To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4 Read online

  To Romance a Charming Rogue

  ( The Courtship Wars - 4 )

  Nicole Jordan

  Eleanor's heart gave a jolt when she looked up to find Damon's face at her open bedroom window.

  Her jaw dropping, she watched in disbelief as he eased his broad shoulders through the window and hauled himself inside, then lowered his feet to the carpet.

  He was still dressed in formal evening wear, Eleanor noted distractedly, but that wasn't what held her speechless. It was the fact that he had climbed up two stories to a lady's bedchamber, after midnight, bold as you please.

  “Damon!” she exclaimed, her voice a high, breathless rasp. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “I believe we left our conversation unfinished,” he said coolly, crossing the room toward her bed.

  “To Romance A Charming Rogue is Nicole Jordan at her finest! Sexy, sensual, and sparkling with wit, this book is a complete charmer!” -KAREN HAWKINS, New York Times bestselling author of To Catch a Highlander

  The bold games of passion play out with delicious consequences in this fourth novel of Nicole Jordan's seductive new series, The Courtship Wars.

  Two years ago, lively beauty Eleanor Pierce spied her dashing betrothed, Damon Stafford, Viscount Wrexham, with his former mistress and furiously ended their engagement. Now the charming rake is back in London, meddling in Eleanor's affairs, bent on thwarting her new suitor. And when Damon's intoxicating kisses rekindle her deepest longing, Eleanor loses her heart... again. But as she has no intention of allowing history to repeat itself, she embarks on a plan of tantalizing seduction, vowing to tame the rogue before she surrenders to his wicked, willful desires....

  Determined to stop another man from wooing and winning the woman he loves, Damon knows that claiming Eleanor's heart is all that matters. But this scandalously bold beauty means to beat him at his own game of romance - a game he is ready and willing to lose.

  Nicole Jordan

  To Romance a Charming Rogue

  With heartfelt thanks to my readers-

  the best inspiration a writer could have.

  This one's for you.

  Never appear to be too captivated by a gentleman, particularly if it is true. Revealing your weakness for him will give him the upper hand, and a woman needs all the power she can muster if she is to triumph. -An Anonymous Lady,

  Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband

  “Eleanor, my dear, the worst has happened! Wrex-ham is here.”

  Her heart leaping at her aunt's disconcerting news, Lady Eleanor Pierce froze on the sidelines of the crowded hall. “Here? Tonight? At Carlton House?”

  “Indeed. His arrival was just announced.” Elea nor's proper aunt and chaperone, Lady Beldon, made a sour face. “The nerve of him! He should have the decency to respect your sensibilities.”

  Eleanor agreed that Damon Stafford, Viscount Wrexham, had a great deal of nerve. In truth, Damon was the boldest man of her acquaintance. But she had braced her sensibilities against the impact of seeing him again-or so she'd believed until just this moment.

  Eleanor smiled in an effort to pretend composure and to slow her all too rapid heartbeat. “I daresay Lord Wrexham has a right to attend Prinny's fete, Aunt Beatrix. No doubt he was invited, just as we were.”

  George, Prince of Wales and currently England's Regent, regularly entertained at Carlton House, his garishly grand London residence. And Lady Beldon was sometimes included on the guest list, since her late husband had been an intimate of the pleasure-loving Regent's set.

  Tonight the overheated mansion was filled with a crush of elegant gentry and aristocrats. Yet a surreptitious glance around the thronged hall told Eleanor that the charming rake who had once won her heart and then trampled on it was nowhere in sight.

  “You make too much of the matter,” Eleanor murmured, hiding her relief. “Wrexham is perfectly at liberty to move about society as he pleases.”

  Her Aunt Beatrix gave her a piercing stare. “Surely you do not mean to defend him? After he treated you so abominably?”

  “No, certainly not. But I am resigned to meeting him again. It must happen eventually. He has been in London for a sennight, and we move in similar circles.”

