To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  They made a picturesque sight, Damon thought, with the fresh sea-breeze catching their skirts and rifling the ribbons of their bonnets. It was a pleasure to watch the three beauties enjoying themselves so avidly, and to hear their musical laughter as they danced out of reach of the surging waves to avoid getting their half-boots wet.

  Prince Lazzara was apparently of the same opinion, for he gave an appreciative sigh when he caught up with Damon.

  Yet the prince's expression soon turned quizzical. “I am holding to my promise to keep away from your ladywife, milord, but you have no such reason to avoid her. Or is Lady Wrexham the one who is avoiding you?”

  The question, although voiced with humor, was mildly taunting, and Damon had to bite back a retort. “My wife is relishing the company of her friends, your highness, and I mean to allow her the freedom to continue.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Lazzara said. A moment later, he added slyly, “In truth, I confess myself astonished. With your reputed skills as a lover, I expected you to know the first commandment of amore.”

  “And what is that, your highness?”

  “Females wish to be wooed. You will never win her favor if you hold back in this detached way.”

  “So you are suggesting that I woo my wife.”

  “But yes. It seems a seduction is very much in order.”

  Damon was only faintly amused at the irony of Lazzara giving him advice on seduction. Yet the man was right; he needed to take action if he hoped to end his enforced celibacy any time in the near future. And he very much wished to end it.

  Celibacy, Damon thought with a wry grin, was a painful condition indeed when one had an exquisitely beautiful wife sleeping alone in the adjacent bedchamber every night.

  His opportunity to change his circumstances came some half hour later. Damon had kept an eye on the storm clouds accumulating overhead, but the rain came up suddenly, bursting from the skies in shockingly cold gusts.

  By the time the revellers had hurriedly ascended to the top of the chalk cliff and piled into the waiting carriages, they were all hopelessly drenched, their clothes plastered to their bodies.

  Damon remained outside until all the passengers were accounted for. When he settled beside Eleanor, she murmured a breathless “thank you,” then leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

  “You are soaked to the skin,” she added, her voice quivering with suppressed laughter, “just like the time I pushed you in the fountain.”

  “If I remember correctly,” Damon whispered back, “that incident was far more pleasurable because of what preceded it.”

  At his reference to their first kiss, Elle smiled again at him, the kind of smile that could stop a man's heartbeat.

  When she promptly shivered, Damon badly wanted to pull her against him and warm her with his body heat, but her aunt was watching them with an eagle eye, so he settled for accepting a woolen blanket from the coachman and draping it around Eleanor's shoulders.

  The drive home took longer in the downpour. And even though an army of Rosemont footmen hurried out with umbrellas in a futile effort to provide shelter for the guests, they were chilled to the bone.

  Eleanor hastened upstairs to change out of her wet attire. Damon followed her more slowly, but it was only when he entered his bedchamber that he struck upon an idea to alter the sleeping arrangements that Elle had insisted upon.

  Cornby, bless his heart, had lit a fire in the hearth, and the room was pleasantly warm.

  His valet was also dutifully awaiting him, but once Cornby had helped him to remove his wet coat, Damon dismissed him, saying, “I can manage from here. I would rather you perform a small commission for me instead.”

  Damon strode to the small writing desk in one corner of the room and scribbled a note, folding it once.

  “Here,” he said, handing the missive to Cornby, “pray take this to Lady Wrexham and then make yourself scarce.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  The valet's expression never changed, but somehow he looked pleased, as if he approved of his master's plan to woo his new ladywife.

  When plotting a gentleman's seduction, make judicious use of all the feminine weapons in your arsenal… a soft word, a careless touch, a kiss… -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

  With the help of her abigail, Eleanor had removed her soaked gown and damp corset by the time a polite knock sounded on her bedchamber door. While Jenny went to answer, Eleanor peeled off her clammy garters and stockings and muttered an invective at herself, lamenting her foolishness in taking a seaside jaunt with a storm brewing. She might as well have dunked herself in the Channel; her bare feet were ice-cold, her skin covered in gooseflesh.

