“If you think for one minute that I would ever agree to wed you,” she muttered while hastening to button up her nightdress, “then you are clearly suffering a fever of the brain.”
Damon gave a mock wince. “Your estimation of my mental faculties wounds me deeply, love.”
“Not deeply enough, to my mind!”
He cast a glance at the door. “I suggest you keep your voice down unless you wish to have your servants investigating why you have secreted a gentleman in your bedchamber.”
“I have not secreted you,” Eleanor retorted, although she did lower her voice somewhat. “You have secreted yourself-and I wish you would leave.”
When he showed no signs of complying, she stalked across the bedchamber to her armoire and retrieved a dressing gown, which she quickly donned. At least she could face Damon with more equanimity when she was more modestly dressed.
Tucking her bare feet out of sight, Eleanor shook her head in continued disbelief. “You must be touched in the head, Damon. I can fathom no other explanation for why you would renew your offer of marriage after what happened the last time.”
His enigmatic, shuttered look did not increase her faith that he held any enthusiasm for his astonishing proposal. Watching his expression, she was even more certain he couldn't truly mean it.
“You don't have any desire to wed me, any more than I wish to wed you,” she said more calmly, determined to sound rational instead of letting Damon rile her as he was so expert at doing.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “That isn't true. I do want you for my wife.”
“Why?”
“Various reasons. We are well matched, for one. We could make a good marriage.”
At his unexpected prediction, Eleanor couldn't repress the sharp ache that wrenched her heart. “I once thought so, but no longer. You are not the marrying kind, Damon. I suspected it when I first met you, but I foolishly convinced myself otherwise. No, when it comes to marriage, I would say we are greatly mismatched.”
“You cannot deny that we are physically compatible.”
“Perhaps. But there is little between us other than the vexing question of lust.”
His mouth curled wryly. “Lust can be a powerful force.” His hand briefly touched the bulge in his satin knee breeches, evidence of his still-swollen arousal.
“Which only proves my point,” Eleanor declared. “You are acting in the heat of the moment, just as you did the last time you proposed. You let passion get the better of you then, impulsively overriding your own deep-seated objections to marriage, and look how that ended. You came to regret our betrothal almost at once.”
Damon didn't respond directly to that argument, instead saying in a reasonable tone, “I want you in my bed, Elle. But the only honorable way to have you is with the sanction of matrimony.”
She had to hide a wince. She was well aware that men wanted her for her physical beauty in addition to her breeding and wealth, and now Damon was stating it quite baldly. It was ridiculous, how he had touched a raw, deep-rooted insecurity of hers. Appealing to male carnal desires didn't mean she could attract them in ways that truly counted: in their hearts. She'd feared she might never find a man to love her for herself, and Damon's renouncement two years ago had only bolstered that fear.
She bit her lower lip. “I still think you are playing some kind of cruel game with me.”
His expression instantly softened. “I promise you it is no game, Eleanor.”
“Then why are you suggesting something so absurd? I would say you are trying to distract me from pursuing Prince Lazzara, but offering for me yourself is too drastic a measure merely to prevent his court ship.”
“It isn't too drastic. I want to protect you from him, but so far I've been unable to make you see reason.”
She frowned. “So you are proposing because you feel obliged to protect me?”
“In large part. I don't want you wedding Lazzara. He isn't nearly good enough for you.”
“That is not for you to decide.”
“He will only hurt you.” Damon's dark eyes searched her face. “If you are so set on marriage, then you should wed me. I am a much better alternative than your prince.”
Her thoughts in chaos, Eleanor raised a hand to her temple. Perhaps Damon truly did want to protect her from being hurt-and if so, she had to concede it was admirable of him. But wedding him would leave her far too vulnerable. She would only fall in love with him all over again, and he would hurt her even more than before.
“Thank you for your concern,” she said at last, “but I don't require your chivalry. I don't want you sacrificing yourself for my sake.”
“It wouldn't be a sacrifice, Elle.” When she made no reply, Damon swung his legs around and sat back against the headboard among her pillows. “Your Romeo won't make you happy,” he insisted.