Chapter 20 Unfamiliar Comfort #2
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.”
Eleanor shifted against him, and Damien bit back a groan as desire flared anew. “Have you seen her recently? Besides the evening of the ball.”
“Last year, when Dominic and I returned to assess the estate damage,” he admitted. “She came to see us. We spoke briefly.”
“And?”
“And I felt nothing except resentment,” Damien said. “No longing, no regret.”
Eleanor was quiet for several heartbeats before asking, “What did she think of your return?”
“She assumed I’d come back permanently. Made it quite clear she’d be willing to resume our… acquaintance.” Damien’s voice grew dry. “She seemed rather put out when I explained my situation hadn’t changed.”
“I see.” Eleanor’s tone was carefully neutral, but Damien caught something beneath it. Was she pleased by his admission?
“May I ask you something in return?” he said.
“Of course.”
“Did you love George? Do you miss him?”
She tensed slightly in his arms. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful, almost distant.
“I respected George tremendously. He was kind to me, in his way, supportive of my ambitions.” She paused, and Damien sensed her choosing her words carefully. “But love? No, I don’t think what we shared could be called love. It was partnership, compatibility, mutual benefit. But not passion.”
“Do you regret that?” he asked softly.
“I thought I didn’t,” Eleanor admitted. “I told myself that practical affection was superior to romantic foolishness. That marriages built on shared goals were more stable than those based on mere attraction.”
“And now?”
Eleanor pondered for a while, leaving Damien with no choice but to breathe in her scent and savor every sensation her body evoked. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Now I find myself wondering what I might have missed.”
The admission hung between them, charged with possibilities neither seemed quite ready to explore. Damien felt his pulse race, though whether from hope or apprehension, he couldn’t say.
“Eleanor,” he began, but she shifted again, pressing back against him. His words dissolved into a barely suppressed groan as his body responded with renewed urgency to her proximity.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the library windows and reminding them both of the storm building beyond these walls—both literal and figurative.
Damien surfaced from sleep gradually, his mind foggy with the pleasant haze of deep rest. The fire had burned lower, casting the library in warm amber shadows, and for a moment he couldn’t place what had awakened him. Then awareness crashed over him as he realized what was happening.
Eleanor was moving against him, her soft curves pressing back against his already aroused body with unconscious rhythm. Soft gasps escaped her lips as she shifted restlessly in sleep, her movements creating exquisite friction that made him groan.
“Eleanor,” he said quietly, his voice rough with sleep and desire. But she didn’t respond, lost in whatever dream held her captive. Her breathing was quick and shallow, punctuated by the softest of moans that sent fire racing through his core.
Then, barely audibly, she breathed something that sounded remarkably like his name—a whispered plea that made his entire body tense with want.
Damien let out a quiet chuckle despite his predicament, torn between amusement and arousal at the realization that he featured in her unconscious fantasies. The proper thing would be to wake her, to put distance between them before the situation became more compromising than it already was.
Instead, he found himself lying perfectly still, allowing her the freedom to seek whatever pleasure her dreaming mind craved. His hands remained carefully positioned, making no move to take advantage even as his body responded with fierce urgency to every unconscious caress.
Eleanor’s movements grew more purposeful, her breathing more ragged, and Damien gritted his teeth against the overwhelming sensations. The soft sounds she made, the way her bottom moved against his hard length with increasing desperation—it pushed him perilously close to his own breaking point.
When her breathing hitched and her body stiffened against him, a longer moan escaping her lips as release claimed her, Damien had to bite his lip to keep from groaning aloud. The sight of her lost in pleasure, even unconscious pleasure, was almost more than his strained control could bear.
His hands clenched into fists as he fought the overwhelming urge to press against her and find his own relief. Every instinct screamed at him to claim what his body desperately wanted, but he forced himself to remain motionless, to let her sleep peacefully in the aftermath of her dream.
As Eleanor’s breathing gradually returned to normal and she settled more quietly against him, Damien closed his eyes and concentrated on maintaining what remained of his gentleman’s honor.
He released a long sequence of expletives as quietly as he could. The night was far from over, and his control was to be thoroughly tested.