  She had just reached for a towel to dry her hair when Jenny murmured over her shoulder, “His lordship's valet has a missive for you, milady.”

  Eleanor hesitated, shivering, then drew on a dressing gown over her shift and went to the door.

  “My lady,” the valet said with a courteous bow as he held out a folded note. “Lord Wrexham asked me to deliver this to you personally.”

  She felt her heart rate suddenly quicken at the mention of her husband. “You are Cornby, are you not?” she asked, accepting the note.

  “I am, my lady, although I confess surprise that you remember.”

  Eleanor recalled the elderly servant from two years ago. Cornby had seemed devoted to Damon then- and apparently he was just as devoted now, judging from his watchful regard as she opened the note and read.

  The message in Damon's bold scrawl was an invitation to her to share his fire.

  Eleanor couldn't help but smile to herself. It was imaginative of him to hit on this way to secure her company. And she wouldn't dream of refusing.

  She was freezing, since Jenny hadn't known she would return from her outing sopping wet, and a cheery fire sounded wonderful. Moreover, this would be the perfect opportunity to advance her scheme to increase Damon's ardor. The past several days of teasing had likely been enough to whet his appetite for her. Fanny had warned her not to draw out her elu-siveness to the point where Damon became so frustrated that he lost interest entirely. It was time, Eleanor realized, to move to the next stage.

  She had to take care, of course. She couldn't let her seduction go too far-no more than a kiss or two- or she would be in danger of succumbing to her own desire for Damon. No, she intended to hold her own against him this time, she promised, and faithfully execute her plan to win his heart.

  “Please tell his lordship I will join him in a moment,” she told the valet.

  Cornby's intent expression seemed to relax. “Very well, my lady. As you wish.”

  When he had retreated down the corridor, Eleanor shut the door and went directly to her cheval glass and played with the folds and ribbons of her dressing gown so that she looked artfully disheveled.

  “Do you require any further service, milady?” Jenny asked.

  “Will you bring me my blue slippers, please? And then take my wet gown downstairs to the kitchens and have it pressed. Then you may have the next hour to yourself, Jenny. I expect I won't be needing you until teatime.”

  Curtsying, the maid flashed a delighted smile, not only as if happy for a respite from her duties, but as if she, too, was pleased her mistress would spend some time with her new lord. “Thank you, milady. I will not return until you ring for me.”

  When Eleanor had donned her slippers, she unlocked the connecting door to Damon's bedchamber. The room was dim, she noticed at once, since he had drawn the draperies to shut out the stormy day. A lamp had been turned down low so that it barely glowed, but a fire burned brightly in the grate, throwing out a generous heat.

  The effect was warm and welcoming, especially with the steady patter of rain drumming against the windowpanes.

  Then Eleanor caught sight of Damon, and her heart skipped a beat. He was standing near the high, four-poster bed, looking supremely handsome in a dressing gown of burgundy brocade. His feet were bare against the Aubusson ca
rpet, and so were his lower legs below the hem of his robe-as if he might be naked underneath.

  Awareness tightened her skin and made her shiver as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

  “You look chilled,” her husband said, surveying her. “Why don't you warm yourself before the fire?”

  “Thank you, I will,” Eleanor replied, crossing to the hearth.

  There were two wing chairs set invitingly before the fire, but she ignored them and instead gladly held out her frozen hands to the flames while Damon moved to a side table and poured a glass of wine from a decanter.

  “I suppose Cornby started your fire some time ago?” she commented.

  “Yes. He looks after me very well.”

  “It was considerate of you to invite me here.”

  Damon turned toward her. “I am glad for the opportunity to see you without a score of houseguests competing for your attention. It is sad,” he added lightly, “that I must resort to clandestine trysts to be alone with my new bride.”

