Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return

Still she hesitated. Something about the way he was standing and staring into the fire tugged at her heartstrings. He looked a little...lost, somehow, and the urge to offer comfort was strong. The memory of his kiss set her lips tingling, despite her confusion over his subsequent reaction when he had said he did not want complications. Eleanor bit her lip, considering.

No. She must go. They had tempted fate once already today. She must not do so again. She stepped back but, before she could close the door, something—a slight noise perhaps, or just the movement—betrayed her. Matthew looked up. She caught a glimpse of loneliness and sorrow before his mask slipped back into place.

She swallowed hard, her nerves in shreds. Why, oh, why, had she lingered? Why did she not retreat the second she saw him? It was too late now. She stepped inside the room and closed the door.

‘I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Thomas,’ she whispered. ‘I was unable to sleep and I thought to come down for some brandy, in the hope it might help.’

His voice was low, but she could hear the steel behind his words. ‘And so you decided to wander around the inn at the dead of night? Even after everything that’s happened?’

‘I was careful! Besides, I knew you had inspected the doors and windows, so nobody can get in.’

His jaw firmed. ‘You place far too much faith in my abilities.’ He lifted his glass to his lips and tipped his head back.

‘Why should I not?’ Eleanor said. ‘I trust you.’

She hesitated. What had she said? That sounded... Matthew was appraising her, brows raised, a knowing smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

‘I mean,’ she added quickly, ‘I trust your capabilities.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘don’t spoil it now. I could get very used to basking in your approval.’

Eleanor felt the blood suffuse her face, her insides squirming at his teasing smile. ‘I must go. I bid you goodnight.’ She turned to the door.

‘Don’t go.’

She paused, her hand already on the latch.

Are you going to flee every time a man shows a smidgeon of interest in you? Irritably, she tried to shrug away that insidious voice in her head.

‘Stay a moment, please. I’d welcome the company.’ There was a hint of a plea in those words.

Her awkwardness receded. He had looked desolate. Mayhap she could help. She had come downstairs for brandy... She would not scuttle away as though she had done something wrong. There could be no harm in staying for a minute or two, as long as they weren’t seen.

She slowly faced him, then gestured to the decanter that remained where Brooke had left it on the sideboard. ‘Would you pour me some brandy, please?’

She crossed the room, hugging her shawl even more tightly around her, as he poured out a measure of the spirit. Her doubts reared up again...why did I not go when I had the chance?

Because you want to know, the treacherous voice in her head whispered. You want to know how it feels when a man desires you.

Matthew’s blue gaze captured hers as he handed her the goblet, their fingers brushing. Eleanor all but snatched the glass from his hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, moving swiftly to stand next to the fireplace.

‘You are most welcome, my lady.’

His deep voice resonated, sending a quiver of excitement darting through her core. Oh, my. Warning bells rang loud and clear but she chose to ignore them. Yes, it was scandalous to be here, alone, with Matthew, but she was in control. Nothing would happen. Mayhap she could view this as practice—to help her conquer the hideous embarrassment that had plagued her during her come-out. If she could learn to converse unselfconsciously with the attractive, but undoubtedly unsuitable, Matthew Thomas, might that not stand her in good stead in London, where there would be attractive, suitable gentlemen to talk to and dance with?

Eleanor fixed her gaze on the goblet cupped in her hands. She swirled the glowing liquid round the bowl, warming it before lifting it to her lips. She sipped, then coughed at its fiery strength. She was aware, without looking, that Matthew had resumed his stance on the opposite side of the hearth, setting the decanter on the mantelshelf.

Feeling emboldened, she said, ‘You know a great deal about me, but I know next to nothing of you. Other than you have a good eye for horseflesh.’

He stared into the dying fire. ‘There is nothing much to know and the details are unlikely to interest you.’

‘Nevertheless...’ She allowed the silence to hang between them. While she waited, she drank again, relishing the warmth as the brandy slid down her throat.

‘Since the age of eighteen I have lived and worked overseas. I am a merchant—my world is far removed from the world you inhabit.’

