Just then her princely escort broke into her distracted thoughts. “Lord Wrexham is the gentleman who was once your betrothed, is he not?”
His tone held more than curiosity; a note of masculine jealousy tinged the question.
“For a very brief while.” She offered the prince a bright smile. “My feelings for Wrexham cooled shortly, I assure you. He is nothing to me now, and I am quite over him. He is merely a friend of my brother's, no more.”
And yet Eleanor couldn't help but note that the conviction in her declaration sounded weak to her own ears. She was not over Damon, if her reaction to him a moment ago was any indication.
Of course, any woman would have been affected by his sensual assault. Damon's kisses were magical, passionate, swoonworthy… Worse, the sparks between them still flared in full force.
Damn and blast him.
I should have kicked him harder, Eleanor muttered silently to herself. The pain would make her remember just how dangerous Damon still was to her.
Now she could only hope she had no more intimate encounters with him. She didn't trust herself not to behave in that same wanton manner if he ever attempted to kiss her again.
And if he did? Well, she feared she was likely to succumb to Damon's wicked charm all over again, and she most certainly would not let that happen!
Play the damsel in distress upon occasion. Your apparent helplessness will allow him to feel superior- and gentlemen greatly relish feeling superior. -An Anonymous Lady,
Advice to Young Ladies on Capturing a Husband
A distracted frown shadowed Damon's brow as he left Carlton House to climb into his town carriage. He had fully expected to see Eleanor again this evening. He'd even planned to speak privately with her-and had gone to great lengths to arrange it. But he sure as the devil hadn't intended to kiss her.
On the contrary, he'd simply wanted to try to mitigate any hard feelings Eleanor bore him so they could put the discomfiting past behind them. That, and to ascertain how serious her feelings for Prince Lazzara were.
So why in hell did you succumb to the fierce urge to taste her lips again? Damon wondered dryly. You should know better than to play with live coals.
Yet despite the risk of being burned, he couldn't regret kissing her. Her mouth was everything he remembered and more. She was everything he remembered: vibrant, lush, alive with a warm radiance that still had the power to captivate him.
Eleanor Pierce fired his blood more than any woman ever had, and possibly ever would. She had intoxicated him tonight, just as she had two years ago-
Damon felt the carriage rock as his portly friend, Mr. Otto Geary, settled heavily on the leather squabs beside him.
“Thank the saints that ostentatious display is over and done with,” Otto declared with a relieved sigh as the carriage pulled away from Carlton House. “I beg you never to drag me to another of these tedious, priggish affairs ever again.”
Forcibly shifting his thoughts away from Eleanor, Damon curved his mouth wryly at his friend's complaint. “You know very well why I ‘dragged’ you here tonight. To get you away from your hospital for a few waking moments. Otherwise you would bury yourself there with your patients. No doubt you did so for the entire two years I was away.”
When Otto tugged at the swaths of his formal cravat, a shock of bright red hair fell into his eyes. “I am perfectly content to bury myself with my patients. The ton, on the other hand… I don't know how you bear it, Damon. I fancied you had little fondness for Prinny.”
“You fancy correctly, but His Royal Highness can provide you with advantages I cannot. And since he covets my support in financing his many pleasures, he is willing to lend his patronage to your endeavors as a favor to me.”
Otto sighed again. “ ‘Tis a blasted shame it takes a bloody fortune to run a hospital.”
Damon understood quite well how expensive operating a private hospital could be, since he had supplied a significant portion of his own fortune to first fund Otto's medical studies and then help him to establish the Marlebone Hospital in northern London some half dozen years ago.
Through hard work, dedication, and sheer brilliance, Otto Geary had become one of England's most respected physicians. But the Regent's patronage could garner him even more respect-and more crucially, support and charitable contributions from wealthy British society.
“I doubt, however,” Otto said leadingly, “that securing the Regent's patronage for me was the only reason you came tonight.”
In the light of the carriage lamp, Damon saw his friend studying him. “What other reason could there be?” he hedged.
“Because you are enamored of a particular genteel young lady, perhaps?”
“When have I ever been enamored of a young lady?”
“Two years ago, in fact.” When Damon sent him a penetrating glance, Otto went on with amusement. “You have been uncommonly restless and irritable for the past four days, my good man. I can see it, even if you pretend otherwise. If I had to make a diagnosis, I would say your symptoms were due to the anticipation of seeing Lady Eleanor again.”
An ironic smile pulled at Damon's lips. “How the devil did you guess?”