The Duke of Westmore’s expression remained pleasant, but Eleanor felt the sudden tension radiating from him. “Lord Croft,” he acknowledged with a coolness that belied his smile. “How thoughtful of you to greet my wife. Though I believe you misspoke—she is Duchess of Westmore now.”
“Of course,” Lord Croft replied smoothly, though his eyes held a calculating gleam. “Forgive the oversight. Your return toLondon was so unexpected, one hardly knows what to think. The duchess and I are old acquaintances, you see.”
Eleanor frowned slightly. Lord Croft had pursued her but she would hardly call him an acquaintance. Before she could correct this misrepresentation, His Grace spoke.
“Then I’m certain you’ll understand if I ask you to excuse us. My wife has promised this dance to me.”
“Actually,” Eleanor interjected, curious about Damien’s obvious dislike for the man, “I believe I can spare one dance, Lord Croft. If my husband doesn’t object?”
The look the duke gave her contained a clear warning, but his smile remained fixed. “Of course not, darling. I shall await your return with great anticipation.”
As Lord Croft led her toward the dance floor, Eleanor glanced back to see His Grace watching them, his jaw tight with tension despite his outward display of cordiality. The mystery of his reaction—and his connection to both Lord Croft and the auburn-haired woman—would require further investigation. For now, she would see what information she might glean from her dance partner.
Damien pressed himselfinto the shadow of a marble column, his eyes fixed on the dance floor where Croft led Eleanor through a country dance. The man’s head was bent toward hers, his smile predatory in a way that made Damien’s blood boil.
Watching Croft’s hand settle at his wife’s waist, Damien fought the urge to intervene. The man’s predatory gaze swept over Eleanor with obvious possession, igniting a fierce protectiveness in Damien’s chest—a possessiveness he’d never experienced with any woman, not even Laura.
Eleanor was his. His duchess, his responsibility, his to protect. The wedding vows might have been a convenient fiction, but the fierce need to shield her from Croft’s machinations was devastatingly real.
The dance ended seemingly without incident. Damien was about to reclaim his wife when another gentleman, Lord Brickenridge, approached and bowed over her hand.
“Damien.”
The soft voice behind him pulled his attention away from the dance floor. He turned to find Laura Dunsmoor standing there, her eyes wide with emotion, her hands clasped tightly before her.
“When did you return?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“A fortnight ago,” he replied, feeling only numbness at her presence. Whatever she’d been through in the year past, it had added a maturity that suited her delicate features.
“Is it true, then? You’ve married Lady Sinclair?”
“It is.” He glanced back toward the dance floor, unwilling to lose sight of Eleanor for long.
Laura stepped closer, the familiar scent of lavender water stirring unwanted memories. “I didn’t realize you’d give your heart so easily. To a stranger no less.”
The words roused something bitter in him. “You refused me three years ago.”
“I refused to move to Singapura with you,” she corrected, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. “To chase after your brother, to be his caretaker—not to marry you. There’s a difference.”
“You rejected my proposal,” Damien said flatly. “You made it quite clear you wanted no part in my family’s troubles. You only wanted me for the luxury I could provide.”
“Because you asked me to abandon everything—my family, my position in Society—to follow you across the world on your brother’s self-destructive path!” Laura’s voice rose slightlybefore she caught herself. “I loved you, Damien. I would have married you without hesitation had you chosen to stay in England, to let Dominic face the consequences of his own actions.”
“It wasn’t his choice,” Damien replied, the old argument as fresh as the day they’d first had it.
“Perhaps not initially,” Laura insisted, “but it was his choice to steal the family fortune and squander it on opium. He brought that scandal upon himself—upon your family name.”
“He’s still my brother.” Damien’s voice was quiet but firm. “I couldn’t abandon him.”
“But you could abandon me.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I gave you my virtue, my soul, Damien. Yet you chose Dominic over our future together.”
The accusation no longer distressed him. Only frustration hovered. He had loved Laura once, had imagined a life with her. But when faced with the choice between saving his brother and building that life, there had been no real choice at all.
“You didn’t love me enough to come with me,” he said quietly. “To stand by me while I tried to save what remained of my family.”
“And do you love her?” Laura asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Or is she merely a convenient solution to your financial troubles, now that your brother has squandered the Westmore fortune?”
Damien stiffened. “My feelings for my wife are not your concern, Laura.”