To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4 Read online

  Desperately struggling for balance herself, Eleanor lunged for the reins and managed to grab the left ones, which sent the team veering off the avenue onto the grass, heading directly toward a stand of elms. Her heart pounding, she hauled with all her might, yet she feared she would have no success in stopping the frenzied horses in time to prevent a catastrophic wreck.

  She was only vaguely aware of the sound of hoof-beats beside her and the flash of black as Damon charged past the phaeton. When he came alongside the nearest gray, he strove to catch the bridle. To her amazement and awe, he was able to guide the frightened pair a few degrees off their disastrous course.

  Together they eventually slowed the carriage and brought it to a shuddering halt. For a moment Damon stayed where he was, calming the trembling grays in a low, soothing tone. But his dark eyes found Eleanor's blue ones with penetrating force.

  “God, Elle, are you all right?” he demanded, worry making his voice sharp.

  Her heart racing, she nodded. “Yes,” she said breathlessly as she sat upright-an awkward task considering that the leather seat was canted at an unnatural angle. “Thank you for saving us.”

  He stared at her another long moment. Then to her surprise, Damon's eyebrow lifted, while his mouth curved at the corner. “Oh, I suspect expressions of gratitude are premature. With your quick reflexes, you might have managed it all on your own.”

  It was deplorable, how her heart warmed at his praise, and so was the flush that heated her cheeks.

  “Si,” an unsteady Italian voice broke in. “That was quite courageous of you, Donna Eleanora.”

  She had actually forgotten her companion, Eleanor realized, chiding her thoughtlessness as she tore her gaze from Damon's.

  Don Antonio looked rather shaken as he righted himself. “I am in your debt, Lord Wrexham,” he added, not sounding happy about it.

  “You lost a wheel, your highness-”

  “An unnecessary observation, my lord,” the prince muttered rather stiffly.

  The Beldon groom came running up then and went to the horses’ heads, all the while apologizing profusely and begging his mistress's pardon for being thrown off.

  Eleanor hastened to reassure first the lad and then soothe the prince's wounded pride, certain that Fanny would advise her to do so quickly. “Of course you would have easily saved us had the reins not been torn from your hands, your highness.”

  “Indeed, I would have done so,” Antonio answered with a measurable decrease in frostiness at the encouraging smile Eleanor gave him.

  Watching from his position on his horse, Damon felt his jaw clench. Seeing Elle favor that rake with such a sweet, alluring smile set his teeth on edge. Especially since his heart was still lodged in his throat from the sight of her possibly being dragged to her death.

  Edging his mount closer to her, he held out his hand. “Allow me to take you home, Lady Eleanor.”

  Her eyebrows arched up in surprise. “You do not actually think I would be so improper as to ride tandem with you?”

  It was on the tip of Damon's tongue to reply that she had done so before, but he doubted Eleanor would want to advertise their former intimacy to her companion. Instead, he merely murmured, “It may be some time before a wheelwright can be found to repair Prince Lazzara's phaeton.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied. “But we should have no difficulty finding someone with a carriage to come to our aid. Ah, there is the Dowager Countess Haviland in her barouche.” Eleanor turned to the Italian nobleman. “Lady Haviland is a bosom friend of my aunt's, your highness. I have no doubt she will offer to carry us home in her carriage once she has finished her morning promenade of the park.”

  “That should suffice admirably, mia signorina,” he replied in a charming tone as he raised her gloved hand to his lips. “I regret that I have put you to such trouble.”

  “Truly, it is no trouble,” Eleanor said, letting her hand linger in the prince's grasp far longer than was warranted, to Damon's mind.

  “But this mishap endangered your very life. My servants will hear of this outrage, you may be sure.”

  “Your servants may not be to blame, your highness, and you most certainly are not. It is not uncommon for a carriage wheel to come off. Besides, a little excitement can enliven the day.”

  The prince looked dubious, yet he smiled. “You are too generous, Donna Eleanora.”