  Lady Beldon shook her head in disgust, then studied her niece more closely. “Perhaps we should take our leave, Eleanor. I will tender our excuses to Prinny-”

  “I have no intention of running from Lord Wrexham, dearest Aunt.”

  “Then you must prepare yourself. He may appear at any moment.”

  Nodding distractedly, Eleanor drew a deep breath. She was as prepared as she would ever be to encounter the wickedly charming nobleman who had been her betrothed.

  She'd had several days’ warning that Damon had returned to London after a two-year absence, since Lady Beldon's friends were eager to keep her abreast of society gossip. Eleanor had carefully planned what she would say to him, and how she would act. She would be gracious and cool and completely indifferent, showing him common politeness but no more.

  “I am capable of facing him with equanimity,” she avowed, her calm assertion belying the butterflies rioting in her stomach.

  Aunt Beatrix, however, was neither convinced nor willing to excuse his lordship's past sins. “You should not be compelled to face that scoundrel. Were he a true gentleman, he would have the good manners to stay away.”

  “He has stayed away,” Eleanor said with a dry edge to her tone. “For two years.”

  “Even so, his absence was not long enough! Indeed, I think he should be banned from polite society entirely.”

  Regrettably, Damon's crime against her didn't quite justify so severe a punishment, Eleanor reflected. “I suspect banishment might be a bit too harsh, darling Auntie.”

  “Not in the least. And I will never forgive myself for introducing you to that wicked rogue.”

  “You are not to blame. You did not actually introduce us, if you will recall.”

  The elder woman waved an elegant hand in dismissal. “Wrexham met you at my annual house party, which amounts to the same thing as an introduction.

  Had I not welcomed him into our home, you would never have been exposed to heartbreak and ridicule. But he was a friend of Marcus's. How could we know he would turn out to be such a libertine?”

  How indeed? Eleanor wondered silently.

  Her beloved older brother Marcus had thought very highly of Damon until the eventful dissolution of her betrothal-as had she. With his stirring good looks and his reckless, devil-may-care charm, Damon was every young lady's illicit fantasy, and every matron's worry.

  As far as motherly natures went, Beatrix Attree, Viscountess Beldon, harbored very few nurturing instincts. Yet she'd taken in Eleanor after her parents’ deaths when she was but ten years old, and had been her chaperone ever since. And Beatrix loved Eleanor as much as she was capable of loving anyone.

  Her ladyship was an aristocrat to the core, and she had strict notions of what was proper for the nobility. In the beginning she'd made allowances for Lord Wrexham, despite his rather wild reputation, because he held an illustrious title that went back several hundred years and a fortune that was even larger than Eleanor's.

  For her own part, Eleanor had cared little for Damon's title or wealth. It was the nobleman himself who inspired her ardor. The first moment they met, she'd felt a lightning bolt of attraction for him, as well as a connection she rarely experienced with any other man.

  Falling in love with him had been ridiculously easy.

  Of course, her foolishness in succumbing to his irresistible allure could possibly be excused by her relative youth at the time. She was only nineteen then, and in her girlish
heart she had yearned for a wildly romantic love. A suitor who made her burn, who made her feel feverish and desired, just as Damon did.

  She'd been spellbound for those few short weeks of their whirlwind courtship and engagement, believing they were ideally matched, that Damon was the man of her dreams. She had expected-hoped-to live with him happily ever after as his wife. Until that fateful morning two years ago when she spied him driving in Hyde Park with his beautiful mistress, not only not bothering to hide his affair but actually flaunting it.

  Feeling grievously hurt and betrayed, Eleanor had immediately terminated their engagement and vowed to have nothing more to do with Damon. He had broken her heart as well as severely embarrassing her and savaging her pride. Even now, she couldn't quell her lingering resentment. Yet she refused to cower at the thought of facing him-

  “Well,” Lady Beldon announced, breaking into her niece's thoughts, “if you insist on staying tonight, you would do well to keep Prince Lazzara by your side in the event Wrexham has the gall to approach you.”

