About the Author

JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police call-handler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands with her husband and two cats and has a part-time job with a weight management counsellor (vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!).

Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return

Return of Scandal’s Son

Janice Preston

Saved by Scandal’s Heir

Janice Preston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08529-8

REGENCY SURRENDER: SCANDALOUS RETURN

Return of Scandal’s Son © 2015 Janice Preston Saved by Scandal’s Heir © 2016 Janice Preston

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Return of Scandal’s Son

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Saved by Scandal’s Heir

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Return of Scandal’s Son

Janice Preston

For Elizabeth Bailey, whose encouragement and advice during my early writing attempts was invaluable.

Chapter One

April 1811

Eyes streaming, coughing and choking, she tugged at the window, but it refused to budge. The floorboards scorched her feet and she could hear the ominous roar of the fire below. Dragging the pungent air deep into her lungs, she screamed.

‘Ellie. Ellie. Wake up!’

‘What?’

Eleanor, Baroness Ashby, roused to the gently rocking rhythm of her carriage. She stared groggily into the anxious eyes of Lucy, Dowager Marchioness of Rothley. Eleanor levered herself upright on the squabs, her nightmare still vividly real.

‘You screamed. Was it the nightmare again?’

Eleanor drew in a deep breath—fresh, clean, untainted. ‘Yes. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Aunt.’ Her heart slowed from a gallop to a fast trot. ‘Everything seems so real in the dream. And I can never get out.’

‘Well, we must be thankful you escaped the real fire, my pet. It doesn’t bear thinking about, what might have happened.’

‘Milady?’ Lucy’s maid, sitting on the backward-facing seat, opposite Eleanor, leant forward.

‘Yes, Matilda?’

‘Is it true someone set fire to the library deliberately?’

‘Yes.’

Eleanor did not elaborate. Someone had broken into Ashby Manor—her beloved home—at the dead of night, piled books into the middle of the library floor and set fire to them. The whole east wing had been destroyed. All those beautiful books!

‘I told you.’ Lizzie, Eleanor’s maid, also travelling in the carriage to London, nudged Matilda. ‘If milady had not woken up when she did, she’d be—’

‘Lizzie!’

Lizzie cast an apologetic glance at Eleanor as she subsided into silence. Eleanor needed no reminding of what would have happened had she not woken when she did, two weeks before. She shuddered, recalling that terrifying moment when, climbing from her bedchamber window, her searching toes met empty space where the top rung of the ladder had, only moments before, been placed against the wall by her head groom, Fretwell. If Lizzie had not come looking for her when she did... Fear coiled in Eleanor’s belly. Lizzie had arrived just in time to see a shadowy figure knock Fretwell out cold before flinging the ladder to the ground.

Who was he? Was he really trying to kill me?

They had been unable to find any trace of the culprit. Fretwell had not seen him, and Lizzie’s description was so vague it was no help at all, but there had been no further incidents and no one could recall seeing any strangers in the vicinity.

‘I hope Aunt Phyllis will be comfortable staying with Reverend Harris,’ Eleanor said to Aunt Lucy, keen to distract them all from the events of that night. Aunt Phyllis—Eleanor’s paternal aunt—had lived at Ashby Manor all her life and had helped raise Eleanor after her mother left when Eleanor was just eleven. She had also been Eleanor’s chaperon since her father’s death three years before.

‘Oh, I make no doubt she will thoroughly enjoy her captive audience,’ Aunt Lucy said. There was no love lost between Lucy—the older sister of Eleanor’s mother—and Aunt Phyllis. ‘It’s the Reverend and his wife I feel pity for. Still, it is to my benefit that she refused to accompany you to London, my pet. I shall enjoy the opportunity to get you settled at long last.’

Eleanor shook her head, laughing. ‘You know very well the only reason I am going to London is to escape the building work at home. I have no wish to find a husband.’

Unless I fall in love with someone and he with me. And that is unlikely in the extreme.

‘You will feel differently if you meet someone who sets your heart a-flutter,’ Aunt Lucy replied, her dark eyes twinkling.

‘You take a different view of matrimony to Aunt Phyllis,’ Eleanor replied. ‘Her only concern is that any suitor should have the correct breeding and be wealthy enough to add to the estates.’

‘Ah, but she does not have to live with your choice. You do. Believe me, you do not want to be trapped in a marriage with a man you cannot respect. Or one who is unkind.’

Aunt Lucy fell silent and Eleanor guessed she was thinking back to her own unhappy marriage. The late Lord Rothley had been a violent and unpredictable man.

‘No, indeed,’ Eleanor said, heartened by the realisation that her aunt would not spend the Season trying to pressure her into a match she did not want.

‘Where did James say our house is?’ Aunt Lucy asked.

Eleanor fished Cousin James’s letter from her reticule and smoothed it, scanning the lines until she came to the relevant section.

‘Upper Brook Street,’ she said. ‘I hope it will prove suitable.’

James, upon being told of the fire, and Eleanor’s desire to visit London for the Season, had taken it upon himself to lease a house on her behalf. Thereby making certain I do not land on his doorstep, Eleanor had sniffed to herself upon receipt of his letter. Ruth, his wife, had clearly not mellowed towards her yet.

Relations between Eleanor and Ruth had been strained ever since Ruth had discovered that Eleanor, and not James, would inherit Ashby Manor and the title, becoming Baroness Ashby in her own right after her father’s death. The barony was an ancient title—one of the oldest in England, created by King William I—and, as was often the case with such ancient baronies, the title devolved upon the ‘heirs general’ rather than the nearest male relative.

Marry in haste... Eleanor allowed herself a quiet smile. In her opinion, Ruth only had herself to blame for trapping James into marriage before she had ascertained the truth of his prospects. Eleanor was just relieved she had seen through Ruth’s brother, Donald, on the eve of their betrothal, although the scandal when she rejected him had revived the old stories about her mother’s disgrace.

Blood will out, Aunt Phyllis’s voice echoed—the same refrain having been drummed into Eleanor ever since her mother created a scandal by running off with a rich merchant fourteen years ago. Eleanor was determined never to give the ton any cause for such salacious gossip about her. She forced her attention back to Aunt Lucy’s contented chatter.

‘Upper Brook Street is more than acceptable,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve always loved the Season—nothing can quite compare. Let us hope you have a happier time of it than during your come-out. I told your papa and that sourpuss Phyllis you weren’t ready for society. You were too young, too shy. And that was hardly surprising, given your poor mama... Well! I shall say no more on the subject. Oh, I can’t tell you, my pet, how delighted I am. Between you and me, this is just the remedy I need. I was bored to death at Rothley. I’ve come to the conclusion I’m far too young to retire to the dower house, despite what that reprehensible son of mine says.’

* * *

It was early afternoon on their first day of travel when a deafening crack jolted Eleanor from her daydreams. The carriage lurched violently sideways, slammed to a stop and then, very slowly, tilted until it fell on to its side with a crash. Eleanor flung her arms around Lucy to cushion her as they tumbled over to land on the side of the carriage. Lizzie and Matilda landed beside them in a tangle of arms and legs, shrieking hysterically.

Hip throbbing from the impact, Eleanor pushed herself up, still clutching Lucy.

‘Oh, my life! Oh, my head... We’re trapped! Milady, milady...oh, how shall we ever get out?’

‘Gunshot! Highwaymen! Highwaymen! We’ll be robbed and murdered, and no one to save us. Oh, dear Lord...’

‘Lizzie! Matilda!’ Eleanor raised her voice to be heard over the wailing of the two servants, who were still huddled together, eyes tight shut. ‘Do please stop that infernal noise. Is either of you hurt?’

‘My head...oh, milady—blood! I shall bleed to death.’

Eleanor twisted to look at Lizzie, who was clutching her head, a look of horror on her face. There was a minor cut on her scalp, which, like all scalp wounds, bled freely.

‘Nonsense, Lizzie. Do please calm down. Here, take my handkerchief and press it to your scalp—it’s only a tiny cut.’

Aunt Lucy had wriggled free from Eleanor’s grasp and was talking to Matilda.

‘Aunt? Are you all right?’

‘Shaken up, my pet, as are we all. But not hurt, thanks to you. You provided a soft landing, for which I am vastly grateful. And Matilda seems uninjured, just shocked.’ She grimaced at Eleanor as, at the sound of her name, Matilda burst into fresh sobs. ‘And you, Ellie? Are you hurt?’

‘I banged my side, but nothing broken, thankfully.’