  “No, not at all. If you wish,” Eleanor added, “my groom can unharness your grays and lead them back to their stable. It is not very far. And then you may make arrangements for the repair of your carriage without fear for your horses’ welfare.”

  Damon doubted the royal would concern himself much with his livestock, no matter how superb their breeding. But the prince nodded in approval of Elea nor's plan and waved a permissive hand at the lad-a wise move, Damon knew, since she would never have abandoned either servant or animals in such dire straits.

  When Eleanor glanced around her, as if searching for the best way down from her precarious seat, Damon dismounted and went to help her.

  Eleanor refused his assistance, however. “Thank you, Lord Wrexham, but I am not helpless,” she announced as she scrambled down on her own.

  “Of course you are not,” Damon couldn't help but murmur, amused by her understatement. “You are the least helpless female I know.”

  He'd lost a year off his life, seeing her in such danger, but he should have known Eleanor could be depended upon to save herself and her milksop prince. Pride and admiration flooded Damon now at her bravery, since perhaps one woman in a thousand would have the presence of mind to try to halt the runaway pair.

  Eleanor did not appear pleased by his compliment, though, if he were to judge by the darkling look she shot him as she waited attentively for the prince to climb down. Evidently she didn't care to be praised for her heroics since she didn't want to show up her companion.

  The nobleman did not appear any happier for the unwanted interference, either. And when Eleanor took the prince's arm, he cast a smug glance at Damon, a look of sheer male triumph. He might have suffered the indignity of appearing weak in the lady's eyes by remaining helpless in the face of danger. But in the end, he had claimed the prize: her warm smile.

  Damon watched with narrowed eyes as they moved off toward the barouche that reportedly belonged to Lady Haviland. Eleanor was correct, he thought irritably. It was not uncommon for a carriage wheel to come off. Just extremely poor luck-or in the prince's case, extremely good luck to be able to see Eleanor home.

  Damon muttered an oath as he made to remount his horse. His plan to ascertain just how serious Elle's feelings were for her Italian suitor had gone nowhere, he conceded.

  Although now he was even more convinced that his instincts were valid: Lazzara would make a disastrous husband for her.

  Warning her outright about the prince's womanizing, though, might not have the desired effect, Damon suspected. Coming from him, she was unlikely to believe it, since his concern would smack of sour grapes and male rivalry.

  Even so, Damon mused with a thoughtful frown, he ought to actively try to separate Eleanor from her noble courtier. Of course, she would not thank him for his unwanted interference, but raising her ire was a small price to pay for keeping her safe from hurt.

  It is unlikely that a gentleman will fall in love without proper encouragement. Often a lady must take her fate-and his also-into her own hands. -An Anonymous Lady,

  Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband

  Bringing her jaunty lady's phaeton to a halt before Fanny Irwin's elegant residence in Crawford Place, Eleanor handed the reins to her groom and stepped down without assistance.

  “I shall be no more than an hour, Billy, if you will walk the horses and return for me then.”

  “Aye, milady,” he replied, seeming particularly eager to please after the carriage accident this morning.

  The genteel neighborhood was situated only a short distance north of Hyde Park and boasted a dozen row
houses that appeared refined and tastefully expensive. Number Eleven was Fanny's private home, not her usual London residence where she conducted business and entertained her elite male clientele. Yet Eleanor didn't wish to advertise the fact that she was visiting one of London's leading Cyprians by leaving her phaeton out in front.

  She didn't have the luxury of openly befriending a notorious courtesan, since she was living under her aunt's roof and felt obliged to honor Lady Beldon's dictates. But she valued her blossoming friendship with Fanny, whom she had met just last month at Lily Loring's wedding.

  Eleanor could understand why the Loring sisters refused to shun their childhood companion, regardless of the social consequences. The beautiful Fanny was delightful and charming and full of life, in addition to having a shrewd head on her graceful shoulders. Eleanor envied the women's closeness and hoped to become an intimate member of their circle someday.

  Knowing Billy would keep her confidences, Elea nor left the young groom to see to her horses and mounted the short flight of steps to the house. She was admitted by a very proper-looking older footman, who showed her to an elegant parlor, where Fanny was hard at work at her writing desk.

