To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  When Damon turned to face her fully, she stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek, then searched his features. “You look a little the worse for wear, but not as terrible as I feared.”

  Tess herself looked fresh and lovely in a pale green kerseymere morning dress, Damon noted, but there was a certain glint in her eye that belied her usual serenity-and that boded ill for him, he decided.

  Resigning himself to the interview, he dismissed Cornby, who bowed and retrieved the breakfast tray to carry it out.

  As the manservant passed her, Tess plucked an uneaten crumpet from the plate. Rather to Damon's surprise then, she perched on the bed Cornby had just made. It was not like Tess to be so oblivious to propriety, although at least the door had been left wide open for the sake of appearances.

  Damon kept the observation to himself, however, and turned back to the mirror to finish tying his cravat.

  “You have raised my curiosity, cousin,” Tess said, nibbling on the crumpet. “I expected you to be a grouch today, but you didn't order me from your bedchamber as I anticipated.”

  “I should have done so,” Damon returned dryly. “It is hardly proper for you to be in a gentleman's bedchamber, even if you are my blood relation.”

  “I know. But you have been purposely avoiding me, and this is my way of foiling your design. I have come to prod you, dear cousin. Granted, you deserve a time to mourn each year, Damon, but enough is enough.”

  Glancing over his shoulder again at Tess, Damon raised a quelling eyebrow. “Is this a lecture, love? I thought you of all people would understand.”

  “Oh, I do. Be grateful that I didn't pester you yesterday when you were wallowing in sadness.”

  Her statement took Damon aback. Tess understood better than most the shock and grief he'd felt at his brother's death, since she had experienced untimely death herself.

  “Wallowing?” he repeated.

  “Yes, wallowing. I know the sentiment quite well, Damon, since I have done the same for the past two years. But you consoled me when I lost my betrothed, and I want to return the favor… although now that you have Eleanor, perhaps you don't require my sympathetic ear?”

  Damon disregarded her leading question and said instead, “I am perfectly fine, Tess.”

  She gave a faint nod. “That is precisely what I always told myself, even if it was a patent falsehood.” Tess's expression grew solemn. “I understand what you are feeling, Damon. Death of a loved one affects you, even though you pretend it doesn't.”

  “I am not pretending anything.”

  “Perhaps not, but I suspect you are indulging in self-flagellation. No matter how illogical it is, you cannot help but blame yourself for living when Joshua died. If he cannot be alive and happy and well, then you don't deserve to be, either. Isn't that true?”

  He kept his lips pressed together, not answering, which only encouraged Tess to continue.

  “You wish with all your heart that you could have saved him, and you feel a terrible guilt that you failed.”

  Damon didn't argue her point. His most profound regret in his entire life was being unable to save his dying brother.

  His muteness, however, only seemed to frustrate Tess. “But Damon, would Joshua have wanted for you to stop living?” She answered her own question. “Of course not. I was only a child when he died, but from what I remember of him, Joshua loved a lark. He loved life. And he would have been distressed to know you have continued to grieve for him so acutely. He would want you to move on with your life, Damon. That is what I am determined to do. I have finally come to the realization that we need to live and love now, in the moment. To make the most of our time on earth.”

  “So you have become a sage philosopher in your old age?” he drawled.

  “Not entirely. But at least I have acknowledged the futility of mourning a tragedy I cannot change.”

  Rather than replying, Damon completed the last intricate fold of his linen cravat and picked up his riding coat that Cornby had laid out for him.

  Watching as he donned the coat, Tess swallowed the remaining morsel of crumpet before commenting again. “I am glad that you have someone to turn to. You did turn to Eleanor and explain your feelings to her, I hope?”

  Not willingly, Damon thought to himself. He hadn't wanted to share his feelings with Elle because they were still too raw. Yet admittedly, the pain he'd felt last night had diminished somehow. Her comfort had made something ease inside him.

