To Romance a Charming Rogue

As he gallantly kissed her fingers, the prince gave her a long, smoldering look. Then with another low bow, he continued on his way down the corridor, heading for the stableyard.

Watching his retreating figure, Eleanor realized that she would not be sorry in the least to see the last of Prince Lazzara. His highness had taken shameful advantage of Damon's supposed transgression, pro posing an adulterous affair right under her husband's nose.

How, Eleanor wondered, had she ever thought the prince could love her as she wanted to be loved? More bewilderingly, why had she ever wanted to fall in love with him in the first place? He was not a fraction of the man Damon was. There would never be any man for her but Damon, she knew that now-

Her heart leapt just then when she spied the very object of her reflections. Damon was moving down the corridor toward her, his gaze trained intently on her.

“I saw your arrival from an upstairs window,” he said when he reached her.

When Eleanor made no reply, they regarded each other wordlessly, their eyes locked.

Damon's expression was wary, worried even, Eleanor realized. Undoubtedly he was concerned that she had learned about his former mistress's presence in Brighton.

She was worried as well, although for different reasons. The tight emotion in her chest was a tangle of love and nerves. Yet she was of two minds about how to react to Damon just now.

On the one hand, she wanted to throw her arms around him and reassure him of her love. At the same time she wanted to let him stew in his own remorse for a little while.

She settled for saying coolly, “My aunt may be ill, my lord. I must go to her now, but I should like a word with you afterward.”

Searching her face, Damon looked as if he might argue. But in the end, he nodded briefly and stood back to allow her to pass.

Her heart beating wildly, Eleanor retreated, aware that his keen gaze was following her all the while.

When Eleanor knocked softly on her aunt's bedchamber door, she received no reply, so she entered quietly. The draperies had been drawn shut, but in the dim light she could see Beatrix lying curled on the bed, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth.

Moving closer, Eleanor was shocked to realize that the viscountess's face was wet with tears.

“Dearest Aunt,” she murmured in alarm, “what is the matter? Are you ill?”

Beatrix gave a shuddering sob yet shook her head.

Greatly concerned, Eleanor sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. “Please tell me, what is wrong?”

“I am not ill,” she replied, her voice quavering. “It is just that I have been such a fool. To think I actually entertained the notion of marrying that villain.”

Eleanor gazed down at her in sympathy, comprehending why she was so distressed. “You could not have known about Signor Vecchi's machinations, Aunt. He deceived us all.”

“But I was eager to think the best of him.” Bea trix's lower lip trembled. “That is what rankles the most, knowing how blind I was to his true character. He was so distinguished, so courteous. He paid me such pretty compliments…”

Her voice breaking then, she buried her face in her pillow and gave way to sobs.

Eleanor felt her aunt's anguish, her vulnerability. The imperious Lady Beldon had always seemed indomitable, invincible, but now she seemed heartbroken.

When Beatrix continued weeping, Eleanor rubbed her shoulder soothingly, trying to console her.

It was quite some time, however, before her sobs quieted to mere sniffles.

“Look at me, carrying on this way,” she finally muttered in a disgusted voice.

“I understand perfectly how you feel,” Eleanor murmured. “Men can cause a great deal of pain.”

“Indeed,” her ladyship agreed before wiping inelegantly at her nose. “But it is more than that. I was lured by Umberto's charming manner, in part because he was so different from my late husband. Beldon was such a stick-in-the-mud by comparison. I let myself be bowled over by that blackguard's charisma as much as his Italian flourishes.” She held her niece's gaze. “I felt lovely and alive, Eleanor. For the first time in memory, I felt as if I were a real woman and not merely a gentlewoman. But I am not the first person to be taken in by the promise of an exciting lover.”

Eleanor's heart hurt at that bruised look in her aunt's eyes. “I feel wretched myself, dear Aunt. I was the one who encouraged you to entertain the notion of a romance with Signor Vecchi. I thought it would make you happy.”

Beatrix sniffed. “I am far from happy-I am utterly miserable. But you certainly are not to blame.”

Eleanor was not so certain. “You would never have been thrown into his company so often had you not wanted to advance my matrimonial prospects with Prince Lazzara.”

“True, but it is my duty as your aunt and guardian to see you well-married.” Curiously, Beatrix's aristocrat features softened as she gazed up at Eleanor. “I do not wish to make you feel indebted, dear girl. You mean much more to me than duty.”

Her voice lowered even further. “I never wanted children of my own, Eleanor, and in truth, I was appalled when I was suddenly handed the responsibility of raising you. You always were such a lively, rambunctious child. But my scoldings and insistence on proper behavior never dampened your spirit, and in time I came to cherish that quality about you. I am grateful you came into my life, Eleanor. I know I have never told you how precious you are to me, how much joy you have given me these many years. And I may not show it often. But I love you dearly.”

Her aunt's humble, heartfelt admission brought tears to Eleanor's eyes. In her own exacting way, Beatrix's love was deep and abiding. “I know, darling Aunt. And I love you dearly as well.”

Beatrix dashed angrily at her damp eyes. “I suppose that was partly why I was so eager to bestow my affections on Umberto. I realized that when you married, I would be alone. I will miss you greatly, Elea nor, when you leave me to live with Wrexham.”

“I will never leave you entirely, Aunt.” “Yes, but you belong with him. You were meant to be together, as much as it galls me to admit it.” Beatrix grimaced. “I abhorred what Wrexham did to you two years ago, causing a scandal and nearly ruining your reputation. But I cannot deny how he affects you-it is the same way Umberto affected me. You come even more alive in Wrexham's presence. There is a special glow about you that makes you even more beautiful. You love him, do you not?”

“Yes, I do, Aunt,” Eleanor admitted. “Very much.” She nodded sagely. “I can see it in your eyes every time you look at him.”

Eleanor dredged up a humorless smile. “Are my feelings for him so obvious?”

“I fear so. It was evident from the very first.” Beatrix hesitated. “Honestly, my dear, that is a prime reason I insisted on your marriage to Wrexham this time. If you had truly despised him, I would never have insisted that you wed him. We would have weathered the scandal together, no matter how painful.”

Eleanor's throat tightened at this proof of her aunt's love.

“I realize,” Beatrix added slowly, “that I counseled you to ignore Wrexham's inamoratas, but I believe I was wrong. You should not settle for less than his full devotion.”

She swallowed. “I don't intend to.” “You cannot permit him to break your heart.” “I won't,” Eleanor promised with more conviction than she felt.

Beatrix searched her features intently. “I know there is serious trouble between you, my dear. You should go to Wrexham at once and attempt to make him see reason.”

“I will, but I don't like to leave you like this, Aunt.”

“Pah, I will be fine. You know I am not one to be defeated by a little setback.” As if to prove the point, Beatrix sat up and propped the pillows behind her back. “On the positive side, I now realize I may eventually find a husband who will suit me instead of eschewing marriage forever. You needn't worry about me, Eleanor. I will indulge in a few more moments of self-pity, berating myself for my foolishness. But then I must return to my houseguests. It is the height of rudeness to leave one's company to their own devices.”

Eleanor smiled again faintly, knowing that her aunt would recover eventually since she was already fretting more about the value of proper deportment than the pain in her wounded heart.

Eleanor was not as sanguine about her own future, however, as she gave her aunt's hand one final squeeze