To Romance a Charming Rogue tcw-4

by Nicole Jordan

  On the other hand, her relative's haughty dis pleasure with him was perfectly clear; the viscountess displayed a bare minimum of polite manners and otherwise ignored him.

  All in all, however, the journey through Essex was pleasant enough. Rosemont was Lady Beldon's country home purchased from her private fortune, since her late husband's family seat was entailed on a nephew in the male line. The property was situated a few miles to the north and west of Brighton, in the grassy hills of the South Downs.

  Damon could smell the fresh scent of the sea as they neared their destination, and knew that if they traveled a few miles further south, they would reach the English Channel and the chalk cliffs overlooking fine shingle beaches.

  He was glad when they finally swept through the great iron gates of Rosemont and bowled up the long, curving drive before halting before a splendid Palla-dian manor. Just as Damon remembered, the interior was rich and luxuriously appointed, as befitted a wealthy noblewoman with superior taste.

  Lady Beldon took charge as soon as they entered, directing her large staff to carry the luggage upstairs before suggesting to the bridal couple that they retire to their chambers to wash off their travel dust and change into evening attire so they could dine formally at seven o'clock.

  Then she spoke directly to Damon. “I have allotted you adjoining bedchambers for the sake of appearances, my lord, even though it goes sorely against the grain. But I will not have it said that there is anything havey-cavey about your marriage.”

  Two years ago, his rooms had been in an entirely different wing from Eleanor, so this would be a significant improvement, Damon reflected. Thus, he didn't contest the accommodations.

  Neither did Eleanor. Instead, she merely smiled and accompanied him upstairs, preceded by Rosemont's majordomo. She stopped at a door halfway down the corridor, while Damon was shown to the next suite of rooms. His bedchamber had a magnificent view of the park, but he was more interested in access to his wife's rooms.

  When he opened the adjacent door, he found Elle in a similar bedchamber, taking off her bonnet.

  The first thing she did-surprisingly-was to apologize. “I am very sorry my aunt is being so difficult, Damon. I imagine she merely needs a period to adjust to our marriage.”

  “I am willing to let her adjust,” he replied rather dryly, “although I don't fancy having to battle her the entire time we are here.”

  Eleanor returned a coquettish smile. “It might take longer than a fortnight for her to come around. She views you with considerable disfavor, you know. She is even angrier with you for precipitating this debacle than for our broken betrothal two years ago. Nor has she forgotten your libertine ways then-how you flaunted your mistress in public. Aunt Beatrix is determined to protect me from falling for your wicked charms again.”

  “I gather that is why she assigned us separate bedchambers?”

  “That, and because she thinks we will have a marriage in name only.”

  Damon regarded her narrowly. “You are not of the same mind, I trust.”

  “Why, yes.” When he frowned, Eleanor's eyes widened innocently. “You were the one who wanted a mere marriage of convenience, Damon. Surely you don't expect that to include carnal relations like a real married couple.”

  “Of course I expect us to share a marital bed.”

  “Well, we shall just have to see…”

  There was a spark of laughter in her eyes that belied her guileless look.

  Damon suspected that Eleanor was flirting with him-and he was convinced of it when she crossed to him and placed an imploring hand on his arm. “My maid is not yet here. Will you be so kind as to unfasten the hooks of my gown?”

  Without waiting, she gave him her back, and when he had obliged, she thanked him sweetly and turned to face him again.

  Gazing up at him, Eleanor started to lower her bodice, then stopped just as the edge of her corset came into view. “Modesty prevents me from undressing in front of you.”

  Her absurd statement sent his eyebrow shooting up. But the swells of creamy skin already exposed to his avid gaze made Damon recall the lushness of her bare breasts and the potent sensuality of her body when they'd made love yesterday.

  Then Eleanor wet her lips with her tongue, and he realized that she was deliberately trying to arouse him. She was definitely succeeding, Damon acknowledged, feeling his loins harden.

