“It could be magnificent,” Eleanor confirmed. “Your parents chose well when they made their improvements. The proportions are lovely, the natural light excellent. It simply needs someone who cares enough to restore it properly.”
She felt Damien shift slightly behind her, moving closer. “Are you still cold?”
Eleanor was indeed still chilled, despite the fire’s efforts. “A bit.”
Without further discussion, Damien moved closer still, until the entire length of his body cocooned her and his arm tightened around her waist. The heat from his body was immediate, and she found herself relaxing into his warmth despite her initial reservations.
“Better?” he murmured near her ear.
“Yes,” Eleanor admitted, though the word came out breathless.
George had been a considerate husband in his way, but affection had not been part of their arrangement. He’d never held her after their infrequent intimate encounters, never sought closeness for comfort’s sake. Their marriage bed had been a place of duty efficiently discharged, not tenderness shared. George had never cared for her pleasure beyond the perfunctory duty.
But this—lying in Damien’s protective embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against her neck—this was entirely different.
“Tell me about your plans for restoration,” she said, partly to distract herself from her response to his nearness.
As Damien spoke of craftsmen and timelines, Eleanor found herself unconsciously drawing his arm even more tightly aroundher. She could feel the strength in his fingers, the breadth of his palm. George had been a smaller man, compact and efficient in all things. Damien’s larger frame made her feel distinctly feminine in a way she’d not anticipated.
When the night air grew more bitter, Damien’s leg came around hers, creating additional warmth and a more complete embrace. Eleanor went completely still, her breath catching as she became aware of something pressing against her backside—the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.
“Ignore it,” Damien said quietly, his voice slightly strained. “It’s simply a natural reaction to the proximity of a beautiful woman. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But Eleanor found it impossible to ignore. The knowledge that her presence affected him so fundamentally sent heat spiraling through her own body in ways that both alarmed and intrigued her.
“Are you disturbed?” Damien’s voice held concern.
“I’m fine,” she managed, though her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. “Simply… adjusting to the situation.”
“We could try a different arrangement,” he offered, though she could hear the reluctance in his voice. “If this makes you uneasy.”
“No,” Eleanor said quickly, surprising herself. “No, this is… adequate. For warmth.”
Damien’s quiet chuckle vibrated against her back. “For warmth. Of course.”
As the fire crackled and the old house settled around them, Eleanor found herself caught between the practical necessity of their situation and the increasingly urgent awareness of her body’s response to his closeness. The way he held her—protective but not possessive, intimate but respectful—made her wonder what other experiences she might have missed in her carefully ordered life.
And the troubling part was how much she wanted to find out.
Damien lay perfectlystill behind Eleanor, every muscle tense with the effort of maintaining control. Her soft curves pressed against him with maddening intimacy, and the sweet scent of her hair filled his senses with each careful breath. He tried to focus on mundane matters—estate repair costs, Parliamentary procedures—anything to distract himself from the growing arousal that threatened his gentlemanly resolve.
Think of Croft’s sneering face,he commanded himself desperately.The state of the east wing roof.But every time Eleanor shifted slightly, seeking warmth or comfort, his body responded with fierce hunger that obliterated all rational thought. The gentle pressure of her bottom against his groin, the way her breathing made her chest expand beneath his arm—it was exquisite torture.
He concentrated on controlling his breathing, making each inhalation and exhalation as measured as possible. The last thing he wanted was for Eleanor to feel uncomfortable or threatened by his body’s unruly response to her nearness. She’d trusted him enough to accept this arrangement; he wouldn’t betray that trust by allowing his desire to overwhelm his honor.
The fire crackled peacefully before them, casting dancing shadows on the library walls. For several minutes, they lay in companionable silence, and Damien began to hope he might achieve some semblance of equilibrium.
Then Eleanor spoke, her voice quiet but clear in the stillness. “Was Lady Laura the love of your life?”
The question surprised him. Damien’s body stiffened involuntarily as he considered how to respond honestly without revealing too much. “Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.” Eleanor paused, and he could hear something carefully controlled in her voice. “Do you have any regrets about leaving her behind?”
Damien was quiet for a long moment, his mind returning to those final painful conversations three years ago. “I thought I did,” he said finally. “For a long time, I convinced myself that Laura represented everything I’d lost—home, stability, the life I’d planned to build.”
“And now?”
“Now I realize I was mourning an idea rather than the woman herself.” His arm tightened slightly around Eleanor’s waist. “Laura wanted the duke, the title, the comfortable life. She never truly understood why I couldn’t simply abandon Dominic to his fate.”