To Romance a Charming Rogue (Courtship Wars)

Lazzara looked truly puzzled. “But why would you deem my supplication offensive? I should think you would be honored.”

Making a valiant effort to hide her disgust, Eleanor forced a smile. “You are sadly mistaken, I fear. I am not honored in the least. You are suggesting that I commit adultery.”

The prince shrugged. “But I understand it is the custom in England. Here, many noble marriages are ones of convenience where husband and wife are free to take lovers as long as the lady provides heirs and is discreet.”

“Perhaps in some noble marriages that is true, but not in mine.” Turning, she resumed walking along the garden path, leaving the prince to follow.

“Why? What is so different about your marriage?” he asked as if truly wanting to know.

What was different about her marriage, Eleanor wondered, when Damon was insisting a union of convenience between them? Frowning, she avoided a direct answer. “I would never betray my husband that way. Certainly not a man I loved.”

“Love?” Lazzara looked startled. “Is that what you feel for your husband?”

“Yes, indeed.” She had never stopped loving Damon, even after ending their betrothal. When he had forced his way back into her life a few short weeks ago, meddling in her affairs and driving her half mad with his infuriating interference, she'd futilely fought her feelings for him. But in truth, she had never stood a chance against the fierce yearnings of her heart.

Lazzara was regarding her with skepticism, evidently not convinced that she would turn down his unsavory proposition. “So is that your answer, Donna Eleanora?”

“Yes, your highness. And I do not wish to discuss it further. Pray, may we speak of other things?”

“As you wish,” the prince muttered. “But Wrex-ham clearly does not have the same scruples as you.”

She cast him a sideways glance. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just this afternoon I was in Brighton and saw him with Miss Newling.”

Miss N

ewling? Miss Lydia Newling?

Eleanor abruptly halted, which required the prince to follow suit. “What did you say?” she demanded in a breathless voice.

“I saw Lord Wrexham with his inamorata. Miss Newling was once his lover, was she not? Or am I not supposed to speak of such things either?”

Eleanor stared at him, not wanting to believe. “You must be mistaken,” she rasped.

“I assure you, I am not.” The prince smiled faintly. “I confess sometimes I do not understand the English. I cannot fathom why Wrexham would wish to seek his pleasure elsewhere when he has you in his bed.”

But Damon had not had her in his bed until last night, Eleanor thought wildly. She had purposely kept her distance in order to taunt and tease him into wanting her more.

A feeling of dread crawled over her. Dear heaven, could it be true? Had Damon returned to his former mistress to fill his carnal needs, all the while swearing fidelity to her? Surely it wasn't possible…

“If you do not believe me, Donna, you should see for yourself. The Boar's Head in Brighton is where you will find him. Wrexham is there even as we speak. I left him there only a short time ago.”

She knew the place. The Boar's Head was a busy posting inn on the main road leading north to London.

Her hand crept to her heart in response to the sharp pain she felt there. Was Damon betraying her before their marriage lines were barely dry? Dear God.

Her knees suddenly felt like pudding. Her head spun dizzily, as if she might faint.

“Are you ill, Donna Eleanora?” the prince asked. “You look pale.”

No doubt she was whitefaced with hurt and shock. She shook her head mutely; her throat had become too tight and arid to speak. She had to get away from the prince before she broke down completely.

With great effort, Eleanor managed to dredge up a denial. “No, I am not ill, your highness. But I believe I will return to the house, if you will excuse me.”

Turning, she hurried back down the path until she was almost running. History was repeating itself. Damon had betrayed her again with the same beautiful courtesan who had been his mistress for years.

Eleanor's hand fisted at her breastbone in an effort to stem the terrible ache inside her.