. It was fortunate that the warning had coincided with Damon's need to pursue his own goals in the warm, dry climate of the Mediterranean.

  A hint of anger flashed in Lazzara's eyes, while his reply was dismissive of Damon's concern. “My court ship of Donna Eleanora is my own affair, my lord. I need not explain my intentions to you or anyone else.”

  Damon felt his jaw clench at that unsatisfactory answer, but he settled for a warning of his own. “It would be a mistake,” he said in a silken tone, “to think you could escape retribution from Lady Elea nor's family and friends were you to hurt her in any way, even unintentionally.”

  Lazzara hesitated, evidently reconsidering sparring with Damon. His scowl disappearing, he instead offered a smile meant to charm. “I promise you, my lord, she is quite safe with me.”

  Damon put no trust in such a pledge, though. Nor would he be deterred by it.

  He intended to observe Lazzara's courtship of Eleanor closely and would act to end any serious romance between them. It would be a challenge, devising ways to interfere without earning her scorn. But he meant to keep Eleanor from making an irrevocable mistake, even if it meant going against her express desires.

  The Pantheon Bazaar, situated between Oxford and Marlborough Streets, offered a wide assortment of wares by mercers, milliners, hatters, tobacconists, and perfumeries, among many others.

  This was Damon's first visit to the Bazaar, since it had opened barely a year before he'd left London. The large, airy building, he noted when their small party entered, was furnished with numerous stalls on the ground floors and with galleries above.

  Much of the time Damon hung back a little, observing Eleanor and her chosen suitor as they wandered through the crowds and perused the stalls, examining clothing and accessories, jewelry, furs, gloves, fans, and expensive novelties such as ornamental clocks. Eleanor's abigail, Jenny, followed close behind her, gaping at the sights, while the prince's two footmen hastened ahead, clearing a path for his royal highness.

  After more than an hour, Eleanor settled on a gilt ormolu clock as a birthday gift for her aunt, asking for it to be wrapped and delivered to their home at Portman Place. Prince Lazzara purchased several items also and turned them over to his footmen to carry out to his barouche, which awaited them on the street.

  As she effortlessly charmed the prince with her sparkling laugh and quick repartee, Damon tried to stifle the jealous pangs he felt. Yet he couldn't wholly dismiss the prodding voice in his head that reminded him he could have been the one escorting Eleanor to the fashionable shopping districts, bantering with her and enjoying an easy camaraderie rather than the prickly tension that existed between them now.

  When they reached the end of th
e building, they viewed the waxwork exhibition and then strolled through the conservatory, which boasted a display of rare plants and evergreen shrubs as well as a menagerie of chattering animals, including parrots and monkeys.

  For the most part, Damon was aware, Eleanor seemed to be ignoring him, except once when they passed a fountain and basin filled with goldfish.

  A wry smile curved his mouth at the image that entered his mind-of her pushing her royal suitor into the water if he made so bold as to try to kiss her. And when Damon caught Elle's eye, he knew she was envisioning the same image.

  For a fleeting moment as their gazes locked with shared humor, they were in complete accord. But then Eleanor quickly quelled her amusement and turned a shoulder to him as she took her Italian escort's proffered arm.

  Shortly they returned to a particular watchmaker's stall where previously the prince had spied an ornate gold watch fob that appealed to him. While his highness discussed a possible purchase with the merchant, Damon waited to one side with Eleanor.

  Somewhat to his surprise, she chose the opportunity to take him to task for his intrusion on her romance, although she did it in an undertone that couldn't be heard over the cheerful din of the bazaar.

  “You have some nerve, Lord Wrexham, inviting yourself along on our outing.”

  Damon raised an eyebrow at Eleanor, pretending surprise. “You did not want me to accompany you?”

  “Of course not. Not when you are obviously set on making mischief.”

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” he queried innocently.

  Eleanor grimaced in exasperation. “I can tell from the devilish gleam in your eyes.”

  He tried to keep his expression bland, even though he was indeed provoking her on purpose, attempting to open her eyes to the prince's shortcomings. “You wound me, love. Do you honestly think I would try to come between you and your Romeo?”

  “Will you please cease calling him that?” Eleanor exclaimed in a whisper.

  “Very well, if you insist-although in Italy he earned that reputation in his own right. I confess, I cannot quite understand what you see in him.”

  She made a visible effort at composure. “To begin with, Prince Lazzara is very much the opposite of you in several respects.”

  “I would say so,” Damon said dryly. “He likes fancy clothing and gewgaws and whatnot, and spends money as if it were water.”

  Eleanor shot Damon a quelling glance but refrained from comment, perhaps because she saw some truth in his charge.

  “It surprises me,” he continued, “that you've allowed yourself to be so blindly attracted to a pretty face. But I suppose I cannot fault you. You always were the idealist.”

  “You mean that I am naive.”

  “Perhaps you are. Isn't it naive to think you can win a gentleman's affection because some tome tells you so?”

  Her chin rose. “I won't dignify that remark with a reply.”

  Damon chuckled at her expression of disdain.

  “Look at it this way, Elle. I am actually aiding your cause.”

  Her blue eyes widened in mock amazement, while her tone turned sweetly skeptical. “Pray tell, just how are you aiding my cause?”

  “If Lazzara thinks I am his competition, he will make a greater effort to cut me out. Indeed, he already is trying.”

  That theory gave Eleanor pause. “So you are bedeviling me for my sake?”

  “You could put it that way. I told you, I don't want him hurting you. Therefore, I am appointing myself your personal protector.”

  As if praying for patience, she raised her gaze to the high ceiling overhead, then fixed Damon with an exasperated glance. “Well, I wish you would stop.”

