To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4 Page 6

  “My l-lord…” she stammered. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  “I thought to catch you at home before you set out on your morning ride.”

  She didn't intend to disclose that she would not be riding this morning-Eleanor abruptly cut off that thought when she recalled that they were not alone.

  “That will be all, thank you, Peters,” she said to Lady Beldon's august butler, who was hovering protectively at the parlor entrance.

  Peters's expression showed the slightest measure of disapproval, but at Eleanor's dismissal, he bowed and retreated from the room.

  Setting aside her book, she frowned at her noble visitor. “You should not be here, my lord.”

  Damon raised an eyebrow as he moved closer to stand before her. “Is it a crime to pay you a morning call?”

  “Not a crime perhaps, but definitely a social transgression. You have no business here.”

  “I wanted to make certain you were unharmed after the carriage accident yesterday.”

  Eleanor's brows drew together uncertainly. “As you see, I am quite well. Did you expect the incident to overset my sensibilities?”

  “Hardly. I know you too well.”

  When Damon flashed her an amused smile, Elea nor did her best to hide her involuntary physical response. Yet she couldn't repress the dizzy pleasure she felt when he smiled at her that way, or control the flush of warmth that suffused her body when his gaze drifted over her morning gown of jonquil muslin.

  “You do look the picture of health,” Damon observed.

  Not having a ready reply, Eleanor stirred in her seat and kept silent.

  “I gather the Dragon has not yet risen this morning,” he said, casting a glance up at the ceiling toward the second floor where Lady Beldon was still abed.

  Eleanor stiffened at the unappealing sobriquet. Her Aunt Beatrix had been more of a mother to her than her own mother, so Eleanor felt compelled to defend her. “You only consider her a dragon because she championed me two years ago when our betrothal ended.”

  Damon gave a mock wince. “My ears are still ringing from the tongue-lashing she gave me.”

  “You deserved it, you know very well.”

  “True. But Lady Beldon never approved of me from the start.”

  “Because of your wicked reputation. My aunt does not care for rakes or rebels.”

  Damon laughed softly as he settled on the sofa beside Eleanor. “Or anyone who fails to bow to her notion of proper behavior or grovel suitably before society's dictators. It amazes me that she tolerated our betrothal at all.”

  “Your title and fortune were significant points in your favor,” Eleanor said dryly.

  “But now they cannot compensate for my faults.”

  “No, they cannot. She wants me to have nothing more to do with you. My aunt believes a lady can never be too careful of her reputation.”

  “And you mean to be the good niece and do exactly as she decrees.”

  “Precisely.”

  Damon shook his head sadly. “I thought better of your revolutionary spirit, Elle. As long as we are speaking of what is proper, however… I suppose I should pay my respects to Lady Beldon.”

  “She would not welcome it after what happened between us,” Eleanor pointed out.

  “I take it she will never forgive me?”

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  “And you, Elle?” His voice dropped a register while his dark eyes searched her face. “Will you forgive me?”

  Eleanor swallowed against the sudden ache in her throat. “I believe I mentioned, Lord Wrexham, I have put that unpleasant incident from my mind. I scarcely think about our betrothal, or you for that matter.”

  “I thought of you often while I was away,” he said in a low voice.

  She was about to remonstrate with him when his eye was drawn to Fanny's book lying beside her. Damon reached for it before she could think to stop him.

  His eyebrows shot up as he recited the title aloud. “Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband. Are you actually reading this?”

  “Yes, I am,” Eleanor replied, feeling her cheeks turning red.

  She tried to snatch the book from him, but Damon held it away until she gave up.

  His eyebrows remained high as he thumbed through the pages. And his handsome mouth curved in a small grin when he came to one passage. “ ‘Offer him subtle flattery,’ ” Damon quoted, “ ‘that holds at least a grain of truth. Exaggerate his pleasant attributes, ignore the rest.’ ” He raised his gaze to Eleanor. “I suppose that is wise advice, but I would never have expected you to stoop so low.”

