To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  “I will be happy to do it,” Haviland volunteered.

  Damon considered the earl's offer briefly before declining. “Thank you, but I don't want you to risk discovery either. I won't ask you to become involved in skulduggery.”

  Haviland's mouth curved in a half smile. “Actually I am no stranger to skulduggery. And I'm eager for a diversion from drawing room intrigues.”

  Damon felt a twinge of sympathetic amusement. After years of directing spy networks and plotting international political intrigues for British intelligence, Haviland must be champing at the bit, being trapped at a house party for so long merely to oblige his elderly grandmother.

  “I am reluctant to disappoint you, Haviland, but I would prefer to conduct any search myself. If I am discovered, Lady Beldon will have a harder time booting me off the premises since I am married to her niece.”

  Just then Damon remembered where he'd been headed when he was interrupted. “Unfortunately, the investigation will have to wait. I have another matter I must attend to first. I should be gone for less than an hour, however. I can search Vecchi's rooms once I return… during luncheon perhaps.”

  “That should suffice,” Haviland conceded. “I will see that Vecchi is occupied while you inspect his possessions.”

  “And I,” Linch chimed in, “will make certain Gia-como keeps away also.”

  With their plans settled, Damon parted ways with his new partners in crime and ordered his horse saddled so he could meet his former mistress. But he was impatient to return and solve the mystery of Prince Lazzara's assailants, and even more important, to resume courting his wife.

  To Damon's surprise, he encountered the prince the moment he walked into the Boar's Head Inn. Lazzara was exiting the taproom with one arm draped around a pretty blond barmaid, his wandering hand groping her ample breast as he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.

  Upon seeing Damon, the prince halted and stood swaying on his feet while blinking owlishly. Lazzara, it seemed, was more than a trifle jugbitten. Apparently he had grown tired of the august company at Rosemont and come raking at the local tavern.

  The other Bow Street Runner entrusted with guarding Lazzara was not far behind, Damon noted. The Runner rolled his eyes at the ceiling as if asking forgiveness for letting his charge become so sotted, although there was probably nothing he could have done to stop it.

  Just then Damon's attention was diverted when a sweet, feminine voice hailed him. Lydia Newling had evidently been watching out for him, for she came hurrying down the inn's front staircase, a smile of relief on her beautiful features.

  “My lord, I was not certain you would come. I do so want to thank you-Oh… your highness… I never expected to find you here.”

  Lazzara and Lydia had evidently met before, Damon realized, seeing the royal's glance widen. And judging from the smirk Lazzara offered, he knew of Damon's own former relationship with the lovely auburn-haired Cyprian.

  “Are you not a sly one, m'lord?” the prince mumbled, slurring his words. “But my lips are sealed.”

  Loosing his grip on the barmaid's bosom, he sketched an unsteady bow and then sauntered out the front door, leaving his bodyguard to hastily follow.

  Damon bit back an oath, regretting the ill luck that had brought him here at the same time as the prince-although Lazzara was unlikely to bandy the news about and therefore broadcast his own visit here. Still, Damon quickly turned to his former mistress, wanting to conclude this interview as soon as possible so he could get back to Rosemont.

  “Lydia, what may I do for you? Your message sounded urgent.”

  “It is urgent, Damon. I need your help. Please, may we speak in private? Upstairs would be best,” she added with a glance toward the door of the noisy taproom. “I have bespoken a parlor.”

  Despite the imploring note in her voice, Damon hesitated to be alone with Lydia. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “It is common knowledge that you came here to Lady Beldon's house party-the news was all over the society pages, along with the announcement of your unexpected marriage to Lady Eleanor. But since Mr. Geary refused to write you and intrude on your nuptials, I felt I had to come and implore you myself. You see, time is running out for my sister.”

  Eleanor was highly disappointed when Damon sent word that he would be delayed. Reminding herself, however, that she would have him all to herself tonight, she joined the other house guests and contributed to the lively discussion of which play to choose for the amateur theatrical to be performed next week.

