To Romance a Charming Rogue

“Even so, I beg you to eat. Her ladyship asked me to see that you had proper sustenance, and I feel obliged to follow her wishes.”

That hint of sedition compelled Damon to rouse himself. Gingerly, he sat up with the pillows propped behind him and the covers drawn up to his waist, concealing the lower half of his nude body.

“Do I need to remind you that I pay your salary, Cornby?” he asked as the valet set a breakfast tray on his lap.

“No, my lord. But I have hopes of ingratiating myself with the new mistress. I have learned from long experience that a household runs much more smoothly if the lady is happy.”

Damon bit back a smile, since smiling made his head hurt, and surveyed the contents of the tray. In addition to an ample breakfast of crumpets, eggs, bacon, and coffee, there was a thick greenish-gray liquid in a tall glass. “Pray what is that, may I ask?”

“That is a concoction that her ladyship says her brother, Lord Danvers, swears by. It is supposed to counter the debilitating effects of liquor. Lady Wrexham claims it will work wonders on your aching head.”

Picking up the glass cautiously, Damon took a tentative sip and discovered the taste somewhat more appealing than its appearance, which was not saying much. “What is in this?”

“I am not certain, my lord. Her ladyship mixed it herself in the kitchens. But she promised she would share the recipe with me in anticipation of future occurrences. Oh, and I was supposed to convey a message to you. She hopes you will escort her on a ride in an hour's time, if you feel up to the exertion.”

Damon grunted noncommittally, not certain he wanted to face Eleanor so soon after his follies of last night. Keeping his distance from her seemed wise after lowering his defenses so thoroughly in front of her.

Still, that didn't stop him from asking Cornby about the wedding gift he planned to give her. “Has the delivery for Lady Wrexham come yet?”

“Not yet, my lord, but it should arrive from London sometime today. As soon as it does, I will personally supervise its planting as you directed.”

“Good.”

“Also,” Cornby added, “your cousin, Miss Blan-chard, asked after you. She expressed a wish to speak to you when you have a free moment.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, my lord, but I would venture to guess she was concerned by your disappearance yesterday.”

Damon sighed. He would likely be unable to escape Tess's concern if she was set on seeing him. But he supposed she had the right to be worried, since she cared for him-and since she was one of very few people who knew what yesterday had meant to him.

Admittedly he felt somewhat better after drinking the potion Eleanor had concocted and fortifying his empty stomach with nearly half the breakfast. Within the hour he had bathed and shaved and dressed in riding clothes.

He was tying his cravat before the cheval glass when a knock sounded on his bedchamber door. Damon tensed, thinking it might be Eleanor, but instead it was his cousin Tess, he saw over his shoulder.

After greeting Cornby pleasantly, Tess swept past the valet and moved toward Damon, offering him a bright smile when she noted his attire. “Good, you mean to get out. It is a glorious morning-much warmer now that the storm has passed.”

When Damon turned to face her fully, she stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek, then searched his features. “You look a little the worse for wear, but not as terrible as I feared.”

Tess herself looked fresh and lovely in a pale green kerseymere morning dress, Damon noted, but there was a certain glint in her eye that belied her usual serenity-and that boded ill for him, he decided.

Resigning himself to the interview, he dismissed Cornby, who bowed and retrieved the breakfast tray to carry it out.

As the manservant passed her, Tess plucked an uneaten crumpet from the plate. Rather to Damon's surprise then, she perched on the bed Cornby had just made. It was not like Tess to be so oblivious to propriety, although at least the door had been left wide open for the sake of appearances.

Damon kept the observation to himself, however, and turned back to the mirror to finish tying his cravat.

“You have raised my curiosity, cousin,” Tess said, nibbling on the crumpet. “I expected you to be a grouch today, but you didn't order me from your bedchamber as I anticipated.”

“I should have done so,” Damon returned dryly. “It is hardly proper for you to be in a gentleman's bedchamber, even if you are my blood relation.”

“I know. But you have been purposely avoiding me, and this is my way of foiling your design. I have come to prod you, dear cousin. Granted, you deserve a time to mourn each year, Damon, but enough is enough.”

Glancing over his shoulder again at Tess, Damon raised a quelling eyebrow. “Is this a lecture, love? I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Oh, I do. Be grateful that I didn't pester you yesterday when you were wallowing in sadness.”

Her statement took Damon aback. Tess understood better than most the shock and grief he'd felt at his brother's death, since she had experienced untimely death herself.

“Wallowing?” he repeated.

“Yes, wallowing. I know the sentiment quite well, Damon, since I have done the same for the past two years. But you consoled me when I lost my betrothed, and I want to return the favor… although now that you have Eleanor, perhaps you don't require my sympathetic ear?”

Damon disregarded her leading question and said instead, “I am perfectly fine, Tess.”

She gave a faint nod. “That is precisely what I always told myself, even if it was a patent falsehood.” Tess's expression grew solemn. “I understand what you are feeling, Damon. Death of a loved one affects you, even though you pretend it doesn't.”

“I am not pretending anything.”

“Perhaps not, but I suspect you are indulging in self-flagellation. No matter how illogical it is, you cannot help but blame yourself for living when Joshua died. If he cannot be alive and happy and well, then you don't deserve to be, either. Isn't that true?”

He kept his lips pressed together, not answering, which only encouraged Tess to continue.

“You wish with all your heart that you could have saved him, and you feel a terrible guilt that you failed.”

Damon didn't argue her point. His most profound regret in his entire life was being unable to save his dying brother.

His muteness, however, only seemed to frustrate Tess. “But Damon, would Joshua have wanted for you to stop living?” She answered her own question. “Of course not. I was only a child when he died, but from what I remember of him, Joshua loved a lark. He loved life. And he would have been distressed to know you have continued to grieve for him so acutely. He would want you to move on with your life, Damon. That is what I am determined to do. I have finally come to the realization that we need to live and love now, in the moment. To make the most of our time on earth.”

“So you have become a sage philosopher in your old age?” he drawled.

“Not entirely. But at least I have acknowledged the futility of mourning a tragedy I cannot change.”

Rather than replying, Damon completed the last intricate fold of his linen cravat and picked up his riding coat that Cornby had laid out for him.

Watching as he donned the coat, Tess swallowed the remaining morsel of crumpet before commenting again. “I am glad that you have someone to turn to. You did turn to Eleanor and explain your feelings to her, I hope?”

Not willingly, Damon thought to himself. He hadn't wanted to share his feelings with Elle because they were still too raw. Yet admittedly, the pain he'd felt last night had diminished somehow. Her comfort had made something ease inside him.

He owed Eleanor for that, he knew.

He couldn't deny, either, that something had changed between them last night. He just wasn't certain what to do about it. Eleanor filled a need in him that he'd determinedly refused to recognize until now. A need that inwardly he was still fighting. He didn't want to need her.