  Her flush deepened at his ribbing. “I am hardly stooping by following an author's practical guidance.”

  “You are honest and forthright, not coy and deceptive. This goes against your very nature, using an instruction manual to try to ensnare a husband.”

  “There is nothing deceptive about it! It is merely applying an understanding of the male temperament.”

  “Can you not succeed in capturing a man on your own?” Damon asked, his eyes dancing.

  “Of course I could,” Eleanor retorted. “But I do not want just any husband. I want one who loves me, and this book may help me win his affection.”

  Damon's amusement suddenly faded. “Have you set your sights on Lazzara, then?”

  “What if I have? A union between us would be unexceptional.”

  “You would make an admirable princess, I'll grant you that. You were born to the role.”

  Hearing his dubious tone, Eleanor narrowed her gaze. “But you don't think I could bring the prince up to scratch?”

  “Of course he will be drawn to you. You are lively, warm, passionate. Everyone adores you. And certainly he will appreciate your beauty and wit.”

  “You needn't try to flatter me,” she replied irritably. “Your irresistible charm won't work on me any longer.”

  “A pity,” Damon murmured. “It is not flattery, however, to say that his highness will be attracted to your fortune.”

  “He is hardly a fortune hunter. He has three palaces-indeed, his own kingdom.”

  “Anyone who spends his wealth the way Lazzara does would welcome an heiress bride to help fund his penchant for high living.” When Eleanor started to object, Damon raised his hand. “But regardless of his motives for courting you, I have to question your choice. You would be bored to flinders with a milquetoast. You need a man who will challenge you as much as you challenge him.”

  Eleanor bit back a retort, finding too much delight in her exchange of words with Damon. But then, he had always been the most enlivening, stimulating, provocative man of her acquaintance. Even when they argued, she felt a delicious tingle at the challenge of matching wits with him.

  “Prince Lazzara is most certainly not a milquetoast,” Eleanor finally protested.

  “Perhaps. But I know his sort-a charming pleasure-seeker with little genuine substance. In his country, Lazzara is known for breaking hearts. I don't want to see him hurt you, Elle.”

  “Isn't that like the pot calling the kettle black?” she asked with exaggerated sweetness.

  Damon's wince this time looked real, but he continued with an edge of determination in his voice. “Your prince not only is royalty but he was raised in a country where women are shown little respect and rarely seen as equals to men. Lazzara demands subservience and submission from his subjects now. I'd wager that once the courtship is over, he will expect you to do his bidding and obey his every word. You are hardly a biddable female, Elle.”

  Eleanor hesitated, knowing Damon had a point. Currently Prince Lazzara was all charm and affability with her, although she knew he could be forceful in getting his way with his servants and even his elder relative, Signor Vecchi.

  “If you expect,” Damon said, “to lead the prince around by his nose after the wedding, as you do all your swains now, you will likely have a rude awakening.”

  “I do no such thing,” she objected. “I certainly
never led you.”

  “Which is a prime reason you enjoyed our court ship, because you were not able to rule me.”

  That much was true, Eleanor had to agree, even though she was not about to tell him so.

  “You would not enjoy being ruled, Elle,” Damon observed. “And you are in for a great mismatch if you wed Lazzara.”

  Eleanor grimaced, knowing he was calling her Elle just to rile her. “I am not interested in your opinion in the least, Lord Wrexham.”

  He sighed. “Why do you insist on addressing me by my title, as if we are strangers?”

  “We are strangers now.”

  “I beg to differ, love. We still know each other very well.”

  Eleanor had difficultly controlling her response to Damon's smile. That slow, lazy smile was his most potent weapon. “You are wrong, my lord. I don't know you at all. It seems I never did.”

  “You don't know Lazzara either.”

  “But what I do know of him, I like very much. He is extremely considerate and yes, charming. What is more, he has the Italian flair for romance, which is a strong point in his favor.”

  “Because you want a passionate lover for your husband.”

  Indeed, she wanted a man who made her feverish, who made her burn, the way Damon had once done. “Perhaps, but I also want more than passion. I have not given up on finding love in marriage.”

