“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.
Recently published, Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband had been penned by “An Anonymous Lady.” Yet Eleanor knew firsthand that the author was actually the Loring sisters’ close friend from their girlhood, Fanny Irwin, who had left home at sixteen to become one of London's most renowned Cyprians.
In her book, Fanny shared her secrets not only for landing a husband, but for infatuating him once he was locked in matrimony.
In short, making a man fall madly in love.
Eleanor had told a number of her friends about the book, mainly as a favor to Arabella, her new sister by marriage. Word had spread quickly, though, and now the entire female half of the ton was talking about Advice with great excitement.
Even though most of Eleanor's peers-the young ladies who had made their comeouts with her during her first Season-had already married, they were eager to try out the Anonymous Lady's wisdom on their husbands. And of course, the new crop of debutantes and their matchmaking mamas were even more eager to use it to capture a coveted husband. For them, Advice was like catnip to cats.
Eleanor had little patience for such social intrigue, which seemed to smack of dishonesty in luring a man to his doom. Yet she was fiercely determined to fall in love and marry a man who loved her deeply in return. She would not end up a lonely spinster who led a solitary, barren life. She would not end up like her Aunt Beatrix, either, a widow who had never experienced the joys of love.
Therefore, Eleanor had concluded, if she meant to rule her own destiny, she would have to take her romantic future into her own hands, starting with Prince Lazzara.
Undeniably she was attracted to the handsome, passionate, Italian nobleman, yet she wasn't convinced he could ever love her as she yearned to be loved, or that he would be faithful to her in marriage.
Which is why she had resolved to allow the prince to court her while she attempted to win his love by employing the secrets of Fanny's book.
However, she certainly had not counted on Damon coming back into her life again just when she was beginning to make progress with Prince Lazzara!
Oh, why could Damon not have stayed away for just a few more months? Eleanor wondered with more than a little vexation. Even if she could manage to ignore his unwanted presence in town, she knew her mind would insist on making comparisons between him and any other suitors-and few would likely measure up to him.
There was so much about Damon that she had treasured. His sharp wit, for one. The way he'd challenged her, indeed, dared her to be her own woman. The way he never patronized her or treated her as a fragile blossom, as too many of her other beaux did.
He didn't treat her as an heiress whose fortune he coveted, either. Instead he ragged her and teased her-sometimes enough to rouse her ire-the way her brother did, the way Marcus's two close friends, Heath and Drew, did.
Realizing how her thoughts had wandered to Damon, Eleanor snapped the book shut, put out the lamp, pulled up the covers, and shut her eyes.
To her utter dismay, Damon had made her lose her head tonight. But she would never let it happen again.
She would not think about that charming devil, either. She simply would not!
She dreamed about him, however. A vivid, captivating fantasy that overwhelmed her with desire and yearning. Damon's embrace was demanding and passionate, yet tender enough to draw the very soul from her body… and stirring enough to make her weep.
Eleanor woke in the night with tears on her face and a savage ache in her heart.
For a moment she lay there in the dark, pining for what she had lost when she'd repudiated Damon. It was not only the sweet promise of first love, but their blossoming friendship also. She had lost a friend as well as the ideal husband.
She wondered if Damon ever thought of her, ever dreamed of her, as she still did of him. She had felt as if he were her soulmate-
But quite obviously he had not felt the same way about her, Eleanor thought with a growl of self-disgust. Rolling over in bed and punching her pillow, she renewed her vow to forget all about him.
However, she was very glad to have a goal to distract her and occupy her attention just now. Practicing the techniques laid out in Fanny's book to make Prince Lazzara fall madly in love with her should offer an antidote to her deplorable tendency to dwell far too much on her lost dreams and the heartless rogue who had shattered them.
When Eleanor woke again in the early morning, she reiterated her plan in her mind as she dressed and breakfasted and prepared for her drive with the prince.
And even though she felt somewhat restless and out of sorts, she managed a bright smile when his highness called on her promptly at ten. Once she had settled in his elegant high-perch phaeton-with a young Beldon groom mounted on the tiger's stand behind-Eleanor kept up a cheerful conversation as they bowled along the crowded streets to Hyde Park.
She kept an eye on the prince's driving, however, and his high-strung pair of gray Thoroughbreds.
“Your pair is very spirited,” Eleanor observed, wincing as he jabbed at his horses’ mouths.
“Yes, indeed. Spirit is a prime requirement in my horses. I purchased these at Tattersall's.”
Marcus would have called Lazzara ham-handed or worse. Suspecting she would handle the ribbons far better than the prince, Eleanor wished she could take over the reins. But she held her tongue and did not offer to drive as she recalled Fanny's specific advice. No gentleman would be flattered to think a female was more accomplished at any task, and she wanted to earn the prince's admiration, not affront his pride.
Eleanor was grateful when they reached the park entrance and turned onto the wide, tree-lined avenue of Rotten Row, since the restless grays seemed less fitful here.
Her heart skipped a beat, however, when she saw a rider approaching the prince's phaeton and recognized Damon.
Of all the ill luck, Eleanor thought in vexation.
When Damon slowed his mount and, out of politeness, raised his tall beaver hat in greeting, Lazzara was compelled to halt his vehicle and return the bow.
Eleanor managed a graceful nod as well, even though her feminine sensibilities couldn't help but admire how Damon's broad shoulders filled out his elegant burgundy coat and the way he sat on his magnificent black horse. Damon always was a splendid rider, which was one more thing they'd had in common. Another pang of regret twisted her heart when she recalled the glorious rides in the countryside they had shared during the early days of their betrothal.
“Lady Eleanor, what a pleasant surprise,” was the first thing Damon said. “It is quite unexpected to encounter you here just now.”
Eleanor's eyes narrowed slightly. Damon knew very well she enjoyed coming to the park every morning, rain or shine. “Unexpected, my lord? How so?”
“I know you would much rather ride than drive- and furthermore, your outings usually begin two hours earlier than this.”
Ignoring Damon's reminder that he had intimate knowledge of her habits, she offered him a bland smile. “But I enjoy driving quite well, my lord. Particularly with an escort so agreeable as Prince Lazzara,” she added pointedly, not so much to flatter the prince as to remind Damon of the gentleman sitting beside her.
“No doubt,” Damon returned, “Prince Lazzara is delighted with such a charming companion as yourself.”
“Indeed,” the prince said, finally joining the conversation.
Damon's gaze shifted to him. “Your highness,” he said with an amiable nod. “I recently spent many pleasant months in your country.”
“Oh?” the Italian replied courteously. “Did you visit our magnificent cities? Rome? Florence? Naples?”