  Her mouth looked soft and ripe, her skin infinitely touchable. He stepped closer, the need to kiss her as strong as any desire he'd ever felt. And from the telltale pulse flickering at the base of her throat, he knew Eleanor was fighting her own desire for him. Her blue eyes were luminous with heat-

  It gave Damon little consolation when she shook her head with a regretful smile. “You had best change your attire, my lord husband. We don't wish to keep my aunt waiting. She becomes exceedingly crotchety when her will is crossed.”

  When he made no reply, Eleanor pushed gently against his chest, guiding him backward toward their connecting door.

  When he had crossed the threshold to his own chamber, her smile turned almost sad. “I think it best to lock this door so we will not be tempted to transgress.”

  Then stepping back, Eleanor shut the door firmly between them.

  Damon heard the bolt settling in place and stared at the panel, torn between exasperation and disbelief. He was married to Elle now, but she intended to deny him her bed. Moreover, she'd made it clear that he would have to battle her resistance as well as contend with her overprotective aunt.

  Registering the painful tightness in his pantaloons, Damon grimaced. For a fleeting moment, he had actually started to anticipate this house party with pleasure, yet now it looked as if all he could expect was a fortnight of frustrated desire.

  Thinking of the torment in store for him, he let out a long breath.

  It would, he suspected, be a very long fortnight indeed.

  You would be wise to appear elusive upon occasion. If you are always easily attainable, the challenge will fade for him and he may turn to more exciting quarry. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

  Finding a private moment with his wife proved as difficult as Damon expected. Lady Beldon kept Elea nor by her side that entire evening and again at breakfast the next morning. Afterward, Elle professed herself too busy to go riding with him, since she would be engaged in reading the manuscript of a novel a friend had written.

  Damon enjoyed a solitary ride and sequestered himself in the Rosemont library. Then shortly after one o'clock, the first houseguests began arriving.

  He'd known he would dislike having Prince Laz-zara in close proximity to his new bride, but he hadn't counted on having his jealousy aroused from another quarter: Rayne Kenyon, the new Earl of Haviland, who'd escorted his grandmother the dowager countess down from London.

  Or more precisely, Damon was not happy that Eleanor seemed to be on such easy terms with Lord Haviland and even appeared to flirt with him. Damon overheard them jesting together when they all gathered in the drawing room at four o'clock for tea.

  “A pity I was not swift enough to snare your hand in marriage before Wrexham did,” the earl told Eleanor with a smile. “My grandmother would have been enraptured had you chosen to wed me, since she thinks you the ideal young lady.”

  Eleanor smiled back at him. “It is common knowledge that Lady Haviland is pressing you to marry.”

  “A vast understatement,” Haviland said dryly. “She wants an heir to her family bloodlines before she goes to meet her Maker, which she insists will come any day now. But since you are no longer available, I will have to search elsewhere for a suitable bride.”

  “I regret disappointing your grandmother, my lord. But my husband”-she sent Damon a playful glance, her eyes dancing-”proved impossible for me to resist. I have no doubt, however, that you will easily attract scores of eligible young ladies.”

  “Eligible, yes… but unfortunately not as appealing as I would wish.”

  “I suppose they are all
too tame for you.”

  “Or they consider me a trifle too uncivilized, since I'm not enamored of London society as a peer should be.”

  Eleanor laughed lightly with Haviland, which sent a shaft of jealousy straight to Damon's loins.

  There was far more substance to the earl, however, than the typical nobleman possessed, Damon knew from their university days together. He was reminded again that evening upon witnessing Haviland's keen powers of observation. The company had repaired to the drawing room after dinner to hear Eleanor perform on the pianoforte. While Prince Lazzara turned the sheet music for her, Haviland crossed to where Damon stood by the French doors taking in a breath of cool air as a respite from the stuffy, overheated formality of the gathering.

  “I am curious, Wrexham, as to why two Bow Street Runners would be harboring on the premises.”