  When Prince Lazzara approached her and invited her to stroll in the gardens with him, she accepted with some pleasure but more out of a sense of obligation. She had not spent much time in his company since her hasty marriage, and she felt a bit guilty that she had led him on so purposefully for several weeks, encouraging his advances and angling for a proposal of marriage from him before wedding Damon in such an abrupt about-face.

  It was only when they were strolling along the gravel paths of the beautifully cultivated gardens that Eleanor began to wonder if the prince was in his cups, for his careful speech deteriorated to the point of being almost slurred at times.

  Then, when they were out of sight of the manor, Prince Lazzara startled her by taking her hand and pressing an ardent kiss on her knuckles.

  “Your highness!” Eleanor exclaimed rather breathlessly, jerking her hand back. “You forget yourself. I am a married woman now.”

  “I have forgotten nothing, mia signorina,” he replied in a low, passionate voice. “I have bided my time patiently, but now I see there is no reason to wait. I want you for my lover.”

  Eleanor pressed her lips together, biting back a sharp reprimand. The prince had evidently mistaken her continued friendliness for something deeper. “I will pretend I did not hear that, your highness.”

  His brow furrowed. “Why should you pretend? I am all that is serious.”

  “Because I find it offensive that you are proposing an affair.”

  Lazzara looked truly puzzled. “But why would you deem my supplication offensive? I should think you would be honored.”

  Making a valiant effort to hide her disgust, Eleanor forced a smile. “You are sadly mistaken, I fear. I am not honored in the least. You are suggesting that I commit adultery.”

  The prince shrugged. “But I understand it is the custom in England. Here, many noble marriages are ones of convenience where husband and wife are free to take lovers as long as the lady provides heirs and is discreet.”

  “Perhaps in some noble marriages that is true, but not in mine.” Turning, she resumed walking along the garden path, leaving the prince to follow.

  “Why? What is so different about your marriage?” he asked as if truly wanting to know.

  What was different about her marriage, Eleanor wondered, when Damon was insisting a union of convenience between them? Frowning, she avoided a direct answer. “I would never betray my husband that way. Certainly not a man I loved.”

  “Love?” Lazzara looked startled. “Is that what you feel for your husband?”

  “Yes, indeed.” She had never stopped loving Damon, even after ending their betrothal. When he had forced his way back into her life a few short weeks ago, meddling in her affairs and driving her half mad with his infuriating interference, she'd futilely fought her feelings for him. But in truth, she had never stood a chance against the fierce yearnings of her heart.

  Lazzara was regarding her with skepticism, evidently not convinced that she would turn down his unsavory proposition. “So is that your answer, Donna Eleanora?”

  “Yes, your highness. And I do not wish to discuss it further. Pray, may we speak of other things?”

  “As you wish,” the prince muttered. “But Wrex-ham clearly does not have the same scruples as you.”

  She cast him a sideways glance. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just this afternoon I was in Brighton and saw him with Miss Newling.”

  Miss N
ewling? Miss Lydia Newling?

  Eleanor abruptly halted, which required the prince to follow suit. “What did you say?” she demanded in a breathless voice.

  “I saw Lord Wrexham with his inamorata. Miss Newling was once his lover, was she not? Or am I not supposed to speak of such things either?”

  Eleanor stared at him, not wanting to believe. “You must be mistaken,” she rasped.

  “I assure you, I am not.” The prince smiled faintly. “I confess sometimes I do not understand the English. I cannot fathom why Wrexham would wish to seek his pleasure elsewhere when he has you in his bed.”

  But Damon had not had her in his bed until last night, Eleanor thought wildly. She had purposely kept her distance in order to taunt and tease him into wanting her more.

  A feeling of dread crawled over her. Dear heaven, could it be true? Had Damon returned to his former mistress to fill his carnal needs, all the while swearing fidelity to her? Surely it wasn't possible…

  “If you do not believe me, Donna, you should see for yourself. The Boar's Head in Brighton is where you will find him. Wrexham is there even as we speak. I left him there only a short time ago.”