‘What on earth do you imagine has happened? Oh, do hush, Matilda. Really, there is no lasting harm done. We are all still alive.’

‘I cannot imagine, although Lizzie is right—it did sound like a gunshot.’ Eleanor strove to speak calmly, to conceal her fear and the panic lurking below the surface. Were they being held up?

She looked up at the window above their heads. The carriage, despite being on its side, was still jerking and she could hear the men outside trying to calm the horses. She manoeuvred herself upright, her legs still shaky from the shock of the accident, and braced one foot on each side of the door frame that now formed the floor. There were some advantages in being tall, she thought wryly, as she shoved at the door above their heads. It crashed open, provoking another series of jerks from the horses, accompanied by a frenzied whinnying. She stuck her head through the opening, but was unable to see much. She shouted and the grizzled head of Joey, Eleanor’s coachman, appeared over the side of the upturned carriage.

‘Joey, thank goodness. What happened? Help me out, will you?’

Eleanor reached up and grasped Joey’s hands and, with much heaving and kicking, she was hauled out of the carriage and helped down to the ground. She took in the scene, gasping at the mayhem.

The lead pair plunged and scrabbled to regain their footing against the weight of the wheelers, both of which were off their feet. The offside of the wheelers was lying prone, blood pumping from its side, and the nearside of the pair, lying half beneath its teammate, eyes rolling wildly, was making intermittent half-hearted attempts to struggle free. Fretwell was trying desperately to free the lead horses, sawing at the leather harness with his knife, whilst the footman, Timothy, who had also accompanied them on their journey, was at the leaders’ heads, trying, not very successfully, to keep them calm, whilst dodging their flailing hooves.

Eleanor was about to go to his aid when Joey clutched her arm.

‘We just come round a sharp bend, milady. Get back there, lass, make sure nowt’s coming. Last thing we need—another pile up.’ Stress made the old coachman revert to speaking to her as the child he once knew.

Eleanor looked back, past the carriage, and only then did she appreciate the peril they were in. They had come around a sharp bend just before the carriage had overturned and the vehicle now blocked most of the road, which was enclosed by dense woodland. She shuddered at the thought of what that woodland might conceal, but there was no time to worry about that now. Surely any vehicle coming around that blind bend at even a modest speed would be upon them before they knew it. Picking up her skirts, Eleanor sprinted back along the road, suddenly aware of the approaching thunder of horses’ hooves.

Her heart leapt with fear. The horses sounded almost upon her, but were not yet in sight. Pain stabbed in her side. She could run no faster. The driver was unlikely to see her in time to react, he was travelling so fast. She did the only thing she could to avert disaster. She ran into the middle of the road, arms waving, just as a curricle drawn by two black horses raced into view.

Curses filled the air as the driver hauled desperately at the reins, slewing the curricle across the road as they came to a plunging stop, missing Eleanor by mere inches. Lungs burning, legs trembling, she could only watch, mute, as a groom jumped from his perch and raced to the horses’ heads. The driver speared her with one fulminating glare, then tied off the reins and leapt to the ground. Eleanor hauled in a shaky breath, flinching at his livid expression as he strode towards her.

Chapter Two

Eleanor stumbled back as the irate driver, frowning brows beetled over penetrating ice-blue eyes, loomed over her.

‘What in God’s name were you trying to do?’ he bit out. ‘Get yourself kill—’ He stopped abruptly as his gaze slid past Eleanor to the scene beyond. He grasped her upper arms, steadying her as he searched her face.

‘Are you hurt?’

Eleanor shook her head.

‘Good. Now, I need you to stay calm and be strong. Go over to Henry—’ he indicated his groom ‘—and tell him to come and help me, whilst you hold my team. Can you do that?’ She nodded. ‘Good girl.’

He stepped around her and strode over to the stricken carriage. Eleanor, still in shock, stared after him for a few seconds, then, shaking out of her stupor, she did as instructed and went to hold his horses as the stranger took charge with an ease that spoke of a natural leader.

Good girl? Who does he think he is? He cannot be much older than I am.

The minute those uncharitable thoughts slipped into her mind, she batted them away. Never mind that he had relegated her to the role of helpless female, she must remember he was only trying to help. Like a knight in shining armour. She bit back a smile at such an absurd thought. In her experience, men rarely felt chivalrous towards tall, independent and managing females such as herself.

The stranger’s presence focused the servants and the leaders’ traces were soon cut, allowing the horses to stand and be calmed. Whilst they were occupied, Eleanor gathered her courage and forced herself to study the surrounding woodlands for anyone who might be lurking. She saw no one...no movement.

Timothy was dispatched to a nearby farm, just visible through the trees, to summon assistance, and the injured horse was examined. A heated discussion appeared to take place between the men before the stranger placed his hand on Joey’s shoulder, bending down to speak in his ear. He pushed him gently in Eleanor’s direction whilst nodding to Fretwell, who extracted a pistol from behind the box of the carriage.

Joey stumbled over to Eleanor, tears in his eyes. ‘They’re going to shoot her, lass. My Bonny. She’s been shot and her leg’s broke. There’s nowt we can do to save her.’

‘Oh, Joey, I’m so sorry. I know how you feel about the horses.’ Eleanor’s vision blurred. ‘Don’t look.’ She clasped his arm and turned him away from the grisly scene. A few seconds later a shot rang out and they both stiffened. Then Joey sighed.

‘That’s that, then, lass...beg pardon, I mean, milady.’ He straightened. ‘There’s still three horses there needing me. I must get back.’ He began to walk away, then stopped, looking back at Eleanor with troubled eyes. ‘Oh, milady, who d’ye think could do such a wicked, wicked thing? Shooting at an innocent animal is bad enough, but that shot could’ve killed any one of us.’

His words echoed as Eleanor watched him return to the other men, who were now heaving Bonny’s carcass from on top of her teammate, Joker. A chill ran down her spine as she saw Fretwell reload the pistol and pace slowly back along the road, gazing intently into the dense woodland along its edge. Eleanor pulled her travelling cloak closer around her, as if it could render her invisible.

Joker scrambled to his feet as soon as he could and stood, shaking, allowing Joey to clasp his drooping head to his chest whilst he murmured into his ear. Henry returned to take charge of the curricle and pair and Eleanor made her way slowly towards the men and the carriage.

She was self-consciously aware of the stranger’s scrutiny, which she returned unobtrusively. His curricle and pair were top quality, but his clothing—a greatcoat hanging open over a loose-fitting dark blue coat, buckskin breeches and an indifferently tied neckcloth—was not of the first stare. No gentleman of her acquaintance would settle for comfort over elegance. His build was athletic, his face—sporting a slightly crooked nose that had surely been broken and badly set in the past—was unfashionably tanned and the square set of his jaw somehow proclaimed a man who would be ill at ease in society’s drawing rooms.

He would make a formidable opponent. The words crept unbidden into her head. Opponent? Mentally, she shook herself, irritated that she imagined menace all around her since the fire.

She braced her shoulders, lifted her chin and met the stranger’s stare. Cool blue eyes appraised her, sending another shiver whispering down her spine, this time of awareness. His features spoke of strength and decisiveness and, yes, even a hint of that menace she had imagined earlier. His eyes narrowed momentarily before he smiled. It transformed his face—still rugged, but softened as his eyes warmed.

‘I thank you for your assistance, sir.’

He bowed. ‘It was my pleasure, ma’am.’ His smile widened. ‘I have long dreamed of rescuing a damsel in distress and now—’ his arm swept the scene ‘—my dream becomes reality.’

Eleanor glanced at his face, suspecting him of mockery, but the candour of his expression and teasing light in his eyes appeared to hide no malice.

‘Nevertheless,’ she said, ‘I do thank you and I am sorry to have so nearly caused another upset.’

‘You did the right thing. There could have been serious consequences had you not been so decisive. Or brave.’ He studied her anew and she recognised the devilish glint in his eye as he added, sotto voce, ‘Or foolhardy.’

Eleanor stiffened and opened her mouth to retaliate, but he was already spinning round, his attention caught by a faint shout from within the overturned carriage.

‘Good heavens!’ Eleanor put her irritation aside as she remembered Aunt Lucy and the two maids, still trapped inside. ‘Sir, might I impose on you once more?’

‘Who is in there?’

‘My aunt and our two maids.’

The stranger leapt on to the carriage, knelt and reached down through the open doorway to help out Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda before lowering them safely to the ground.