Eleanor raised her brows. He had been more forthcoming in that one sentence than he had since they first met. ‘Where did you live?’

‘India. I only returned to England a few weeks ago.’

‘Do you miss it? Will you go back there?’

He frowned, still gazing into the embers. ‘I miss some aspects of it and I may return in the future, who knows? But not to live. England is my home from now on.’

‘Why did you go out there in the first place?’

He shrugged. ‘I needed to make a living. My great-uncle was an East India merchant, and I went to work with him. When he died, I decided to come home.’

‘What about work? How will you make your living now?’

He laughed, softly. ‘You ask a lot of questions, my lady,’ he said. ‘More brandy?’ He proffered the decanter and waited, brows raised.

‘Thank you.’ Eleanor held her glass out and he poured her another measure of the amber spirit. ‘It is very nice. I can understand why Aunt Lucy thought it would help her sleep.’

Matthew watched her sip again at the brandy, eyes crinkling. ‘Is this the first time you’ve tasted brandy?’

‘Oh, yes. Now, what was it I said?’

‘You asked how I will make my living now I am back in England. I warn you, this is the last question and then it is your turn to be interrogated. I shall make my living the same way I always have—in trade. We import tea, rugs, cloth, porcelain, anything really, from India and, sometimes, China. If there’s a market for it, we import it.’

‘We?’

‘My business partner, Benedict Poole, and I. He is, as we speak, sailing back to England with two more cargoes.

‘And that is more than enough about me... You told me you have you not been to London for seven years. Was that your come-out? Why have you never been back?’

The swift change of subject had Eleanor replying before she could consider her words. ‘It was my come-out, yes, but I hated it.’

‘Hated? That is a strong reaction to something that is meant to be pleasurable.’

‘What do you know about come-outs and Seasons?’

‘Oh, I hear talk,’ he replied. ‘I thought it was compulsory for every young lady to adore their come-out.’

She couldn’t help giggling. ‘Not me. I was shy and, looking back, too immature.’

‘That doesn’t explain why you have not been back since. You are far from shy now.’

Heat rose to burn her cheeks as their kiss loomed large in her thoughts. Matthew’s suddenly intense expression suggested he, too, was thinking of it. She gulped her remaining drink, then held out her glass for more, ignoring Matthew’s raised brows as he poured a little...a very little...brandy into her goblet.

As she opened her mouth to ask for more, Matthew said, ‘Why are you so wary of scandal?’

The breath whooshed from Eleanor’s lungs. ‘What...what do you mean? I am not—’

‘Uh-uh.’ Matthew shook his head at her, eyes brimming with amusement. ‘I answered all your questions...no avoiding the awkward ones.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Your aunt gave me the clue. You were full of indignation and she stopped you with that one phrase—“Think of the scandal.”’

Eleanor forced a light laugh even as she registered—somewhere deep down—that her mind was a touch fuddled. She concentrated fiercely on her words. ‘You show me anyone who relishes their own scandal, Mr Thomas. It seems quite reasonable to me that I should not wish to be tainted.’

‘Entirely reasonable, yes. But her words and your reaction suggest something more than the normal desire to avoid scandal. As if, maybe, there is something in your past? Come now, how bad can it be? A few stolen kisses?’

Eleanor stiffened. She could hardly blame him for believing such a possibility.

His lips twitched. ‘I promise I will not hold your scandal against you.’

‘It is not my scandal. It was my mother’s. And I do not wish to talk about it.’ She put her glass on the mantelshelf. ‘I am going to bed.’

Matthew caught her hand. ‘No, don’t go. I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities.’ He smiled, ruefully. ‘I fear I am out of practice in how to treat a lady. I promise to pry no further.’

His touch sent a tremor racing through her and she snatched her hand from his. For some reason, his assumption that she needed protection from the truth—that her female sensibilities somehow precluded her from facing up to the harsh realities of life—irritated her. She was an independent woman. She flattered herself she was strong. She was capable of facing up to reality. She did not need a man’s protection from that.