  “I shall, Aunt. His highness only stepped away to fetch some refreshments for us.”

  An Italian nobleman, Principe Antonio Lazzara di Terrasini had come to England in the company of his elder distant cousin, il Signor Umberto Vecchi, who was a diplomat to the British court. Reportedly the prince was in the market for a bride and was considering Lady Eleanor for the position.

  Eleanor well knew that her chief attractions had little to do with her character or intellect. She was a notable heiress in her own right, due to the extensive fortune left to her by her mother. She was also the daughter of a baron, and now the sister of an earl, since her elder brother Marcus had recently inherited the Danvers earldom from his own distant relation.

  However, she hadn't yet decided how seriously she wished to be considered as Prince Lazzara's future princess. Admittedly she was attracted to him. His sensual voice and melting dark eyes were the very essence of romance. He was also handsome, engaging, charming, and witty-and from all reports, as much of a rake as Damon had ever been.

  And after her disastrous betrothal to Damon- followed by a second, even briefer betrothal to another nobleman shortly afterward-Eleanor was adamant that the next time she became engaged, it would be for good. More crucially, she would only marry a man whom she loved and who loved her in return.

  Just then a hush fell over one end of the hall. Eleanor suspected that Prinny had entered with his entourage. But when her aunt stiffened and muttered “Speak of the devil” under her breath, Eleanor realized that it was not only His Royal Highness who had attracted attention.

  Damon Stafford, Viscount Wrexham, stood beside the Regent, drawing all eyes, including hers.

  The company began bowing and scraping fawningly to Prinny, while Lord Wrexham casually surveyed the elite gathering-and the gathering returned the favor.

  In some vague corner of her mind, Eleanor was aware of the excited murmur of feminine voices remarking on the noble newcomer, yet in truth all she could register was Damon… his height, his muscular vitality, his charisma. He seemed to fill the hall with his presence.

  His features, which boasted strong brow, cheekbones, and jawline, were rawly masculine and just as striking as she remembered, although his complexion was more sun-bronzed now by his travels in Europe. His hair was the rich color of sable, without the blue-black hue of her own ebony. His eyes, set off by heavy eyebrows and thickly fringed lashes, were still dark as midnight and just as bold-

  Eleanor's wits abruptly scattered when those penetrating eyes found hers in the crowd.

  Despite all her self-warnings, she simply froze as Damon locked gazes with her. It was peculiar, how one could experience heated flashes and cold chills at the very same time. How the air could be drawn from one's lungs so swiftly, making it difficult to breathe.

  The impact of seeing him again was like being struck by a lightning bolt; that same sizzling jolt she had experienced when she first laid eyes on Damon just over two years ago.

  Her hand stole to her breastbone in a futile effort to calm her heart, which was somersaulting painfully in her chest. Her heart was not the sole victim, either. Her palms had grown damp and her knees felt absurdly weak.

  But of course, she was foolish to expect any other response. No man had ever fired her blood or touched her deepest emotions the way Damon had…

  Suddenly scolding herself, Eleanor straightened her spine. I will not make a scene, she vowed silently. Not with so many denizens of the ton watching.

  The hall was currently abuzz with speculation as the crowd's gazes shifted to her. All society knew that she had jilted Viscount Wrexham because of his rakish ways, and clearly the guests present were eagerly waiting to see how she would deal with him now.

  “I have brought you champagne, Donna Eleanora, as you see.”

  When the deep, velvety, Italian-accented voice broke into her chaotic thoughts, Eleanor had never been more glad for a distraction in her life.

  Tearing her gaze from Damon's, she turned her back on him and flashed Prince Lazzara a brilliant smile. She refused to let her former betrothed's arrival spoil the evening for her.

  For tonight, at least, she was fiercely determined to ignore the bittersweet memories of her hapless romance and the wicked rake who had caused them.

  Eleanor's determination lasted the better part of two hours, until Prince Lazzara invited her to take a turn outside in the gardens. Glad to have a moment's respite from the warmth and the genteel din of Carl-ton House, Eleanor left her aunt in the charming company of the distinguished Signor Vecchi and took the younger Italian's royal arm to stroll along the gravel paths.