He was certainly accustomed to taking charge, Eleanor thought, watching him work, wondering who he was and where he came from as Aunt Lucy joined her, pale and shaken.

‘How are—?’ Eleanor got no further.

‘Who is our rescuer, I wonder?’ were the first words Aunt Lucy uttered, in a sibilant whisper. ‘I wonder where he is from. He is very attractive, in a manly sort of way, is he not, Ellie?’

‘Hush, Aunt Lucy. He’ll hear you,’ Eleanor hissed as he strode towards them, his greatcoat swinging open to reveal muscular, buckskin-clad legs. He was hatless, and his dark blond, sun-streaked hair fell over his forehead at times, only to be shoved back with an impatient hand.

‘It seems I am in your debt again, sir,’ she said.

‘I repeat, no thanks are necessary. It was...is...my pleasure. If I might introduce myself? Matthew Thomas, at your service, ladies.’

Aunt Lucy, her small dark eyes alight with curiosity, replied, ‘Lady Rothley.’

Mr Thomas bowed. ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Rothley. And...?’

‘Allow me to present my niece, Eleanor, the Baroness Ashby.’

Mr Thomas bowed once more. ‘Enchanted, Lady Ashby.’

As he straightened, his bright eyes locked with Eleanor’s, appreciation swirling in their depths. Eleanor’s insides performed a somersault. Oh, yes, she agreed silently with her aunt, he was certainly attractive. She switched her gaze from Mr Thomas to Fretwell, who had returned and now joined them, a frown creasing his brow.

‘Fretwell, I do hope this hasn’t aggravated your head wound. It has only just healed.’

‘I’m all right, milady, barring a few bruises. Lucky nothing was broken; leastwise, nothing human,’ he added gloomily.

‘Indeed, it could have been much worse. What—’

‘Milady—’ Fretwell shot a suspicious glance at Mr Thomas before lowering his voice ‘—if I might have a word?’ With a jerk of his head he indicated the far side of the road.

Mystified, Eleanor excused herself and followed him. ‘What is it?’

‘We must get away from here as soon as we can, milady,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe. You’re too exposed and we don’t know who he might be, either. He appeared very timely after that shot, don’t you—?’

‘Fretwell! Surely you’re not suggesting the horse was shot deliberately?’ Eleanor denied Fretwell’s suspicions despite her own doubts. ‘Why would anyone—?’

‘After the fire, milady, it seems a mite coincidental.’

The fire... The by-now-familiar coil of unease snaked through Eleanor. Irritated, she suppressed it. It was her duty to maintain her composure in front of her servants. If they began to view her as a feeble woman, their respect for her, and her authority, would soon diminish.

‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘There is nobody there—it was surely a stray shot and, as for your suggestion that Mr Thomas might have had any part in it, I’m surprised at you. You are not normally given to such flights of fancy.’

Fretwell reddened, but stubbornly held her gaze. ‘Be that as it may, milady, I know what happened to me the night of the fire. That was no accident. It was deliberate.’

‘Very well, I shall take care, but please keep your conjectures to yourself. I don’t want Lady Rothley upset and there is no reason for Mr Thomas to become further embroiled in our problems.’

Movement further along the road caught her attention. Her footman was on his way back, accompanied by another man leading a pair of draught horses.

‘Come, Timothy is here now with help. Let us go and sort the carriage out, then we can all get away from here and put your mind at rest.’

Although how she was to contrive that, with a damaged carriage, she could not imagine. Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda, the latter still sobbing into her handkerchief, were sitting on a grass bank a short way along the road. Eleanor, more shaken by the accident than she would admit, wished for nothing more than to join them, leaving the men to cope.

But this was her carriage, her horses and her servants.

Ergo, her responsibility.

She joined the men, ignoring the curious looks of both Mr Thomas and the farmer, a wiry, weatherbeaten individual of few words, but surprising strength. Her own men knew better than to question her desire to be involved.

It soon became clear that Mr Thomas still considered himself in charge and Eleanor, at first bemused at being relegated to a mere onlooker, grew increasingly indignant at being totally ignored.

She stepped forward, preparing to assert her authority.

Chapter Three

Matthew Thomas studied the overturned carriage.

‘Tie the chain there,’ he said to Timothy, pointing to a position on the spring iron at the rear of the carriage and trying to ignore the baroness, who was clearly itching to get involved.

‘Timothy,’ she said in an imperious tone, after the footman had attached the chain, ‘you ought to attach that chain further forward—it is too near the back there.’

Matthew straightened from checking that the chain was secure and turned to face Eleanor, lifting a brow.

She raised her chin, holding his gaze in typical aristocratic haughtiness.

‘If you pull from there it will surely pull the carriage around, rather than upright,’ she said.

He felt his temper stir and clamped down on it hard. He was not the wild youth he had once been and the intervening years had taught him to control his emotions, particularly in fraught situations like the present.

‘When the other chain is attached—as it will be shortly—towards the front of the carriage, it will counteract the pull on this chain. And pull the carriage upright.’

He deliberately blanked his expression, hiding his amusement at her indignation as she drew herself up to her full height—which was considerable, for a woman. She was barely four inches shorter than his own six feet. Her bright blue cloak had swung open to reveal a curvaceous figure, which Matthew perused appreciatively before returning his gaze to clash with her stormy, tawny-brown eyes. Her dark brows snapped together in a frown.

His interest had been aroused the minute he had leapt from his curricle and stared down into her face, pale with shock. She was strikingly attractive, although not a conventional beauty—courageous, too, leaping in front of his horses that way. His heart had almost seized with terror as he had fought to avoid her. Admittedly, he had been springing the horses—keen to test their paces—but that fact had not mitigated his fury, which was fuelled as much by the fear of what might have happened as by anger.

Now his interest was still there, but tempered with reality. He could admire her beauty, as one might admire, and even covet, a beautiful painting or a statue. But he would admire from a distance. He was no longer part of her deceitful world. He turned his attention once more to the stricken carriage.

‘We will need some poles to lever the carriage as the horses pull,’ Eleanor declared some minutes later.

Matthew once more stopped what he was doing. He took a pace towards Eleanor, catching a glimpse of—was that fear?—in her expression as she retreated. Then her lips tightened, and she stepped forward, bringing them almost nose to nose. Pluck? Or was that merely her innate feeling of superiority?

‘If—’ he kept his voice low, in order that the others shouldn’t overhear ‘—you are so keen to help, might I suggest you go and hold the horses so Henry can come and assist? Unless, that is, you really are capable of putting your shoulder to the carriage as the horses pull? I would suggest, with the utmost respect, that you are neither built, nor dressed, for such an activity.’

‘Hmmph!’ Her gaze lowered.

‘Good point about the poles, though, my lady.’ He waved an arm to the rear of the carriage, where two stout poles lay on the ground. ‘The farmer, as you can see, has thought of everything.’

She followed the direction of his gesture. A flush coloured her cheeks.

‘Oh.’ There was a pause. Then, ‘I hadn’t noticed them.’

Shame pricked Matthew’s conscience. He had not meant to make her feel foolish. He should not have risen to her arrogance—it was not her fault she was a part of that world he so despised. He reminded himself she must still be in shock after the accident.

They were still standing very close, her perfume tantalising his senses—floral notes interwoven with the undeniable scent of woman. A wave of desire caught him off guard and he spun away, forcing his attention back to the problem at hand.

The carriage was pulled upright with much heaving and straining, and they examined the extent of the damage. One wheel would need replacing, but the rest of the damage could be repaired. Try as he might to ignore her, Matthew was constantly aware of Eleanor’s presence. He could feel the frustration radiating from her as she peered over his shoulder at the carriage.

‘There’s a wheelwright in the village over yonder,’ the farmer, who had introduced himself as Alfred Clegg, said. ‘I’ll send word. The horses can go in the home paddock for the time. Where’re you folk heading?’

‘We have rooms bespoke at the White Lion in Stockport,’ Eleanor replied.

The farmer scratched his head, peering at the sky. ‘That’s a tidy way, mum. And it looks like rain.’

‘Do you have a carriage or some such that you could loan or hire to us?’

‘’Fraid not, mum. The missus is to market today in the gig. Hay wagon is all I got.’ He looked at her dubiously. ‘It might do for your luggage, and mebbe the maids there wouldn’t object, but...’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘Anyways, my horses couldn’t get all the way to Stockport and back—they’m built for power, not speed.’

