two years he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Indeed, since those few exhilarating weeks of their brief courtship ended, his life had seemed as bland as blancmange pudding, despite the excitement of his travels and the satisfaction of achieving several long-held ambitions.
Damon's frown returned as he averted his head to gaze out the carriage window at the dark streets of London. Until tonight, he'd convinced himself he had conquered his feelings of ardor for Elle. Perhaps that was partly why he had kissed her, because he'd had some vague notion of proving to himself that he was over her. Yet his ill- advised experiment had confirmed just the opposite.
The sparks between them still burned as hot as ever-which made her supremely dangerous to his resolution to keep away from her.
It was probably fortunate that Eleanor was still furious at him for the way he'd treated her. She was unlikely ever to forgive him for his transgressions during their betrothal.
He deeply regretted hurting her and knew he was fully to blame for the entire painful affair. He also knew he never should have proposed marriage to her in the first place, since he couldn't give her what she wanted.
Admittedly, he'd been bowled over by the high-spirited raven-haired beauty with the quick wit and warm laugh. Eleanor had totally set him on his ear when they first met. She'd made him feel truly alive again for one of the first times since his family's deaths. What was more inexplicable was the uncanny bond he felt with her, a closeness almost as powerful as the one he'd shared with his twin.
Which was the prime reason, Damon conceded, that he'd impulsively asked for her hand in marriage. That and the fact that he had wanted her so badly, he was afraid he might take his desire beyond mere kisses and dishonor her if he didn't legitimize his passion with matrimony.
Her shy, sweet declaration of love the next week, however, had stunned him. As soon as he realized how ardent Eleanor's feelings for him had grown- and comprehended how perilously intense his own attraction to her had become-he'd taken steps to end their relationship. He hadn't wanted to compound her pain any further by letting her fall in love with him more deeply, rationalizing that the sooner he made her break off, the sooner she would recover.
Except that he felt uneasy leaving her as a target for Prince Lazzara, a charming Lothario who was possibly a fortune hunter and most certainly a rake. In Italy, Lazzara had not only left a trail of broken hearts, he'd ruined a woman of good family and refused to take responsibility.
Damon didn't think Lazzara would actually besmirch Eleanor, since her family and social connections were so powerful. He
Damon's mouth curled at the corner. He suspected that in addition to protecting Eleanor, he wanted to salve his own conscience, to absolve his guilt in some measure.
Wishing to take his mind off her, he was glad when Otto changed the subject to speak about his pet topic, his precious hospital. Nor did Damon regret being left to himself when the carriage set the preeminent physician down at his lodgings in Marlebone near the hospital and then proceeded on to the Wrexham mansion in Cavendish Square in Mayfair, London's most fashionable district and home of many of the aristocracy.
The house had been in Damon's family for several generations, but the empty quiet that greeted him as he entered bore little resemblance to the memories of his childhood. The corridors had rung with laughter when he and Joshua were boys.
Now those corridors seemed painfully empty and only echoed the grief he'd felt at age sixteen when he lost his beloved twin brother to consumption, a ravaging lung disease with no cure.
His twin's death had dealt Damon a powerful blow, since the two of them had been as close as shadows. Losing his parents to a violent storm at sea a short time afterward had left Damon bereft of immediate family and purposefully devoid of feeling. From that moment on, he'd buried his emotions so deep, he would allow no one close enough to matter to him. Instead, he had pushed people away.
He'd turned reckless as well, certain he had nothing more to lose. For the next decade, he defied fate at every opportunity and earned himself a wicked reputation.
A reputation that had never concerned him until he met lively, beautiful heiress Eleanor Pierce during her first Season, when she made her social debut under the auspices of her high-stickler aunt, Lady Beldon.
Accepting a lamp from the footman who admitted him, Damon mounted the sweeping staircase and made his way down the hall on the right, to the master's quarters. Entering his bedchamber, he went straight to the windows to throw them wide open.
For two years now the house had been closed and shuttered, the furnishings shrouded in Holland covers. The musty odor that still permeated the rooms even after thorough airings came not from death and sickness-the foulness that normally pervaded hospitals and sickrooms-but from disuse. Yet Damon still couldn't abide the smell.
Turning, he shed his brocade evening coat, loosened his cravat, and poured himself a stiff brandy. His mind was still far away as he sank into a wing chair before the hearth, where a small fire burned cheerfully.
A respectful rap on the door, however, eventually brought him out of his reverie.
When Damon bid entrance, his elderly valet stepped into the bedchamber. “May I be of service, my lord?”
Damon frowned at his longtime servant. “It is late, Cornby. I believe I told you not to wait up for me.”
“So you did, sir.”
“But then you rarely heed my orders, do you?”
“Not in this instance, my lord. What kind of proper servant would I be if I shirked my duty whenever I felt the urge?”
Damon couldn't hide a smile at the impossible notion of the gray-haired Cornby shirking his duty. The old man had been in the Stafford family's employ for many years, long before Joshua took sick, and he'd cared diligently for the dying boy. In gratitude for such loyal service, Damon had kept the manservant on well past the time he should have retired.
Yet Cornby refused to accept anything resembling charity and so acted as Damon's valet and general factotum. Despite his advanced age, he'd accompanied Viscount Wrexham on his travels in foreign lands. Admittedly, there was many a time when Damon was glad to have Cornby's familiar presence at hand. The two of them shared the easy camaraderie of long acquaintances, with far less formality than usual for a nobleman and his manservant.
“Did your attire this evening meet your satisfaction, my lord, if I may ask?” Cornby inquired.
“Yes, it was quite satisfactory.”
Just then Cornby spied Damon's coat draped over a chair, and he gave a small moan of dismay. “My lord, you should not be so careless! That coat cost more than a pretty penny.”
Gently picking up the garment-a superbly tailored new evening coat fitted by Weston-he carefully smoothed the rich brocade. “Truly, your lordship, I am astonished. But then perhaps it has served its purpose. Attending the Regent's fete was a special occasion, was it not? This evening you primped in front of the cheval glass longer than I have ever seen you do.”
Damon shot the old man a glance. Granted, he had dressed carefully this evening in anticipation of seeing Eleanor, but he hadn't expected his efforts to be so obvious. “I beg to differ. I did not ‘primp.’ ”
“If you say so, sir.”
Biting back amusement, Damon fixed the manservant with a stern stare. “You do realize, Cornby, that I do not pay you to make observations on my behavior?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“One can only hope that sometime in the next decade or two you might learn to show a modicum of respect for your employer.”
“I expect that is highly unlikely, my lord. You know the saying-that it is difficult for an old dog to learn new tricks.”
Damon shook his head sadly. “I shall have to reconsider your employment. Remind me to terminate your post in the morning, Cornby.”
