She had set his heart free so that she could claim it.
Damon lay there with her sweet body curled against him, savoring his contentment as fragmented thoughts mingled with the lingering images from his dream.
His cousin Tess had also been right. He needed to live life for the moment, to make the most of his time on earth. The whims of Fate were so uncertain, he could not entirely control his future. He could lose Eleanor the way he'd lost his brother, his parents. Yet he would not have given up this chance to be with her for all the world.
And in truth, because of his knowledge of sorrow, he was more able to fully appreciate the joy Eleanor brought him.
Easing onto his side, Damon slid his arm around her, absorbing her sleeping body into his.
My wife, he thought as happiness reached deep inside him.
Elle's love was fierce and intense and healing. Her lovemaking was the same. She welcomed his passion with a joyous delight that only compounded his own.
After another moment, though, he brushed a tender kiss on her bare shoulder, then pulled the covers up to keep her warm. Sliding out of bed, Damon shrugged on a dressing gown over his nude body and quietly opened the French door that lead to an outer balcony.
Stepping outside into the coolness, Damon looked out over the dew-drenched morning, drinking in the last of the sunrise. He'd done this often during their time here. He and Eleanor had remained at Rosemont through the final week of the house party, since she wouldn't abandon her aunt when Lady Beldon's sensibilities were so wounded. But once they arrived at his family seat, Eleanor had set out with single-minded resolve to banish his demons.
She understood how important his brother had been in his life, so they'd spent long hours tramping through the woods and riding all over Wrexham lands, exploring the forgotten hideaways where he and Joshua had played as boys, swimming and fishing and frolicking. Not surprisingly, Damon felt much the same camaraderie with Eleanor that he'd known with his brother.
The most painful moment had come when they visited his family's graves in the village cemetery. But Eleanor had helped him say farewell at last.
She had also accompanied him when he called at his tenant farms and made himself known to his tenants. For the most part, they forgave him for being an absentee landlord, since their cottages and parcels of land had always been well tended and they wanted for little. But Damon was determined to take a stronger interest in the management of Oak Hill.
Additionally, he had tried his utmost to make up for the pain he'd caused Eleanor. They'd spent long nights tangled in each other's bodies, sharing the whispers and secrets of lovers. They fit together so perfectly, like two halves of a whole. His greatest pleasure was in pleasing her, and she was easily pleased-
It was no surprise to Damon when Elle quietly crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His body knew hers instantly. She stood with her cheek pressed against his back for a long moment.
When eventually she stepped back, Damon turned to face her, taking in the lovely picture she made: her raven curls tousled, her vivid blue eyes soft and hazy with sleep, her luscious body barely concealed by her cambric night rail.
She smiled at him with such entrancing warmth that his heart turned over. Then, her eyes dancing with sudden mischief, she reached up and slipped something over his head.
“You should wear your medal with pride, my lord,” Eleanor said, laughter in her voice.
Damon chuckled softly as he fingered the gold medallion, which dangled from a red satin ribbon. Prince Lazzara had awarded him a medal for extraordinary service to his royal house, as well as sending a crate of oranges and several casks of excellent Mar sala wine in gratitude for their efforts to keep him safe.
His highness had also invited them to visit his principality when they made their wedding trip to Italy next week, after Damon took Eleanor to see his sani-torium. But they had jointly decided that they'd had their fill of the prince for now.
As for the prince's perfidious cousin, Signor Vecchi had been banished to India, to a diplomatic post there, although reportedly Lazzara was showing interest in the signor's beautiful daughter, Isabella, who had been the motivation for Vecchi's machinations in the first place.
Shaking his head, Damon drew the medal from around his neck and consigned it to his pocket. “I trust you'll understand, darling, why I don't wish to wear a reminder of a rival when I am making love to my beautiful wife.”
Eleanor tilted her head to one side, her tone teasing when she asked, “Do you intend to make love to me?”
She had no doubt what his answer would be, Damon knew. She'd become so attuned to him that she could sense his feelings, his thoughts, his desires.
Even so, he replied, “But of course.”
The smile Elle gave him in response was so sweetly pure-so sensual, so womanly, so beautiful-that need slammed into his chest. He felt as if the sun was warming him from the inside. And when she eagerly turned her face up to his and took his lips, he felt his desire soar even higher.
Kissing her was like coming home after being too long away… infinitely satisfying. Yet it was still not enough. He wanted more.
And so did Eleanor, apparently, for she broke off with a shiver. “I wish you would hurry and make good on your intentions, Damon,” she prodded, though her tone still held amusement. “And no, that is not an invitation for you to take me here standing on a balcony, in view of the world. It is chilly out here, and we shouldn't scandalize your servants any more than we have already done these past two weeks.”
“Your complaint is duly noted, wife,” Damon asserted, sweeping her up into his arms. Then carrying her inside, he closed the door with his heel, shutting out the cool morning mists.
Clinging to his neck, Eleanor returned his intent regard. His eyes had softened with laughter and something far more powerful: Love.
The depth of love she saw in Damon's eyes was a constant reassurance, she reflected as he laid her on their bed and divested her of her nightdress. And she knew his feelings were mirrored in her own eyes as she watched him shrug off his dressing gown.
Her admiring gaze riveted on the broad expanse of his bare chest, on the sinewed torso sculpted by sunlight. His body was strong and vital and even more breathtaking than any woman could hope for in a lover. His skin was tinted a deeper golden hue now after all the hours they had spent swimming together-as was hers.