  Prinny's taste in decor was considered questionable at best by most of the haut ton, but Chinese lanterns hanging at intervals lent the gardens a fairy-tale aura. The flickering golden light reflected in various fountains and pools, bringing to Eleanor's mind a memory of another glittering evening-and another shimmering fountain that had played a unique role in her brief engagement to Damon the first time he'd kissed her.

  It was only when the prince called her attention to her distraction that Eleanor recalled her companion. “Why do you keep staring at that fountain, mia sig-norina?”

  Why indeed? Eleanor wondered, scolding herself si lently even as her cheeks flushed. She had no business remembering Damon's stolen kiss or its aftermath, when she'd pushed him into the nearby fountain for his bold impertinence.

  “The sight is lovely, don't you agree?” she equivocated.

  Prince Lazzara nodded. “My palace at home boasts many beautiful fountains. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to see them one day.”

  His teasing smile hinted at the reason she might have for visiting-as his bride-but Eleanor could not put too much stock in his suggestive remark, since the prince was known for his skillful ability to flatter and entice the fair sex.

  “Will you tell me about your home, highness? I have never been to Italy, but I hear there are many spectacular sights.”

  To her relief, Don Antonio launched into a warm recitation about the southern half of his country- which recently had been designated the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies by Europe's ruling powers-and the principality he ruled over near the Mediterranean.

  Eleanor listened politely, although with only half an ear. Much to her dismay, she couldn't stop herself from dwelling on her past memories of Damon.

  Barely a few days after meeting him at her aunt's annual house party, he'd taken more liberties than she could even have dreamed of from a gentleman, stealing a kiss and earning himself a thorough drenching. Inexplicably, her unconventional response to his seduction had only intrigued him more.

  A fortnight later they were engaged to be married.

  Eleanor had lost her heart to him, not because he was wealthy, titled, and sinfully handsome. Nor was it even due to Damon's charm, his wit, or his effortless ability to make her believe she was the most desirable woman in the world. It was because he chal lenged he
r and made her feel alive. Because he eased her loneliness, the sense of aloneness she had felt since childhood.

  Her attraction went beyond the physical, with an almost instant meeting of minds. She could talk to him about her yearnings, her dreams. Could tell him her innermost thoughts and secrets.

  Damon, however, was far more reticent about sharing his feelings. It was as if he kept part of himself hidden from the world-and specifically from her.

  She'd been so confident that she could eventually break through the walls he erected. And since they seemed to be so ideally matched in spirit, wit, and passion, she was certain Damon would eventually come to love her, despite his reputation as a heart-breaker.

  Then she discovered that he hadn't given up his long-term mistress as he'd led her to believe. He had broken her trust irrevocably. Trampled her pride, crushed her vulnerable young heart.

  The pain had subsided over time. Now Eleanor felt only a bittersweet ache-or at least she had until tonight when she realized she would have to meet Damon face-to-face.

  It should be a matter of sublime indifference to her whether or not he'd returned to London. She still harbored a measure of resentment and anger toward him, true, but little thought of revenge or violence or serious ill will. In fact, she had braced herself to meet him with equanimity.

  All the same, as she strolled the garden paths with Prince Lazzara, Eleanor kept an eye out for the particular English nobleman who had thrown her composure into such chaos with his unwanted appearance this evening.

  Perhaps that was why she gave a start when a figure emerged from the shadows along another path.

  It was only one of Carlton House's liveried footmen, Eleanor saw with relief. The servant had been sent to search for Prince Lazzara, since his countryman, Signor Vecchi, wished to introduce him to some important personages.

  When Don Antonio offered Eleanor his arm to escort her back to the great hall, she declined with a smile. She had no desire to return to the house where she might encounter Damon. “I think perhaps I will remain here in the gardens for a moment longer, your highness. I see several of my friends just over there. I will join them.”