Then she discovered that he hadn't given up his long-term mistress as he'd led her to believe. He had broken her trust irrevocably. Trampled her pride, crushed her vulnerable young heart.
The pain had subsided over time. Now Eleanor felt only a bittersweet ache-or at least she had until tonight when she realized she would have to meet Damon face-to-face.
It should be a matter of sublime indifference to her whether or not he'd returned to London. She still harbored a measure of resentment and anger toward him, true, but little thought of revenge or violence or serious ill will. In fact, she had braced herself to meet him with equanimity.
All the same, as she strolled the garden paths with Prince Lazzara, Eleanor kept an eye out for the particular English nobleman who had thrown her composure into such chaos with his unwanted appearance this evening.
Perhaps that was why she gave a start when a figure emerged from the shadows along another path.
It was only one of Carlton House's liveried footmen, Eleanor saw with relief. The servant had been sent to search for Prince Lazzara, since his countryman, Signor Vecchi, wished to introduce him to some important personages.
When Don Antonio offered Eleanor his arm to escort her back to the great hall, she declined with a smile. She had no desire to return to the house where she might encounter Damon. “I think perhaps I will remain here in the gardens for a moment longer, your highness. I see several of my friends just over there. I will join them.”
She would not be alone, since there were small groups of strollers enjoying the lovely evening, including several ladies whom she recognized. And her aunt knew where she was after all, Eleanor reasoned.
Thankfully the prince did not try to press her or take her to task for remaining unchaperoned in the gardens, but merely bowed gallantly and promised to return shortly. Eleanor watched him disappear down the path, then turned in the opposite direction, toward her friends.
Her heart gave a leap, however, when another tall figure stepped out from the shadows. She recognized those broad shoulders in an instant; that sense of power, of vitality, of danger about him.
She knew those bold dark eyes and the low voice that stroked her nerve-endings like velvet when he spoke, as he did now.
“Elle,” Damon said simply.
An arrow of pain pierced Eleanor at his casual form of address. The French word for “she” had been his pet name for her.
She tried to catch her breath but couldn't manage it just then. Nor could she speak. Her throat had gone dry and she felt a trifle faint. Damon had rendered her paralyzed and tongue-tied-she who was never at a loss for words. Devil take him!
Deploring her weakness for him, Eleanor squared her shoulders and found her voice. “My Lord Wrex-ham,” she murmured with a regal nod.
In response, Damon cocked his head, studying her. “So you mean to treat me with distant formality? I confess relief.”
“Relief? What did you expect from me, my lord? That I would box your ears?”
His mouth curved with a hint of humor. “You did so the last time we met, as I recall.”
Eleanor flushed. That last time she had been a woman scorned, and she'd taken her fury out on Damon's handsome face when she ended their betrothal.
“I admit,” he said, lightly rubbing his left cheek as if in remembrance, “I deserved your scorn then.”
“You did indeed,” Eleanor agreed, only slightly mollified. “But you may rest assured I will do nothing so unseemly tonight. Now, if you will please excuse me…”
She made to pass him, but Damon reached out and touched her arm. “Pray, stay a moment. I went to some trouble to get you alone so we could speak in private before we must meet in public.”
Her eyes widened in comprehension as she stared up at him. “You contrived to get me alone here in the gardens? You had Prince Lazzara called away by that footman?” Realizing her voice had risen unbecomingly, Eleanor lowered it to a tart whisper. “What Machiavellian gall!”
Damon's faint smile was a bit rueful. “I am guilty of manipulation, true, but I thought we should attempt to clear the air between us, and I didn't trust what you might do if I approached you in a crowd. Hopefully you will not shove me into a fountain or worse just now.”
Eleanor arched a skeptical eyebrow. “No? There are several fountains nearby.”
She thought she saw humor spark in his dark eyes at her veiled threat. “At least suppress your urge for retribution until you hear me out.”
Suppressing that urge would be harder than she'd thought. Yet Eleanor held her tongue as Damon continued more slowly. “I doubt you will readily forgive me for what happened two years ago-”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” she interrupted sweetly. “Merely because you turned me into a laughingstock and a figure of pity in front of the entire ton, you think my magnanimity would be in short supply?”
“No one would ever think you a figure of pity, Elle.”
She stiffened this time at his soubriquet. “I prefer you not call me that silly name. The proper form of address now is ‘Lady Eleanor.’ ”