‘It so happens that I have a room reserved at the Green Man in Ashton tonight,’ Matthew said. ‘It is much nearer than Stockport and it is clean and comfortable—I’m sure there will be enough accommodation for us all. The hay wagon is an excellent suggestion for the luggage and the servants and I can take the ladies in my curricle, if they have no objection to squeezing in.’

He looked around the group as he spoke. Approval shone on the faces of the majority, the exceptions being the baroness, who looked mutinous, and Fretwell, who was eyeing him with deep suspicion. Lady Rothley had joined them in time to hear Matthew’s proposal.

‘That sounds an excellent suggestion, Mr Thomas. Do you not agree, Ellie?’

Matthew returned Lady Rothley’s smile, praying she would not recognise him. He had known her sons, of course—wild rakes, the pair of them—but he was certain he had never met the marchioness. It was many years since he had been cast out from the world these ladies inhabited and, although in his youth he had borne a striking resemblance to his mother, he had lived a full and eventful life since then. He suspected the similarities were no longer so apparent. At the thought of his mother, his heart contracted painfully before he dismissed his weakness with a silent oath. His family had not believed his innocence; they had banished him from their lives and forgotten his very existence. Bitterly, he forced his black memories into the box where he confined them and slammed the lid.

‘I should prefer to continue as planned to Stockport, Aunt,’ Eleanor was saying. ‘Fretwell, you may as well stay here—if Clegg does not object—and then take the remaining horses home tomorrow, as planned, as long as they are all fit.’

The farmer nodded his consent.

Fretwell scowled, shooting a suspicious glance at Matthew. ‘I think I should stay with you, milady. For protection,’ he muttered.

Matthew felt his brows shoot up. What was he missing here?

‘No, Fretwell, I will not alter my plans. I shall hire another carriage to convey us to London. Joey, you can also stay on here and oversee the repairs. I shall arrange for a team to be sent out so you can follow us down to London with the carriage.’

She was certainly a lady used to having her own way, Matthew thought, listening as she set out her expectations. Fretwell was clearly unhappy with her decision, but he raised no further objections.

‘I shall hire a chaise at Ashton to take us on to Stockport,’ Eleanor continued, ‘as Mr Thomas has offered to transport us as far as there.’

Her clear reluctance to spend the evening in his company irritated Matthew. Who the hell was Lady Ashby to dismiss him as a nobody? She appeared to believe that he was not worthy of her time or attention. Tempted to just forget her and be on his way, he paused. Lady Ashby needed dislodging from that high perch of hers. Besides, some female company that evening would be a welcome change to his planned solitary dinner. And she was without doubt prettier than the locals in the taproom of the Green Man, where he would most likely end up after his meal.

His devil got the better of him. He lifted one brow in deliberate provocation before directing his words at Lady Rothley.

‘With everyone so shaken, you will be far better advised to remain at Ashton tonight, my lady. I’m sure you will find the Green Man to your liking, and, forgive me, but you look as though you would welcome a fireside to sit beside and a warm drink.’

‘That is an enticing prospect, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, with a warm smile.

Eleanor’s lips tightened.

‘Excellent,’ Matthew said. ‘That’s settled, then. I shall convey you and your niece in my curricle, and the servants and luggage can follow on in Clegg’s wagon.

‘Of course—’ he switched his attention to Eleanor, grinning at her poorly concealed pique ‘—once we arrive at the Green Man, should you still insist on continuing your journey then you must do so.

‘Shall we go?’

Chapter Four

The journey to the Green Man was both uncomfortable and, for Eleanor, disconcerting. The vehicle, designed to seat two comfortably, was a squeeze for three and, to her vexation, Matthew handed her into the curricle before Aunt Lucy, leaving her squashed in the middle when he leapt aboard the other side. Her objection that her aunt would feel safer sitting between them was summarily dismissed, both by Matthew and by Aunt Lucy herself, who appeared to thoroughly approve of their rescuer.

The heat of his touch through the fine kid of her gloves as he handed her into the curricle sent an unsettling quiver through her, despite her irritation. Quite simply, Matthew Thomas rattled her, with his knowing smile and the tease in his voice and his undeniable masculinity.

During the drive, Aunt Lucy was uncharacteristically quiet.

‘Are you sure you were not injured, Aunt?’ Eleanor asked, concerned.

‘Yes, I am sure. Do not mind me, my pet. I am a little tired, that is all.’

Her lids drooped even as she spoke. Eleanor squeezed her hand. They had all had such a shock. She, too, felt drained, but Matthew’s rock-hard thigh pressing against hers and the heat radiating from him ensured she remained on edge. Try as she might to focus on the road ahead, her attention kept wandering to his hands, gloved in scuffed leather, as he handled the ribbons with dexterity, controlling his highly strung pair with total confidence.

‘How long have you had them?’ she asked, indicating the jet-black horses trotting in front, their powerful haunches gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. ‘They look...’ She hesitated, appalled by what she had almost said. ‘That is, they are a splendid match.’

‘They look...?’

What a careless slip of the tongue. Eleanor firmed her lips, conscious of his head turning and those blue eyes boring into her.

‘They look too good for the likes of me? Is that what you were about to say?’

She had struck a nerve there. She risked a sidelong glance. ‘I meant no offence.’

‘It is as well I took none, then, isn’t it?’

She did not quite believe that. For several minutes there was no sound save the horses’ hoofbeats. Eleanor bit her lip.

‘You are quite right, nevertheless,’ Matthew said, eventually. ‘They are far superior animals to anything I usually aspire to and, in answer to your question, I have owned them since last night.’

Eleanor bit back her exclamation of surprise. For an unfamiliar team they were going very sweetly indeed. Matthew Thomas was clearly a skilled whip...but he had no need of her praise to boost his already puffed-up opinion of himself. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.

‘Take care, my lady,’ Matthew said, after a couple of beats of silence, amusement threading through his voice. ‘You are determined not to admit your surprise, but I must inform you that I interpret your very silence as a compliment and a welcome salve to my bruised pride.’

‘They have obviously been extremely well schooled,’ Eleanor replied tartly, exasperated by his ability to read her thoughts.

Matthew shouted with laughter. ‘Touché. An impressive put-down.’

Eleanor arched one brow, but could not prevent a corner of her mouth from twitching. ‘When you warrant a compliment, Mr Thomas—whether for your driving skills or for any other purpose—please be advised that I shall not stint in offering one. Until then...’

Silence reigned for a moment, then Matthew laughed again.

‘You are a hard lady to please,’ he said. ‘Let me see...’ from the corner of her eye Eleanor saw him lean forward and glance across at Aunt Lucy, who appeared to be dozing ‘...you almost cause an accident by running in front of my curricle—an accident that was only prevented by my superior driving skills. I cut your injured horses free, rescue your aunt and maidservants, help pull your carriage upright, and now I am transporting you to an inn to recuperate, and still I do not warrant any praise for my actions. Tell me, Lady Ashby...’ his voice lowered to a husky whisper as he put his lips close to her ear ‘...what, precisely, can I do for you that will earn your approval?’

Eleanor suppressed a quiver as his breath tickled across her sensitive lobe and caressed her neck. Risking a quick glance, she could see he was fully aware of the effect he was having on her. She stiffened, her earlier amusement vanquished. She ignored his question.

‘Do you travel far, sir? I do not believe you said where you are heading?’

‘No, I do not believe I did.’

He did not elaborate, and Eleanor gritted her teeth against the extended silence, raising her chin and keeping her eyes riveted to the road ahead.

Eventually, he sighed in an exaggerated fashion and continued, ‘I stay at Ashton for two nights. After that, I plan to visit Worcestershire before I return to London.’

She itched to question him further, but held her silence.

‘Do you travel to London for the Season, my lady?’

‘We do.’

‘And do you go every Season?’

‘We do not.’ Two could play at being evasive.

‘Have you travelled far today?’ His voice quivered.

‘From Lancashire.’

‘North of the county or south?’

She slanted a suspicious look at him.

‘Is that where you call home?’

His voice was now definitely unsteady. Eleanor stifled her hmmph of irritation.

‘You, sir, are being deliberately provoking.’

His laugh burst free. ‘Pax. I could continue this game of question and answer all day, but I suspect you do not share my enjoyment of the ridiculous. I shall not bore you with further impertinent questions.’

Unreasonably, Eleanor was stung by his assumption that she lacked a sense of humour. She was unused to this kind of byplay between a man and a woman and she was aware her embarrassment caused her to appear stiff and unfriendly. Although why she should care about his opinion of her, she did not know. However well he spoke, he was not of her class. She wondered what he was—a prosperous farmer, perhaps, or a merchant or a military man?

