To Romance a Charming Rogue (Courtship Wars)

But that was precisely how he'd planned it, Damon reminded himself as the old emptiness echoed inside him.

Yet the hollowness he'd felt since his twin's death was a stark contrast to what he was experiencing just now after his spirited contention with Eleanor. The sparks in her blue eyes alone had made him keenly aware of the difference.

He hadn't felt this alive in two years.

The regrettable truth was, he liked flustering Elle and ruffling her feathers, although he would much rather win her laughter. He relished making her laugh, the way she once had during their courtship.

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A memory suddenly surfaced from the enchanting fortnight he'd spent with her at her aunt's house party. Of Elle laughing after having won an impulsive horse race between them. Of her breathless, passionate response when he'd bestowed a fervored kiss upon her as her reward.

At the unwanted recollection, tenderness nagged at him-a dangerous sentiment, Damon knew very well. So was desire, he reflected, remembering that brief moment this morning when Eleanor had melted in his arms. He couldn't deny his powerful desire for her, or his feeling of triumph at her surrender.

She had tried to pretend disinterest, but she had enjoyed his kisses, he was certain of it. Even now there was an undeniable fire between them-

Which was also exceedingly dangerous.

If he was wise, Damon sternly warned himself, he would quell every ounce of attraction he felt for her and concentrate solely on spoiling her budding romance with her hedonist prince.

* * *

It soon became clear to Damon that Eleanor was determined to avoid any further conversation with him during the remainder of their excursion. In contrast, she maintained a delightful exchange with Prince Lazzara, praising his gallantry when he declared his intention of escorting her to London's premiere confectioners, Gunter's Teashop in Berkeley Square, to enjoy their famous ices and sorbets.

But when their party exited the bazaar to return to his highness's carriage, they soon discovered there was a problem with retrieving the vehicle. Further down the street, the barouche was mired in a snarl of traffic. Apparently a dray had spilled part of its cargo of turnips and was blocking most of the street, resulting in an altercation between drivers, merchants, and coachmen.

Grimacing impatiently, Prince Lazzara begged Donna Eleanora's indulgence while he went to investigate.

“Of course, your highness,” she said quickly, smiling with reassurance.

Yet she was obviously not delighted at being required to wait on the sidewalk with Damon, even with the protection of her maid. Eleanor maintained a cool silence, while Damon surveyed the growing dispute, wondering if he would need to intervene to forestall a brawl.

It was pure chance that he happened to see the incident that befell Lazzara while crossing the street. A small, dark-haired man darted after the prince and collided with unmistakable deliberation, pushing him to the cobblestones. Then, with one smooth slight of hand, the miscreant reached inside the nobleman's coat and drew out an object… a leather purse by the looks of it.

It was over in an instant; Lazzara lay sprawled there inelegantly, his features twisted in shock and anger, while the pickpocket fled.

Reacting instinctively, Damon sprinted after the thief while Eleanor gave a small cry of alarm and hurried to assist the prince.

When Damon eventually lost the pickpocket in the crowd, he returned to find her kneeling at Lazzara's side, her worry evident as she helped him to sit upright.

“Were you harmed, your highness?” Damon asked with a sincere measure of concern.

“No!” the Italian snapped. “My purse… that devil stole my purse.” He broke into a flood of Italian, spouting invectives that Damon knew meant devil and blackguard and several more pithy terms describing the vile scoundrel's parentage.

Then evidently recalling his audience, the prince ended his tirade abruptly. “Ah, a million pardons, mia signorina. I am ashamed to have used such language. It is improper for your tender ears.”

At the reference to her tender ears, Eleanor bit back a smile, although when her gaze accidently met Damon's, he could see the glint of humor dancing in her blue eyes. But she quickly erased any traces of amusement.

“It is no matter, your highness. Since you spoke in your language, I missed most of what you said. And in any event, I have doubtless heard worse from my brother and his friends. I have not lived as sheltered a life as the women of your country.”

Despite her conciliatory tone, Lazzara's face was rather red as he stood and dusted himself off, then helped Eleanor to rise. Clearly he was embarrassed at once again having been shown at a disadvantage in her eyes.

He seemed further embarrassed as he muttered, “I regret, Donna Eleanora, that we shall not proceed to Gunter's to fulfil your desire to partake of ices. I have no means to pay.”

Eleanor barely hesitated before giving him an easy smile while brushing at her skirts. “But I have the means, your highness. I would be happy to pay for tea and ices.”

When Lazzara stiffened, Damon could see that Eleanor immediately realized her mistake. She had obviously wounded the nobleman's pride, however inadvertently.

“Pray, allow it to be my treat, your highness,” Damon interrupted smoothly. “You were generous enough to permit me to intrude on your shopping expedition. The least I can do is repay the favor.”