  “Ah, welcome, Lady Eleanor,” Fanny exclaimed with a warm smile over her shoulder at her visitor. “I promise I will only be another moment. Please make yourself at home. Then Thomas will bring us tea so that we may have a comfortable coze.”

  As the footman bowed himself out, Eleanor obliged, settling on a rose velvet settee.

  Eventually Fanny set down her quill pen, blew gently on the page to dry the wet ink, then rose to join Eleanor.

  “Forgive me,” she said, sinking into an opposing wing chair. “I was completing a scene in chapter seventeen. I believe I finally struck on the right course for my plot, and I needed to write it down while it was still fresh in my mind.”

  “Your plot?” Eleanor asked curiously. “Are you writing another book?”

  Fanny smiled as if harboring a secret. “Yes, although I have been reluctant to tell anyone until I know for certain if I can manage it. I am trying my hand at writing a Gothic novel, you see.”

  “How intriguing,” Eleanor said with all sincerity. “I should think writing fiction would be very different from your first endeavor in publishing.”

  “Indeed-and much more difficult than sharing advice on how to deal with the male sex. But my publisher says Gothic novels by female authors are in great demand just now, and are highly lucrative as well. Ann Radcliffe developed a wide audience in past years, and Elizabeth Helme and Regina Roche, among others, followed in Radcliff's footsteps.”

  “I know,” Eleanor responded. “I have read works by all three ladies.”

  Fanny's expression intensifying, she leaned forward in her chair. “And did you enjoy them?”

  “Well…” Eleanor pursed her lips. “The stories definitely held my interest, although I found some of the actions exaggerated to the point of disbelief. I doubt such melodrama happens often in real life-” She broke off with a smile. “But then I suppose that is why novels are deemed ‘fiction.’ ”

  The footman returned just then with a laden tea tray, which he deposited on the table before his mistress. After dismissing the servant and pouring her guest a steaming cup, Fanny continued. “It would seem your tastes are similar to Tess's.”

  “Miss Blanchard's?”

  “Yes. Since Arabella and Roslyn and Lily are away in France, Tess has been reading my manuscript and giving me her criticisms.”

  Miss Tess Blanchard, Eleanor knew, was also a good friend of the Loring sisters, and a fellow teacher at their Academy for Young Ladies. Additionally she was a distant relation of Damon's-third or fourth cousins on their mothers’ side, Eleanor recalled.

  Fanny paused to sip her tea, then went on. “As it happens, I would value another opinion, Lady Elea nor. Would you possibly consider reading my draft when I am finished?”

  “Of course. I would be honored.”

  “But you must tell me honestly what you think, with no attempts to spare my feelings.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Surely you know by now that I am known for my frankness, Fanny.”

  “True, but you are also quite kind, and you might feel obliged to soften your criticisms. If I am to continue with this career, I want my work to sell well. To be truthful… I hope that I may eventually earn enough from my writing so that I may marry where I choose.”

  It had surprised Eleanor to learn that Fanny intended to leave the demimonde. But she was looking to the future, since the life of a Cyprian was uncertain, and beauty and youth were fleeting. And recently, a most unlikely romance had developed between Fanny and her longtime friend and former Hampshire neighbor, Basil Eddowes-a serious, scholarly sort of gentleman who earned his living as a law clerk.

  “I have heard that Mr. Eddowes has a great fondness for you,” Eleanor said, “but I didn't realize it had grown so serious as to contemplate marriage.”

  Fanny's perfect ivory complexion warmed with a becoming blush. “The thing is… he has not proposed yet, and he may never do so. But I hope to persuade him to eventually. Yet practicalities stand in the way of our marrying. Naturally Basil doesn't wish me to continue in my profession, and neither do I. And we must be sensible about finances. Thanks to the generosity of Lord Claybourne, Basil has obtained a post as a nobleman's secretary, which will provide him a significantly greater income, but I must do my part to support us. You have been extremely generous to promote my Advice book, Lady Eleanor.”