  Damon's gaze turned shadowed. “So you believe your Romeo is passionate. Has he kissed you yet?”

  Eleanor's chin lifted. “I beg your pardon? That is hardly any of your concern.”

  “He must not have,” Damon said with satisfaction, “or you would not be so prickly in coming to his defense.”

  “I am not prickly!”

  “Do you intend to dunk him in a fountain if he dares to take liberties with you?”

  Taking a deep breath, Eleanor tried to regain control of their conversation. “I have no intention of dunking him. He is a prince, after all. And I doubt he would take liberties in any case. He is a gentleman.”

  “Meaning that I am not?”

  Eleanor returned an arch smile. “You may divine whatever meaning you choose, Lord Wrexham.”

  “Very well…” Damon leaned toward her, pausing with his mouth barely inches from hers.

  She froze, feeling stupidly breathless and dizzy at his proximity. “What do you think you are doing?” she managed to rasp.

  “It's called kissing, Eleanor. You have done it before-with me, in fact. Several times…”

  He bent his head before she could protest. The pressure was light, only the barest touch of his warm mouth to hers, but it promised so much more-which doubtless explained the shock of desire that jolted through her.

  Her heart suddenly pounding, Eleanor drew back sharply, even though all her senses were alive with awareness and alertness and excitement.

  “Damon!” she declared tartly. “You cannot just kiss me whenever you feel the urge.”

  “No, but I want to prove a point.”

  When she made to rise, though, he grasped her shoulders to keep her from fleeing. “Let me try again…”

  Eleanor's entire body went rigid, yet she found it impossible to struggle against Damon's light hold.

  What was it about this devilish rogue that demolished all her common sense? Eleanor wondered, cursing her weakness for him. She should push him away, but he was so enchantingly close. His virile warmth spoke to some primal feminine instinct in her, while that beautiful, wicked mouth enticed her…

  She watched, paralyzed, as his mouth moved even closer. When his breath fanned against her lips, she inhaled raggedly. Then Damon's lips caressed hers again, alluring, whisper soft.

  His mouth was as delicious as she remembered, his taste as heady. Warmth spreading through her, Elea nor felt herself melting as his lips slowly twisted and pulled at hers.

  When his hands slid from her shoulders to her upper arms, sensation skittered up her nerve endings and danced over her skin. Then Damon deepened the pressure of his kiss, settling his mouth more fully on hers while drawing her against his hard body.

  When his tongue penetrated her lips in a sensual invasion, a heated rush of feeling assaulted Eleanor. His taste was incredibly arousing. She shivered at the warm stroke of his rough-silk tongue inside her mouth.

  Of their own accord, her hands rose to clutch Damon's shoulders, and she could feel the hardness of his corded muscles beneath her fingertips.

  At the same time his fingertips drifted to her bodice to skim the underside of her breasts. When his strong hands cupped the swells beneath the muslin, Eleanor shuddered at the riveting sensation.

  A helpless sigh whispered from deep in her throat as he began to stroke her with stunning sensuality. His long fingers shaped her breasts, his palms molding the weight, while his thumbs coaxed her nipples, making the sensitive tips engorge painfully under his light touch.

  Eleanor gave a breathless whimper-a sound that Damon evidently heard, for his caresses slowed before he finally ended their embrace.

  She was dazed and trembling when he drew back.

  His eyes smoldered with heat as he stared back at her. “You felt that, didn't you?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and deep.

  “Felt w-what?”

  “The sparks between us.”

  Oh, yes. Heaven help her. The sparks were still there between them, running along her nerve endings, over her skin, flaring inside her. Eleanor couldn't believe how powerful, how searing they were.

  Unable to look away from the dark intensity of Damon's gaze, she swallowed mutely.

  “Do you feel those same sparks with your prince?” he prodded.

  She had only one answer to give: No. Damon still sparked a fire inside her that she had never felt with any other man, including Prince Lazzara. Damn him.