  She knew the place. The Boar's Head was a busy posting inn on the main road leading north to London.

  Her hand crept to her heart in response to the sharp pain she felt there. Was Damon betraying her before their marriage lines were barely dry? Dear God.

  Her knees suddenly felt like pudding. Her head spun dizzily, as if she might faint.

  “Are you ill, Donna Eleanora?” the prince asked. “You look pale.”

  No doubt she was whitefaced with hurt and shock. She shook her head mutely; her throat had become too tight and arid to speak. She had to get away from the prince before she broke down completely.

  With great effort, Eleanor managed to dredge up a denial. “No, I am not ill, your highness. But I believe I will return to the house, if you will excuse me.”

  Turning, she hurried back down the path until she was almost running. History was repeating itself. Damon had betrayed her again with the same beautiful courtesan who had been his mistress for years.

  Eleanor's hand fisted at her breastbone in an effort to stem the terrible ache inside her.

  Did he love Lydia Newling? Was that why he kept returning to her? The thought was sharp, painful, overwhelming.

  Eleanor let herself in by way of a side door and then halted blindly, not knowing where she was headed or even where she was. Suddenly paralyzed, she bent over at the waist as she tried to draw breath into her lungs. She felt as if she were suffocating.

  To think that Damon had been deceiving her this past week, perhaps the entire time since his return to England.

  How could he? After all his tenderness and passion this morning, she had begun to think they might have a true marriage after all. What a witless fool she was!

  The cold desolation that squeezed around her heart threatened to strangle her, yet she felt a kernel of fury forming inside her as well. How dare he? Damon had made her love him and then callously proved himself unfaithful at the first opportunity, heedless of her feelings.

  Well, she wouldn't stand for it! But what choice did she have? Eleanor wondered in desperation. She couldn't end her marriage the way she had terminated her engagement two years ago; it was far too late for that. But she never wanted to see Damon again, to speak to him.

  Her only course was to banish him from her life. He had wanted a marriage of convenience, so she would give him one! She would live independently of him when they returned to London after the house party concluded.

  Meanwhile, Eleanor vowed, she wouldn't let on that she knew about his mistress. She had her pride after all.

  No, she thought with a surge of panic, that would never work. She couldn't face Damon. Not now, with this awful despair clawing at her heart. She had to return to London at once…

  Straightening, Eleanor forced herself to move down the corridor and then mount the rear service stairs. She had nearly reached her bedchamber when, to her dismay, her aunt appeared at the far end of the hall.

  Spinning abruptly, Eleanor hurried the opposite way, knowing she was in no condition to encounter her relative.

  At first she pretended not to hear when Beatrix called after her. But when the viscountess spoke her name more forcefully, she turned slowly and retraced her footsteps.

  “I confess disappointment,” Beatrix stated as Eleanor approached, “to find you here instead of entertaining our guests.”

  “I am sorry, Aunt,” Eleanor murmured, “but I beg you to make my excuses. I mean to return to London tonight, and I must pack.”

  “Good heavens, what is wrong?” Beatrix demanded, examining Eleanor's face more closely.

  “Nothing is wrong.” Her voice was calm, even though her heart was breaking. “It is just that I cannot stay here a moment longer.”

  “Whyever not? Come now, Eleanor, I insist that you tell me what is amiss.”

  She hesitated a long moment before confessing in a low voice. “It is Damon. Prince Lazzara saw him this afternoon at a public inn. He was with the same woman who was his mistress two years ago.”

  Beatrix stared at her for a long moment, a progression of different emotions crossing her elegant features: anger, distaste, sympathy, and finally dismissal.

  “Well, it is not the end of the world,” she said brusquely. “Gentlemen frequently keep mistresses. What is important is that your union is sealed. You will always be Lady Wrexham. If you ask me, you must swallow your pride, my dear, and ignore his peccadilloes.”