‘My mother left my father and me when I was eleven,’ she said. ‘She lived openly in London with another man. That was the scandal. I never saw her after she left and she died in childbirth a few years later. You asked why I hated my come-out and that was why—the whispers, everywhere I went. The eyes that followed my every move. The gentlemen who seemed to believe “like mother, like daughter”.’ The memory of that horrible time choked her voice. She paused; shook her head; huffed a short, bitter laugh. ‘This time I vow I shall be the perfect lady. My behaviour will be beyond reproach and I will have vouchers for Almack’s. You see if I don’t.’

She stared belligerently at Matthew.

‘I have no doubt you will be a complete success,’ he said, soothingly, as he grasped her arm and turned her towards the door. ‘Now, however, it is time you went to bed. Come.’

He guided her to the door, his hand at the small of her back. Warm. Comforting. His scent was in her nostrils—musky, male, a hint of citrus. She spun to face him and had to steady herself with a hand on his chest.

‘Whoops. That brandy was stronger than I thought.’ And it’s loosened your tongue, Eleanor. Take care. She focused her gaze on Matthew’s neckcloth.

Matthew removed her hand from his chest and reached for the door latch.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I must be quiet, mustn’t I? Can you imagine what Aunt Lucy would say were she to see us here like this? She would, quite rightly, wash her hands of me.’

She lifted her gaze to his face as she spoke. Swayed towards him. His eyes caressed her, warming her as the brandy had done. He lifted one hand, trailing a long finger down her cheek, before tracing the outline of her lips, which parted as she drew in a shaky breath. She closed her eyes, revelling in the swirl of need burgeoning inside her.

‘You are very beautiful, Eleanor,’ he murmured. ‘So hard to resist.’

Her soul blossomed at his words. She was standing so close she could feel his coat brush the tips of her breasts. Her nipples tingled and tightened and her bones felt like they were melting.

Matthew brushed her lips—hardly even touching them—with his own. ‘Goodnight.’

Her hands lifted of their own volition and clutched his lapels. She rose on tiptoe. Her kiss was no fleeting flirtation of the lips, but a warm, moist pressure as she angled her mouth to his. Matthew responded with a groan, his arms enfolding her, pulling her against the full length of his hard body. One splayed hand supported her back and the other cradled her head as he returned the pressure of her lips and increased the intensity of the kiss. Warm, brandy-flavoured lips parted and she opened in response. He captured her breath as his tongue caressed and explored. She followed his lead, surrendering to a deeper, darker, more wanton kiss than she had ever imagined possible. She never wanted that kiss to end.

She threaded her fingers through his hair as he gathered her closer, his hand tracing the curve of her spine to her bottom. She lost track of time. The only reality was in their kiss—a wicked, glorious promise of greater delights to come. She clung ever closer, her hands exploring the width of his shoulders and the long line of his back until she reached his taut buttocks, so very different to the soft roundness of her own.

He gasped into her mouth and, with another groan, tore his lips from hers, taking her by the shoulders and holding her away from him, steadying her as her knees threatened to buckle. Bemused, she studied his features, reading his regret and his resolve.

‘I think,’ he said, his voice husky with desire, ‘you should go. This is not wise. It can never be.’

His words brought her back to reality. Heavens! What was she doing? She searched his eyes, deep blue, swirling with so many complex emotions.

‘I should not have stayed,’ she whispered. ‘It was reckless. You are right. This can never be. We should not be alone together.’

He gave a shaky laugh. ‘No, we should not and, as you said, heaven help us if your aunt should discover us. Go on, now. Go. We will forget this ever happened.’ His deep tones resonated through her. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Eleanor returned to her bedchamber as if in a dream, her emotions in turmoil. Thoughts and memories tumbled through her mind. What had she done? Dismay at her disgraceful behaviour clashed with desire; regret with joy; mortification with a guilty longing for more. Confused, she slipped into her dreams.

Chapter Twelve

The following morning Eleanor breakfasted in her bedchamber.

‘She has the headache,’ Lady Rothley announced when she joined Matthew at the breakfast table. ‘I’m sure it is not to be wondered at, with all these goings-on.’

No, indeed it is not, Matthew thought, with a wry inner smile.

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘I hope she will feel well enough to travel today.’