  “I don't intend to reveal your secrets to your prince, if that worries you.”

  “What secrets?” Eleanor demanded warily. “I have no secrets.”

  “What of your plan to capture Lazzara for your husband by using that advice manual?”

  “Don't you dare tell him about that!” she ground out.

  “And what of the fact that you were kissing me two minutes before he walked into your parlor?”

  Her cheeks flushed becomingly. “That was a grave mistake, one that will not be repeated. And I trust you will not tattle to him.”

  “In all honor, my lips are sealed.”

  Eleanor regarded Damon with suspicion. “I would be much more reassured if you would return to the Continent and spend another two years there.”

  “But I am enjoying myself here.”

  “At my expense, it seems,” she said tartly. “Cannot you just leave me in peace?”

  “I'm afraid I can't promise that,” he said, although trying to keep his tone conciliatory.

  In response, Eleanor pasted an arch smile on her mouth. “At least I have only to endure your interference for another week.”

  Damon didn't much care for her tone-satisfaction tinged with a note of triumph. “How so?”

  “My aunt's annual house party begins on Friday of next week, and Prince Lazzara has accepted her invitation to attend.”

  Damon's brows drew together sharply. He didn't like the implication of her announcement in the least. If Lazzara attended Lady Beldon's private house party, then Elle would be at even greater risk than now.

  As if realizing she had struck a nerve with him, Eleanor broadened her smile and continued with a casual air. “I'm quite eager for the opportunity to become better acquainted with the prince. I will have an entire fortnight to apply the advice in my book.”

  Damon felt his gut clench. A great deal could happen in a fortnight. Indeed, it was ample time for Eleanor to fall in love with a Lothario who would make her miserable.

  “So it is that serious, is it?” he asked. “Your aunt has given Lazzara's courtship her approval?”

  “Indeed. My aunt thinks very highly of him. And of his relative, Signor Vecchi, as well. The signor will be attending also.”

  Wishing he could make her see reason, Damon held her gaze as he shook his head. “I believe you would be making a grave mistake, Elle, wedding a man like Lazzara. You are full of mettle and zest for life. You don't want all that spirit stifled by a husband who cannot appreciate the very qualities that make you so unique and rare.”

  She parted her mouth to speak, then shut it again, before finally saying, “Why can you not merely let me handle my own affairs, Damon?”

  “Because I don't want to see you throwing your life away by marrying the wrong man.”

  Her eyes flashed. “You don't know that he is the wrong man!”

  “In my opinion, he is.”

  Eleanor drew a deep breath. “Loath as I am to disappoint you, Lord Wrexham, I don't care a whit about your opinion. I suggest that you see to your own future and leave me to mine.”

  Perceiving that the prince had nearly finished with his purchase, she turned and went to join him at the stall counter, leaving Damon where he stood.

  Her admonition to see to his own future was not bad advice, Damon reflected, watching her stiff back. He had returned home to England, knowing it was time to take stock of his life and determine what to do with the rest of it.

  The prospect gave him little pleasure, however. The years stretched out before him with barren monotony. A solitary path, purposely devoid of feeling, where he kept to himself and allowed no one else to touch his heart with joy or pain or any emotion in between.

  But that was precisely how he'd planned it, Damon reminded himself as the old emptiness echoed inside him.

  Yet the hollowness he'd felt since his twin's death was a stark contrast to what he was experiencing just now after his spirited contention with Eleanor. The sparks in her blue eyes alone had made him keenly aware of the difference.

  He hadn't felt this alive in two years.

  The regrettable truth was, he liked flustering Elle and ruffling her feathers, although he would much rather win her laughter. He relished making her laugh, the way she once had during their courtship.
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  A memory suddenly surfaced from the enchanting fortnight he'd spent with her at her aunt's house party. Of Elle laughing after having won an impulsive horse race between them. Of her breathless, passionate response when he'd bestowed a fervored kiss upon her as her reward.

  At the unwanted recollection, tenderness nagged at him-a dangerous sentiment, Damon knew very well. So was desire, he reflected, remembering that brief moment this morning when Eleanor had melted in his arms. He couldn't deny his powerful desire for her, or his feeling of triumph at her surrender.

  She had tried to pretend disinterest, but she had enjoyed his kisses, he was certain of it. Even now there was an undeniable fire between them-

  Which was also exceedingly dangerous.

  If he was wise, Damon sternly warned himself, he would quell every ounce of attraction he felt for her and concentrate solely on spoiling her budding romance with her hedonist prince.

  * * *

  It soon became clear to Damon that Eleanor was determined to avoid any further conversation with him during the remainder of their excursion. In contrast, she maintained a delightful exchange with Prince Lazzara, praising his gallantry when he declared his intention of escorting her to London's premiere confectioners, Gunter's Teashop in Berkeley Square, to enjoy their famous ices and sorbets.

  But when their party exited the bazaar to return to his highness's carriage, they soon discovered there was a problem with retrieving the vehicle. Further down the street, the barouche was mired in a snarl of traffic. Apparently a dray had spilled part of its cargo of turnips and was blocking most of the street, resulting in an altercation between drivers, merchants, and coachmen.

  Grimacing impatiently, Prince Lazzara begged Donna Eleanora's indulgence while he went to investigate.

  “Of course, your highness,” she said quickly, smiling with reassurance.

  Yet she was obviously not delighted at being required to wait on the sidewalk with Damon, even with the protection of her maid. Eleanor maintained a cool silence, while Damon surveyed the growing dispute, wondering if he would need to intervene to forestall a brawl.