To Romance a Charming Rogue

and slid down from the bed. But as she let herself out of the room, she felt as if she was girding herself for battle.

Even her aunt could see that she and Damon were meant for each other, and she had every intention of making Damon see it also.

In the end, men are not so very different from women. Both long to be appreciated, desired, loved. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

Damon spent the next quarter hour with Lady Bel-don's houseguests, explaining the sudden unexpected departure of Prince Lazzara and Signor Vecchi by saying they were returning to their own country on a personal matter of importance.

Having difficulty repressing his agitation, however, Damon was on the verge of going in search of Elea nor when his valet brought him a message from her.

“Lady Wrexham commissioned me to find you, my lord,” Cornby murmured in a low voice. “She asks that you meet her at the fountain in the south gardens. She said you would know which one.”

Indeed, Damon knew. It was the same fountain Eleanor had used to cool his overheated intentions during their first kiss.

He couldn't decide if her choice was a positive sign or an ominous one, but unease gnawed at his gut as he made his way out to the south gardens.

She was waiting for him at the fountain as promised, sitting on the low ledge, her face turned up to the sun, her eyes closed as she listened to the musical splash of water spouting from a stone statue of Poseidon. The bright afternoon rays bathed her perfect complexion in golden light and turned her raven curls to black fire.

As usual, her uncommon beauty struck Damon hard in his chest, but he shoved aside his enchantment. The conflict between them was far too serious for him to be distracted by his physical attraction for her.

“Do you mean to push me in the fountain again?” he asked as he settled beside her on the ledge.

Opening her eyes, Eleanor cast him a sideways glance, yet her expression was unreadable. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you have to say for yourself.”

“I haven't betrayed you, Elle,” Damon said quietly.

Eleanor waved an impatient hand. “I beg to differ. You kept your assignation with your former mistress a secret from me. Imagine my delight when Prince Lazzara gleefully related the news of your tryst.”

Damon grimaced at the stinging sarcasm in her tone. “I did not want to hurt you-or to have you jump to the wrong conclusion. I knew what you would think.”

Her lips clamped together in an obvious struggle to bite back a retort, before she said tartly, “If you truly didn't wish to hurt me, then why did you meet with her at all?”

“Chiefly because I hoped to prevent her from coming here and causing a scene. But also because at one time Lydia was a friend. When she implored me for help, I didn't feel I could turn my back on her.”

Still gritting her teeth, Eleanor took a long time to respond. “It is highly admirable of you to stand by Lydia Newling, Damon,” she said at last. “And so is your generosity in aiding her ill sister. But she is not the main reason I am so furious with you.”

Damon inhaled a slow breath. There was only one way Eleanor could have known about Lydia's ill sister. “You spoke to Lydia?”

“Yes, I spoke to her!” Eleanor's eyes were sparking now as she glared at him. “It was no accident that I saw you with her in the park two years ago. You purposely flaunted your mistress to my face because you wanted me to call off our engagement.”

Evidently Lydia had also told Eleanor about his motivations, Damon realized. Yet he couldn't regret it since he had intended to come clean anyway. “Yes, I purposely flaunted her in front of you,” he admitted.

“Why, Damon?”

“Because I was becoming too enamored of you, Elle, and I wanted to break free. As a gentleman, however, I could not be the one to end our betrothal.”

“You were afraid to wed me, so you took the craven way out.”

Damon winced at her accusation, knowing it was partly true. He had also wanted to keep Eleanor from falling any more deeply in love with him when he couldn't return her love. “You might put it that way.”

“I would indeed put it that way!” Eleanor made a sound of disgust. “And that is precisely what you are doing now. You fear loving me because you can't bear the thought of losing someone else you cherish. So you have closed your heart to me entirely.”

Not allowing him to answer, Eleanor jumped to her feet and began pacing in front of him while she ranted. “It infuriates me that you are wasting your life this way, Damon! What happened to your brother and your parents was tragic, but you cannot let tragedy ruin your life forever!”

“I realize that,” Damon acknowledged.

But Eleanor did not seem to hear him. “You are not to blame for Joshua's death or for being unable to save him. You are not a deity, Damon. You cannot control who lives and who dies!”

She was practically shouting, so his quiet “I know” was lost on her.

“I won't let you shut me out of your life, either!” Eleanor exclaimed.

“I don't intend to shut you out, Elle.”

That at last seemed to get her attention. She whirled on him, still glowering, her hands on her hips.

Damon cocked his head as he gazed up at her. “Now that you have gotten that off your chest, will you allow me to get in a word edgewise?”

“No, I will not! I am not finished berating you yet.”

Even though her fury was clearly not over, however, she returned to sit beside him, and her voice softened to something resembling a plea. “You have to talk about your brother sometime, Damon. You cannot continue to keep all your pain inside you. An unhealed wound will only fester.”

He knew what she was asking. He needed to bare his soul to her. More crucially, he had to open his heart to her.

“What do you want me to say, Elle?”

“I want you to tell me how you feel instead of always denying your hurt. I want you to be able to talk about Joshua with me. I want to know all about him. What is the best thing you remember about him from when you were boys?”

Damon frowned. It wasn't easy to speak of his brother, or to deal with the grief that still festered inside him. But he found he wanted to share this with Eleanor.

“Joshua was my closest friend,” Damon finally said in a low, rough voice. “Losing him was like losing a limb. But it was the way he died that was most painful. Watching him suffer as he wasted away to a pale skeleton… I would rather have died myself.”

“That is why your nightmares are so tormenting, isn't it? You relive his suffering and are helpless to save him.”

“Yes.”

Her brows drew together in compassion. “Mr. Geary said he tended Joshua's sickbed. Was there nothing that could be done to relieve his suffering?”

“The best we could do was to drug him with laudanum so he could find oblivion from the pain for a few hours at a time.”

Eleanor fell quiet for a moment before she reached over and slipped her hand into Damon's. “You and Joshua must have had good times together before he fell ill.”

Damon nodded, remembering. “Our boyhood was everything a boyhood should be.”

“Would it help if you tried to think of the happy times instead of his last days?”

“Perhaps.”

“What if you had something to remind you? Do you have a portrait of Joshua when he was still healthy?”

He shrugged. “There is one of the both of us when we were fourteen, hanging in the gallery at Oak Hill.”

“Your family seat in Suffolk? I would like very much to see it.”

Damon felt himself stiffen. “That would entail visiting. I haven't spent much time there except for duty calls. I