“You could put it that way. I told you, I don't want him hurting you. Therefore, I am appointing myself your personal protector.”
As if praying for patience, she raised her gaze to the high ceiling overhead, then fixed Damon with an exasperated glance. “Well, I wish you would stop.”
“I don't intend to reveal your secrets to your prince, if that worries you.”
“What secrets?” Eleanor demanded warily. “I have no secrets.”
“What of your plan to capture Lazzara for your husband by using that advice manual?”
“Don't you dare tell him about that!” she ground out.
“And what of the fact that you were kissing me two minutes before he walked into your parlor?”
Her cheeks flushed becomingly. “That was a grave mistake, one that will not be repeated. And I trust you will not tattle to him.”
“In all honor, my lips are sealed.”
Eleanor regarded Damon with suspicion. “I would be much more reassured if you would return to the Continent and spend another two years there.”
“But I am enjoying myself here.”
“At my expense, it seems,” she said tartly. “Cannot you just leave me in peace?”
“I'm afraid I can't promise that,” he said, although trying to keep his tone conciliatory.
In response, Eleanor pasted an arch smile on her mouth. “At least I have only to endure your interference for another week.”
Damon didn't much care for her tone-satisfaction tinged with a note of triumph. “How so?”
“My aunt's annual house party begins on Friday of next week, and Prince Lazzara has accepted her invitation to attend.”
Damon's brows drew together sharply. He didn't like the implication of her announcement in the least. If Lazzara attended Lady Beldon's private house party, then Elle would be at even greater risk than now.
As if realizing she had struck a nerve with him, Eleanor broadened her smile and continued with a casual air. “I'm quite eager for the opportunity to become better acquainted with the prince. I will have an entire fortnight to apply the advice in my book.”
Damon felt his gut clench. A great deal could happen in a fortnight. Indeed, it was ample time for Eleanor to fall in love with a Lothario who would make her miserable.
“So it is that serious, is it?” he asked. “Your aunt has given Lazzara's courtship her approval?”
“Indeed. My aunt thinks very highly of him. And of his relative, Signor Vecchi, as well. The signor will be attending also.”
Wishing he could make her see reason, Damon held her gaze as he shook his head. “I believe you would be making a grave mistake, Elle, wedding a man like Lazzara. You are full of mettle and zest for life. You don't want all that spirit stifled by a husband who cannot appreciate the very qualities that make you so unique and rare.”
She parted her mouth to speak, then shut it again, before finally saying, “Why can you not merely let me handle my own affairs, Damon?”
“Because I don't want to see you throwing your life away by marrying the wrong man.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don't know that he is the wrong man!”
“In my opinion, he is.”
Eleanor drew a deep breath. “Loath as I am to disappoint you, Lord Wrexham, I don't care a whit about your opinion. I suggest that you see to your own future and leave me to mine.”
Perceiving that the prince had nearly finished with his purchase, she turned and went to join him at the stall counter, leaving Damon where he stood.
Her admonition to see to his own future was not bad advice, Damon reflected, watching her stiff back. He had returned home to England, knowing it was time to take stock of his life and determine what to do with the rest of it.
The prospect gave him little pleasure, however. The years stretched out before him with barren monotony. A solitary path, purposely devoid of feeling, where he kept to himself and allowed no one else to touch his heart with joy or pain or any emotion in between.