‘Oh, I am sure she will bounce back. My niece is a strong woman. She will not allow a headache to overset her, or her plans.’

That I can well believe.

‘I will send a message to the stables to delay our departure for an hour,’ Matthew said. ‘Hopefully by then she will feel better.’

‘That is most thoughtful, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, beaming as she beckoned to a serving girl, who had just entered the parlour with a plate of freshly cooked eggs.

The maid curtsied. ‘Yes, milady?’

‘Please ensure a message is taken to Lady Ashby to tell her our departure is delayed until half past ten.’

‘And ask Mr Brooke to relay the same message to one of our men, will you?’ Matthew added.

‘Yes, milady. Yes, sir.’ The maid hurried away.

‘I very much appreciate your sacrifice, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, as she nibbled at a slice of toast. ‘This will, I am afraid, delay you even further. I cannot tell you how much better I slept for knowing you are to accompany us on the rest of the journey.’

‘I am delighted to be of service, my lady.’

If only Lady Rothley knew how close he had come to leaving the inn at first light, urgent with the need to put Eleanor, and the conflicting emotions she aroused in him, out of his mind for good. He had a plan for his life. And that plan most definitely did not include a beautiful, strong-willed baroness who—having blithely informed him how determined she was to prove to society that she was not her mother’s daughter—had then kissed him. Very thoroughly. And most enjoyably. His blood thrummed at the memory.

‘She is not a bad girl, Mr Thomas.’

Lady Rothley’s attention was on her plate, so she did not notice Matthew’s start at her words. Was she a mind-reader? He blanked his expression, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.

‘She is so determined to prove that she can succeed without a man to lean on,’ she continued, ‘she becomes a touch...overbearing...at times. You may have noticed.’

Matthew almost choked on his coffee. ‘No,’ he gasped, battling to contain a near-overwhelming urge to laugh. ‘No, I cannot say I have noticed. Not overbearing. A little...managing, perhaps.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Her ladyship’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘That is much more diplomatic. You have a nice turn of phrase, Mr Thomas. Eleanor works so hard, you see, and has been too isolated since her father died. He wished her to wed before he died, but...well, it did not work out. And her aunt—not me, her Aunt Phyllis, the one who lives with her—well, she has no more sense than a noddycock, filling poor Ellie’s head with dire warnings about bankruptcy and how women don’t have the brains for business. Well, what would you expect from a spirited girl like Ellie? She’s bound to want to prove everyone wrong.’

‘Yes. Of course,’ Matthew replied, his head reeling.

‘Oh, dear. Now I have put you to the blush, Mr Thomas. I should not let my mouth run on so, but all this business...the attacks...and the responsibility of taking Eleanor to London after last time—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘There I go again. You are too easy to talk to, Mr Thomas, that is the trouble, and I must confess it is a relief to have someone to confide in. One cannot talk to the servants about such matters and, of course, I could never speak so frankly of my worries to Ellie. It helps, too, that you are not part of our world, so I forget to be discreet.’

Matthew stood, his chair scraping across the floor. He did not want to hear any more of Lady Rothley’s confidences...he was intrigued enough by Eleanor already, without learning more about her, or having his sympathy stirred.

Although the temptation to abandon Eleanor and her aunt this morning had been powerful, in the end his conscience had won. He could not forget they were in danger. He had given his word that he would escort them to London and he would do so. But he had vowed to avoid being alone with Eleanor for the rest of their journey. He need only be strong for another few days, and then he need never see her again.

‘You may rely on my discretion, my lady. Now, if you will excuse me, I must settle my account with Brooke, and speak to my man about the arrangements for the journey.’

Eleanor, meanwhile, was battling not only her pounding head, but also the lowering memory of her scandalous conduct. She had appeared in the parlour, in the dead of night, clad only in her nightgown and a shawl. Would any red-blooded male not have taken advantage of the opportunity she so naively presented? Although...and she had cringed as the full version of events from the night before unfolded in her mind’s eye...she had kissed Matthew. Not the other way around. And the things she had told him. She winced at the memory. She did not doubt that the brandy had lowered her inhibitions, but her decision to stay had been before a drop had even touched her lips. What on earth had come over her? All the tenets of her upbringing, all of her innate sense of self-preservation and good old-fashioned common sense, had simply disappeared.