  Joining her before the hearth, he handed her the wineglass. Eleanor brought it to her lips, looking up at him provocatively as she was supposed to do- which perhaps was a mistake. Damon's dark gaze swept over her in return, almost a physical caress.

  And then he turned his scrutiny into an actual caress by raising his hand and combing his fingers through her damp hair, which had become a riot of ebony curls.

  “I liked your hair long, but this style becomes you. Of course, you are beautiful, no matter how you wear your hair.”

  Eleanor had tensed at his gesture, bracing herself against his arousing touch. But she forced herself to relax and return a smile. “My, aren't you complimentary today?”

  “I am only stating the truth.”

  Even so, she was prepared to keep her guard up. She knew firsthand that Damon could be the very essence of devilish seduction, often to her detriment. And from the looks of it, he was bent on seducing her into his bed just now, to end any thoughts she had of having a marriage in name only. She intended to prolong the inevitable moment, however, until the right time. And she was determined to maintain control of this encounter.

  Eleanor made no demur when Damon took her free hand between his larger, warm ones and gently chaffed her icy fingers. But then he turned her hand over and lifted it to his lips in a gesture that was warm, enticing, seductive. His breath fanned her palm before he pressed a light kiss on the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist.

  Her own breath turned uneven as her nerves tingled under the surface of her skin. Quickly withdrawing her hand, Eleanor stepped back, away from his evocative touch. Casually, she sat in one of the chairs, eager to maintain a minimum distance from Damon.

  To her relief, he settled in the wing chair adjacent to hers. Yet his gaze remained fixed on her. And when she took a drink of wine, she realized he was watching her mouth.

  “Wine tastes better sipped from a lover's lips, did you know?”

  At his suggestive intimation, Eleanor swallowed hard, wondering if by coming here to Damon's bedchamber, she might have taken on more than she could handle. “No, I didn't know.”

  “Seeing that wine on your lips makes me want to kiss you.”

  She manufactured a light laugh. “I am afraid you are destined for disappointment, my lord. There won't be any kissing between us just now. I don't want you touching me, either.”

  “That pains me greatly, sweeting, for I sure as the devil want to touch you. You look wildly desirable, lounging there in your dressing gown.”

  So do you, Eleanor thought, casting him a sideways glance. The firelight played in his midnight eyes, revealing a tender, teasing glint that caused havoc with her determination to keep the upper hand with Damon.

  The boldness of his regard, too, was stirring wanton sensations in her body. Her nipples had tightened against the chill and were so keenly sensitive, she felt the mere brush of his gaze on her breasts.

  Eleanor mentally shook herself. Damon could tempt a woman to sin with just a look-and admittedly she was incredibly tempted. But sinning with him would defeat her purpose entirely.

  “Pray, will you stop looking at me that way?” she finally requested.

  One eyebrow lifted innocently. “How am I looking at you?”

  “As if you mean to undress me with your eyes.”

  “I would much rather undress you with my hands.”

  His claim was delivered in a soft, throaty drawl that stroked Eleanor's nerve-endings.

  She kept her own tone light and amused, however, when she chastised him. “Damon, behave yourself, or I will return to my own rooms.”

  He gave a heavy sigh. “That's a fine way to depress a man's carnal fantasies.”

  Recalling the role she was supposed to be playing, Eleanor sent him a slow, flirtatious smile. “You are allowed to have fantasies, just not act on them.”

  “Very well, I shall endeavor to keep myself under control, although it will be difficult.”

  Clasping his hands over his abdomen, Damon leaned back in his chair and stretched his long, bare legs out in front of him, which had the result of parting the folds of his dressing gown to reveal a length of powerful thighs. Eleanor was very certain now that he was naked except for his robe.

  She inhaled a ragged breath and drank more wine.

  But Damon had seen the focus of her gaze and smiled. “Surely you can't fault me for taking off my wet clothing.”

  “You could have donned some dry breeches.”

