I should have kicked him harder, Eleanor muttered silently to herself. The pain would make her remember just how dangerous Damon still was to her.
Now she could only hope she had no more intimate encounters with him. She didn't trust herself not to behave in that same wanton manner if he ever attempted to kiss her again.
And if he did? Well, she feared she was likely to succumb to Damon's wicked charm all over again, and she most certainly would not let that happen!
Play the damsel in distress upon occasion. Your apparent helplessness will allow him to feel superior- and gentlemen greatly relish feeling superior. -An Anonymous Lady,
Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband
A distracted frown shadowed Damon's brow as he left Carlton House to climb into his town carriage. He had fully expected to see Eleanor again this evening. He'd even planned to speak privately with her-and had gone to great lengths to arrange it. But he sure as the devil hadn't intended to kiss her.
On the contrary, he'd simply wanted to try to mitigate any hard feelings Eleanor bore him so they could put the discomfiting past behind them. That, and to ascertain how serious her feelings for Prince Lazzara were.
So why in hell did you succumb to the fierce urge to taste her lips again? Damon wondered dryly. You should know better than to play with live coals.
Yet despite the risk of being burned, he couldn't regret kissing her. Her mouth was everything he remembered and more. She was everything he remembered: vibrant, lush, alive with a warm radiance that still had the power to captivate him.
Eleanor Pierce fired his blood more than any woman ever had, and possibly ever would. She had intoxicated him tonight, just as she had two years ago-
Damon felt the carriage rock as his portly friend, Mr. Otto Geary, settled heavily on the leather squabs beside him.
“Thank the saints that ostentatious display is over and done with,” Otto declared with a relieved sigh as the carriage pulled away from Carlton House. “I beg you never to drag me to another of these tedious, priggish affairs ever again.”
Forcibly shifting his thoughts away from Eleanor, Damon curved his mouth wryly at his friend's complaint. “You know very well why I ‘dragged’ you here tonight. To get you away from your hospital for a few waking moments. Otherwise you would bury yourself there with your patients. No doubt you did so for the entire two years I was away.”
When Otto tugged at the swaths of his formal cravat, a shock of bright red hair fell into his eyes. “I am perfectly content to bury myself with my patients. The ton, on the other hand… I don't know how you bear it, Damon. I fancied you had little fondness for Prinny.”
“You fancy correctly, but His Royal Highness can provide you with advantages I cannot. And since he covets my support in financing his many pleasures, he is willing to lend his patronage to your endeavors as a favor to me.”
Otto sighed again. “ ‘Tis a blasted shame it takes a bloody fortune to run a hospital.”
Damon understood quite well how expensive operating a private hospital could be, since he had supplied a significant portion of his own fortune to first fund Otto's medical studies and then help him to establish the Marlebone Hospital in northern London some half dozen years ago.
Through hard work, dedication, and sheer brilliance, Otto Geary had become one of England's most respected physicians. But the Regent's patronage could garner him even more respect-and more crucially, support and charitable contributions from wealthy British society.
“I doubt, however,” Otto said leadingly, “that securing the Regent's patronage for me was the only reason you came tonight.”
In the light of the carriage lamp, Damon saw his friend studying him. “What other reason could there be?” he hedged.
“Because you are enamored of a particular genteel young lady, perhaps?”
“When have I ever been enamored of a young lady?”
“Two years ago, in fact.” When Damon sent him a penetrating glance, Otto went on with amusement. “You have been uncommonly restless and irritable for the past four days, my good man. I can see it, even if you pretend otherwise. If I had to make a diagnosis, I would say your symptoms were due to the anticipation of seeing Lady Eleanor again.”
An ironic smile pulled at Damon's lips. “How the devil did you guess?”
Otto laughed. “You forget I know you too well, old chap.”
Damon couldn't deny the statement. They had met long ago under grim circumstances, when Otto had taken over the deathbed care of Damon's sixteen-year-old twin brother, Joshua.
“Lady Eleanor is exceptionally beautiful, I must say,” Otto probed. “Did you manage to speak to her tonight?”
“Yes.”
“And? Is that all you mean to tell me?”
“There is nothing more to tell.” Damon had no intention of explaining his feelings for Eleanor, particularly when he wasn't certain exactly what he felt for her now.
