Any man fortunate enough to win her would be a fool to let her slip away. Which was precisely what he had done the first time.
Was he so consumed with the risk of pain that he would ruin his future with her? Damon wondered.
Certainly he knew Tess was right: He'd built a protective shell around himself. Held too much inside. Walled himself off too completely. He feared caring too much, losing too much.
He wanted to flee back into that protective shell right now.
Yet he'd acknowledged another important truth without any help from his cousin: When Eleanor was not in his life, he felt only half alive.
Was it also time to finally admit that he'd made a grave mistake when he drove Eleanor away two years ago? He'd been ruthlessly determined not to fall in love with her, but he'd lost something very precious that day.
Perhaps it wasn't too late to rectify his mistake. For both their sakes.
He greatly missed the camaraderie and friendship he'd had with his twin brother. That bond had been shattered by death, yet he'd been set on destroying the fragile bond he shared with Eleanor himself.
She could end his emptiness, though, if he could bring himself to lower his defenses. She could be his friend and companion as well as lover and wife. She could banish the cold loneliness he'd let fill his life. Elle was the essence of what was absent in his existence: joy, friendship, laughter, feeling. He hadn't let himself feel in so long.
Did he dare to reach for more than a cold, emotionless union of convenience with Eleanor?
Did he have a choice any longer?
It was becoming clear that there was no defending himself against her, no denying his need.
No, the simple truth was, he wanted a genuine marriage with Elle. He wanted to watch her laugh in joyful exuberance as she'd done at the end of their race. To hear her cry his name as he satisfied her desire, just as she had a short while ago when he'd made love to her. He wanted to give her the family she yearned for. He wanted her happiness, her love.
Damon shut his eyes, breathing her in, absorbing the warmth and fragrance of her, finding a rich pleasure in no more than holding her close.
He could imagine himself loving Elle… always, forever.
A soft, incredulous laugh whispered from his throat as he realized how far he'd come in a few short weeks. He'd always vowed never to let anyone close enough to put his emotions, much less his heart, at risk. This time, however, he intended to take a chance on making a real marriage with Eleanor.
He would have to earn her trust, though. He had to prove himself deserving of her before she would entrust her heart to him.
But for the first time since he'd stood over his brother's grave, railing against fate, he was resolved to overcome his trepidation.
To seek a real future with Eleanor.
To share his life fully with her.
To let himself love her as she deserved to be loved.
You may feel possessiveness or jealousy but take care not to show it. Gentlemen want to feel free to flit from flower to flower, like honeybees. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…
Damon had every intention of spending the entire afternoon with Eleanor, and the evening as well. When he'd informed her that she would sleep in his bed tonight, she made no demur. Yet when they returned home to Rosemont, outside events conspired to interfere with his plans to romance his wife and make a real marriage with her.
After leaving Elle at her bedchamber door to change out of her riding habit, Damon went to his own rooms, only to find Cornby eyeing him with a look of severe disapproval.
“This was delivered by messenger an hour ago, my lord,” the valet said stiffly, handing him a folded note of lavender-scented vellum with the words “Viscount Wrexham” neatly penned across the front.
Damon frowned upon recognizing the familiar handwriting and form of communique.
What the devil? Why would Lydia Newling be writing him just now? And why would his former mistress come back into his life just when he had resolved to build a future with Eleanor?
My dearest Wrexham, the inside message read. I truly do not want to interrupt your house party but I desperately need your help. Please, I beg you to spare me a half hour of your time and meet me at the Boar's Head Inn in Brighton. No doubt you would prefer to grant me an interview there, as you do not want me to thrust myself upon Lady Beldons distinguished gathering.
Your fond servant, Lydia.
Damon felt his gut clench. Was Lydia's last sentence a veiled threat to barge in on him at the house party if he refused to comply with her request? Or merely her attempt to be considerate of the social consequences? A Cyprian knocking on the door of a noble estate searching for her former patron would horrify the company and create fodder for scandal.
But scandal be damned, it was Elle's response that concerned Damon. At the very least she would be shamed and hurt if his former paramour made such a brazen appearance.
Ordinarily he wouldn't suspect Lydia of resorting to blackmail, since she was kindhearted and generous and not the scheming sort. Yet he couldn't take the chance of destroying Eleanor's fragile trust so soon after vowing to win it.
Cornby, however, clearly did not approve when Damon said he would be going out again for an hour and would change when he returned.
“Are you certain you wish to take this step, my lord?” the valet asked unhappily as Damon turned to leave.
“What step?”
“Visiting Miss Newling. Is that not what you intend? If so, I feel compelled to observe that Lady Wrexham could take your assignation as an insult. I should not like to see a repeat of two years ago when she terminated her betrothal to you because of Miss Newling.”
“Neither would I,” Damon said emphatically.
The age lines in the valet's face deepened with his frown. “Then why would you risk incurring her ladyship's wrath? Particularly now so shortly after your nuptials? You have not been in the petticoat line since returning from Italy.”
Cornby was well aware that Damon had spent all his nights since at home, alone, in strict celibacy. He also knew that Lydia had been the catalyst in Elea nor's explosion two years ago, and he was evidently worried that a similar furor would result if Damon chose to visit his former mistress now.
But explaining the delicate state of his marriage to his valet was not something he wished to be drawn into just now. “You are being irritatingly close to avuncular, Cornby.”
“Perhaps, my lord, but I see it as my duty to champion Lady Wrexham's interests. Also, I confess, I do not wish anything to bring her pain or sorrow.”
“Nor do I. But better that I meet Miss Newling elsewhere than have her show up here uninvited.”
“I do see your point, my lord.”
In truth, Damon was pleased that his longtime manservant felt protective of Eleanor. But he meant to meet Lydia as she'd requested to forestall any visit here. Moreover, he couldn't just glibly dismiss her request for help. After their long relationship, he probably owed it to Lydia to at least determine why she needed him, in her words, so “desperately.”
“Tell Lady Wrexham I will be delayed in joining the company for a while since I must see to a business matter.”
“Very well, even though it is unlikely to be a business matter,” the valet returned pointedly.
“It will be,” Damon assured him. “I mean to keep my visit strictly business.”
Seeming slightly comforted, Cornby remained silent as Damon let himself out and headed back out to the stables.
He had just reached the stableyard when he encountered the Earl of Haviland.