When Eleanor eventually recovered her own fragmented senses, her hands slid up his back, stroking gently, soothing him. In response, Damon buried his face in the curve of her neck, as if absorbing the warmth and strength of her.
Eleanor had to swallow against the tender rush of feeling his need evoked. When finally he eased his weight off her, onto his side, she searched his face in the dim light. He looked exhausted, vulnerable, but his eyes were not as haunted as they had been before.
Feeling hopeful, she caught his hand and laced her fingers with his. “Go to sleep, Damon. I will stay with you tonight.”
To her relief, he didn't argue but merely closed his eyes, his lashes forming black crescents on his cheeks.
Her heart full of emotions, Eleanor kept their fingers entwined. She intended to watch over him through the night, to keep the tormenting nightmares away.
Yet it was the privilege of a wife to hold and comfort her husband, she reflected. And for the first time since their hasty marriage, she actually felt as if she truly was his wife.
Damon's wife.
The words felt strange and yet wonderful at the same time. She cherished that feeling of belonging to him.
And while Damon might not want to be her true husband, she knew he felt something for her. She hadn't mistaken the fierce intensity of his caresses just now.
Nor had she misjudged his exhaustion. From the sound of his slow even breathing, Eleanor realized he had fallen asleep.
She smiled faintly as she lay there in the darkness and gently placed a palm against his chest, measuring the beat of his heart with her fingertips.
Her own heart warmed when unconsciously he moved closer to her, seeking comfort and heat.
She had comforted tonight. He was still gravely reluctant to talk about his brother, but at least she had made a start.
She knew why Damon was guarding his heart so closely, why he refused to let love into his life. He couldn't bear to lose anyone else. She wondered how far his fear would drive him.
Of course she was guilty of her own fear. That he would break her heart again.
Could she believe Damon's promises? Could she trust the devil lure of precious happiness? He could easily betray her as he had two years ago.
And yet for the first time since their betrothal ended, she was beginning to hope that her dreams of true love with Damon might someday become a reality.
Still, if he was going to lower his defenses, it best happen soon, a warning voice prodded Eleanor. She had hoped to protect herself from being hurt, but the more she learned about Damon, the more she loved him.
Once you are his wife, you should strive to encourage his physical desire for you. And happily, you may take your own pleasure as well. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
Damon woke to bright sunlight streaming into his bedchamber. Evidently Cornby had decided it was time he arose and so had drawn the draperies wide open.
Damon winced at the bright light and rolled over to bury his beard-stubbled face in the pillows. His head was throbbing from his overindulgence of potent brandy and from his even more potent memories.
He didn't want to remember last night-how raw and exposed he'd felt with Elle, what he'd said to her, how he had made love to her like a frenzied savage, the tender way she had held him through the night… But the sheets smelled of her, and with her scent, vivid images of Elle floated into his mind.
Despite his fierce reluctance to admit it, he had needed her comforting last night. And despite his determination to drive her away, Eleanor had refused to give up. She had stayed beside him, determined to help him battle his demons.
How many women would have done the same for their drunken husbands-?
A familiar masculine throat being cleared told Damon he wasn't alone. When he pried one eye open, he saw that Cornby stood respectfully at one side of the room, waiting for acknowledgment.
A further perusal of his bedchamber showed Damon that his wife was no longer there.
“I have brought your breakfast, my lord,” Cornby said with far too much cheer.
“Not hungry,” Damon mumbled, wishing the servant would go away.
“Even so, I beg you to eat. Her ladyship asked me to see that you had proper sustenance, and I feel obliged to follow her wishes.”
That hint of sedition compelled Damon to rouse himself. Gingerly, he sat up with the pillows propped behind him and the covers drawn up to his waist, concealing the lower half of his nude body.
“Do I need to remind you that I pay your salary, Cornby?” he asked as the valet set a breakfast tray on his lap.
“No, my lord. But I have hopes of ingratiating myself with the new mistress. I have learned from long experience that a household runs much more smoothly if the lady is happy.”
Damon bit back a smile, since smiling made his head hurt, and surveyed the contents of the tray. In addition to an ample breakfast of crumpets, eggs, bacon, and coffee, there was a thick greenish-gray liquid in a tall glass. “Pray what is that, may I ask?”
“That is a concoction that her ladyship says her brother, Lord Danvers, swears by. It is supposed to counter the debilitating effects of liquor. Lady Wrexham claims it will work wonders on your aching head.”
Picking up the glass cautiously, Damon took a tentative sip and discovered the taste somewhat more appealing than its appearance, which was not saying much. “What is in this?”
“I am not certain, my lord. Her ladyship mixed it herself in the kitchens. But she promised she would share the recipe with me in anticipation of future occurrences. Oh, and I was supposed to convey a message to you. She hopes you will escort her on a ride in an hour's time, if you feel up to the exertion.”
Damon grunted noncommittally, not certain he wanted to face Eleanor so soon after his follies of last night. Keeping his distance from her seemed wise after lowering his defenses so thoroughly in front of her.
Still, that didn't stop him from asking Cornby about the wedding gift he planned to give her. “Has the delivery for Lady Wrexham come yet?”
“Not yet, my lord, but it should arrive from London sometime today. As soon as it does, I will personally supervise its planting as you directed.”
“Good.”
“Also,” Cornby added, “your cousin, Miss Blan-chard, asked after you. She expressed a wish to speak to you when you have a free moment.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, my lord, but I would venture to guess she was concerned by your disappearance yesterday.”
Damon sighed. He would likely be unable to escape Tess's concern if she was set on seeing him. But he supposed she had the right to be worried, since she cared for him-and since she was one of very few people who knew what yesterday had meant to him.
Admittedly he felt somewhat better after drinking the potion Eleanor had concocted and fortifying his empty stomach with nearly half the breakfast. Within the hour he had bathed and shaved and dressed in riding clothes.
He was tying his cravat before the cheval glass when a knock sounded on his bedchamber door. Damon tensed, thinking it might be Eleanor, but instead it was his cousin Tess, he saw over his shoulder.
After greeting Cornby pleasantly, Tess swept past the valet and moved toward Damon, offering him a bright smile when she noted his attire. “Good, you mean to get out. It is a glorious morning-much warmer now that the storm has passed.”
When Damon turned to face her fully, she stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek, then searched his features. “You look a little the worse for wear, but not as terrible as I feared.”
Tess herself looked fresh and lovely in a pale green kerseymere morning dress, Damon noted, but there was a certain glint in her eye that belied her usual serenity-and that boded ill for him, he decided.