Together they eventually slowed the carriage and brought it to a shuddering halt. For a moment Damon stayed where he was, calming the trembling grays in a low, soothing tone. But his dark eyes found Eleanor's blue ones with penetrating force.
“God, Elle, are you all right?” he demanded, worry making his voice sharp.
Her heart racing, she nodded. “Yes,” she said breathlessly as she sat upright-an awkward task considering that the leather seat was canted at an unnatural angle. “Thank you for saving us.”
He stared at her another long moment. Then to her surprise, Damon's eyebrow lifted, while his mouth curved at the corner. “Oh, I suspect expressions of gratitude are premature. With your quick reflexes, you might have managed it all on your own.”
It was deplorable, how her heart warmed at his praise, and so was the flush that heated her cheeks.
She had actually forgotten her companion, Eleanor realized, chiding her thoughtlessness as she tore her gaze from Damon's.
Don Antonio looked rather shaken as he righted himself. “I am in your debt, Lord Wrexham,” he added, not sounding happy about it.
“You lost a wheel, your highness-”
“An unnecessary observation, my lord,” the prince muttered rather stiffly.
The Beldon groom came running up then and went to the horses’ heads, all the while apologizing profusely and begging his mistress's pardon for being thrown off.
Eleanor hastened to reassure first the lad and then soothe the prince's wounded pride, certain that Fanny would advise her to do so quickly. “Of course you would have easily saved us had the reins not been torn from your hands, your highness.”
“Indeed, I would have done so,” Antonio answered with a measurable decrease in frostiness at the encouraging smile Eleanor gave him.
Watching from his position on his horse, Damon felt his jaw clench. Seeing Elle favor that rake with such a sweet, alluring smile set his teeth on edge. Especially since his heart was still lodged in his throat from the sight of her possibly being dragged to her death.
Edging his mount closer to her, he held out his hand. “Allow me to take you home, Lady Eleanor.”
Her eyebrows arched up in surprise. “You do not actually think I would be so improper as to ride tandem with you?”
It was on the tip of Damon's tongue to reply that she had done so before, but he doubted Eleanor would want to advertise their former intimacy to her companion. Instead, he merely murmured, “It may be some time before a wheelwright can be found to repair Prince Lazzara's phaeton.”
“Perhaps,” she replied. “But we should have no difficulty finding someone with a carriage to come to our aid. Ah, there is the Dowager Countess Haviland in her barouche.” Eleanor turned to the Italian nobleman. “Lady Haviland is a bosom friend of my aunt's, your highness. I have no doubt she will offer to carry us home in her carriage once she has finished her morning promenade of the park.”
“That should suffice admirably,
“Truly, it is no trouble,” Eleanor said, letting her hand linger in the prince's grasp far longer than was warranted, to Damon's mind.
“But this mishap endangered your very life. My servants will hear of this outrage, you may be sure.”
“Your servants may not be to blame, your highness, and you most certainly are not. It is not uncommon for a carriage wheel to come off. Besides, a little excitement can enliven the day.”
The prince looked dubious, yet he smiled. “You are too generous, Donna Eleanora.”
“No, not at all. If you wish,” Eleanor added, “my groom can unharness your grays and lead them back to their stable. It is not very far. And then you may make arrangements for the repair of your carriage without fear for your horses’ welfare.”
Damon doubted the royal would concern himself much with his livestock, no matter how superb their breeding. But the prince nodded in approval of Elea nor's plan and waved a permissive hand at the lad-a wise move, Damon knew, since she would never have abandoned either servant or animals in such dire straits.
When Eleanor glanced around her, as if searching for the best way down from her precarious seat, Damon dismounted and went to help her.
Eleanor refused his assistance, however. “Thank you, Lord Wrexham, but I am not helpless,” she announced as she scrambled down on her own.
“Of course you are not,” Damon couldn't help but murmur, amused by her understatement. “You are the least helpless female I know.”
He'd lost a year off his life, seeing her in such danger, but he should have known Eleanor could be depended upon to save herself and her milksop prince. Pride and admiration flooded Damon now at her bravery, since perhaps one woman in a thousand would have the presence of mind to try to halt the runaway pair.
Eleanor did not appear pleased by his compliment, though, if he were to judge by the darkling look she shot him as she waited attentively for the prince to climb down. Evidently she didn't care to be praised for her heroics since she didn't want to show up her companion.
The nobleman did not appear any happier for the unwanted interference, either. And when Eleanor took the prince's arm, he cast a smug glance at Damon, a look of sheer male triumph. He might have suffered the indignity of appearing weak in the lady's eyes by remaining helpless in the face of danger. But in the end, he had claimed the prize: her warm smile.
Damon watched with narrowed eyes as they moved off toward the barouche that reportedly belonged to Lady Haviland. Eleanor was correct, he thought irritably. It was not uncommon for a carriage wheel to come off. Just extremely poor luck-or in the prince's case, extremely
Damon muttered an oath as he made to remount his horse. His plan to ascertain just how serious Elle's feelings were for her Italian suitor had gone nowhere, he conceded.
Although now he was even more convinced that his instincts were valid: Lazzara would make a disastrous husband for her.
Warning her outright about the prince's womanizing, though, might not have the desired effect, Damon suspected. Coming from him, she was unlikely to believe it, since his concern would smack of sour grapes and male rivalry.
Even so, Damon mused with a thoughtful frown, he ought to actively try to separate Eleanor from her noble courtier. Of course, she would not thank him for his unwanted interference, but raising her ire was a small price to pay for keeping her safe from hurt.
Bringing her jaunty lady's phaeton to a halt before Fanny Irwin's elegant residence in Crawford Place, Eleanor handed the reins to her groom and stepped down without assistance.
“I shall be no more than an hour, Billy, if you will walk the horses and return for me then.”
“Aye, milady,” he replied, seeming particularly eager to please after the carriage accident this morning.
The genteel neighborhood was situated only a short distance north of Hyde Park and boasted a dozen row houses that appeared refined and tastefully expensive. Number Eleven was Fanny's private home, not her usual London residence where she conducted business and entertained her elite male clientele. Yet Eleanor didn't wish to advertise the fact that she was visiting one of London's leading Cyprians by leaving her phaeton out in front.
She didn't have the luxury of openly befriending a notorious courtesan, since she was living under her aunt's roof and felt obliged to honor Lady Beldon's dictates. But she valued her blossoming friendship with Fanny, whom she had met just last month at Lily Loring's wedding.
Eleanor could understand why the Loring sisters refused to shun their childhood companion, regardless of the social consequences. The beautiful Fanny was delightful and charming and full of life, in addition to having a shrewd
