“Are you physically attracted to him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why?”
“He is quite handsome.”
“In a pretty sort of way, I'll grant you.”
“He has beautiful eyes.”
“So do I.”
Although amusement tinged his voice, it was said without a modicum of modesty-yet Eleanor could not refute him. Damon's piercing dark eyes, with their heavy fringe of lashes, were an attribute that keenly appealed to her. The prince's eyes were more soulful, but they couldn't fire her blood the way a mere look from Damon could do.
And when it came to comparing the two men's physical appeal, there was no contest; Damon won hands down. His vitality, his sheer masculinity, melted her. The mere sound of his voice excited her, for it reminded her of those heady days and nights of their courtship.
Even so, Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “You do not need me to fan the flames of your conceit, Lord Wrex-ham.”
He flashed her a charming smile. “True. I know very well how my charms attract you.”
Ignoring the scoffing sound she made, Damon guided her expertly through a knot of dancers, which proved to be a tight squeeze. For a brief moment they came together so that they pressed against each other. When Eleanor felt Damon's body hard and warm against hers, her heart missed a beat, while a shiver of raw sensation ran down her spine.
As if he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, his eyes turned heavy-lidded, and he bent closer to murmur in her ear, “I doubt your prince arouses you the way I do.”
His suggestive tone made Eleanor instantly recall two nights ago in her bedchamber, how Damon's wicked mouth had lovingly teased and fondled her nipples. Just thinking about him kissing her bare breasts again was enough to make her knees weak.
Eleanor silently muttered an invective. How she resented him for making her feel this way! With her past beaux, she had always felt in control, but she never had the slightest control with Damon.
She pressed her lips together, then said stiffly, “I know you are deliberately trying to fluster me.”
“Am I succeeding? Are you flustered, sweet Elle?”
“You are utterly impossible.”
With a disgusted sigh, she stopped dancing, intending to break away from him, but Damon inexorably urged her back into the movement of the dance. “Remember, love, you do not want to create a spectacle.”
Eleanor forced herself to take a calming breath, realizing the wisdom of his reminder. “You needn't worry. A lady does not do a gentleman bodily harm in public, no matter how galling the provocation.”
“You have no desire to be a lady all the time.”
His comment gave her pause as a sudden thought struck her. She paused for a long moment before saying slowly, “Perhaps you are right.”
“About what?”
“About my desire to be a lady.”
When Damon glanced down at her quizzically, Eleanor savored the feeling of having puzzled him.
Perhaps she had been going about this all wrong, she realized. Whenever she became flustered and riled, Damon only used her weakness to his advantage. But she was weary of always allowing him the upper hand, of constantly being on the defensive.
It was time she took the reins back into her own hands, Eleanor decided.
“If I recall correctly,” she mused aloud in a thoughtful tone, “Lady Haviland's library is on the floor below, at the rear of the house. No one will be occupying it during a ball.”
“So?” Damon asked somewhat cautiously as the waltz came to an end.
“So, I think you should meet me in the library ten minutes from now.”
Although naturally a lady must remain within the bounds of propriety, rousing his desire for you should be one of your chief aims. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
The lower floor of Lady Haviland's mansion appeared deserted to Eleanor as she made her way down a corridor to the library. But that was to be expected since the ball guests were occupied with en joying the entertainments offered upstairs, while the servants were busy seeing to the company or preparing the late supper that would be served in a few hours.
Damon was waiting for her as promised, she saw when she stepped into the room. The draperies had been drawn, and he had lit a lamp so that the library was bathed in a warm glow.
Quietly Eleanor shut the door and pressed her back against it, deploring how her pulse leapt at the sight of him. Damon was standing before the cold hearth, one hand casually resting on the mantel as he watched her with deceptive idleness. Yet she expected he was feeling far from casual.
At least she was feeling far from casual. For a moment she stood there unmoving, willing the giddy, fluttering sensation in her stomach to dissolve while questioning the prudence of her impulsive decision to go on the offensive. He thought he could end her pursuit of Prince Lazzara by sheer force of his seductive personality, but she intended to foil Damon's machinations and give him a taste of his own medicine at the same time. She would fluster and arouse him while she remained in control and completely unaffected-which might prove difficult, judging by her body's reaction to his mere perusal. She felt his gaze like heat on her skin as he waited for her to speak first.
“So what is the purpose of your invitation, sweeting?” he asked when she remained silent.
“I told you, I am weary of always acting the lady. I intend to behave a little scandalously for a change.”
His slashing black eyebrows rose a measure. “There are three hundred guests in the house in addition to an army of servants.”
Eleanor nodded. She could hear the refrains of music and the far-off din of voices chattering and laughing, yet she was completely alone with Damon, and she meant to keep it that way.
Turning to lock the door, she glanced provocatively over her shoulder at him. “I doubt we will be discovered, but the risk we are taking only adds to the titil-lation. Of course, if you are afraid, we can call off the whole thing…”
She let her voice trail away as her hand remained resting on the key, suggesting her willingness to unlock the door if he wished her to.
Damon's slow, enchanting smile made her heart jump. “I am not in the least afraid. I only thought you would be.”
She couldn't let him affect her this way, Eleanor scolded herself. She needed to hold on to her resolve and her resentment if she had any hope of success just now.
With renewed determination, she crossed the library to Damon, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his skin through their clothing. Reaching up, she tangled her fingers in his silky mane of hair and lifted her face to his, letting her warm breath taunt his lips.
But when he started to draw her into his arms, Eleanor stepped back quickly, pressing a hand against his chest to forestall him.
“No, you cannot touch me,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I cannot leave here with my hair or my gown disheveled.”
Moreover, she wanted to be completely in charge. For once she wanted to unsettle him, to see him lose his legendary poise. He knew how to reduce her to trembling submission, and she meant to do the same to him-not to mention making him regret interfering in her romantic affairs.
She gestured at the brocade sofa at one side of the library. “Why don't you make yourself comfortable?”
When he obliged her by sitting down, she moved to stand before Damon, then knelt on the Aubusson carpet at his feet, to his evident surprise.