His reciprocal perusal warmed Eleanor, his bold, seductive gaze searing her wherever it touched. Yet she yearned for Damon to hold her, for the touch of skin against warm skin.
She sighed with pleasure when he joined her in their marriage bed and proceeded to fulfill his prom ise to make love to her.
His hands were gentle on her body, yet urgent as well. Damon kissed his way along her jaw and downward, his stubble abrading her sensitized skin while his fingers played over her feminine curves. He made a feast of her throat and breasts, showering her with tender touches and arousing kisses as he searched out the secrets between her thighs. And when she was trembling uncontrollably, he positioned himself at the heart of her and slid his hands under her hips, guiding her sweetly up to meet him as his hardness slowly thrust into her.
She was slick and eager for him, so he slid home easily. Then Damon stilled, his eyes hazed with a possessive look as he stared down at her.
When Eleanor contracted her inner muscles around him, though, he shuddered and his lips came down upon hers with hot, wet heat.
His searching kiss reached deep, as did his flesh. Her breath grew ragged as he went on kissing and stroking and moving, controlling their rhythm with his mouth, his hands, his body. But soon her whimpers turned to soft, helpless moans.
She was near the breaking point when he ended his kisses and lifted his head again so he could watch her climax.
“Elle,” he rasped. His voice was soft, thick with passion, his eyes fierce and vulnerable with love.
Eleanor found herself caught in the magnetic hea
t of his gaze-those beautiful eyes that were rich and dark and deep enough to drown in. Then Damon drove into her once more, hard, setting off a firestorm between them.
“Elle,” he ground out again, the single word an oath, a prayer, a plea, even as she cried out his name.
They shattered together, erupting into bright sparks of bliss.
In the aftermath, Damon made no effort to unbury himself from deep inside her. Instead they lay there holding on to each other, boneless, sated, content.
Eleanor closed her eyes, relishing the incredible elation she felt, the sheer happiness, and counted herself blessed for her tremendous good fortune. She knew in her heart that she and Damon had always been meant for each other. But they had fulfilled their destiny only after a long separation, overcoming their fears and hurts to find true love. She'd helped to banish the bleak emptiness inside him, while he had healed parts of her that had always felt cold and lonely.
She could not ask for more.
When she pressed a grateful kiss against his bare shoulder, Damon stirred enough to ease his weight onto the bed beside her, then gathered her close again. Her eyelids growing even heavier, Eleanor dozed off in his arms.
When she awoke, she judged it was at least two hours later. Damon was lying on his side, his head propped on one hand.
He had been watching her sleep, Eleanor realized.
Stifling a yawn, she offered him a sheepish glance. “I suppose we should not be lazing abed this slothful way,” she murmured. “Cornby will be eager to perform his valet duties for you.”
“Cornby will forgive you for making me so indolent,” Damon observed. “He adores you almost as much as I do. But he takes your side far too often,” he added in an aggrieved tone.
Eleanor smiled. At every opportunity the elderly manservant had abetted her efforts in persuading Damon to relinquish the pain and sorrow of his past. “Cornby is simply concerned for your welfare.”
“That is not the half of it. He highly approves of you, you know very well.” Damon's mouth quirked. “I cannot say that your aunt holds a similar lofty opinion of me, although she does appear to be granting me grudging acceptance these days.”
“Aunt Beatrix will grow quite fond of you in time,” Eleanor predicted with conviction.
“I think perhaps her experience with Vecchi softened her.”
“That, and the prospect of being presented with a great niece or nephew next year. You read her latest letter. She is in alt that Marcus and Arabella are expecting their first child. And Marcus is overjoyed that he is to be a father.”
“Your aunt seemed none too pleased for her friend, the Countess Haviland.”
“No. Lady Haviland is livid at her grandson's choice of a bride. Arabella and her sisters were aiding Lord Haviland in his search, but he surprised them all by preferring a lady whom his grandmother greatly disapproves of.”
Damon brushed back a curl from Eleanor's temple. “I trust you don't intend to involve yourself in any matchmaking schemes, sweetheart.”
“I won't have the opportunity to become involved since we won't even be here in England.” Eleanor paused. “I think it unfortunate that Roslyn and Lily have returned from their wedding journeys to the Continent just as we are about to embark on ours. But I am glad Mr. Geary will be accompanying us on our voyage. It is only fitting. Didn't you say he has only visited your sanitorium once, when you first began construction?”
“Yes. But he deserves acclaim for making the entire endeavor possible.”
“It is remarkable that Lydia Newling's sister is already reported to be making some progress toward recovery.” Eleanor sighed with contentment. “Now it only remains for Fanny Irwin to find happiness. I hope she will be able to earn a sufficient living as an author so that she can wed her childhood sweetheart.”
“I think she stands a good chance,” Damon mused. “Her novel was intriguing enough to hold my complete attention.”
Eleanor nodded in agreement, pleased that after reading the manuscript, Damon held a view similar to hers: Fanny's Gothic novel was sure to be a success.
“And the sales,” Eleanor added, “of her manual on capturing a husband are still brisk since it contains so much valuable advice. Even my aunt is making use of my copy, since I no longer need it. ‘Tether him tightly but not too tightly,’ ” she quoted from Fanny's book.
Damon gazed back at her tenderly. “You may tether me as tightly as you wish, love.”
Reaching up, Eleanor looped her arms around his neck. “I am in favor of disappointing Cornby a while longer, my lord. What do you say?”
As she hoped, Damon laughed softly and bent to take her mouth in a heart-stirring kiss.
A kiss which, Eleanor knew, was only a prelude to the soul-deep passion to come.
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