  Damon eyed the earl with amused admiration. “So you noticed that, did you? What gave them away? Neither is wearing his usual red-breasted coat.”

  “I have had some experience with Bow Street before. What is their purpose? They seem to be hovering near Lazzara whenever possible.”

  “It is rather a long story.”

  Haviland shrugged. “I have ample time to listen- and hearing the tale will be far more intriguing than making polite drawing room conversation.”

  Thus, Damon found himself recounting the frequent accidents that had befallen the prince, beginning with the wheel coming off his phaeton in the park and culminating in the sabotaging of the balloon flight.

  Haviland looked thoughtful at the conclusion of Damon's narrative. “You said the pickpocket at the Pantheon Bazaar appeared to be foreign?”

  “Yes. He had the olive complexion of the Italians, in fact.”

  “It would be no surprise if his highness had de veloped enemies among his countrymen. Royalty often arouses malcontents with grievances.” Haviland paused. “It might be interesting to try to set a trap for his assailant.”

  Damon raised an eyebrow at the earl's proposition for intrigue, although such unconventionality from him was not entirely unexpected, given Haviland's purported experience with British intelligence.

  “Meaning,” Damon questioned, “that we should use Lazzara as bait? Could it be done without endangering him too greatly?”

  “I expect something could be arranged. Let me think on it. Meanwhile you should have the Runners pay close attention to his servants and compatriots.”

  “I already have done so,” Damon responded. “Lazzara brought his usual retinue of attendants with him, against my advice, and I thought they bore extra scrutiny from Bow Street. I also asked my valet to watch for any suspicious activity in the servants’ quarters. But, Haviland, the prince would likely be safer if you agreed to keep an eye on him.”

  The earl grinned. “I would be happy to oblige. It will be a relief to have something constructive to occupy me for the next fortnight. Frankly, I find these large house parties to be excruciatingly dull.”

  Damon once had been of the same opinion-until he'd met Elle at this very same event two years ago. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on the raven-haired charmer, he was bowled over. That first time Eleanor had been surrounded by a coterie of admirers, and he'd been hard-pressed to lure her away from her beaux so he could have her to himself.

  His challenge was similar now, Damon reflected, only now his adversary was her aunt. At least, however, Signor Vecchi served to distract Lady Beldon somewhat. Evidently Eleanor was right: Her aunt was becoming enamored of the distinguished Italian diplomat.

  To Damon's gratification, Lady Beldon's attention was further diverted when nearly two dozen more guests began arriving the next day and her house party began in earnest. She had invited the cream of the ton, and by now they'd all heard about her niece's hasty wedding.

  Many of them offered guarded felicitations, but her ladyship set about annihilating their reservations with the resolution of a field general. It amused Damon to hear the viscountess sing his praises and pretend delight at the union when he knew she was lying through her teeth.

  Eleanor, too, did her part to tamp down any whiff of scandal-playing the role of the beautiful, vivacious heiress who had made a splendid match with an extremely eligible nobleman.

  Damon couldn't help but admire her as she charmed and enchanted her arbiters. Yet Elle would have captured his attention, even had he not been newly married to her. She was so vital and alive, she seemed to raise the spirits of everyone around her. Damon was constantly aware of her and found himself listening for her sparkling laugh, watching for her warm smile.

  But while he always knew where Eleanor was at any given moment, his bride continued to keep her distance from him and always found inventive excuses to avoid being alone with him.

  His cousin, Tess Blanchard, was the only one who appeared to note their lack of intimacy. Damon was pleased to see Tess in the throng of guests, but when she congratulated him on his marriage and hinted that she would like to know more about the details, he merely thanked her and changed the subject to her favorite topic: her charities.

  Tess knew all about his endeavors in Italy and had actually discovered several cases of consumption in the course of her work with the impoverished families of fallen soldiers. She'd brought the sufferers to Otto Geary's notice, who had then arranged for them to become patients at Damon's sanitorium.