She felt his eyes on her and risked another sideways glance. He captured her gaze—his eyes warm, his expression open. His easy smile transformed his face, giving him a charm that Eleanor found instantly appealing. To her confusion, she read admiration in his regard and her blood heated instantly at the notion. She felt a telltale blush creeping up her neck and cheeks and, uncertain, she tore her gaze from his.

She was her own woman—rare in this day and age—in control of her own life and finances, answerable to no one, not even her trustees since she had reached her twenty-fifth birthday. She was strong and decisive when running her estates, responsible for not only her own comfort and lifestyle, but also the livelihoods and well-being of everyone who worked for her, plus their families—a responsibility she discharged with assurance. However, for all her outward confidence, she found herself regressing to the awkward, tongue-tied girl of her past in the presence of Matthew Thomas, simply because he was passing time with a light flirtation. Her experience with Donald had caused her to doubt her judgement of men and their true intentions. And had Aunt Phyllis not warned her time after time of the danger of showing too much encouragement to any gentleman?

‘If you truly wish to earn my approval, sir, might I suggest that you keep your eyes upon the road? We have already suffered one upset today.’

She fixed her eyes once more on the road ahead and it was with relief that she saw the Green Man come into view.

As they pulled up in the courtyard of the inn, Aunt Lucy came to with a start.

‘Of course,’ she said, ‘it could have been another attempt on your life, Ellie.’

Chapter Five

Matthew, on the verge of springing from the curricle, paused, his interest roused.

‘Aunt Lucy! That is preposterous. Bonny’s death was an accident.’

‘You cannot be certain of that, Ellie. What about the fire at the Manor? Someone set that fire and lurked around to see what happened. He brained Fretwell to stop him rescuing you, in case you had forgotten.’

‘Brained...! Aunt! What a thing to say.’ Eleanor’s voice lowered, holding a clear warning. ‘Mr Thomas does not want to hear those wild conjectures. I’ll warrant it was as I said—a burglar, and Fretwell was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘A burglar? In the library? Why would a burglar deliberately set fire to a pile of books? You must not dismiss this as coincidence.’

Eleanor glared daggers at her aunt, who took no notice, continuing, ‘Your bedchamber is directly over the library and now a shot is fired at our carriage. Who knows what their intention was, but you are a common factor to both, you cannot deny it.’

‘I think you have been indulging in too many Gothic novels,’ Eleanor said. She laughed in a dismissive fashion, but Matthew caught the haunted look that flashed across her face. ‘That sort of thing simply doesn’t happen in this day and age. Do you not agree, Mr Thomas?’

Matthew completed his descent from the curricle. Eleanor was regarding him with her brows raised, clearly awaiting his agreement, but he was by now intrigued. He would not be pressed to give his opinion before he knew the facts. He did not doubt that, beneath her dismissal of her aunt’s words, Eleanor was more troubled than she would admit.

‘I should prefer to hear the full circumstances before passing comment, my lady.’

He assisted Eleanor from the curricle, biting back a grin when she snatched her hand from his as soon as she was on solid ground, her cheeks now glowing pink. She was certainly a woman of contrasts: one moment acting the grande dame, the next blushing like a schoolgirl. Not the response he expected from a married woman. Most likely her husband was one of those aristocrats—plentiful enough in the ton—who did not inconvenience himself with romancing his wife. A sad waste, in Matthew’s opinion.

‘In the meantime, ladies,’ he continued, with a pointed look at the innkeeper, who had emerged to welcome his guests, ‘I think we should continue this discussion inside, in private.’

Eleanor turned to the innkeeper, but Matthew stepped forward to forestall her. He might not dress the gentleman, but his upbringing—slowly stretching and awakening after what seemed like a long sleep—dictated that he, as the man of the party, should deal with innkeepers and their ilk.

‘Good afternoon, Fairfax. We shall require two additional bedchambers for the ladies, plus accommodation for their servants, who will be arriving shortly. I trust there is room to accommodate the whole party?’

Fairfax’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry, sir; would that I could accommodate you, but the place is full to the rafters.’ His voice dropped discreetly as he shot a sideways glance at the two ladies. ‘What with the prize fight tomorrow, sir, I doubt you’ll find a spare room anywhere in Ashton tonight.’

Matthew swore beneath his breath; the fight had slipped his mind after dealing with the aftermath of the accident. The illicit match was the reason he had returned to Ashton after the successful conclusion of his business in Rochdale.

Eleanor stepped forward, interrupting his reflections.

‘It appears we have no choice but to continue our journey after all, Mr Thomas,’ she said, with barely concealed satisfaction, a distinct challenge in her tawny eyes.

Matthew clenched his jaw. The provocative grande dame had materialised once more.

Eleanor turned to the innkeeper. ‘I shall require a carriage to convey my party to Stockport, where we have rooms bespoken for tonight, if you please.’

Before Fairfax could respond, Lady Rothley swayed, groaning quietly, her hand to her head. Eleanor was instantly at her side, her arm around her aunt’s waist.

‘Aunt Lucy! Are you all right?’

‘A little shaken still, my pet—I feel utterly overcome of a sudden.’

‘Come, let us go inside. You need to sit down and rest. Oh, what was I thinking? How could I even consider making you travel any further after what you have been through? Only...what are we to do now, with no rooms available?’

Matthew could not resist the hint of desperation in Eleanor’s voice.

‘Might I suggest you ladies take my room here? It is not ideal, with so many strangers in town, but I am sure you will be safe enough. And I am in no doubt Fairfax will be able to provide a cot somewhere for your maids.’ It would mean a longer drive to view the fight tomorrow, but that would be a trivial inconvenience. ‘The ladies’ carriage was involved in an accident,’ he continued, by way of explanation to the innkeeper.

‘Of course, sir. If the ladies don’t object to sharing, I’m sure we can find a corner for their maids, and any men can bed down above the stables. I dare say they’re used to making do.’

‘I shall continue on to Stockport today and stay at...the White Lion, was it not?’ Matthew said.

Lady Rothley perked up, reminding Matthew of a bird that had spied a juicy worm, with her tiny, delicate frame and her bright, beady eyes. ‘That is a splendid notion, Mr Thomas, is it not, my pet? I must confess that the thought of travelling further today quite overset me.’

Eleanor ushered her aunt into the inn. ‘I am sorry, Aunt. I hadn’t given a thought to how you must feel. You’ve had such a shock. Well,’ she added, ‘so have we all. I make no doubt the servants will also welcome the chance to rest here.’ She paused on the threshold, turned to Matthew and held out her hand. ‘Mr Thomas, we greatly appreciate your assistance today but, please, do not let us detain you any longer. I am sure you have many demands upon your time.’

Anger rumbled through Matthew at her arrogance. What was wrong with the woman? First, she resented him helping out at the roadside and now she was dismissing him—after having sacrificed his bedchamber, no less—when at the very least she could invite him to stay and take some refreshment.

‘Thank you so much for your concern,’ he replied, ignoring her outstretched hand, ‘but, if you care to recall, we have a discussion to continue, and I have every intention of staying until I am satisfied you and your aunt are not in danger.’

Lady Rothley had stopped to listen. She frowned at her niece. ‘Really, Eleanor, how can you be so ungracious after all Mr Thomas has done for us?’ She smiled at Matthew. ‘I am most grateful for your assistance, sir, and I assure you that we shall both be delighted to take a dish of tea with you, if you would care to join us?’

Eleanor had reddened at her aunt’s rebuke. ‘I apologise, Mr Thomas. I was concerned for the time, considering you still have to drive to Stockport. Of course, you must stay and take tea with us, if you have the time.’

Matthew studied her expression. There was contrition there, but she could disguise neither the strain she was under nor the distrust that haunted her eyes. Perhaps, in view of the dark picture painted by her aunt, he should not blame her.

‘You have no need to be concerned on my account,’ he said, understanding full well the mendacity of her words. ‘I have plenty of time to get to Stockport before dark.’

‘Very well. Fairfax, we should appreciate some refreshments served, if you would be so kind,’ Eleanor ordered.

Fairfax bowed. ‘Of course, my lady. Please, follow me.’

They were shown into a small but clean parlour. Matthew waited until Eleanor and her aunt were seated before settling on a small sofa on the opposite side of the fireplace and, before long, two maidservants served them tea with thinly cut bread and butter and rich pound cake.

