To Romance a Charming Rogue

had no desire to return to the house where she might encounter Damon. “I think perhaps I will remain here in the gardens for a moment longer, your highness. I see several of my friends just over there. I will join them.”

She would not be alone, since there were small groups of strollers enjoying the lovely evening, including several ladies whom she recognized. And her aunt knew where she was after all, Eleanor reasoned.

Thankfully the prince did not try to press her or take her to task for remaining unchaperoned in the gardens, but merely bowed gallantly and promised to return shortly. Eleanor watched him disappear down the path, then turned in the opposite direction, toward her friends.

Her heart gave a leap, however, when another tall figure stepped out from the shadows. She recognized those broad shoulders in an instant; that sense of power, of vitality, of danger about him.

She knew those bold dark eyes and the low voice that stroked her nerve-endings like velvet when he spoke, as he did now.

“Elle,” Damon said simply.

An arrow of pain pierced Eleanor at his casual form of address. The French word for “she” had been his pet name for her.

She tried to catch her breath but couldn't manage it just then. Nor could she speak. Her throat had gone dry and she felt a trifle faint. Damon had rendered her paralyzed and tongue-tied-she who was never at a loss for words. Devil take him!

Deploring her weakness for him, Eleanor squared her shoulders and found her voice. “My Lord Wrex-ham,” she murmured with a regal nod.

In response, Damon cocked his head, studying her. “So you mean to treat me with distant formality? I confess relief.”

“Relief? What did you expect from me, my lord? That I would box your ears?”

His mouth curved with a hint of humor. “You did so the last time we met, as I recall.”

Eleanor flushed. That last time she had been a woman scorned, and she'd taken her fury out on Damon's handsome face when she ended their betrothal.

“I admit,” he said, lightly rubbing his left cheek as if in remembrance, “I deserved your scorn then.”

“You did indeed,” Eleanor agreed, only slightly mollified. “But you may rest assured I will do nothing so unseemly tonight. Now, if you will please excuse me…”

She made to pass him, but Damon reached out and touched her arm. “Pray, stay a moment. I went to some trouble to get you alone so we could speak in private before we must meet in public.”

Her eyes widened in comprehension as she stared up at him. “You contrived to get me alone here in the gardens? You had Prince Lazzara called away by that footman?” Realizing her voice had risen unbecomingly, Eleanor lowered it to a tart whisper. “What Machiavellian gall!”

Damon's faint smile was a bit rueful. “I am guilty of manipulation, true, but I thought we should attempt to clear the air between us, and I didn't trust what you might do if I approached you in a crowd. Hopefully you will not shove me into a fountain or worse just now.”

Eleanor arched a skeptical eyebrow. “No? There are several fountains nearby.”

She thought she saw humor spark in his dark eyes at her veiled threat. “At least suppress your urge for retribution until you hear me out.”

Suppressing that urge would be harder than she'd thought. Yet Eleanor held her tongue as Damon continued more slowly. “I doubt you will readily forgive me for what happened two years ago-”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” she interrupted sweetly. “Merely because you turned me into a laughingstock and a figure of pity in front of the entire ton, you think my magnanimity would be in short supply?”

“No one would ever think you a figure of pity, Elle.”

She stiffened this time at his soubriquet. “I prefer you not call me that silly name. The proper form of address now is ‘Lady Eleanor.’ ”

“Ah, yes. I had heard Marcus petitioned the Crown to raise your precedence from a baron's sister to an earl's. Very well, then, my Lady Eleanor… will you grant me a brief audience?”

Damon's cordiality was beginning to wear on her nerves. “What do you wish to say to me, Lord Wrex-ham? You needn't apologize for your despicable behavior so long ago. It is over and done with and I scarcely ever think of it anymore.”

At her lie, his expression remained enigmatic, even as his gaze searched her face. “I regret hurting you, Eleanor, but I did not seek you out tonight in order to apologize.”

“Then why did you employ such machinations?”

“I hoped we could declare a truce. For your sake more than mine.”

“My sake? How so?”

“I don't want your reputation to suffer for my past sins, so I hoped we could avoid any awkwardness when we are seen in public together for the first time. Even if you were merely to cut me, it would provide more fodder for the tongue-waggers.”

“I agree. We can behave civilly toward one another when we officially meet.”

“I thought we could go one step further tonight. Perhaps I could request your hand for a set. A simple country dance, nothing more,” Damon added when her eyes narrowed.

“Why on earth would I wish to dance with you?”

“To put any gossip to rest.”

“On the contrary, my dancing with you would only inflame the gossip by making it appear as if we were on familiar terms again. No, there is no need for such intimacy, Damon. But I will not cut you dead whenever I see you. Now, if that is all…?”

“Don't go just yet.”

His low remark was neither a command nor an entreaty, yet it made Eleanor pause. The temptation to stay with Damon was overwhelming, even if she didn't like being in such close proximity to him, particularly all alone at night. “I don't wish to be seen alone with you,” she began.

“We can remedy that.”

Startling her, Damon took her elbow and drew her a few yards off the gravel path, behind a topiary yew and deeper into the shadows.

Eleanor didn't protest, even though she knew she should. Perhaps it was better to get their first meeting over in private, so there would be no awkward moments when they met in public. But understandably, she was not in a generous mood.

“I cannot fathom what you hope to accomplish,” she said rather peevishly. “We can have little to say to each other.”

“We can catch up on the past two years.”

But she didn't wish to catch up, Eleanor thought. She didn't want to dwell on what Damon had been doing all the time he was away-what women he had been with-or to recall how lonely and abandoned she had felt when he left. Even so, she managed a polite response.

“I understand you have been traveling on the Continent?”

“For much of my absence, yes. Chiefly in Italy.”

“And you have returned to England to stay?”

“For a time, at least. I enjoyed my travels but found myself longing for home.”

Eleanor felt a twinge of envy since she had always wanted to travel. A single young lady, however, jaunting all over the globe was considered highly improper, particularly by her aunt. Moreover, Europe had been extremely unsafe until the defeat of Napoleon's ar mies three years ago. But someday she hoped to fulfill her dream to see more of the world than her own country.

Then Damon surprised her again by reaching up to touch a curling tendril on her forehead. For a moment she thought he meant to straighten the narrow silk bandeau she wore, which was adorned with blue ostrich plumes to match her empire-waisted gown of pale blue lustring and overskirt of silver net.

“Your glorious hair… Why the devil did you cut it off?”

The question took Eleanor aback. She wore her raven hair in short curls now. The style was quite fashionable, but in truth she'd cut it severely two years ago in an act of defiance, since Damon had professed to cherish her long hair.