other dancers.
“I wish you would go to Hades,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I will take your wishes under consideration, but you know I don't take well to being dismissed.”
Eleanor clamped her lips shut. Damon riled her to no end, which was doubtless his intent. Therefore, she resolved to deny him the satisfaction of getting any further under her skin.
When she refused to respond to his taunt, his own expression became milder. “Smile, love. You don't wish the company to see us at loggerheads.”
“I don't wish them to see us dancing together, either.”
“But short of causing a scene, you cannot stalk off the floor.”
“Your effrontery is boundless,” she grated, forgetting her resolve.
“I won't contradict you. For now I will simply relish the pleasure of dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“If you are trying to mollify me, you infuriating scoundrel, I promise you it will not work.”
For a moment she lapsed into simmering silence. Then growing more conscious of the countless pairs of eyes watching them, Eleanor focused her attention on the steps of the waltz and tried not to admire Damon's natural grace as he swung her to the rhythm of the lilting music.
“Come, admit it,” he said after a time. “You enjoy sparring with me.”
“You are laboring under a serious misapprehension, my lord,” Eleanor retorted, even though she knew her reply for a lie. There was nothing more exhilarating than sparring with Damon, except perhaps kissing him.
He drew back a little to survey her face. “I'll wager your conversations with your prince are not nearly as enjoyable as ours. You did not seem to be very enthusiastic earlier when you were relegated to the sidelines with him. In truth, you looked rather bored.”
“I was having a perfectly delightful time before you appeared.”
“Is that so?” Damon looked dubious. “I confess I don't understand his appeal. I would not have expected you to be attracted to that tame man-milliner.”
“Prince Lazzara is nothing of the kind,” Eleanor asserted firmly, even though she was beginning to have her own doubts.
“Then what do you see in him?”
“He is charming and intelligent for one thing, not boring in the least. Moreover he has exquisite manners, unlike certain
“Are you physically attracted to him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why?”
“He is quite handsome.”
“In a pretty sort of way, I'll grant you.”
“He has beautiful eyes.”
“So do I.”
Although amusement tinged his voice, it was said without a modicum of modesty-yet Eleanor could not refute him. Damon's piercing dark eyes, with their heavy fringe of lashes, were an attribute that keenly appealed to her. The prince's eyes were more soulful, but they couldn't fire her blood the way a mere look from Damon could do.
And when it came to comparing the two men's physical appeal, there was no contest; Damon won hands down. His vitality, his sheer masculinity, melted her. The mere sound of his voice excited her, for it reminded her of those heady days and nights of their courtship.
Even so, Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “You do not need me to fan the flames of your conceit, Lord Wrex- ham.”
He flashed her a charming smile. “True. I know very well how my charms attract you.”
Ignoring the scoffing sound she made, Damon guided her expertly through a knot of dancers, which proved to be a tight squeeze. For a brief moment they came together so that they pressed against each other. When Eleanor felt Damon's body hard and warm against hers, her heart missed a beat, while a shiver of raw sensation ran down her spine.
As if he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, his eyes turned heavy-lidded, and he bent closer to murmur in her ear, “I doubt your prince arouses you the way I do.”
His suggestive tone made Eleanor instantly recall two nights ago in her bedchamber, how Damon's wicked mouth had lovingly teased and fondled her nipples. Just thinking about him kissing her bare breasts again was enough to make her knees weak.
Eleanor silently muttered an invective. How she resented him for making her feel this way! With her past beaux, she had always felt in control, but she never had the slightest control with Damon.
She pressed her lips together, then said stiffly, “I know you are deliberately trying to fluster me.”
“Am I succeeding? Are you flustered, sweet Elle?”
“You are utterly impossible.”
With a disgusted sigh, she stopped dancing, intending to break away from him, but Damon inexorably urged her back into the movement of the dance. “Remember, love, you do not want to create a spectacle.”
Eleanor forced herself to take a calming breath, realizing the wisdom of his reminder. “You needn't worry. A lady does not do a gentleman bodily harm in public, no matter how galling the provocation.”
“You have no desire to be a lady all the time.”
His comment gave her pause as a sudden thought struck her. She paused for a long moment before saying slowly, “Perhaps you are right.”
“About what?”
“About my desire to be a lady.”
When Damon glanced down at her quizzically, Eleanor savored the feeling of having puzzled him.
Perhaps she had been going about this all wrong, she realized. Whenever she became flustered and riled, Damon only used her weakness to his advantage. But she was weary of always allowing him the upper hand, of constantly being on the defensive.
It was time she took the reins back into her own hands, Eleanor decided.
“If I recall correctly,” she mused aloud in a thoughtful tone, “Lady Haviland's library is on the floor below, at the rear of the house. No one will be occupying it during a ball.”
“So?” Damon asked somewhat cautiously as the waltz came to an end.
“So, I think you should meet me in the library ten minutes from now.”
The lower floor of Lady Haviland's mansion appeared deserted to Eleanor as she made her way down a corridor to the library. But that was to be expected since the ball guests were occupied with en joying the entertainments offered upstairs, while the servants were busy seeing to the company or preparing the late supper that would be served in a few hours.
Damon was waiting for her as promised, she saw when she stepped into the room. The draperies had been drawn, and he had lit a lamp so that the library was bathed in a warm glow.
Quietly Eleanor shut the door and pressed her back against it, deploring how her pulse leapt at the sight of him. Damon was standing before the cold hearth, one hand casually resting on the mantel as he watched her with deceptive idleness. Yet she expected he was feeling far from casual.
At least
