By the time the revellers had hurriedly ascended to the top of the chalk cliff and piled into the waiting carriages, they were all hopelessly drenched, their clothes plastered to their bodies.
Damon remained outside until all the passengers were accounted for. When he settled beside Eleanor, she murmured a breathless “thank you,” then leaned closer to whisper in his ear.
“You are soaked to the skin,” she added, her voice quivering with suppressed laughter, “just like the time I pushed you in the fountain.”
“If I remember correctly,” Damon whispered back, “that incident was far more pleasurable because of what preceded it.”
At his reference to their first kiss, Elle smiled again at him, the kind of smile that could stop a man's heartbeat.
When she promptly shivered, Damon badly wanted to pull her against him and warm her with his body heat, but her aunt was watching them with an eagle eye, so he settled for accepting a woolen blanket from the coachman and draping it around Eleanor's shoulders.
The drive home took longer in the downpour. And even though an army of Rosemont footmen hurried out with umbrellas in a futile effort to provide shelter for the guests, they were chilled to the bone.
Eleanor hastened upstairs to change out of her wet attire. Damon followed her more slowly, but it was only when he entered his bedchamber that he struck upon an idea to alter the sleeping arrangements that Elle had insisted upon.
Cornby, bless his heart, had lit a fire in the hearth, and the room was pleasantly warm.
His valet was also dutifully awaiting him, but once Cornby had helped him to remove his wet coat, Damon dismissed him, saying, “I can manage from here. I would rather you perform a small commission for me instead.”
Damon strode to the small writing desk in one corner of the room and scribbled a note, folding it once.
“Here,” he said, handing the missive to Cornby, “pray take this to Lady Wrexham and then make yourself scarce.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The valet's expression never changed, but somehow he looked pleased, as if he approved of his master's plan to woo his new ladywife.
When plotting a gentleman's seduction, make judicious use of all the feminine weapons in your arsenal… a soft word, a careless touch, a kiss… -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
With the help of her abigail, Eleanor had removed her soaked gown and damp corset by the time a polite knock sounded on her bedchamber door. While Jenny went to answer, Eleanor peeled off her clammy garters and stockings and muttered an invective at herself, lamenting her foolishness in taking a seaside jaunt with a storm brewing. She might as well have dunked herself in the Channel; her bare feet were ice-cold, her skin covered in gooseflesh.
She had just reached for a towel to dry her hair when Jenny murmured over her shoulder, “His lordship's valet has a missive for you, milady.”
Eleanor hesitated, shivering, then drew on a dressing gown over her shift and went to the door.
“My lady,” the valet said with a courteous bow as he held out a folded note. “Lord Wrexham asked me to deliver this to you personally.”
She felt her heart rate suddenly quicken at the mention of her husband. “You are Cornby, are you not?” she asked, accepting the note.
“I am, my lady, although I confess surprise that you remember.”
Eleanor recalled the elderly servant from two years ago. Cornby had seemed devoted to Damon then- and apparently he was just as devoted now, judging from his watchful regard as she opened the note and read.
The message in Damon's bold scrawl was an invitation to her to share his fire.
Eleanor couldn't help but smile to herself. It was imaginative of him to hit on this way to secure her company. And she wouldn't dream of refusing.
She was freezing, since Jenny hadn't known she would return from her outing sopping wet, and a cheery fire sounded wonderful. Moreover, this would be the perfect opportunity to advance her scheme to increase Damon's ardor. The past several days of teasing had likely been enough to whet his appetite for her. Fanny had warned her not to draw out her elu-siveness to the point where Damon became so frustrated that he lost interest entirely. It was time, Eleanor realized, to move to the next stage.
She had to take care, of course. She couldn't let her seduction go too far-no more than a kiss or two- or she would be in danger of succumbing to her own desire for Damon. No, she intended to hold her own against him this time, she promised, and faithfully execute her plan to win his heart.
“Please tell his lordship I will join him in a moment,” she told the valet.
Cornby's intent expression seemed to relax. “Very well, my lady. As you wish.”
When he had retreated down the corridor, Eleanor shut the door and went directly to her cheval glass and played with the folds and ribbons of her dressing gown so that she looked artfully disheveled.
“Do you require any further service, milady?” Jenny asked.
“Will you bring me my blue slippers, please? And then take my wet gown downstairs to the kitchens and have it pressed. Then you may have the next hour to yourself, Jenny. I expect I won't be needing you until teatime.”
Curtsying, the maid flashed a delighted smile, not only as if happy for a respite from her duties, but as if she, too, was pleased her mistress would spend some time with her new lord. “Thank you, milady. I will not return until you ring for me.”
When Eleanor had donned her slippers, she unlocked the connecting door to Damon's bedchamber. The room was dim, she noticed at once, since he had drawn the draperies to shut out the stormy day. A lamp had been turned down low so that it barely glowed, but a fire burned brightly in the grate, throwing out a generous heat.
The effect was warm and welcoming, especially with the steady patter of rain drumming against the windowpanes.
Then Eleanor caught sight of Damon, and her heart skipped a beat. He was standing near the high, four-poster bed, looking supremely handsome in a dressing gown of burgundy brocade. His feet were bare against the Aubusson carpet, and so were his lower legs below the hem of his robe-as if he might be naked underneath.
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.