Eleanor had removed her bonnet, cloak and gloves on entering the parlour and Matthew studied her with appreciation. She was even more attractive than he had first thought: her smooth ivory skin—enhanced by the rosy hue of her cheeks as she was warmed by the flames—invited his touch, and her wide mouth and soft pink lips were ripe for kissing. Her hair was a glossy dark brown, the curls that framed her face glinting as they caught the light from the flames. How would her hair look—and feel—loosened from the restricting hairpins, cascading over her shoulders and down her back? It was a long time since he had been so attracted to a woman. Were it not for her air of superiority, he might say she was his idea of the perfect woman.

It’s a shame she is married.

The thought caught him unaware and he tore his gaze from her.

It is not a shame. Even were she not wed, she moves in a very different world to you. You know she would never give you a second glance had circumstances not thrown you together.

Matthew’s modest fortune had been built from his own hard work, a touch of luck at the tables—he had won his curricle and pair in a game just the night before—and from trade, that term that was despised by the idle aristocracy. No, the likes of Lady Ashby would never look at the likes of him.

He waited until the servants withdrew before raising the subject on his mind. ‘Will you tell me about the fire your aunt spoke of, my lady?’

After some initial reluctance, Eleanor recounted the night of the fire—the smell of the smoke that woke her; the terror of her escape through her window; the mystery of Fretwell’s injury and his shadowy assailant. Through it all, her anguish at the damage to her beloved home shone through.

Matthew’s fascination with Eleanor marched in step with his mounting concern. Her eyes, framed by thick lashes and strong, dark brows, revealed her every emotion as she warmed to the telling of her tale. They sparkled with impish amusement as Lady Rothley sprinkled the story with a selection of servants’ lurid tales, learned through Matilda. They lit up in laughter at some of the more ghoulish speculations that Eleanor had clearly not heard before, her generous mouth widening into a stunning smile that transformed her already attractive face into one of mesmerising loveliness. Glimpses of the real woman were revealed when she forgot to stand on her dignity and Matthew had to keep reminding himself of her earlier arrogance and also that she was married and, therefore, out of bounds.

Her uninhibited and infectious laugh triggered an unexpected surge of loneliness that he swiftly thrust aside. Apart from his business partner, Benedict Poole, he was dependent on no one and no one was dependent on him, and that was exactly how he liked it. His burgeoning desire for Eleanor was as unwelcome as it was unexpected and he forced his thoughts from the direction they were taking to concentrate on her words.

‘As for this afternoon,’ she was saying, ‘you have already heard what happened. A stray shot—surely an accident—hit one of the team, causing the carriage to overturn. It was no more a deliberate attack on me than the fire was, despite my aunt’s vivid imaginings. Mark my words—it was a burglar, or someone with a grudge. It must have been.’

He recognised the faint hint of desperation in her final words. Eleanor was nowhere near as confident as she pretended to be. Still, it was none of Matthew’s concern. He would go on his way very soon—and, judging by his increasingly salacious thoughts, the sooner, the better—and he would likely never see either of the ladies again.

‘I must agree with your aunt that a burglar would be unlikely to set fire to a library,’ he said, ‘but I also think you may be right that a grudge was the cause. If someone was intent on killing you, surely they would pick less haphazard methods? After all, both the fire and the carriage accident had the potential of injuring, or even killing, many more individuals than you and with no guarantee that you would be amongst the casualties.

‘It would appear that, for once, you and I are in agreement,’ he added, unable to resist a final teasing comment, biting back his smile at her disgruntled expression.

Chapter Six

Eleanor had begun to relax despite her suspicions about Matthew, initially roused by Fretwell, and her earlier irritation at his relegation of her to the role of helpless female in a crisis. After all, had she not pictured him in the role of a white knight before lamenting she was not the sort of female to arouse protective instincts in a man? And he had proved an easy man to converse with, when he was not deliberately goading her, or flirting, that was. When his blue gaze settled on her in that particular, assessing way he had, her blood heated and her insides fluttered in a way they never had with Donald.

‘It would seem that, for once, you are right, Mr Thomas,’ she retorted. How did he manage to ruffle her feathers quite so effortlessly?

He laughed. Their eyes met and Eleanor felt a jolt of pure energy shoot through her. Her cheeks flamed. Flustered—and irritated by her reaction—Eleanor jerked her gaze from his and stared at the flames, saying, ‘Goodness, this fire is hot.’

She searched in her reticule for her fan and plied it, grateful for an occupation as she fought to control her inner turmoil. Thankfully, Aunt Lucy appeared not to notice anything amiss, and launched a determined crusade to discover as much information as possible about their rescuer. Matthew proved adept at evading her questions, clearly relishing their verbal swordplay, and Eleanor viewed her aunt’s increasing frustration with quiet enjoyment.

She relaxed back in her chair, allowing her nerves to settle. Without volition, her gaze wandered over Matthew, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the solid muscle of his legs. She watched as he picked up his cup with a broad hand—no gentleman’s soft, well-manicured hand this, but strong and masculine and capable. He drained the contents, his penetrating eyes flicking to her face as he leaned forward to set his cup on the table, his lips still moist from the tea. Desire coiled deep within her as the rumble of his voice enveloped her. She could listen to him for ever. How wonderful would it be to be able to lean on such a man, to share the burden of her life?

Even as that thought flitted into her brain, she suppressed it. She needed no man to lean on. She had spent the three years since her father’s death striving to prove that point. Besides, he would end up the same as all the men who had ever shown her any attention—interested only in her fortune.

She dreamt of being swept off her feet, of being wooed by a man who was besotted with her and declared his undying passion for her, but could she ever trust her own judgement?

Donald had fooled her with his eager courtship after they met at James and Ruth’s wedding. He was an army officer and had returned to Ashby, shortly afterwards, when he was on leave. Eleanor had believed he was in love with her and, even though his kisses had left her strangely unmoved, she had persuaded herself her love for him would blossom given time.

She studied Matthew and desire flickered deep within her...surely a kiss from a man like Matthew Thomas would not leave her unmoved? She tore her attention from his sensual lips, vaguely scandalised by her outrageous thoughts.

Would she ever know the feel of a real man in her arms?

She blessed the day she had discovered Donald’s true intent. She had overheard him discussing her with his sister, Ruth, and their contempt for Eleanor was clear. Donald was interested only in her position and the wealth she would inherit from her ailing father. The following day, to her father’s distress, she had refused Donald’s offer of marriage and he had returned to his regiment. Sadly, she had heard, he had not survived the war.

Eleanor’s father had died the following spring and Eleanor still regretted that he had died worrying over both her future and that of the estate.

The room had fallen silent. Eleanor came back to the present with a guilty start.

‘You appear lost in your thoughts,’ Matthew said. ‘It would seem they are not all pleasant?’

Blushing, Eleanor realised that she had been staring directly at Matthew whilst her mind wandered. Aunt Lucy was dozing by the fire and they were effectively alone together.

‘I am sure they would be of no interest to you, Mr Thomas.’

‘I think you would be surprised at my interests, my lady,’ he replied softly, his blue eyes aglow.

There was admiration in his gaze. Awkwardly, Eleanor gazed down at her hands, entwined in her lap, uncertain how to respond. Her come-out, as well as her experience with Donald, had taught her to be cautious of reading too much into a man’s supposed admiration for it seemed, more often than not, that it was disingenuous.

Matthew continued to regard her steadily, waiting for her reply. Irritation at his persistence clambered over her discomfort.

‘Indeed, you are mistaken, sir.’ She injected a bright, vacuous note into her voice. ‘My thoughts were exceedingly pleasant. I was thinking of all the gowns and hats and shoes and other fripperies I shall buy in London and of all the wonderful parties and balls I shall be invited to. Why—’ she fixed him with an arch look ‘—I dare say I shall never be at home, what with all the shopping and the amusements London has to offer.’

His lips twitched and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

‘In other words, your thoughts are none of my business. I shall pry no further. We are all entitled to our secrets, after all. Now, let us return to the innocuous subjects you seem to prefer; do you go to London for the Season every year?’

Eleanor laughed, unaccountably pleased that he had not been fooled by her performance. He was clearly intelligent and she did have some pride. She had no wish for this man to believe she was a brainless ninny, despite her subterfuge.

‘I believe I answered that query the first time, sir. But I shall expand upon my previous effort, which was, I admit, a little brusque. This will be the first time I have been to London in seven years.’ She faltered momentarily, memories of her first Season all too raw even after all this time, before continuing, ‘I am looking forward to it. I have become quite dull at home, you know, and I am more than ready for all the excitement and diversion London can offer.’