And what must Matthew Thomas think of her? She must take care in her future dealings with him—she must guard both her reputation and her heart, for he was clearly a danger to both. She conjured up a picture of those rugged good looks and the memory of that kiss, and she quivered. Oh, yes, he was a danger to her all right. A danger she would find hard to resist. But resist she must. Aunt Phyllis had only been half-right about the dangers of men and their seductive ways. She had never warned Eleanor of the treachery of a woman’s own body, when she was attracted by a man. Why had none of the gentlemen of her acquaintance ever enticed her like this?

Hmmph. It was no good brooding over it. What had happened had happened. She must ensure she was never again alone with Matthew. It would only be for a couple of days and then their paths would never cross again.

* * *

In the yard of the George two chaise-and-fours were standing ready for their journey. Aunt Lucy and Eleanor would travel in the first—as yesterday—and Lizzie, Matilda and Timothy would ride in the second. Eleanor looked around. There was no sign of Matthew, or of his curricle and pair. Perhaps, she thought with a swell of relief, ignoring the sting of disappointment that followed close on its heels, he had decided against accompanying them after all.

A footstep behind her, and the waft of tangy citrus, alerted her to his presence.

‘Good morning, my lady. I trust your headache is better?’

Eleanor inclined her head. ‘Very much so, Mr Thomas. Thank you for enquiring.’

So formal. She risked a glance. He held out his hand.

‘Allow me to assist you into the chaise.’

She placed her gloved hand in his. Strong fingers closed over hers and anticipation whispered deep in her belly. She lifted her chin and climbed the steps into the vehicle, taking her seat next to Aunt Lucy, who was already inside. She looked to the door, to thank Matthew, and bit back a gasp as he climbed in behind her.

‘Are you not driving yourself?’

She felt her colour rise as Matthew regarded her, one brow raised. She had not meant to sound so brusque.

‘I drove the horses hard yesterday,’ he said. ‘They will benefit from a day or two’s rest and then Henry will drive them to London in easy stages. I am afraid, therefore, that you must endure my presence for the remainder of the journey to London.’

‘How pleasant it will be to have your company, Mr Thomas.’ Aunt Lucy beamed as she nudged Eleanor. ‘Will it not, my pet?’

* * *

We will forget this ever happened.

Matthew Thomas had been true to his word, Eleanor granted him that. Not by a single look, or word, or deed did he even hint at what had passed between them at the George. Far from being relieved, Eleanor found herself growing more and more irritated as time passed. When she had vowed never to be alone with Matthew again, she had imagined him contriving circumstances in which they would meet and she would be the strong one, denying him despite his protestations. Instead, he made no effort whatsoever to manoeuvre her into being alone with him. They had not even had the opportunity to exchange a private word.

Not that I want to be alone with him.

She simply longed for the chance to spurn him. To prove that kissing him was something she regretted. Deeply.

* * *

The following morning, Eleanor paid the reckoning at the White Hart in Loughborough and was about to climb into the post-chaise, when Matthew strode from the inn, a thunderous frown on his face.

‘I pay my own way.’

‘And a very good morning to you, too, Mr Thomas,’ Eleanor said, lifting her chin. Both she and Aunt Lucy had broken their fast in their rooms, so this was their first meeting of the day. His manner did not bode well for a pleasant journey. ‘There is no call for you to turn top-lofty. This is my party, my journey. I pay.’

It was the only way she could retain her dignity. The tug of attraction was still strong. The memory of his kiss still set her senses aflame. His assumption of command throughout their first day of travel—overseeing the changes of the horses, arranging refreshments and private parlours to rest in, and checking and organising the security of the inn they stayed in overnight—had lifted the burden of responsibility from Eleanor. And she was both relieved and affronted by it. An inner tussle with her conscience had resulted in her admitting—but only privately—that, on balance, it was pleasant to have a man to take charge for a change.