For the first time, her composure cracked slightly, revealing a flash of raw hurt before she regained control.
Damien felt sick. “I don’t remember. Eleanor. I swear on my father’s grave, I don’t remember anything after entering a gaming house near Whitechapel.”
“How convenient.”
“It’s the truth!” His voice came out stronger than he’d thought possible, fueled by desperation. “I was following a lead about—” He stopped abruptly. Damien closed his eyes, his head pounding so fiercely he could barely think.
“Croft had been spotted around Whitechapel. I was following leads, checking opium dens, questioning anyone who might have seen him with Dominic,” he said, opening his eyes to meet her gaze.
Eleanor’s expression remained stoic.
“You must know I’ve been scouring the worst parts of London, trying to find Dominic before Croft’s associates finishwhat they started.” The words tumbled out, his desperate need for water forgotten in the face of her disbelief.
“And you expect me to believe that in all these establishments—these dens and brothels—you never once availed yourself of the services offered?” Her voice held a note of bitter skepticism. “A man surrounded by willing women?”
Damien felt heat rise in his neck despite his physical weakness. “I’ve had no interest in other women.”
“How remarkably restrained of you.” Eleanor stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she moved forward and placed the water glass on his bedside table.
“Drink,” she said quietly. “And then rest. We’ll discuss this further when you’re more yourself.”
Damien reached for the glass with shaking hands, draining it in desperate gulps. The cool water soothed his parched throat but did nothing for the fear in his chest as he watched Eleanor move toward the door.
“Eleanor,” he called after her. “I know how this looks. I know what you must think of me. But I swear to you, on everything I hold sacred, I have not touched another woman since I met you.”
She paused at the threshold, her hand on the door handle. “This is precisely the reason I opposed your direct involvement. Lord Croft orchestrated this incident,” she said without turning around. “The madame confessed everything. You were drugged for my discovery.”
Relief flooded through Damien so powerfully it left him dizzy. “Then you believe me?”
Eleanor finally turned to face him, and the complexity of emotions in her expression made his heart clench. “I believe you were drugged, yes. Whether I believe the rest…” She shook her head. “That remains to be seen.”
She left him alone with his pounding head and the devastating realization that Lord Croft had succeeded inpoisoning the one relationship that had come to matter more than Damien had ever imagined possible.
As he lay back against the pillows, one thought echoed through his mind with crystalline clarity: he could not allow Croft to get away with this. Not what he’d done to Dominic, not what he had tried to do to Eleanor.
And to them.
A Proposal Most Inconvenient
Eleanor sat inher study, reviewing correspondence with the sort of meticulous attention that had made her London’s most formidable businesswoman. The afternoon light streaming through tall windows illuminated neat stacks of papers, each sorted according to her exacting system. She’d been expecting a particular visitor for the better part of an hour—ever since Jack’s contact had delivered a carefully worded message to His Grace about urgent estate matters requiring immediate attention.
The sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain coolly professional. She arranged her features into a mask of polite indifference as the duke appeared in her doorway, looking every inch the harried aristocrat despite his impeccable attire.
“Eleanor.” He paused at the threshold, and she noted with satisfaction that he seemed uncertain of his welcome. “I received word about Westmore Hall. Urgent matters requiring my attention.”
“Indeed?” She didn’t look up from her correspondence though she was acutely aware of his presence filling the doorway. “How unfortunate that your ancestral obligations should call you away.”
Her proxy husband moved into the room with measured steps, settling into the chair across from her desk without invitation. “The estate is in worse condition than I’d feared. The fire damage from last year has compromised the entire east wing. If repairs aren’t begun immediately, we’ll lose the structure entirely.”
Eleanor finally raised her eyes to meet his, noting the genuine concern etched across his features. Despite her carefully maintained anger about his recent nocturnal activities, she felt a treacherous pang of sympathy. “I see. And when do you plan to depart?”
“Tomorrow, if possible. Ashford is only a half-day’s ride from London, but the contractors need to begin work before the autumn rains worsen.” He massaged his temple, a gesture that would have seemed vulnerable if Eleanor hadn’t been so determined to remain unmoved. “I’ll need to reassess the destruction personally as Lord only knows how much damage another year of neglect has done. I shall approve the most urgent repairs, arrange financing…”
“How tedious for you,” Eleanor replied.
Something flickered in his eyes at her cool tone. “Eleanor, about that night—”
“I have no interest in discussing your evening entertainments,” she interrupted smoothly. “Your private affairs are precisely that—private.”