To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  She was touched that he could be so caring, though. She had actually liked Lydia and found herself glad that Damon had agreed to help her sister.

  Eleanor was also heartened a small measure. The empty, hopeless feeling inside her had diminished. And yet she couldn't be easy. Simply because Damon hadn't broken his vow of fidelity didn't mean he could let himself love her.

  When the conversation had turned to his late brother, the courtesan had confessed that in past years she had consoled Damon during his yearly ritual mourning of his twin's loss.

  Eleanor was glad that he'd had someone to comfort him. Yet enough was enough. She had to make Damon see that his fears, while understandable, threatened his entire future, and her own as well.

  The moment she reached Rosemont, she would face him and lay all her cards on the table. She would tell Damon of her love and demand that he at least acknowledge his fears. If he could lance the festering wound inside him, perhaps he could finally begin to heal.

  Only then, Eleanor knew, could Damon give her what she wanted most in all the world: his heart.

  She had no immediate chance to be alone with her husband, however, for she arrived home to an unexpected uproar.

  Strangely, the stableyard was bustling with activity, Eleanor saw upon alighting from her carriage, with servants rushing to and fro, carrying trunks and baggage to various equipages. It seemed that the prince's entourage was preparing to depart.

  Puzzled, she entered the house and was immediately greeted by the Rosemont majordomo, who was overseeing the activity.

  “What is happening, Mollet?” Eleanor inquired as she handed over her bonnet and gloves to him.

  “I do not have all the particulars, my lady, but Lady Beldon has ordered that Signor Vecchi take his leave.”

  Her aunt had sent the diplomat packing? Eleanor wondered.

  “Her ladyship has been asking for you,” Mollet added, “if you will be so kind as to go to her.”

  “Where may I find her?”

  “In her rooms. She has taken to her bed with orders not to be disturbed by anyone but you.”

  Eleanor frowned in concern. “Is she ill?”

  “I am not certain, my lady.”

  Turning, Eleanor made her way down the corridor only to encounter Prince Lazzara, who was dressed for traveling.

  “You are leaving, your highness?” she asked in surprise.

  Halting before her, the prince bowed stiffly. “I must, Donna Eleanora. The shame to my family honor will not permit me to trespass on your aunt's hospitality a moment longer.”

  “I fear I don't understand,” she murmured.

  “My cousin was the perpetrator of the mishaps all along.”

  Eleanor's eyebrows snapped together. “Signor Vec-chi was behind your mishaps?”

  “Yes, to my immense regret and mortification.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Lord Wrexham discovered the evidence and presented it to my cousin, who was compelled to admit his treachery.”

  Lazzara briefly explained about Damon finding the pouch of arrows and the tin containing the powdered medication that had been used to drug him.

  “I beg you to accept my deepest apologies, Donna Eleanora, for having endangered you, although I know what my cousin did was unforgivable. I mean to return with him to my country at once, so I will importune you no longer.”

  As he gallantly kissed her fingers, the prince gave her a long, smoldering look. Then with another low bow, he continued on his way down the corridor, heading for the stableyard.

  Watching his retreating figure, Eleanor realized that she would not be sorry in the least to see the last of Prince Lazzara. His highness had taken shameful advantage of Damon's supposed transgression, pro posing an adulterous affair right under her husband's nose.

  How, Eleanor wondered, had she ever thought the prince could love her as she wanted to be loved? More bewilderingly, why had she ever wanted to fall in love with him in the first place? He was not a fraction of the man Damon was. There would never be any man for her but Damon, she knew that now-

  Her heart leapt just then when she spied the very object of her reflections. Damon was moving down the corridor toward her, his gaze trained intently on her.

  “I saw your arrival from an upstairs window,” he said when he reached her.

  When Eleanor made no reply, they regarded each other wordlessly, their eyes locked.

  Damon's expression was wary, worried even, Eleanor realized. Undoubtedly he was concerned that she had learned about his former mistress's presence in Brighton.