  He owed Eleanor for that, he knew.

  He couldn't deny, either, that something had changed between them last night. He just wasn't certain what to do about it. Eleanor filled a need in him that he'd determinedly refused to recognize until now. A need that inwardly he was still fighting. He didn't want to need her.

  Tess frowned at his continued silence. “Your marriage was not a love match, I take it, judging from the haste of the ceremony and the distance you and Eleanor have maintained from each other these past few days.”

  Her prodding comment about love made him uneasy. “No, it was not a love match,” Damon responded in a bland tone. “Not that it is any of your concern, darling.”

  “Of course it is my concern,” she retorted sweetly. “You are my nearest family. You are the closest thing I have to a brother. I had the Loring sisters to help me through my worst days, but you have no one.”

  She paused. “I do know how you feel, Damon. The thought of intimacy, of making yourself vulnerable to pain again, frightens the devil out of you. So you build a protective shell around you. You shun all emotion. You hold your feelings close to yourself. But you pay a price for such isolation. For the past two years, I have felt only half alive while the world moved on around me.”

  So had he, Damon had to admit.

  “It is a dreadfully lonely way to exist,” Tess added wistfully. “True, you experience less sorrow, but you also never feel joy, never know love. And love is what makes us whole, Damon.”

  He mentally shrank from her observation, instinctively resisting her advice. Eschewing love and intimacy was indeed a lonely existence, yet if he needed a reminder of the danger in loving, Tess was it. He intended to spare himself the pain and grief she'd endured upon losing her betrothed.

  He and Eleanor were lovers now, but he didn't want any further closeness than that-did he? He certainly didn't want to lead her on and then hurt her when he failed to reciprocate her feelings, as he'd done during their betrothal.

  Tess seemed to sense that she had pressed him too intently, however, for her tone lightened and she changed to focus to herself.

  “I hope to love again someday. In the meantime, I plan to live my life more fully. I am done worrying about appearances, fretting over what is proper and what is not. I mean to let down my hair a little. You have been wicked all your life, Damon. Now it is my turn.”

  Damon's gaze narrowed on her as he buttoned his coat. “Should I be worried about you, Tess?”

  She flashed him a smile that accented her astonishing beauty. “No, you needn't worry. I don't mean to become too wicked, merely a dash. No matter the temptation, I cannot turn into a Jezebel since I have my charities to consider. But I have swathed myself in widow's weeds long enough, especially since I never actually was a widow.”

  Crossing to her, Damon took her hand. “If I promise to throw off my widow's weeds for now, will you leave me in peace?”

  Tess dimpled up at him. “Possibly. What did you have in mind?”

  “You will be glad to know I intend to take my wife riding this morning, just the two of us.”

  Tess's smile was beautiful to behold. “Excellent,” she exclaimed as she withdrew her hand and slid down from the bed. “Then you don't need any more prodding from me. I will leave it to Eleanor to try and dissolve that wall you have built around your heart.”

  With that, Tess exited his room, leaving Damon to grapple with the totally discomfiting thoughts both she and Eleanor had kindled in him.

  Eleanor was far from certai
n that Damon would accept her invitation to ride, but her hopes soared when a servant brought her word from Lord Wrex-ham, asking her to meet him in the stables at eleven o'clock.

  She eagerly went upstairs to change into a stylish, dark blue riding habit and matching shako hat, and was fairly pleased with the image reflected in her mirror.

  Their horses were waiting when she arrived at the stables, as was Damon. He looked supremely handsome, Eleanor thought, searching his face, although his enigmatic expression was no more revealing than it had been last night.

  Apparently he preferred to forget that experience altogether, for after a brief greeting, Damon was silent as he lifted her into her sidesaddle and then swung up on his own horse.

  Together they guided their mounts along the long sweeping drive flanked by chestnut trees and banks of rhododendrons, and then left the formal grounds of Rosemont behind to ride out into the countryside.