  “Whatever for? You are my wife now. It's permitted for us to see each other unclothed.” He paused. “Regrettably, I have yet to see you fully undressed. But I have thought about nothing else since you walked into the room. What are you wearing beneath your robe, Elle? Are you naked?”

  A heated tremor eddied deep inside her. Eleanor took another sip of wine for fortitude before replying indirectly, “I know what you are doing, Damon.”

  “Just what am I doing, love?”

  “You are trying to draw me under your spell.”

  “And you are doing your best to tease me, just as you have during our entire time here. I wonder why?

  If I were to guess, I would say you have been employing your advice manual on me.”

  It seemed foolish to deny the charge, so Eleanor responded with a careless shrug. “Actually I am.”

  “Why? You no longer need help in capturing a husband. You have already captured me.”

  She gave him a considering look, debating how honest she should be. “But I have not really captured you, Damon. Our marriage lines are little more than a legal contract.”

  He seemed to give that some thought. “Then what is your objective? To drive me mad with frustrated desire so that I will be eager to do your bidding?”

  “In part.”

  The corner of Damon's mouth twisted. “Perhaps I should read that manual of yours to better understand your methods of seduction.”

  Eleanor flashed him a genuine smile. “You most certainly don't need an instruction manual to learn about seduction. You are a renowned expert on the subject.”

  “I will take that as a compliment, love. And I will point out that you don't need a fire to warm you when you have me. I could make you hotter than any fire.”

  His voice had become a husky murmur, which seriously began to worry Eleanor.

  “I expect you could,” she said with a shivery little laugh. “But if this is your attempt to lure me to your bed, I must warn you, you won't succeed.”

  His own smile turned lazy. “You would enjoy my bed, Elle, I promise you. Our lovemaking from now on will be far more pleasurable than your first time.”

  She had no doubt whatsoever that he could pleasure her. The crackling fire, the potent wine, the sensual sound of rain, had all combined to chase away her chill, but it was Damon himself who had the most profound impact on her. His eyes looked seductive and drowsy in the firelight, which sent a warm ache surging through her body.

  With effort
, Eleanor tore her gaze away from him and stared into the flickering flames. Damon had awakened her sexuality, had led her to experience her first feelings of power as a woman, and he was rousing those same intense, lustful feelings now. But that was the trouble. Their lust was purely physical. She wanted more from him. Much, much more.

  He leaned closer, drawing her attention back to him. “Trust me, Elle. All I care about right now is giving you pleasure.”

  Eleanor felt her mouth go dry. She was the one who was supposed to do the seducing, but Damon was taking over her role completely. His smile tantalized, while his voice dropped another octave.

  “You have the most glorious eyes. That vivid shade of blue is entrancing.”

  His own eyes were dark and wicked, she thought distractedly.

  “You have the most luscious body. I would very much like to feel it against me.”

  “Damon… that won't happen.”

  “No matter,” he said easily. “I can imagine how it would be. I can picture making love to you in every exquisite detail. Would you like to know what I would do, sweetheart? How I would pleasure you?”

  Eleanor couldn't reply; she was bereft of words just now.

  Damon evidently took her silence for agreement, for lazy passion glowed in his eyes as he continued.

  “If I were to make love to you, it would be in a soft bed, unlike our hasty coupling in a balloon gondola. That was remarkable, certainly, but not the ideal setting. First, I would undress you slowly and kiss every inch of your lovely body, starting with your breasts. I would begin by caressing them, coddling them. Then I would lift them to my mouth and suckle your nipples.”

  Her toes curled in her slippers at the very thought. She could almost feel the lush pressure of his mouth on her already hard nipples.

  “I would make your breasts ache, Elle. They would feel heavy and hot in my hands… And I can envision your response… the soft sounds you make when I suck them.”

  So could she. Yet it was a mistake to listen to him, Eleanor warned herself. She knew how persuasive, how sensual Damon could be. But she didn't stop him as his voice went on describing how it would be for them.