  She was worried as well, although for different reasons. The tight emotion in her chest was a tangle of love and nerves. Yet she was of two minds about how to react to Damon just now.

  On the one hand, she wanted to throw her arms around him and reassure him of her love. At the same time she wanted to let him stew in his own remorse for a little while.

  She settled for saying coolly, “My aunt may be ill, my lord. I must go to her now, but I should like a word with you afterward.”

  Searching her face, Damon looked as if he might argue. But in the end, he nodded briefly and stood back to allow her to pass.

  Her heart beating wildly, Eleanor retreated, aware that his keen gaze was following her all the while.

  When Eleanor knocked softly on her aunt's bedchamber door, she received no reply, so she entered quietly. The draperies had been drawn shut, but in the dim light she could see Beatrix lying curled on the bed, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth.

  Moving closer, Eleanor was shocked to realize that the viscountess's face was wet with tears.

  “Dearest Aunt,” she murmured in alarm, “what is the matter? Are you ill?”

  Beatrix gave a shuddering sob yet shook her head.

  Greatly concerned, Eleanor sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. “Please tell me, what is wrong?”

  “I am not ill,” she replied, her voice quavering. “It is just that I have been such a fool. To think I actually entertained the notion of marrying that villain.”

  Eleanor gazed down at her in sympathy, comprehending why she was so distressed. “You could not have known about Signor Vecchi's machinations, Aunt. He deceived us all.”

  “But I was eager to think the best of him.” Bea trix's lower lip trembled. “That is what rankles the most, knowing how blind I was to his true character. He was so distinguished, so courteous. He paid me such pretty compliments…”

  Her voice breaking then, she buried her face in her pillow and gave way to sobs.

  Eleanor felt her aunt's anguish, her vulnerability. The imperious Lady Beldon had always seemed indomitable, invincible, but now she seemed heartbroken.

  When Beatrix continued weeping, Eleanor rubbed her shoulder soothingly, trying to console her.

  It was quite some time, however, before her sobs quieted to mere sniffles.

  “Look at me, carrying on this way,” she finally muttered in a disgusted voice.

  “I understand perfectly how you feel,” Eleanor murmured. “Men can cause a great deal of pain.”

  “Indeed,” her ladyship agreed before wiping inelegantly at her nose. “But it is more than that. I was lured by Umberto's charming manner, in part because he was so different from my late husband. Beldon was such a stick-in-the-mud by comparison. I let myself be bowled over by that blackguard's charisma as much as his Italian flourishes.” She held her niece's gaze. “I felt lovely and alive, Eleanor. For the first time in memory, I felt as if I were a real woman and not merely a gentlewoman. But I am not the first person to be taken in by the promise of an exciting lover.”

  Eleanor's heart hurt at that bruised look in her aunt's eyes. “I feel wretched myself, dear Aunt. I was the one who encouraged you to entertain the notion of a romance with Signor Vecchi. I thought it would make you happy.”

  Beatrix sniffed. “I am far from happy-I am utterly miserable. But you certainly are not to blame.”

  Eleanor wa
s not so certain. “You would never have been thrown into his company so often had you not wanted to advance my matrimonial prospects with Prince Lazzara.”

  “True, but it is my duty as your aunt and guardian to see you well-married.” Curiously, Beatrix's aristocrat features softened as she gazed up at Eleanor. “I do not wish to make you feel indebted, dear girl. You mean much more to me than duty.”

  Her voice lowered even further. “I never wanted children of my own, Eleanor, and in truth, I was appalled when I was suddenly handed the responsibility of raising you. You always were such a lively, rambunctious child. But my scoldings and insistence on proper behavior never dampened your spirit, and in time I came to cherish that quality about you. I am grateful you came into my life, Eleanor. I know I have never told you how precious you are to me, how much joy you have given me these many years. And I may not show it often. But I love you dearly.”

  Her aunt's humble, heartfelt admission brought tears to Eleanor's eyes. In her own exacting way, Beatrix's love was deep and abiding. “I know, darling Aunt. And I love you dearly as well.”