  Admittedly, Eleanor felt a little fatigued, since she had stayed awake long into the night watching Damon sleep, and yet her spirits were higher than at any time since before her aunt's house party began.

  It was a splendid day, fresh and clean after the rain, and golden with sunshine, with a sweet hint of autumn in the air. She could see for miles over the grassy hills and green valleys of the downs, which stretched off toward the horizon and the English Channel.

  After a time, Eleanor began searching her mind for something to say. She was keenly aware of Damon and wanted very much to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. But she decided she would be wise to stick to mundane topics.

  “So, was Marcus's tonic effective in soothing your aching head?” she asked. “I have never had need to use it myself, fortunately.”

  The wry curve of his mouth raised her spirits even further. “Yes, it was effective. I am in your debt.”

  “I am glad. I am also glad that you wanted to ride with me. It has been frustrating, being cooped up in the house for so many days.”

  “Yes,” Damon agreed. “I thought it best that we spend some time together. Our distance is beginning to be noticed by the guests.”

  Eleanor winced inwardly at his casual comment, a little hurt that the only reason Damon gave for accepting her invitation was for appearances’ sake.

  She couldn't say the same about him. She relished being with him, relished the pleasure of simply sharing his company. She always had.

  Indeed, this moment brought back memories of two years ago when their courtship was brand new- the excitement, the anticipation, the feverish delight of having his attention all to herself, the thrill of his kisses… They had spent a good deal of time riding over these same lands together.

  It had been a special time in her life, Eleanor remembered, and she would give a great deal to recapture that magic-which was in part why she had proposed this outing with Damon.

  He did not seem particularly willing to cooperate, but she set her jaw, determined to persevere and prod him out of his dour mood.

  “Did I mention that I was reading a Gothic novel penned by a friend?” Eleanor remarked. “She will be pleased to know that I enjoyed it immensely. I promised that I would give her a critique of the story and characters, so I must write her a letter this afternoon. That is how I have been spending my early morning hours, immersed in a good book… if you care to know, that is.”

  Damon sent her an intent glance. “Shall we ride, Elle? It isn't like you to prefer idle chatter to a good gallop.”

  Eleanor regarded him somberly, wondering if Damon was attempting to push her away once more, or if he was still dwelling on his dark memories, or merely recovering from his overindulgence of spirits. Probably all three, she suspected.

  She decided to not to press him at the moment, and instead, opted for a response that at least might help shake him out of his dark thoughts and clear his throbbing head.

  “Very well, Lord Wrexham, you want to ride? Then let us ride!”

  Without waiting for him to reply, Eleanor spurred her horse into a canter, leaving him to follow if he chose.

  Damon took up her challenge, as she'd hoped he would. In barely a heartbeat, she heard him riding after her in hot pursuit.

  The competition she initiated was invigorating. He gained on her rather easily, and when he caught up to her and started to pass, she urged her horse into a gallop. Soon they were racing neck-or-nothing over hill and dale.

  When Damon threatened to inch ahead, Eleanor bent lower over her sidesaddle and urged her mount even faster, her pulse hammering in rhythm with the thud of hoofbeats.

  By the time they pulled up, her heart was pounding with exhilaration and she was two lengths ahead, although she suspected Damon might have let her win.

  “That was splendid!” she exclaimed, laughing with pure joy as she turned her horse back toward him.

  Damon, didn't reply. Instead, he sat unmoving, watching her intently, his gaze riveted on her face.

  At his continued silence, Eleanor's laughter faded while her pique reached its limit. “It is an incredibly beautiful day, Damon, but your dour mood is threatening to spoil any enjoyment of it.”

  To her surprise, he acknowledged her complaint with a slow nod. “You are right, of course. I apologize.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “I can understand if you are in no mood for conversation, considering how much you imbibed last night, but you might make an effort to be pleasant.”

