Awareness tightened her skin and made her shiver as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“You look chilled,” her husband said, surveying her. “Why don't you warm yourself before the fire?”
“Thank you, I will,” Eleanor replied, crossing to the hearth.
There were two wing chairs set invitingly before the fire, but she ignored them and instead gladly held out her frozen hands to the flames while Damon moved to a side table and poured a glass of wine from a decanter.
“I suppose Cornby started your fire some time ago?” she commented.
“Yes. He looks after me very well.”
“It was considerate of you to invite me here.”
Damon turned toward her. “I am glad for the opportunity to see you without a score of houseguests competing for your attention. It is sad,” he added lightly, “that I must resort to clandestine trysts to be alone with my new bride.”
Joining her before the hearth, he handed her the wineglass. Eleanor brought it to her lips, looking up at him provocatively as she was supposed to do- which perhaps was a mistake. Damon's dark gaze swept over her in return, almost a physical caress.
And then he turned his scrutiny into an actual caress by raising his hand and combing his fingers through her damp hair, which had become a riot of ebony curls.
“I liked your hair long, but this style becomes you. Of course, you are beautiful, no matter how you wear your hair.”
Eleanor had tensed at his gesture, bracing herself against his arousing touch. But she forced herself to relax and return a smile. “My, aren't you complimentary today?”
“I am only stating the truth.”
Even so, she was prepared to keep her guard up. She knew firsthand that Damon could be the very essence of devilish seduction, often to her detriment. And from the looks of it, he was bent on seducing her into his bed just now, to end any thoughts she had of having a marriage in name only. She intended to prolong the inevitable moment, however, until the right time. And she was determined to maintain control of this encounter.
Eleanor made no demur when Damon took her free hand between his larger, warm ones and gently chaffed her icy fingers. But then he turned her hand over and lifted it to his lips in a gesture that was warm, enticing, seductive. His breath fanned her palm before he pressed a light kiss on the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist.
Her own breath turned uneven as her nerves tingled under the surface of her skin. Quickly withdrawing her hand, Eleanor stepped back, away from his evocative touch. Casually, she sat in one of the chairs, eager to maintain a minimum distance from Damon.
To her relief, he settled in the wing chair adjacent to hers. Yet his gaze remained fixed on her. And when she took a drink of wine, she realized he was watching her mouth.
“Wine tastes better sipped from a lover's lips, did you know?”
At his suggestive intimation, Eleanor swallowed hard, wondering if by coming here to Damon's bedchamber, she might have taken on more than she could handle. “No, I didn't know.”
“Seeing that wine on your lips makes me want to kiss you.”
She manufactured a light laugh. “I am afraid you are destined for disappointment, my lord. There won't be any kissing between us just now. I don't want you touching me, either.”
“That pains me greatly, sweeting, for I sure as the devil want to touch you. You look wildly desirable, lounging there in your dressing gown.”
So do you, Eleanor thought, casting him a sideways glance. The firelight played in his midnight eyes, revealing a tender, teasing glint that caused havoc with her determination to keep the upper hand with Damon.
The boldness of his regard, too, was stirring wanton sensations in her body. Her nipples had tightened against the chill and were so keenly sensitive, she felt the mere brush of his gaze on her breasts.
Eleanor mentally shook herself. Damon could tempt a woman to sin with just a look-and admittedly she was incredibly tempted. But sinning with him would defeat her purpose entirely.
“Pray, will you stop looking at me that way?” she finally requested.
One eyebrow lifted innocently. “How am I looking at you?”
“As if you mean to undress me with your eyes.”
“I would much rather undress you with my hands.”
His claim was delivered in a soft, throaty drawl that stroked Eleanor's nerve-endings.