  “It was my pleasure, truly. And many of your readers are grateful to you now since they are having remarkable success employing your techniques. Several of my friends say their husbands have never paid them such devoted attention as now.”

  “I am glad to have aided their cause,” Fanny said. “Females have too little power with men-and in marriage particularly. It does my heart good to think I can help wives be a bit happier.”

  “My unmarried acquaintances,” Eleanor added, “have expressed relief with your advice that they needn't rely solely on beauty or fortune to engage a gentleman's interest.”

  Fanny nodded sagely. “Beauty and fortune might attract a man initially, but disposition and manner will keep him attracted. So,” she said, redirecting the subject, “how is your romance with Prince Lazzara faring, if I may ask?”

  The question was no surprise to Eleanor, since during her last visit here she had sought Fanny's counsel regarding the prince. But her efforts had not quite gone according to plan, Eleanor remembered, wrinkling her nose with wry humor. “In truth, I thought it was going well until this morning…”

  Briefly she told Fanny about the morning's disastrous carriage accident and how Lord Wrexham had come to their rescue-and how she had done her best to soothe the prince's ruffled pride.

  Fanny saw the difficulty at once, and her eyes danced with amusement. “It is fortunate that no one was injured, but unfortunate that the prince was shown to such poor advantage, having your former betrothed act so heroically. I would say you did well to minimize his pique. I hope, however, that you have no more encounters with Lord Wrexham when you are supposed to be showering all your attention on another gentleman.”

  “As do I,” Eleanor said feelingly.

  Fanny hesitated. “I also hope Wrexham does not cause you undue pain by his return to England.”

  With pretended ease, Eleanor waved a dismissive hand. “Not in the least. Wrexham's reappearance just now is untimely, nothing more.”

  No doubt Fanny had heard the tale of the dissolution her betrothal, Eleanor mused as she raised her teacup to her lips to hide her frown. It occurred to her that Fanny might be acquainted with Damon's former mistress, the beautiful widow, Mrs. Lydia New ling, who was occasionally mentioned in the society gossip columns. In Fanny's profession, the two women might have easily crossed paths.

  But Eleanor quelled the urge to introduce so utterly inappropriate a topic. Besides, it mattered not a whit to her if Damon kept
a dozen mistresses, then or now.

  She cared nothing for him any longer, so whatever dalliances he enjoyed were none of her affair.

  And if she still harbored any remaining feelings of attraction or tenderness or love for him… well, Eleanor vowed fiercely to herself, she intended to conquer them immediately, once and for all!

  The trouble was, forgetting about Damon was much easier said than done. Eleanor left Fanny's house in good spirits, having further discussed her strategy for appealing to Prince Lazzara. She was disappointed, however, that she saw no sign of the prince that evening when she attended a musical concert with her aunt.

  And she was exceedingly vexed when fantasies of Damon intruded on her sleep for the second night in a row. Even worse, she dreamed about the time shortly after they became betrothed, when she'd taken Damon to see her special place-the rose garden that her brother had given her-and foolishly confessed her love to him…

  Writhing with humiliation at the remembrance, Eleanor woke early the following morning, furious at herself for not having better control over her mind and her heart. Damon was no longer the man of her dreams-so why the devil would he not leave them now?

  Yet she was actually startled when the object of her vexation was announced by the Beldon butler just after she finished a solitary breakfast and repaired to the morning parlor to reread a chapter in Fanny's advice book.

  Damon strode into the room as casually as he'd done during their betrothal, when he'd had the right to share her company.

  Her gaze flying to him, Eleanor nearly dropped her book. He was dressed for riding this morning, and he looked incredibly handsome in a blue coat and buff buckskin breeches that molded his athletic form to perfection.

  Deploring how her heart leapt at his unexpected appearance, Eleanor started to rise from the sofa where she was seated, but Damon held up a hand to forestall her.

  “Pray, don't trouble yourself on my account, Lady Eleanor. I shan't be long.”