Giving a casual shrug of his broad shoulders, he unexpectedly changed the subject again. “How is Marcus faring?”
Eleanor breathed more easily. She could relax a measure if Damon would only speak of such mundane matters as her brother. “H
e is faring very well, as it happens.”
“I understand he married this past summer.”
“Yes… Marcus wed Miss Arabella Loring of Chis wick. They are in France at the moment, visiting Arabella's mother in Brittany, along with her two younger sisters, who also recently wed. I believe you know her sisters’ husbands, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne?”
“I know them well.” Damon paused. “It surprises me they all three succumbed to matrimony so suddenly. I thought them confirmed bachelors.”
“Matrimony is not catching, if that worries you.”
Her wry quip elicited a quick smile from Damon. “I am cured of any desire to wed, believe me.”
Eleanor bit her lip at his implication that she was the one who had cured him of his momentary madness.
A long pause followed as Damon grimaced, appearing to regret his careless remark. And his tone was more serious when he said, “I heard that you were betrothed shortly after I left England, but that it did not last long.”
Eleanor raised her chin, once more feeling defensive. “No, it did not.” She had quickly broken her second engagement, a betrothal she had made out of defiance and pain and had regretted almost instantly. “I decided I was not willing to settle for a marriage of convenience after all. I was not in love with him, nor he with me.”
I still loved you, Damon, she thought with a wistful ache.
Damon's voice lowered another register. “It is just as well that you broke off our betrothal. I could not have given you my heart.”
“You could not, or would not?”
His expression was unreadable. “I see little difference. And you deserved better for your husband.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And now you are being courted by Prince Laz-zara,” Damon observed, his tone prodding.
Eleanor hesitated. “I would not say he is courting me, precisely. The prince came to England to see the sights.”
“And to look for a bride?”
“So rumor says.”
“I am not surprised that he is showing a marked interest in a beautiful heiress.”
Not inexplicably, Damon's observation stung. “You think my fortune is all he sees in me?”
“Certainly not.” The corner of his mouth curved. “But you don't need me to flatter you by cataloguing your many appealing attributes. Nor, I suspect, does Lazzara. The man would have to be a fool not to be attracted to you as well as your fortune.”
But you feel no such attraction any longer? Eleanor wondered, feeling the ache increase. Aloud, she said in an offhanded tone, “It can be of no import to you if he thinks to woo me.”
“Even so, I am concerned. He would be fortunate to claim you for his wife, Eleanor, but you could do better for a husband. He is not good enough for you.”
She frowned at Damon. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I know you. You deserve better.”
Eleanor truly did not know what to think of his remark, so finally she shrugged. “It is exceedingly presumptuous of you to set yourself to judge my suitors, Lord Wrexham.”
“But then you know how presumptuous I can be.”
She did indeed, she thought, as Damon unexpectedly stepped closer.