  Eleanor could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “You think I should ignore the fact that Damon is keeping a mistress?”

  “Yes, indeed. Most genteel wives do. I myself did before I was widowed. It is unfortunate that Wrexham chooses to consort with females of that type, but in my experience, it is wisest to turn a blind eye to your husband's failings.”

  She didn't want to turn a blind eye to her husband's failings! Eleanor thought scornfully. But there was clearly no point in arguing. Her aunt had clearly been won over by Damon with the mere act of marriage.

  When she remained silent, Beatrix reached out and patted her shoulder. “Trust me, Eleanor, you should not let this overset you. Wives have been dealing with this troublesome matter since time began. Now, why don't you go to your room and lie down for a bit? You will feel better after you think on it a while. Have Jenny put a damp cloth on your brow.”

  A thousand damp cloths would not help, Eleanor knew very well, but she did as her aunt bid and made her way to her room. Once there, however, she rang for Jenny to help her pack, not to comfort her.

  Then suddenly losing all her defiance, Eleanor climbed onto her bed where she lay on her side, staring at nothing.

  The bright glare shining through the windows, however, reminded her how hopeful she had been this morning. She did not feel hopeful now. One moment she felt hollow, numb. The next, agony tightened her chest, and so did fury.

  She hurt so much she wanted to die. She wanted to murder. She wanted to scream, to cry, to stamp her feet hysterically. She wanted to curl up into a little ball of pain and have the world go away.

  Worst of all, a significant part of her wanted to go to Damon and plead with him to reconsider.

  Furiously Eleanor dashed a hand over her burning eyes. She would not cry over that wicked Lothario! She had known Damon was a heartless rake, and he had proved it once again. She would simply have to come to terms with that painful truth and establish a new life for herself, separate and apart from him.

  And yet she didn't want to leave him, didn't want to live without him. Without Damon, her life would be empty. He brightened her day. He filled her with wild excitement. He thrilled her with passion. He banished the loneliness.

  With him, she felt more complete.

  Eleanor swallowed hard as defiance struck her anew. Hadn't she vowed to make Damon give up his rakish ways? Then why was she lying here in thi
s pathetic fashion?

  She didn't want to accept that Damon wanted another woman more than her. She would not accept it.

  She loved him enough to fight for him.

  Gritting her teeth, Eleanor sat up abruptly. She intended to do whatever it took to pry him away from that hussy's clutches.

  Angry tears scalded the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall as she leapt off the bed and marched from the room. Instead of packing to return to London, she would order the Beldon carriage made ready.

  She intended to go straight to the Boar's Head Inn and confront Damon face-to-face!

  Fortitude and mettle are required if you hope to influence Fate to your benefit. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

  When Damon arrived back at Rosemont, Horace Linch was still in the stableyard, keeping watch on Vecchi's lackey, Paolo Giacomo. And luncheon, Damon learned from the majordomo, was already underway in the smaller dining room.

  Stifling his impatience to join Eleanor there, Damon instead took the opportunity to search Vecchi's quarters while the diplomat was thus occupied.

  It proved an easy matter to discover from an upstairs maid which rooms had been allotted to the Italian guests. And it was not much harder to find the evidence needed to implicate the signor.

  Inside a bureau drawer Damon discovered a powdered tin of ipecac. Even more damning was a silk pouch containing two small arrows and a tiny vial of amber liquid-clearly the same curare arrows that had incapacitated Prince Lazzara and caused him to fall headfirst into the Thames and nearly drown.

  Carrying the items with him, Damon made his way downstairs to the dining room. Upon entering, he spied Haviland and gave a brief nod, conveying with a glance that his mission had been successful.

  Eleanor was not there, Damon noted with a stab of disquiet, but he forced himself to concentrate on the task of exposing Vecchi for his villainy.

  Approaching the diplomat at the dining table, Damon bent down to murmur in his ear. “I require a moment of your time, sir.”

  When Vecchi glanced up, Damon held out the tin and the pouch of arrows.