To Romance a Charming Rogue (Courtship Wars)

Damon considered the earl's offer briefly before declining. “Thank you, but I don't want you to risk discovery either. I won't ask you to become involved in skulduggery.”

Haviland's mouth curved in a half smile. “Actually I am no stranger to skulduggery. And I'm eager for a diversion from drawing room intrigues.”

Damon felt a twinge of sympathetic amusement. After years of directing spy networks and plotting international political intrigues for British intelligence, Haviland must be champing at the bit, being trapped at a house party for so long merely to oblige his elderly grandmother.

“I am reluctant to disappoint you, Haviland, but I would prefer to conduct any search myself. If I am discovered, Lady Beldon will have a harder time booting me off the premises since I am married to her niece.”

Just then Damon remembered where he'd been headed when he was interrupted. “Unfortunately, the investigation will have to wait. I have another matter I must attend to first. I should be gone for less than an hour, however. I can search Vecchi's rooms once I return… during luncheon perhaps.”

“That should suffice,” Haviland conceded. “I will see that Vecchi is occupied while you inspect his possessions.”

“And I,” Linch chimed in, “will make certain Gia-como keeps away also.”

With their plans settled, Damon parted ways with his new partners in crime and ordered his horse saddled so he could meet his former mistress. But he was impatient to return and solve the mystery of Prince Lazzara's assailants, and even more important, to resume courting his wife.

To Damon's surprise, he encountered the prince the moment he walked into the Boar's Head Inn. Lazzara was exiting the taproom with one arm draped around a pretty blond barmaid, his wandering hand groping her ample breast as he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.

Upon seeing Damon, the prince halted and stood swaying on his feet while blinking owlishly. Lazzara, it seemed, was more than a trifle jugbitten. Apparently he had grown tired of the august company at Rosemont and come raking at the local tavern.

The other Bow Street Runner entrusted with guarding Lazzara was not far behind, Damon noted. The Runner rolled his eyes at the ceiling as if asking forgiveness for letting his charge become so sotted, although there was probably nothing he could have done to stop it.

Just then Damon's attention was diverted when a sweet, feminine voice hailed him. Lydia Newling had evidently been watching out for him, for she came hurrying down the inn's front staircase, a smile of relief on her beautiful features.

“My lord, I was not certain you would come. I do so want to thank you-Oh… your highness… I never expected to find you here.”

Lazzara and Lydia had evidently met before, Damon realized, seeing the royal's glance widen. And judging from the smirk Lazzara offered, he knew of Damon's own former relationship with the lovely auburn-haired Cyprian.

“Are you not a sly one, m'lord?” the prince mumbled, slurring his words. “But my lips are sealed.”

Loosing his grip on the barmaid's bosom, he sketched an unsteady bow and then sauntered out the front door, leaving his bodyguard to hastily follow.

Damon bit back an oath, regretting the ill luck that had brought him here at the same time as the prince-although Lazzara was unlikely to bandy the news about and therefore broadcast his own visit here. Still, Damon quickly turned to his former mistress, wanting to conclude this interview as soon as possible so he could get back to Rosemont.

“Lydia, what may I do for you? Your message sounded urgent.”

“It is urgent, Damon. I need your help. Please, may we speak in private? Upstairs would be best,” she added with a glance toward the door of the noisy taproom. “I have bespoken a parlor.”

Despite the imploring note in her voice, Damon hesitated to be alone with Lydia. “How did you know where to find me?”

“It is common knowledge that you came here to Lady Beldon's house party-the news was all over the society pages, along with the announcement of your unexpected marriage to Lady Eleanor. But since Mr. Geary refused to write you and intrude on your nuptials, I felt I had to come and implore you myself. You see, time is running out for my sister.”

Eleanor was highly disappointed when Damon sent word that he would be delayed. Reminding herself, however, that she would have him all to herself tonight, she joined the other house guests and contributed to the lively discussion of which play to choose for the amateur theatrical to be performed next week.

When Prince Lazzara approached her and invited her to stroll in the gardens with him, she accepted with some pleasure but more out of a sense of obligation. She had not spent much time in his company since her hasty marriage, and she felt a bit guilty that she had led him on so purposefully for several weeks, encouraging his advances and angling for a proposal of marriage from him before wedding Damon in such an abrupt about-face.

It was only when they were strolling along the gravel paths of the beautifully cultivated gardens that Eleanor began to wonder if the prince was in his cups, for his careful speech deteriorated to the point of being almost slurred at times.

Then, when they were out of sight of the manor, Prince Lazzara startled her by taking her hand and pressing an ardent kiss on her knuckles.

“Your highness!” Eleanor exclaimed rather breathlessly, jerking her hand back. “You forget yourself. I am a married woman now.”

“I have forgotten nothing, mia signorina,” he replied in a low, passionate voice. “I have bided my time patiently, but now I see there is no reason to wait. I want you for my lover.”

Eleanor pressed her lips together, biting back a sharp reprimand. The prince had evidently mistaken her continued friendliness for something deeper. “I will pretend I did not hear that, your highness.”

His brow furrowed. “Why should you pretend? I am all that is serious.”

“Because I find it offensive that you are proposing an affair.”