When the copper tub was filled, Eleanor washed her hair and scrubbed off all traces of the river. Then she sent her maid, Jenny, away and enjoyed a long soak.
She was drying her hair before the fire in her bedchamber when Jenny returned with word that Lord Wrexham was awaiting her in the blue salon.
Eleanor quickly dressed in a kerseymere afternoon gown. Then taking the dart with her, she went downstairs to the salon to find Damon standing at the window, frowning pensively. His eyebrows lifted, however, when she carefully shut the door behind her so they could be private.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” she began, but he brushed off her apology.
“Geary told me about the prince's punch being drugged last evening, and now you say that he has suffered another misfortune?”
“Yes, only this time I am certain it was no accident.”
Crossing to Damon, she told him about the ex cursion to Kew Gardens and showed him the dart, recounting how it had struck the prince and likely caused him to faint and fall in the river, which resulted in her having to rescue him.
Eleanor was not surprised to see a scowl darken Damon's face at her account. What did surprise her, however, was that he barely glanced at the dart she held in her palm.
“What the devil do you mean,” he demanded even before she concluded, “jumping in the Thames? Do you have any idea what treacherous undercurrents lurk in that river?”
Eleanor was taken aback by Damon's vehemence. “There was no help for it. I could not just let the prince drown.”
“You could have drowned yourself!”
She felt her spine stiffen defensively. Yet not wishing to argue with him, she took a calming breath. “I did not ask you here so you could scold me, Damon. Rather, I hoped you would solicit Mr. Geary's opinion about this.” She held out the dart for him to look at more closely.
Damon's ire seemed to cool a measure as he took it from her and examined it. “This could be a curare arrow…” he said after a moment.
“What is that?” Eleanor asked.
“A hunting weapon used by certain Indian tribes in the southern Americas. The arrow's tip is coated with poison, then blown from a hollow stalk of bamboo.”
Her eyes widened. “How in heaven's name do you know about poison arrows from the Americas?”
Damon smiled faintly. “I am interested in medical science. Sir Walter Raleigh described curare in his book on Guiana. And Sir Benjamin Brody experimented with the effect of curare on animals here in England several years ago.”
“Is the poison fatal?”
“It can be. Chiefly, it paralyzes its target and prevents the ability to breathe. But Sir Benjamin proved that if the victim can be kept breathing by artificial means, it will recover and show no ill effects later.”
Eleanor frowned as she tried to recall exactly how the prince had behaved after being struck. “This arrow caused him to faint,” she said slowly, “but he seemed to be recovering.”
“Perhaps curare was not used, or if so, the dose was so small, the result would not have been fatal.”
“Do you think Mr. Geary can determine if the tip contains poison?”
“He could possibly analyze the chemical composition, although that's unlikely to garner any conclusive results.”
“If poison was used, it means someone is trying to kill Prince Lazzara.”
Damon's pensiveness returned. “Or Lazzara wants us to think so. Before this, I wondered if he might be causing these accidents himself.”
Eleanor stared at him. “Whyever would he do such a thing?”
“To garner your sympathy. Perhaps he thinks you will find him more appealing if you must constantly fret over him.”
“He wants me to think him a weakling?” If so, it was an absurd theory, Eleanor decided. She liked strong, capable men, not frail, impotent ones.
“Or perhaps,” Damon added, “someone else merely wants to make the prince look weak in your eyes.”
“That explanation seems more plausible to me,” she said thoughtfully as she glanced down at the arrow in his hand. “And for the prince's sake, we must assume he is an innocent victim. In fact, I think he must be warned. I had no time to discuss my suspicions with him, either last evening or today. And Signor Vecchi was clearly not interested in hearing them.”
She returned her gaze to Damon. “Will you help me, Damon? We must stop these attacks and determine who is behind them. The next time could end his life.”
“Certainly I will help. It may be time to hire Bow Street to investigate and perhaps provide the prince personal protection.”
The Bow Street Runners, Eleanor knew, were a private police force. “I think hiring them would be wise. Will you contact them, or shall I?”
“I will deal with it. Meanwhile you are to keep away from Lazzara.”
His pronouncement gave her pause. “Keep away?”
“Yes, sweeting. I don't want you anywhere near him.”
When Eleanor started to protest, Damon held up a hand, saying almost grimly, “Don't argue with me about this, Elle. I am not about to let you be hurt.”
It made sense that Damon would want to protect her after losing his brother the way he had, yet his concern gave her a warm feeling. Even so, she was not pleased to have him dictating to her.
“I cannot keep away entirely. I am supposed to attend a balloon ascension with the prince tomorrow. One of his countrymen is an aeronaut and has promised to let us ride in his gas balloon. Even leaving aside the fact that I was greatly looking forward to the adventure, it would be rude to cancel at this late moment, since the prince went to so much trouble to arrange the treat for me.”
Damon relented, although with evident reluctance. “Very well, you may go, but I intend to be there to keep an eye on you.”
“You were not invited, Damon,” Eleanor pointed out in exasperation.
“That hardly matters. You are not attending without me.”
Instead of replying, she merely smiled pleasantly. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Lord Wrex-ham, but now I believe you have business with Bow Street?” Moving to the salon door, she opened it and stepped aside, as if encouraging his departure.
Damon crossed his arms over his chest, however, and remained exactly where he stood.
“The ascension may be canceled in any case,” Eleanor said finally. “After what happened today, the prince may not feel well enough to ride in a balloon.”
Damon's jaw hardened. “That is not good enough, Elle. I want your promise that you will keep away from Lazzara unless I am present.”
She pressed her lips together, remaining stubbornly silent. She had already decided to end the prince's courtship. In fact, the outing tomorrow would be the last invitation she accepted from him. But Damon was a trifle too highhanded for her to bare her soul to him about her plans for her romance.
Still, she knew he wouldn't leave until she conceded. “Oh, very well, I promise.”
His grim expression relaxed a degree. “And you must swear that you will stop being such a damned heroine. Rescuing Lazzara could have been the death of you.”