Yet she was actually startled when the object of her vexation was announced by the Beldon butler just after she finished a solitary breakfast and repaired to the morning parlor to reread a chapter in Fanny's advice book.
Damon strode into the room as casually as he'd done during their betrothal, when he'd had the right to share her company.
Her gaze flying to him, Eleanor nearly dropped her book. He was dressed for riding this morning, and he looked incredibly handsome in a blue coat and buff buckskin breeches that molded his athletic form to perfection.
Deploring how her heart leapt at his unexpected appearance, Eleanor started to rise from the sofa where she was seated, but Damon held up a hand to forestall her.
“Pray, don't trouble yourself on my account, Lady Eleanor. I shan't be long.”
“My l-lord…” she stammered. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“I thought to catch you at home before you set out on your morning ride.”
She didn't intend to disclose that she would not be riding this morning-Eleanor abruptly cut off that thought when she recalled that they were not alone.
“That will be all, thank you, Peters,” she said to Lady Beldon's august butler, who was hovering protectively at the parlor entrance.
Peters's expression showed the slightest measure of disapproval, but at Eleanor's dismissal, he bowed and retreated from the room.
Setting aside her book, she frowned at her noble visitor. “You should not be here, my lord.”
Damon raised an eyebrow as he moved closer to stand before her. “Is it a crime to pay you a morning call?”
“Not a crime perhaps, but definitely a social transgression. You have no business here.”
“I wanted to make certain you were unharmed after the carriage accident yesterday.”
Eleanor's brows drew together uncertainly. “As you see, I am quite well. Did you expect the incident to overset my sensibilities?”
“Hardly. I know you too well.”
When Damon flashed her an amused smile, Elea nor did her best to hide her involuntary physical response. Yet she couldn't repress the dizzy pleasure she felt when he smiled at her that way, or control the flush of warmth that suffused her body when his gaze drifted over her morning gown of jonquil muslin.
“You do look the picture of health,” Damon observed.
Not having a ready reply, Eleanor stirred in her seat and kept silent.
“I gather the Dragon has not yet risen this morning,” he said, casting a glance up at the ceiling toward the second floor where Lady Beldon was still abed.
Eleanor stiffened at the unappealing sobriquet. Her Aunt Beatrix had been more of a mother to her than her own mother, so Eleanor felt compelled to defend her. “You only consider her a dragon because she championed me two years ago when our betrothal ended.”
Damon gave a mock wince. “My ears are still ringing from the tongue-lashing she gave me.”
“You deserved it, you know very well.”
“True. But Lady Beldon never approved of me from the start.”
“Because of your wicked reputation. My aunt does not care for rakes or rebels.”
Damon laughed softly as he settled on the sofa beside Eleanor. “Or anyone who fails to bow to her notion of proper behavior or grovel suitably before society's dictators. It amazes me that she tolerated our betrothal at all.”
“Your title and fortune were significant points in your favor,” Eleanor said dryly.
“But now they cannot compensate for my faults.”
“No, they cannot. She wants me to have nothing more to do with you. My aunt believes a lady can never be too careful of her reputation.”
“And you mean to be the good niece and do exactly as she decrees.”
“Precisely.”
Damon shook his head sadly. “I thought better of your revolutionary spirit, Elle. As long as we are speaking of what is proper, however… I suppose I should pay my respects to Lady Beldon.”
“She would not welcome it after what happened between us,” Eleanor pointed out.
“I take it she will never forgive me?”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
“And you, Elle?” His voice dropped a register while his dark eyes searched her face. “Will you forgive me?”
Eleanor swallowed against the sudden ache in her throat. “I believe I mentioned, Lord Wrexham, I have put that unpleasant incident from my mind. I scarcely think about our betrothal, or you for that matter.”
“I thought of you often while I was away,” he said in a low voice.
She was about to remonstrate with him when his eye was drawn to Fanny's book lying beside her. Damon reached for it before she could think to stop him.
His eyebrows shot up as he recited the title aloud.
“Yes, I am,” Eleanor replied, feeling her cheeks turning red.
She tried to snatch the book from him, but Damon held it away until she gave up.
His eyebrows remained high as he thumbed through the pages. And his handsome mouth curved in a small grin when he came to one passage. “ ‘Offer him subtle flattery,’ ” Damon quoted, “ ‘that holds at least a grain of truth. Exaggerate his pleasant attributes, ignore the rest.’ ” He raised his gaze to Eleanor. “I suppose that is wise advice, but I would never have expected you to stoop so low.”
Her flush deepened at his ribbing. “I am hardly
“You are honest and forthright, not coy and deceptive. This goes against your very nature, using an instruction manual to try to ensnare a husband.”
“There is nothing deceptive about it! It is merely applying an understanding of the male temperament.”
“Can you not succeed in capturing a man on your own?” Damon asked, his eyes dancing.
“Of
Damon's amusement suddenly faded. “Have you set your sights on Lazzara, then?”
“What if I have? A union between us would be unexceptional.”
“You would make an admirable princess, I'll grant you that. You were born to the role.”
Hearing his dubious tone, Eleanor narrowed her gaze. “But you don't think I could bring the prince up to scratch?”
“Of course he will be drawn to you. You are lively, warm, passionate. Everyone adores you. And certainly he will appreciate your beauty and wit.”
“You needn't try to flatter me,” she replied irritably. “Your irresistible charm won't work on me any longer.”
“A pity,” Damon murmured. “It is not flattery, however, to say that his highness will be attracted to your fortune.”
“He is hardly a fortune hunter. He has three palaces-indeed, his own kingdom.”
“Anyone who spends his wealth the way Lazzara does would welcome an heiress bride to help fund his penchant for high living.” When Eleanor started to object, Damon raised his hand. “But regardless of his motives for courting you, I have to question your choice. You would be bored to flinders with a milquetoast. You need a man who will challenge you as much as you challenge him.”
Eleanor bit back a retort, finding too much delight in her exchange of words with Damon. But then, he had always been the most enlivening, stimulating, provocative man of her acquaintance. Even when they argued, she felt a delicious tingle at the challenge of matching wits with him.
“Prince Lazzara is most certainly not a milquetoast,” Eleanor finally protested.
“Perhaps. But I know his sort-a charming pleasure-seeker with little genuine substance. In his country, Lazzara is known for breaking hearts. I don't want to see him hurt you, Elle.”