  Beatrix dashed angrily at her damp eyes. “I suppose that was partly why I was so eager to bestow my affections on Umberto. I realized that when you married, I would be alone. I will miss you greatly, Elea nor, when you leave me to live with Wrexham.”

  “I will never leave you entirely, Aunt.” “Yes, but you belong with him. You were meant to be together, as much as it galls me to admit it.” Beatrix grimaced. “I abhorred what Wrexham did to you two years ago, causing a scandal and nearly ruining your reputation. But I cannot deny how he affects you-it is the same way Umberto affected me. You come even more alive in Wrexham's presence. There is a special glow about you that makes you even more beautiful. You love him, do you not?”

  “Yes, I do, Aunt,” Eleanor admitted. “Very much.” She nodded sagely. “I can see it in your eyes every time you look at him.”

  Eleanor dredged up a humorless smile. “Are my feelings for him so obvious?”

  “I fear so. It was evident from the very first.” Beatrix hesitated. “Honestly, my dear, that is a prime reason I insisted on your marriage to Wrexham this time. If you had truly despised him, I would never have insisted that you wed him. We would have weathered the scandal together, no matter how painful.”

  Eleanor's throat tightened at this proof of her aunt's love.

  “I realize,” Beatrix added slowly, “that I counseled you to ignore Wrexham's inamoratas, but I believe I was wrong. You should not settle for less than his full devotion.”

  She swallowed. “I don't intend to.” “You cannot permit him to break your heart.” “I won't,” Eleanor promised with more conviction than she felt.

  Beatrix searched her features intently. “I know there is serious trouble between you, my dear. You should go to Wrexham at once and attempt to make him see reason.”

  “I will, but I don't like to leave you like this, Aunt.”

  “Pah, I will be fine. You know I am not one to be defeated by a little setback.” As if to prove the point, Beatrix sat up and propped the pillows behind her back. “On the positive side, I now realize I may eventually find a husband who will suit me instead of eschewing marriage forever. You needn't worry about me, Eleanor. I will indulge in a few more moments of self-pity, berating myself for my foolishness. But then I must return to my houseguests. It is the height of rudeness to leave one's company to their own devices.”

  Eleanor smiled again faintly, knowing that her aunt would recover eventually since she was already fretting more about the value of proper deportment than the pain in her wounded heart.

  Eleanor was not as sanguine about her own future, however, as she gave her aunt's hand one final squeeze and slid down from the bed. But as she let herself out of the room, she felt as if she was girding herself for battle.

  Even her aunt could see that she and Damon were meant for each other, and she had every intention of making Damon see it also.

  In the end, men are not so very different from women. Both long to be appreciated, desired, loved. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

  Damon spent the next quarter hour with Lady Bel-don's houseguests, explaining the sudden unexpected departure of Prince Lazzara and Signor Vecchi by saying they were returning to their own country on a personal matter of importance.

  Having difficulty repressing his agitation, however, Damon was on the verge of going in search of Elea nor when his valet brought him a message from her.

  “Lady Wrexham commissioned me to find you, my lord,” Cornby murmured in a low voice. “She asks that you meet her at the fountain in the south gardens. She said you would know which one.”

  Indeed, Damon knew. It was the same fountain Eleanor had used to cool his overheated intentions during their first kiss.

  He couldn't decide if her choice was a positive sign or an ominous one, but unease gnawed at his gut as he made his way out to the south gardens.

  She was waiting for him at the fountain as promised, sitting on the low ledge, her face turned up to the sun, her eyes closed as she listened to the musical splash of water spouting from a stone statue of Poseidon. The bright afternoon rays bathed her perfect complexion in golden light and turned her raven curls to black fire.

  As usual, her uncommon beauty struck Damon hard in his chest, but he shoved aside his enchantment. The conflict between them was far too serious for him to be distracted by his physical attraction for her.

  “Do you mean to push me in the fountain again?” he asked as he settled beside her on the ledge.

