Damon's brow had grown clouded, and she knew he was recalling her confession that day in t
he rose garden when she'd bared her soul to him. It was humiliating now for her to even think of it, or to remember how hopeful and happy she'd been then.
“I doubt Lazzara will give you his heart,” he finally said.
“How will I know if I never try? I mean to try to make him love me, Damon.”
She saw a muscle flex in Damon's jaw as he struggled to maintain his patience. “Lazzara is not the right husband for you,” he repeated. “I would make a better one.”
That twisting ache in her heart assaulted Eleanor again. Some vulnerable part of her couldn't help but be torn by his proposal. Yet the thrilling hope she'd once felt at the chance of becoming Damon's wife was offset by the fear of being badly hurt by him once more. She never again wanted to feel the doubt and pain of such a betrayal.
“I don't believe you would make me a better husband, Damon,” she said quietly, “because you don't love me. That was the real problem before-you never really loved me. If you had, you would never have turned to a mistress.”
Rather than look away, Damon returned her gaze steadily. “I regret hurting you, Elle. I assure you, it won't happen again.”
She took a deep breath. “Indeed it won't, since I won't be idiotic enough to put myself in that position again.”
Damon roughly ran a hand though his hair, as if striving for control. “I am not keeping a mistress now. I haven't for some time.”
“No doubt because you haven't had the chance to secure one since you returned to England.”
His mouth curled. “I have had ample opportunities, trust me. But I don't want a mistress. I want you-as my wife.”
Eleanor determinedly shook her head. “What about after we are wed? You told me when I broke off our engagement that you would not promise me fidelity.”
“I can promise that now. I am willing to take a vow of celibacy if you like.”
Taken aback, she stared at him. “For how long?”
“For as long as it takes to convince you to wed me.”
“You wouldn't last a month.”
“I would, Elle.”
The certainty shimmering in his dark eyes made her want to believe him, but she was a fool if she succumbed to Damon's velvet promises.
Stiffening her spine, Eleanor pointed at the window where he had entered her bedchamber. “I am sorry, Damon, but there is no possible way I could ever trust you again. Now would you please get off my bed and take your leave? This argument is pointless.”
He hesitated another long moment. “Very well, but this is not the end of our discussion.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I beg to differ.”
He levered himself off her bed as ordered, but instead of making for the window, he moved slowly toward her. Eleanor stood her ground-which was a mistake, she quickly realized. Before she could fathom his intent, Damon drew her into his embrace, flush against his hard body.
“I won't let you wed Lazzara, Elle.”
“You cannot stop me,” she declared, raising her chin.
His eyes sparked at her defiance. “Then you leave me no choice,” he murmured in that low, husky voice. “I will have to persuade you one kiss at a time.”
Her heart leapt as his wicked mouth came closer, yet Eleanor found herself riveted in place, unable to utter a protest. His palms framing her face, Damon stole her lips-and her breath as well-in a deep, intimate, caressing kiss.
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, her body trembling with renewed heat, when at last he released her. Eleanor drew away, dazed and flustered… which clearly was his aim. Damon seemed to derive great satisfaction from keeping her off balance, if his expression was anything to judge by.
“It is sneaky and underhanded of you,” she complained with a touch of bitterness, “using physical arousal to turn my own body against me. You know I have difficulty resisting your seduction.”