Nicole Jordan - To Romance a Charming Rogue

Upon returning to their home in Portman Place, Eleanor accompanied her aunt upstairs and paused outside Lady Beldon's bedchamber to say good night.

“I am glad you enjoyed the evening, Aunt,” Elea nor said sincerely. “Signor Vecchi is quite agreeable, is he not?”

“He is indeed,” Beatrix answered with a slight blush at the mention of Prince Lazzara's elder relation. “The Signor is the epitome of charm. I suspect charm must be an inherent trait of Italian gentlemen, regardless of age.”

“You may be right.”

It warmed Eleanor's heart to think she could be witnessing a budding romance between her patrician aunt and the distinguished Italian diplomat. Since being widowed a half dozen years ago, Beatrix had shown no interest in any gentleman of any kind. But clearly her attention was engaged now by Signor Vecchi, who was likewise widowed. Moreover, he seemed to be attracted to her in return.

Aunt Beatrix's blush faded, however, as she gave Eleanor a careful scrutiny. “Did you enjoy the evening, my dear? You are not overly distressed by Wrexham's return, are you?”

“Certainly not,” Eleanor prevaricated. “He may go to the devil for all I care.”

“He already has gone to the devil, no doubt,” Bea trix replied tartly, “although you know very well that ladies do not use such coarse language as ‘devil.’ ”

“Yes, Aunt,” she murmured, hiding a smile. Her noble relative was fastidious about proper behavior, yet Eleanor wanted to please her aunt whenever possible, to repay her kindness for taking her in so long ago.

“I trust Wrexham's return will not interfere with Prince Lazzara's courtship of you,” her ladyship observed.

“I cannot imagine why it should. Wrexham has no interest in me any longer, nor I in him.” Under no circumstances would she divulge that Damon had kissed her witless in the gardens barely four hours ago, or that for an enchanted moment, she had returned his wonderful kiss with a shameful eagerness.

“Do you mean to drive with Don Antonio in the morning, Eleanor?”

“Yes, at ten o'clock.”

Beatrix raised an eyebrow. “That is rather late for you, is it not?”

“It is, but the prince claims to be a late riser.”

“In any event, be sure to take one of our own grooms with you, for appearances’ sake, you know.”

“I shall,” Eleanor replied without argument.

“Then sleep well, dear.”

“And you, Aunt,” she responded, although certain sleep wouldn't come easily to her tonight. She was infinitely glad her initial meeting with Damon was done with, yet he had only roused painful, poignant feelings of regret and desire inside her.

She did not kiss the older woman's cheek or even press her hand before turning away, since Lady Bel-don considered such demonstrations of affection ill-bred.

Perhaps, Eleanor reflected as she made for her own bedchamber in the adjacent wing of the house, her aunt's strict reserve was why she had responded so readily to Damon's warmth when he first started wooing her.

She'd had a rather lonely upbringing, growing up in the care of stern, very proper governesses. Her parents, Baron and Baroness Pierce, had a cold marriage of convenience and held little affection for each other or their children. And since Eleanor's beloved brother Marcus was almost a dozen years her senior, for most of her childhood he was away at boarding school and university.

Upon her parents’ deaths in a fatal carriage accident, Marcus became her legal guardian, yet Eleanor went to live with their mother's sister, Viscountess Beldon, since her ladyship was a far more suitable chaperone for a ten-year-old girl.

Supremely aware of her breeding and consequence, Aunt Beatrix refused to allow Eleanor to attend boarding school where she might have made close friends. And even now, despite her current popularity among the ton, she had few truly dear friends except for Drew Moncrief, the Duke of Arden, and Heath Griffin, the Marquess of Claybourne, who were both like older brothers to her.

Oh, Eleanor remembered wryly, she had attracted numerous suitors during her comeout at eighteen. Once she reached marriageable age, her fortune and lineage had made her highly sought after.

Marcus had worried that she might fall victim to a fortune hunter, while Aunt Beatrix had wanted her to make the brilliant marriage expected of most heiresses-a union of bloodlines and fortune-even if there was no chance for mutual affection. Eleanor, however, had a crystal clear vision for her future. She planned to hold out for a love match.

Then, barely six months after her debut, she met the wickedly charming rogue, Lord Wrexham.

She had initially resisted Damon on sheer principle. Every woman wanted him, so she was determined she would not. But even she had quickly fallen under his spell. He was unlike any man she'd ever known, virile and vital, with a sense of intensity, of danger about him that was exhilarating.

She would never forget that first unexpected kiss between them. They were strolling in the gardens of the Beldon country estate near Brighton, at the beginning of her aunt's annual house party, when he struck up an easy flirtation with her, one that challenged her wits and undermined all her defenses.

“You are too seductive for your own good,” Elea nor finally told him with a laugh. “It could lead you into trouble.”

His half smile was enchanting. “It already has upon occasion. But the potential rewards are worth the risk.”

Then and there Damon leaned toward her and boldly captured her lips, giving her a stunning taste of heat and arousal and pure captivation.

After a long, dazed moment, however, Eleanor reacted sheerly on principle, determined to show him that she was not to be trifled with. She pushed at his chest, catching him completely off guard and sending him tripping backward over the ledge of the nearby fountain.

With a splash, Damon sat down hard in the pool and sprawled there, staring up at her, his formal evening attire soaking through.

“I trust that cooled your ardor, my lord,” Eleanor said sweetly, trying to hide her breathlessness.

After a stunned moment, he started laughing. “If you think that, Miss Pierce, you don't know me very well.”

Her unconventional response had not cooled Damon's ardor in the least. It had merely made him more subtle in employing his powers of seduction.

That beguiling, enthralling kiss had been the first of many during their courtship, even though Damon had never allowed their passion to go beyond a few forbidden caresses. Remembering now, Eleanor lifted her fingers to gently touch her lips.

It had been a grave mistake to succumb to Damon's sensual allure and offer him her heart, she'd learned. It was an even bigger mistake to hope that he would end her loneliness by coming to love her. Their short romance had held fireworks that flamed and burned out at the first test of fidelity.

If she had any regrets about terminating their betrothal, they were fleeting and usually haunted her in the small, lonely hours of the night. And regrets were easier to quell when she recalled that those few amazing weeks of joy and elation Damon had given her were followed by months of pain-and when she contemplated how much greater the pain would have been if she'd discovered his penchant for infidelity after she wed him.

No, Eleanor thought as she reached the door to her bedchamber, she would marry someday, but it would be on her terms, when she could be certain her husband bore her a true, undying, mutual love.

Her abigail was awaiting her and helped her undress and prepare for bed. After dismissing the cheerful girl, Eleanor climbed into bed, although she didn't immediately extinguish the lamp flame. Instead, she picked up the small, leatherbound book that lay on her bedside table.