  Opening her eyes, Eleanor cast him a sideways glance, yet her expression was unreadable. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you have to say for yourself.”

  “I haven't betrayed you, Elle,” Damon said quietly.

  Eleanor waved an impatient hand. “I beg to differ. You kept your assignation with your former mistress a secret from me. Imagine my delight when Prince Lazzara gleefully related the news of your tryst.”

  Damon grimaced at the stinging sarcasm in her tone. “I did not want to hurt you-or to have you jump to the wrong conclusion. I knew what you would think.”

  Her lips clamped together in an obvious struggle to bite back a retort, before she said tartly, “If you truly didn't wish to hurt me, then why did you meet with her at all?”

  “Chiefly because I hoped to prevent her from coming here and causing a scene. But also because at one time Lydia was a friend. When she implored me for help, I didn't feel I could turn my back on her.”

  Still gritting her teeth, Eleanor took a long time to respond. “It is highly admirable of you to stand by Lydia Newling, Damon,” she said at last. “And so is your generosity in aiding her ill sister. But she is not the main reason I am so furious with you.”

  Damon inhaled a slow breath. There was only one way Eleanor could have known about Lydia's ill sister. “You spoke to Lydia?”

  “Yes, I spoke to her!” Eleanor's eyes were sparking now as she glared at him. “It was no accident that I saw you with her in the park two years ago. You purposely flaunted your mistress to my face because you wanted me to call off our engagement.”

  Evidently Lydia had also told Eleanor about his motivations, Damon realized. Yet he couldn't regret it since he had intended to come clean anyway. “Yes, I purposely flaunted her in front of you,” he admitted.

  “Why, Damon?”

  “Because I was becoming too enamored of you, Elle, and I wanted to break free. As a gentleman, however, I could not be the one to end our betrothal.”

  “You were afraid to wed me, so you took the craven way out.”

  Damon winced at her accusation, knowing it was partly true. He had also wanted to keep Eleanor from falling any more deeply in love with him when he couldn't return her love. “You might put it that way.”

  “I would indeed put it that way!” Eleanor made a sound of disgust. “And that is precisely what you are doing now. You fear lovin
g me because you can't bear the thought of losing someone else you cherish. So you have closed your heart to me entirely.”

  Not allowing him to answer, Eleanor jumped to her feet and began pacing in front of him while she ranted. “It infuriates me that you are wasting your life this way, Damon! What happened to your brother and your parents was tragic, but you cannot let tragedy ruin your life forever!”

  “I realize that,” Damon acknowledged.

  But Eleanor did not seem to hear him. “You are not to blame for Joshua's death or for being unable to save him. You are not a deity, Damon. You cannot control who lives and who dies!”

  She was practically shouting, so his quiet “I know” was lost on her.

  “I won't let you shut me out of your life, either!” Eleanor exclaimed.

  “I don't intend to shut you out, Elle.”

  That at last seemed to get her attention. She whirled on him, still glowering, her hands on her hips.

  Damon cocked his head as he gazed up at her. “Now that you have gotten that off your chest, will you allow me to get in a word edgewise?”

  “No, I will not! I am not finished berating you yet.”

  Even though her fury was clearly not over, however, she returned to sit beside him, and her voice softened to something resembling a plea. “You have to talk about your brother sometime, Damon. You cannot continue to keep all your pain inside you. An unhealed wound will only fester.”

  He knew what she was asking. He needed to bare his soul to her. More crucially, he had to open his heart to her.

  “What do you want me to say, Elle?”

  “I want you to tell me how you feel instead of always denying your hurt. I want you to be able to talk about Joshua with me. I want to know all about him. What is the best thing you remember about him from when you were boys?”

  Damon frowned. It wasn't easy to speak of his brother, or to deal with the grief that still festered inside him. But he found he wanted to share this with Eleanor.

  “Joshua was my closest friend,” Damon finally said in a low, rough voice. “Losing him was like losing a limb. But it was the way he died that was most painful. Watching him suffer as he wasted away to a pale skeleton… I would rather have died myself.”