She saw his eyes narrow as she stumbled over her words. She cautioned herself to take care. Intelligent? Oh, yes. And disconcertingly perceptive, to boot.

‘I am most fortunate that Aunt Lucy is accompanying me,’ she continued. ‘To lend me countenance, she would have me believe. She has not been to town for several years, but she was a notable hostess in her day. I suspect,’ she added, smiling, keen to eliminate her slip from his mind, ‘she is eager to see if she can still wield the same influence.’

‘She appears to be a most redoubtable lady—I have no doubt she will be setting the standards with ease. Will you be joining other family members in town?’

‘My cousin James and his wife, Ruth, live in London. James has kindly leased a house on my behalf, however, so we shall not be obliged to reside with them. My family is small in number, I fear. Other than James, there are only my cousins on my mother’s side—Lucas and Hugo, Aunt Lucy’s sons. Lucas is at Rothley, but I hope Hugo might be in town, for Aunt Lucy’s sake.’

‘Rothley,’ he said. ‘I know the name, but I cannot quite place where it is.’

‘It’s in the county of Northumberland.’

‘And a colder, more desolate place you could never imagine,’ Aunt Lucy interjected, ‘although it’s very wildness is extraordinarily beautiful, too, in its way. Exactly what part of the country do you hail from, Mr Thomas?’

Chapter Seven

Aunt Lucy—wily lady that she was—had out-manoeuvred Matthew. Eleanor could see his frustrated struggle to avoid answering such a direct question without telling an outright lie. Somehow, she did not think him so dishonourable. Evasive, yes. Secretive, yes. But not out-and-out dishonest.

‘Worcestershire, my lady.’

‘Ah.’ There was a wealth of satisfaction in that one word. ‘I believe you said earlier that you are headed there before you return to London. Do you visit family?’

Matthew’s eyes widened and he shot a stunned glance at Eleanor. She could not help but smile. He had just realised that Aunt Lucy must have heard their every word during the journey to the inn. Eleanor was unsurprised, knowing from experience just how far her aunt would go to hear a juicy morsel of gossip, even if it did involve deceiving her only niece by pretending to doze.

‘No. I merely plan to visit a few of my youthful haunts, for old times’ sake.’

‘A beautiful county, Worcestershire. What part of the county did you say?’

‘Near the town of Bromsgrove.’ Matthew’s brows were now low enough to almost conceal his eyes. ‘It is many years since I have lived there, however.’

Eleanor intervened before her aunt could continue, afraid she would poke and pry until Matthew became annoyed. Better to cut straight to the point. ‘Forgive my direct speaking, Mr Thomas, but what my aunt is trying to ascertain is whether she might know your family.’

The crease between Matthew’s brows deepened as their gazes fused. Eleanor waited for his answer, brows raised. She recognised his irritation with her persistence, but stood her ground.

‘I am a merchant,’ he said to Aunt Lucy, after a long pause. ‘Can you think of any reason why a lady such as yourself should know my family?’

Oh, clever! He blocked that thrust with ease.

‘You are clearly well educated,’ Eleanor said.

‘Indeed. My family were...are...not poor. I went to Harrow.’

A knock at the door announced Fairfax. ‘Your luggage and servants have arrived, miladies.’

He disappeared, and Lizzie and Matilda soon appeared at the parlour door. Aunt Lucy rose from her chair, extending her hand to Matthew.

‘Mr Thomas, I beg you will excuse me, for I am very tired. I am afraid the events of the day have caught up with me. I have the headache and am exceedingly stiff and sore. I shall go to our bedchamber for a rest now that Matilda is here to assist me. I do hope we shall meet again. Perhaps you will call upon us in Upper Brook Street, once you have returned to town.’

Matthew bowed over her hand. ‘I shall be pleased to, my lady, if only to ascertain you have reached your destination without further mishap.’

Then Aunt Lucy turned to Eleanor.

‘Eleanor, would you speak to Fairfax and request a light supper be sent up later for the two of us? As the inn is so full, I do not think it would be wise for us to dine downstairs. We should not wish to attract unwarranted attention.

‘Mr Thomas, allow me to thank you once again for all your assistance today. I do not know what we should have done without you.’

Looking pale and drawn, Aunt Lucy clung to Matilda’s arm as they left the room. Lizzie hovered in the doorway, clearly awaiting Eleanor, who waved her away.

‘You go on upstairs, Lizzie, whilst I speak to Fairfax. I promise I shall be up in a trice.’

‘You make sure and come upstairs as soon as you have spoken to him, milady,’ Lizzie hissed over her shoulder as she turned to go, having cast a suspicious glare at Matthew. ‘There are some most undesirable characters a-wandering around this inn.’

She stalked off down the passageway, muttering. Fretwell’s suspicions must be contagious.

Eleanor smiled at Matthew, ready to take her leave.

‘I regret we appear to have started on the wrong foot, my lady,’ Matthew said. ‘May we call a truce? I have accepted your aunt’s invitation to Upper Brook Street, but I should like to feel that you, too, are happy for me to call.’

Eleanor was aware she had been both snappish and arrogant in many of her responses to Matthew, but she could not help but be flustered by him. He was by turns aggravating and flirtatious and she didn’t quite know how to respond to him, other than with a sharp retort or by pokering up. She forced a smile and extended her hand.

‘I, for my part, owe you an apology, Mr Thomas, for I did not mean to appear ungrateful for your help this afternoon. I am not always so quarrelsome—I dare say I am too used to ruling the roost and it is increasingly difficult to allow another to make decisions on my behalf.’

‘No apology is necessary, I assure you.’

‘I should also like to start anew. I shall be delighted to welcome you to our house in Upper Brook Street when you return to town.’

He took her hand in his, but instead of a shake, as she had intended, he carried it to his mouth. Her stomach fluttered as his lips pressed against her bare flesh. He captured her gaze with piercing eyes, setting her pulse skittering.

Heat washed through her and her legs trembled as her body seemed to sway towards him of its own volition. Disconcerted, she took a step back, and then another. She gasped as he followed her, his blue eyes intent.

‘Sir... Mr Thomas...?’

Matthew halted and Eleanor saw his jaw tighten before he executed a brief bow. ‘I fear I was in danger of forgetting my manners, my lady. I can only beg your forgiveness and hope you won’t hold it against me when we meet again.’

What had she done? Although she had scant experience of men, Eleanor was aware, on some deep, primeval level, that when they had locked eyes she had wanted him to...what? Touch her? Follow her? Blood will out. She had, somehow, enticed him without words and honesty compelled her to admit it, if only to herself. She couldn’t censure him when she was equally at fault. She was simply grateful that he was too much the gentleman to accuse her of leading him on.

‘As we have only just agreed upon a truce, Mr Thomas, it would be a little poor spirited of me to resume hostilities so soon. It has been a long, trying day, so perhaps we may blame it upon that?’

‘You are all generosity. Now, I must be on my way but, with your leave, I shall convey your aunt’s request to Fairfax before I depart. And might I suggest you return to your aunt forthwith, before that fierce maid of yours comes in search of you?’ He made an exaggerated pretence of looking behind him, a comical expression of fear on his face.

Eleanor tried, and failed, to swallow a giggle. ‘Goodness, I never took you for a coward, Mr Thomas. Lizzie was only doing her duty as she saw it, with Aunt Lucy too exhausted to look out for my reputation.’

As she laughed up at Matthew his eyes darkened and Eleanor saw a powerful emotion swirling in their depths before he blinked, and it was gone. When he spoke, however, his voice was steady. Had she imagined his response?

‘I trust you will spend a comfortable night, my lady, and I will see you upon my return to town.’

‘I shall not say goodbye, then, but au revoir, Mr Thomas, and thank you again for your assistance today.’

‘It was my pleasure. Until we meet again.’

He bowed and was gone.

Chapter Eight

Just before dawn the following morning, Matthew was jerked awake from a fitful sleep by a piercing scream. It took a couple of moments for him to register his whereabouts—he was in one of the two rooms bespoken for Eleanor and her aunt at the White Lion in Stockport. He catapulted from his bed as a series of thuds sounded from the next bedchamber. It was dark in his room and he groped his way to the door.

In the passage, the next door but one to Matthew’s room had opened and the occupant peered out, holding aloft a candlestick. The wavering flame illuminated the scowling features of an elderly gentleman, clad in his nightcap and gown.