“You cannot be happy that Prince Lazzara is courting her,” Otto stated.
That was emphatically true. Upon hearing that Eleanor was being wooed by the Italian prince, Damon had returned to England a week sooner than originally planned. He'd rightly wanted to protect her from being hurt by Lazzara's libertine propensities… although he was hard-pressed to justify the savage surge of jealousy he'd felt at seeing her together with the handsome noble tonight, since he had absolutely no claim on her any longer.
“No, I am not happy about it,” he acknowledged in a low voice.
Otto pursed his lips in a frown. “You should take care, Damon. You would do well to keep away from the lady entirely. You do not want to give her or anyone else a false impression about your intentions by showing too much interest in her.”
“I bow to your superior wisdom,” Damon returned, making light of the moment. Yet he was in full agreement with his friend's advice.
Eleanor was compelling, dangerous, addictive. She had left a deep mark on him, so deep that for the past two years he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Indeed, since those few exhilarating weeks of their brief courtship ended, his life had seemed as bland as blancmange pudding, despite the excitement of his travels and the satisfaction of achieving several long-held ambitions.
Damon's frown returned as he averted his head to gaze out the carriage window at the dark streets of London. Until tonight, he'd convinced himself he had conquered his feelings of ardor for Elle. Perhaps that was partly why he had kissed her, because he'd had some vague notion of proving to himself that he was over her. Yet his ill-advised experiment had confirmed just the opposite.
The sparks between them still burned as hot as ever-which made her supremely dangerous to his resolution to keep away from her.
It was probably fortunate that Eleanor was still furious at him for the way he'd treated her. She was unlikely ever to forgive him for his transgressions during their betrothal.
He deeply regretted hurting her and knew he was fully to blame for the entire painful affair. He also knew he never should have proposed marriage to her in the first place, since he couldn't give her what she wanted.
Admittedly, he'd been bowled over by the high-spirited raven-haired beauty with the quick wit and warm laugh. Eleanor had totally set him on his ear when they first met. She'd made him feel truly alive again for one of the first times since his family's deaths. What was more inexplicable was the uncanny bond he felt with her, a closeness almost as powerful as the one he'd shared with his twin.
Which was the prime reason, Damon conceded, that he'd impulsively asked for her hand in marriage. That and the fact that he had wanted her so badly, he was afraid he might take his desire beyond mere kisses and dishonor her if he didn't legitimize his passion with matrimony.
Her shy, sweet declaration of love the next week, however, had stunned him. As soon as he realized how ardent Eleanor's feelings for him had grown- and comprehended how perilously intense his own attraction to her had become-he'd taken steps to end their relationship. He hadn't wanted to compound her pain any further by letting her fall in love with him more deeply, rationalizing that the sooner he made her break off, the sooner she would recover.
You should let the past be a warning to you, an insistent voice in his head admonished. Otto was right, Damon knew; he ought to keep far away from Eleanor. And practically speaking, now that he had seen her again, he should be able to move on with his life.
Except that he felt uneasy leaving her as a target for Prince Lazzara, a charming Lothario who was possibly a fortune hunter and most certainly a rake. In Italy, Lazzara had not only left a trail of broken hearts, he'd ruined a woman of good family and refused to take responsibility.
Damon didn't think Lazzara would actually besmirch Eleanor, since her family and social connections were so powerful. He was worried, however, that the prince could hurt Eleanor just as he himself had done-that she would fall in love and wed Laz-zara and then be devastated by his infidelities.
Damon's mouth curled at the corner. He suspected that in addition to protecting Eleanor, he wanted to salve his own conscience, to absolve his guilt in some measure.
Wishing to take his mind off her, he was glad when Otto changed the subject to speak about his pet topic, his precious hospital. Nor did Damon regret being left to himself when the carriage set the preeminent physician down at his lodgings in Marlebone near the hospital and then proceeded on to the Wrexham mansion in Cavendish Square in Mayfair, London's most fashionable district and home of many of the aristocracy.
The house had been in Damon's family for several generations, but the empty quiet that greeted him as he entered bore little resemblance to the memories of his childhood. The corridors had rung with laughter when he and Joshua were boys.