  Thankfully, Tess was clever and intuitive enough not to press him further, saying merely when they parted, “I truly hope you and Eleanor will be happy together.”

  Elle's elder brother, on the other hand, was clearly not so hopeful or optimistic-or forgiving. Marcus Pierce, Lord Danvers, and his new wife, Arabella, appeared at the house party two full days before they were expected, having heard of the sudden marriage upon returning from their trip to the Continent.

  They arrived on Saturday morning, when the guests were entertaining themselves by playing Pall Mall on the lawn or trying their hands at archery. Eleanor seemed overjoyed to see her brother, judging by her alacrity at setting down her bow and arrow to give Marcus an effusive embrace.

  When he quizzed her about what the devil she had been up too, marrying the moment his back was turned, she laughed and gave him an abbreviated recount of the balloon ascension.

  Watching brother and sister together, Damon found himself rather envious of the close camaraderie they plainly shared, even if he had purposely avoided that closeness in his own relationship with Eleanor.

  Marcus called her Nell, the more common diminutive of her name, as well as “minx” and a few other teasing endearments, but his intense protective-ness was obvious when he skewered Damon with a glance, although he was polite enough when he shook hands and introduced his own new wife, Arabella.

  But Marcus took the first opportunity to pull Damon aside from the company and offer a warning. “I'll cut out your liver if you hurt my sister again, Wrexham.”

  Damon returned a faint smile. “If I hurt her again, you won't have to cut out my liver. I will do it myself.”

  Marcus regarded him for a long, grim moment, before finally giving a brusque nod. Apparently he was willing to adopt a wait-and-see attitude and allow Damon to prove himself.

  His restraint was, in part, a testament to their former friendship. The two of them had known each other since their boarding school days. Damon had regretted losing Marcus's high regard after his broken engagement to Eleanor. He had few close friends, and the ones he did have, he cherished.

  Arabella, Lady Danvers, was a bit more welcoming than her new husband, although still reserved in her greeting, making it clear that she was privy to Damon's history with the family.

  Her fondness for Eleanor, however, was evident, her manner warm and engaging when she commiserated with Elle about the strangeness of finding oneself married.

  “Oh, I so agree,” Eleanor heartily assented, sending Damon a provocative glance. “I have yet to become accustomed to the novelty.”

  “There must be somet
hing in the air,” Arabella jested, “that is causing this current epidemic of matrimony. I certainly never expected that I and my sisters would succumb all at once, or that you would follow so closely in our footsteps, Eleanor. A pity that Roslyn and Lily cannot be here. We could have had a celebration to commemorate the extraordinary circumstances.”

  Both Arabella's sisters, Damon knew, were still away on their wedding journeys and so would not be attending the house party.

  Arabella was also far warmer to Tess. Over the course of the afternoon, he came to realize that the two women shared a close friendship. They laughed and chatted together with Eleanor all during luncheon, and continued during the drive to the beach afterward.

  Despite the overcast sky and brisk breeze, Eleanor's aunt had refused to change her plans and postpone the arranged excursion, evidently expecting the weather to obey her will. Thus, a half dozen carriages were soon making their way south toward the sea, with the viscountess, of course, chaperoning the new-lyweds in her equipage.

  When Tess expressed a desire to go sea-bathing, saying it would be invigorating, Eleanor agreed but Arabella objected, so a spirited discussion ensued about the wisdom of swimming when a storm threatened.

  Damon was exceedingly glad, however, to see Tess coming out of her shell after the loss of her betrothed two years ago. In truth, he hadn't seen her this animated in all that time.

  Eleanor, he noted, was her usual lively self, although she ignored him for the most part-except when he handed her down from the carriage. Then she smiled at him with such entrancing warmth that he felt sunstruck.

  Yet she refused his help negotiating the rocky cliff path down to the sea. Damon was left to offer his assistance to the other ladies of the party. By the time he reached the shingle beach, Eleanor, Tess, and Arabella were far ahead, strolling arm in arm beside the water.