her. Eleanor stood her ground-which was a mistake, she quickly realized. Before she could fathom his intent, Damon drew her into his embrace, flush against his hard body.
“I won't let you wed Lazzara, Elle.”
“You cannot stop me,” she declared, raising her chin.
His eyes sparked at her defiance. “Then you leave me no choice,” he murmured in that low, husky voice. “I will have to persuade you one kiss at a time.”
Her heart leapt as his wicked mouth came closer, yet Eleanor found herself riveted in place, unable to utter a protest. His palms framing her face, Damon stole her lips-and her breath as well-in a deep, intimate, caressing kiss.
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, her body trembling with renewed heat, when at last he released her. Eleanor drew away, dazed and flustered… which clearly was his aim. Damon seemed to derive great satisfaction from keeping her off balance, if his expression was anything to judge by.
“It is sneaky and underhanded of you,” she complained with a touch of bitterness, “using physical arousal to turn my own body against me. You know I have difficulty resisting your seduction.”
“I am counting on it.” There was a distinct challenge in his gaze. “You should not underestimate my determination, Elle.”
He bent to kiss her again, but this time she summoned the last ounce of her willpower and jerked away. “Blast you, Damon, keep away from me! If you do not, I won't be responsible for the consequences.”
His lips twisted with faint humor. “Your wish is my command, my lady,” he replied, giving her a bow before crossing the room to the open window.
There he hesitated and glanced back at her. “Prom ise me you will keep on your guard when you are with Lazzara, Eleanor. His continued mishaps could put you in danger, and you need to take the potential threat seriously.”
“Right now the only threat I see comes from you,” she declared irritably.
“Promise me, Elle,” Damon repeated, his tone stern.
“Very well, I promise!
He sat on the sill, then eased himself through and onto a limb of the oak tree outside. Right then Elea nor decided to have her aunt's gardeners trim those branches first thing in the morning, to deny Damon access to her bedchamber in the future.
She watched warily as he disappeared from sight and then latched the window shut and drew the draperies. Crossing to her bed, Eleanor climbed in and sank back among the pillows, utterly dismayed by the turn of events.
She had behaved like a total wanton, allowing Damon to take scandalous liberties with her body. Involuntarily, she reached up and touched her swollen lips, remembering the incredible pleasure he had shown her… pleasure he had promised was only a small measure of what she could expect in their marriage bed.
Yet not only had he breached her defenses, even worse, he'd actually had the audacity to propose marriage so he could prevent her from pursuing a relationship with Prince Lazzara.
The very nerve of him! She couldn't fault his concern for her safety, but she couldn't give his proposal any serious credence either. Moreover, she had little doubt that once the prince's courtship ended, Damon would find some way to elude any marriage shackles.
And in the unlikely event that he actually was sincere about his proposal?
She most certainly would not marry him, Eleanor swore. She was fiercely determined to move on with her life. Of course, she would first have to overcome her deplorable infatuation with Damon. The vexing scoundrel challenged her, infuriated her, captivated her-and worried her to no end.
Damon had the enchanting ability to gain whatever he wanted, and he professed to want
Eleanor caught her lower lip between her teeth. She wanted to curse and pray at the same time: to curse Damon and to pray for her own deliverance.
He did not want her for his wife, no matter what he claimed. And even if he did, he was not getting her!
Did he truly want Eleanor for his wife? Damon wondered as he carefully negotiated the oak tree outside her window. Admittedly, he was not as sanguine about his impulsive offer of marriage as he'd let on. In fact, he'd astonished himself almost as much as he had Elle.
Certainly he wanted to protect her from Lazzara. He'd been frustrated as bloody hell by Eleanor's determined pursuit of the prince, as well as by her romanticized ideals of love and marriage.
Damon couldn't deny, either, that one of her accusations had hit uncannily close to the truth. Once more he'd acted in the heat of the moment; his hunger for her had sent blood streaming from his brain to his loins, along with any vestiges of wisdom he should have learned from his original experience at proposing. He was sporting a raging arousal now that made descending the tree rather painful at times.
“Which is what you deserve for nearly seducing her in her own bed, you sorry blighter,” Damon murmured to himself.
His mouth curved with self-deprecation. The lust-induced madness that had infected him two years ago had struck him within mere days of encountering Eleanor again. He was climbing trees in the pitch dark, inviting scandal by visiting a genteel young lady's bedchamber late at night, and plotting how to pry her away from her princely suitor.
But at least his placid, boring life was no longer dull. Even more notably, the restlessness that had festered inside him in recent months was absent for the moment.
Dropping to the ground, Damon dusted off his hands and made his way to his carriage, which awaited him around the corner of Portman Place.
Still, he reminded himself, he'd had a sound rationalization for his irrational proposal besides sheer madness or lust or even protectiveness. It wasn't primal male possessiveness driving him, either, or the fact that he didn't want to give Eleanor up to any other man.
It was that he couldn't allow her to leave his life so irrevocably. He didn't want to think of his world without Elle in it.
Granted, Damon reflected, while he had always intended to marry eventually, he'd planned on making a union typical of the British aristocracy, with a genteel female who would never engage his heart. Yet he would lose Eleanor for good if she married her prince-and that he couldn't bring himself to accept.
Despite her arguments, though, a marriage of convenience between them was not so illogical, Damon reasoned. If he was to marry, Eleanor would be his best choice by far. He would never find another woman who was so ideally suited to him.
And he could say the same about his own suitability for her. Most definitely he would make her a better husband than her prince or anyone else. He would make certain of it.
He would never purposely hurt her again, he was willing to swear his life on that. Eleanor's happiness was important to him. He would see that she had everything she desired… except for love, of course.
And that really was the crux of the matter-
Damon was glad that his reflections were interrupted as he reached his carriage.
“Home, my lord?” his coachman asked respectfully.
“Yes, Cavendish Square,” he answered, before settling on the squabs inside.
As the carriage drew away from the curb, he heard the echo of Eleanor's low voice.
Turning, Damon gazed unseeingly out at the darkened streets of Mayfair. He couldn't give Eleanor the love she yearned for. He wouldn't allow himself. Not when he knew the devastation of losing his loved ones.
It had been twelve years, but he still felt the aching loss of his twin's death, still remembered the agonizing helplessness of watching his vital, fun-loving brother waste away from the cruel ravages of consumption.
Those last, bleak, heartbreaking images would be forever burned into his consciousness: Joshua's skin gray and mottled. His body shrunken by fever and racking coughs and drenching night sweats. His agony while spitting up blood from between his cracked lips as his tortured lungs struggled to draw breath.
Damon clenched his jaw as he fought to drive back the savage memories. In the last stages of the disease, little could be done to relieve a consumptive's terrible suffering, except to administer heavy doses of laudanum to