  His slow smile was completely disarming. “I agree, Elle. And I sincerely beg your pardon. But actually, my mood has little to do with the aftereffects of inebriation. You are much more to blame.”

  Her chin rose. “Pray, how am I to blame?”

  “I was struggling to keep my mind off my other condition.”

  “What other condition?” Eleanor demanded, close to losing patience with him.

  “The physical pain you are causing me.”

  That took her aback. Had she hurt Damon somehow? Her gaze swept over him worriedly, yet he didn't look to be in pain. Instead, he sat his horse easily, while a lazy glint of humor entered his eyes that was almost sensual.

  “I did not mean to cause you pain,” Eleanor said tentatively.

  “You can't help it, sweetheart. You have aroused me unbearably. Now that I've had a taste of you, it only makes me want you more.”

  Eleanor blinked at the change in his demeanor. This was more like the charming rogue she knew.

  When she remained mute, Damon cocked his head, surveying her. “During our rides two years ago, I used to fantasize about pulling you down to the ground and tearing off your clothes and ravishing you, did you know that, love? Honor prevented me from indulging my fantasy then, but now that we are wed, there is nothing stopping us.”

  Eleanor's heart skipped a beat. Damon's suggestion that he ravish her here and now was outrageously wicked, even if it held great appeal. No doubt he was trying to distract her from any deeper conversation, but at least his dark mood seemed to have dissipated.

  “We are supposed to be repairing my reputation after our hasty marriage, must I remind you?” Elea nor said. “Frolicking naked in a meadow could lead to even more scandal.”

  “You weren't concerned about scandal the first time we made love out-of-doors.”

  “But we were sheltered by a balloon. You don't really expect us to take off our clothing out here in the open?” She waved her hand, gesturing at the sunlit meadow that surrounded them.

  “There is no one here but the sheep, and they won't object.”

  He was truly serious, Eleanor realized, feeling a thrilling little shock course through her. Yet it shouldn't surprise her that Damon seemed unconcerned by the prospect of a fresh scandal. He was a wicked devil who broke all the rules and relished doing so.

  “So now you are on intimate terms with sheep?” she parried.

  His smile was swift and brilliant. “No. But I would very much like to be on intimate terms with you.”

  The tender amusement glimmering in Damon's eye
s warmed Eleanor down to her soul, yet from Fanny's counsel, she knew better than to surrender too easily.

  “Someone could come,” she contended, keeping her tone light.

  “We will be able to see anyone from a long way away.”

  “The grass is still wet from the storm.”

  “Trust me, I can handle the challenge.”

  “How?”

  “By taking you standing up.”

  She sent Damon a deliberately teasing glance. “That sounds rather uncomfortable.”

  “I promise it won't be uncomfortable in the least, darling.”

  When she offered no more arguments, he swung down from his horse and came around to assist her. Eleanor was transfixed by the look in his eyes when he reached up to grasp her by the waist and lift her from her saddle.

  Letting her slide down his body, Damon bent close. His voice was an amused rumble against her ear as he murmured, “If you insist on being missish, we can make use of that copse of beeches at the top of the hill to provide a measure of concealment. I will even let you keep your clothing on.”

  Clearly he was back to his usual provocative self- the same irresistible suitor who had swept her off her feet in the early days of their courtship. The transformation was very welcome, especially compared to the dark, brooding, anguished man he had been last evening. Eleanor was hard-pressed to deny him.

  When she hesitated, he nipped at her earlobe. “You wanted to succor me last night. I still need succoring, sweet Eleanor.”

  Strangely, beneath the seductiveness of his voice there was a serious undertone that suggested complete honesty. And when she drew back to search his face, his expression held a hint of that same vulnerability she had glimpsed last night.

  Her heart melting, Eleanor smiled up at him. “How can I possibly refuse such an enticing offer?”

  A spark kindled in his eyes at her reply. Leaving their horses to graze, Damon took her hand and led her up the slope of the grassy hillock, stopping just short of the copse.