  Eleanor abruptly gave herself a fierce mental shake. Damon was weaving the exact same spell over her as he had two years ago, and like a fool, she was allowing it, despite all the pain he had caused her then.

  With effort, she rose unsteadily to her feet, ignoring how weak her knees were. It was dismaying- appalling even-to find herself just as attracted to her former betrothed as she'd once been. It was galling, her inability to resist Damon. And it was frustrating in the extreme, knowing he had deliberately kissed her to prove a point-that she still wanted him and that her new suitor couldn't compare to him in terms of passion.

  Her ire rose along with her dismay, but Eleanor clamped it down, knowing she would get further with Damon if she remained cool and composed.

  “Lord Wrexham, you may take your leave now,” she announced, proud that her voice sounded almost even. “You have outstayed your welcome.”

  When he didn't respond at once but merely sat there staring up at her, as if he too had been rendered spellbound by their kiss, Eleanor turned toward the bellpull to ring for the butler. But Peters miraculously appeared in the doorway, as if knowing she needed him.

  “Lord Wrexham wishes to leave, Peters,” she said in relief. “But he is having difficulty finding the front entrance on his own. Will you please show him out?”

  “Very well, my lady. But you have another visitor. Prince Lazzara has called.”

  Regularly permit him to make a show of gallantry and manly strength. He will be happy to preen his feathers for your admiration. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

  Eleanor muttered a silent oath. This was all she needed, having the prince call a half hour earlier than expected, just when Damon had been kissing her witless. Thank heaven his highness hadn't arrived two minutes sooner.

  “Do you wish to receive him here in the morning parlor, my lady?” the butler asked.

  “Yes, Peters. Please ask Prince Lazzara to join me here.”

  When the illustrious servant exited to follow her orders, Eleanor distractedly raised her hands to her hair to make certain her curls weren't too disheveled. No doubt she looked like a wanton with her cheeks flushed and her mouth wet and swollen from Damon's k
isses.

  And the culprit showed no signs of remorse, she realized when she sent him a resentful glance. Damon lounged back on the sofa, looking comfortably settled, evidently prepared to remain there for the duration of the prince's visit.

  “This should be priceless,” Damon murmured with obvious enjoyment, “watching you work your newfound wiles on Lazzara.”

  Eleanor had no time to remonstrate, however, before her second handsome caller of the morning appeared.

  “I beg a million pardons for my early arrival, Donna Eleanora,” the prince said as he bowed gallantly over her hand and then kissed her fingers. “It is my great hope that you will forgive me. I was eager to see you again and to begin our outing. And as they say in your language, the bird who is early catches the worm. The shops are waiting for your patronage.”

  Eleanor managed a smile. “Certainly I will forgive you, your highness. I am eager to begin as well.”

  Lazzara's brow furrowed when Damon caught his attention by rising from the sofa. “Ah, I did not realize you had another caller.”

  “His lordship was just leaving,” she said hastily.

  But Damon offered her a bland smile. “In truth, I am in no hurry. What is this outing you speak of, your highness?”

  Prince Lazzara replied in a rather indulgent tone, “I mean to escort Donna Eleanora shopping at the Pantheon Bazaar on Oxford Street. She wishes to search for a gift for the birthday of her aunt. And I will be intrigued to see a bazaar. We have no such things in my country, merely markets and shops.”

  “How gallant of you, your highness,” Damon said mildly. “Lady Eleanor must be impressed by your magnanimity.”

  The prince narrowed his gaze, as if uncertain whether he was being roasted.

  Eleanor hastened to intervene. “I am exceedingly impressed-and appreciative that Don Antonio is willing to give so generously of his time and attention.”

  “Would it inconvenience you greatly if I tagged along, your highness?” Damon asked. “My valet has been after me to show better style in my appearance and to take an interest in the fashions that have come into vogue during my absence from London.”

  When the prince hesitated, obviously debating how discourteous it would be to refuse the English nobleman's request, Eleanor answered for him, alarmed at the notion of Damon accompanying them. “Surely, Lord Wrexham, you have better things to do with your own time.”