“It is quite warm here, is it not?” he asked after a moment.
To Eleanor's surprise, his face appeared abnormally flushed and a sheen of perspiration covered his forehead.
The ballroom did indeed feel rather oppressive with the heat from myriad chandeliers and the press of so many elegantly clad bodies, but no more than usual, she judged.
“Perhaps you will take a turn with me outside, where the air is cooler,” the prince suggested.
“Should you be walking, Don Antonio?”
“I may walk with my cane, even though I cannot dance. And I would very much like to have your attention all to myself.”
Eleanor did not have to feign a smile. The prince was offering an opportunity for them to be alone, and she intended to take full advantage of it. “I would like that as well, your highness.”
He took her punch cup and set it on the floor beside her chair, along with his own half-empty one. Then rising, he lightly grasped her elbow and guided her behind the bank of potted palms, through an open French door.
“This is significantly better,” he remarked when they stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the side gardens. “The night air is much cooler here.”
Eleanor murmured her agreement. She was comfortable in her short-sleeved ball gown, in part because she wore long kidskin gloves that covered her arms, but also because the mid-September evening was unseasonably mild.
“In my country our young ladies are not permitted to be alone with a man,” Lazzara observed. “It makes courting rather difficult.”
His voice had dropped a level and held a husky undertone, she realized. Eleanor glanced up at him, seeing that his handsome features were illuminated by dim moonlight.
“In my country, the rules are not quite as strict,” she replied, wondering if he intended to kiss her. He had a rakish reputation after all. But reluctant to leave the outcome solely to him, she lifted her face slightly, offering silent encouragement.
He did not seem to need further invitation. Bending his head, Lazzara pressed his mouth to hers.
His lips were full and soft and unaccountably… tame, Eleanor thought, unable to suppress her disappointment. She had expected the prince to be more assertive, at least. He was treating her like a fragile blossom, nothing like the way Damon treated her when he kissed her-
Irked that she would be thinking of Damon when she was being embraced by another man-and even more irked that she was not enjoying the prince's kiss as she should-she raised her hands to his shoulders and offered her mouth more fully…
Just then she heard a throat being cleared behind them, her first indication that someone else had joined them on the balcony. The prince broke off abruptly at the intrusion, while Eleanor tried to keep hold of her composure.
She would have known it was Damon by the way her senses reacted to his lazy drawl, even before she comprehended his actual words. “So this is the latest utilization of your advice book on capturing a husband, Lady Eleanor? What chapter does a romantic tryst belong in?”
Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, she turned to find Damon leaning one broad shoulder against the door frame.
“Tsk, tsk, my lady,” he added, his tone lightly admonishing. “Whatever would your proper aunt say?”
Her aunt would likely be delighted, Eleanor reflected with frustration, although she could not possibly say so in front of the prince.
At a loss for words, she settled for giving Damon a quelling frown. But he went on just as if he were not interfering where he most certainly wasn't wanted. “Fortunately I discovered you first. You would not wish to be caught in a compromising position with Prince Lazzara, or you might be forced into a union you both might regret.”
Although the prince had stiffened, he recovered before Eleanor did. As if to shield her, he stepped toward Damon-then grimaced as his weight landed on his injured leg. Making use of his cane, he raised himself to his full height and tried to stare down his nose regally at Damon.
The effect was not quite as imposing as the prince wished, since he was not as tall as the Englishman. But there was no mistaking the tension in the air when he announced curtly, “I doubt I would regret such a union. It would not be a hardship, being wed to so lovely a lady.”
Damon's gaze shifted to the prince, looking him up and down. “Perhaps you weren't aware, your highness, that I have a prior claim to Lady Eleanor.”
Eleanor drew a sharp breath at that patent falsehood, while Lazzara's jaw hardened. “The signorina seems to disagree.”
“Indeed I do,” she said quickly. “Lord Wrexham has no claim to me whatsoever.” She fixed Damon with a censorious stare of her own. “Pray oblige us by taking your leave, my lord.”
He looked at her a long moment while Eleanor glowered at him. “Very well, love, but don't tarry out here too long. You don't want to give the wags cause for gossip.”
With that, Damon turned on his heel and exited the balcony, leaving Eleanor mortified and fuming.
Before she could think of what to say, however, the prince spoke first.
“Forgive me, I should not have taken advantage of you as I did,” he offered.
For some absurd reason, his apology only vexed her further. Damon would not have apologized for that limp effort at lovemaking, nor claimed to be taking advantage of her when she had willingly participated. But then the prince's manners clearly were far more gentlemanly. She should not take her ire out on him when the real culprit at arousing her temper was an interfering rogue.
Eleanor managed a smile. “There is nothing to forgive, your highness. But perhaps we should return to the ball before our absence is noted.”
Prince Lazzara nodded in agreement. “Yes. Please go ahead without me, however. I believe I will remain here for a while longer to enjoy the cooler temperatures.”
He still looked flushed, she noted with sympathy.
With a polite curtsy, Eleanor left him on the balcony and stepped through the doors, into the ballroom. Not to her surprise, Damon awaited her inside in the shadow of the potted palms. Far from resenting his presence, though, she welcomed it, since she was eager to do battle with him.
“What the devil do you mean, embarrassing me in that horrid fashion?” Eleanor hissed in a fierce undertone.
Damon seemed unrepentant. “Did you honestly expect me to stand idly by, knowing you were trying your hand at seducing him?”
“I was not attempting to seduce him.”
“But you were kissing him.”
“Even so, it is no concern of yours! You have no claim to me.”
“One could argue that point,” Damon drawled. “I feel a certain measure of protectiveness because of our past history, if nothing else. And you overestimate my powers of restraint if you think I can control my jealousy.”
Eleanor's scowl deepened. “You have no right to be jealous.”
“Then perhaps you should thank me for arousing
“I most
She stood there glaring daggers at him. Yet Damon met her gaze without flinching, his own eyes full of heat and challenge.
Just then the strains of a waltz filled the ballroom. Before she could utter a word of protest, he stepped closer and took her in his arms.
“I may not be able to claim your hand in marriage, but I am claiming this dance.”
Even though Eleanor tried to pull back, Damon would not release her. The very air was crackling between them, but she had no choice but to allow him to sweep her past the palms and onto the ballroom floor among the