‘What’s to do?’ he grumbled.

Matthew didn’t waste time answering, but ran to the door between them and flung it open, vaguely aware of the man hurrying along the passage, quavering, ‘That’s my Jenny’s room!’

The bedchamber was as dark as his and all Matthew could make out was a shapeless, struggling mass on the bed. He darted forward, yelling, ‘Bring the light.’

As the elderly man reached the open door, the scene was suddenly revealed: a figure in black, turning in Matthew’s direction, eyes glinting through holes in a mask; the flash of a blade; blood, streaking the bed linen in vivid splashes of red; a girl’s terrified face, mouth suddenly slackening as her eyes closed.

Matthew grabbed the man, hauling him from the bed. He staggered backwards as the assailant swiftly changed from resistance to flinging himself at Matthew. Stiff fingers jabbed at Matthew’s windpipe as a blade burned his arm and the man wriggled free, barging past the man with the candle as he fled the room. Matthew dragged in a painful breath and rushed to the door, but the assailant was already out of sight. The elderly man—presumably Jenny’s father—stood frozen, his mouth gaping in horror.

On the verge of giving chase, a moan from the bed stayed Matthew. The victim needed help. He found a candle on the mantelshelf and lit it. He went to Jenny’s father, gripping his shoulder, then shaking him hard.

‘Sir, you must be strong.’ He could hear the sound of people stirring, voices getting louder. ‘Find the innkeeper. Tell him there has been an accident and to send for a doctor immediately. And send his wife here, to me.’ He pushed the man out into the passage. ‘Hurry!’

He crossed to the bed, shrinking inside with the dread of what he might find. Jenny lay motionless. Her face, shoulders and arms were the only parts of her visible. Her arms and hands bore the signs of struggle. Blood seeped from her wounds, but it wasn’t pumping out. That was a good sign. Matthew put a finger to her neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, not as weak as he feared. He lifted the candle, to examine the bedclothes that covered Jenny. The slashes he had feared to see were not there. The blood appeared to have come from Jenny’s arms and hands and one long diagonal slash from her left collarbone that had ripped through her nightgown. Matthew grabbed a towel from the washstand to try and stanch the bleeding. Jenny did not stir.

As he worked, Matthew’s mind travelled back to India and to his great-uncle, Percy, who had been so kind to a bewildered and resentful youth, unjustly banished from his family and his homeland. Poor Uncle Percy, who had died after being attacked and stabbed during the course of a robbery. Matthew’s throat squeezed tight as he relived his futile efforts to save his great-uncle. He prayed Jenny had suffered no injuries other than those he could see.

His thoughts returned to the present as the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs Goody, bustled into the room, followed by Jenny’s father.

‘Lord have mercy, sir,’ Mrs Goody gasped, hands clasped at her ample bosom as she halted by the bed. ‘Whatever happened?’

‘She was attacked. Her hands, arms and upper chest are bleeding, but I do not think she has been stabbed elsewhere.’

‘Stabbed? My Jenny? Oh, Jenny, Jenny, my love...’ The elderly man cast himself on to his knees by the bed, clutching at Jenny’s hand. Her eyelids fluttered.

‘Goody’s sent for the doctor,’ Mrs Goody said. She glanced at Jenny’s father, then leaned towards Matthew, lowering her voice. ‘Did you examine the girl for more injuries, sir, or...?’

Matthew felt heat flood his cheeks, understanding both her question and her discretion. Her father had enough to worry about.

‘No,’ he said.

Poor girl. Depending on her position in society, if news of this got out there would always be gossip and innuendo about her innocence. The thought made his blood simmer. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I merely examined the bedcovers and, as they do not appear torn, I took that to mean she was only injured in those areas we can see.’

‘Thank you, sir. We will do all we can to protect her. Can I ask you to find Goody and ask him to boil water and send up some clean linen? If you close the door on the way out, I’ll check the lass for any further injuries. Oh, to think such an evil thing could happen here.’

On his way to find the innkeeper, Matthew came to a dead stop, his knees suddenly weak. Dear God! The realisation robbed him of his breath. Had he not swapped accommodation with Eleanor and her aunt, it could have been one of them in that room tonight. He quelled the wave of nausea that invaded him—there would be time enough for that horror later.

After speaking to Goody, Matthew sped back to the bedchamber, with a bundle of clean cloths, to find Jenny awake. As he entered, her eyes widened and she clutched at her father. Mrs Goody shooed him from the room.

‘She’s had a terrible fright, sir. It’ll take her time to get over it. You go on back to bed. You’ve done all you can.’ Her eyes skimmed him and then she touched his arm. ‘You’re bleeding. I’ll fetch a cloth to bind it.’

Matthew remembered that burning sensation as he had grappled with the attacker. He pulled up the sleeve of his nightshirt. It did not look deep. Mrs Goody soon returned with a strip of linen. She wrung a cloth out in cold water from the washstand.

As she bathed and bound his arm, she said, ‘The lass has no other injuries, sir, thank the good Lord. None at all, if you get my meaning. It was a lucky thing for her that you were there.’

Matthew nodded, relieved for poor Jenny. At least she did not have that nightmare to deal with on top of everything else. He pulled on his clothes and sought out the innkeeper again. Goody had already roused some of his ostlers to search for Jenny’s attacker and Matthew joined them. How he regretted not chasing the villain immediately but, with Jenny’s father in a state of shock and without knowing how severe Jenny’s injuries were, he knew he had been right to tend to her first.

A lengthy and thorough search of the area around the White Lion—joined by other local men—proved fruitless. Whoever the culprit was, it seemed he was long gone, or holed up somewhere. Matthew returned to the inn and ate a hearty breakfast, after which Goody beckoned him into a room at the back of the inn. Jenny’s father levered himself to his feet as Matthew entered.

‘George Tremayne,’ he said, in a gruff voice, holding out a trembling hand.

Matthew shook it. ‘Matthew Thomas.’

‘I must thank you for what you did for my daughter. I don’t know what I should do if...’ His voice cracked, and he harrumphed noisily, taking a large handkerchief from his pocket and blowing his nose.

‘How is Jenny?’

‘As well as she can be. Physically, at least. She is still very shaken. The doctor advised her to stay here for a few days’ rest, but she doesn’t want to spend another night under this roof.’

‘Understandable,’ Matthew said.

‘The magistrate and the constable were here, asking questions,’ Mr Tremayne said. ‘They want to speak with you.’

Matthew grimaced. ‘I don’t think I can tell them much to help. The rogue was masked. Do they know how he got in?’

‘A window at the back was open. There’s a lean-to roof just below. They think he was a thief and Jenny woke up at the wrong time. She doesn’t remember much. That’s probably for the best.’

‘Indeed. Is the magistrate still here?’

‘No, but he said he will come back later and asked that you remain here until then.’

Matthew quashed his frustration. The sooner he left, the sooner he could catch up with Eleanor and her party on the road and assure himself of her safety. Had she been the real target? If the attacker had meant to kill, he would know he had failed. And, if he was still in the town, he would soon discover he’d attacked the wrong girl anyway. Eleanor was still very much in danger.

* * *

It was mid-morning before the magistrate returned and Matthew could recount his version of events and answer his questions. At first, he seemed disposed to believe Matthew the culprit, until Matthew pointed out—with some vigour—that Mr Tremayne had also seen Jenny’s masked attacker. Finally, satisfied Matthew had given all the information he could, the magistrate gave Matthew leave to continue his journey. The interview had seemed to Matthew to last a lifetime and he had fretted throughout. All thought of returning to Ashton to attend the boxing match was forgotten. He was convinced Eleanor was in grave danger and his one thought was to protect her.

The minute he was free to leave, he leapt aboard his curricle—with Henry perched on the rumble seat behind—and whipped up the horses. It was almost noon already. Even though he doubted Eleanor would have set off early—bearing in mind she must arrange a suitable replacement for the damaged carriage first—her party must surely have passed through Stockport already, on their way to the capital.

Matthew drove south, worry gnawing at him as he wondered what further dangers Eleanor might face. He varied the pace, mindful of the need not to overtire his horses, but also needing enough speed to give him some chance of catching up with Eleanor’s party. He was conscious of Henry muttering behind his back and, upon hearing his man’s sharp intake of breath as they flew past a lumbering farm wagon with mere inches to spare, Matthew shot a quick glance over his shoulder.

‘You do know, I s’pose, that this is the wrong road for Ashton?’ Henry said, leaning forward to speak into Matthew’s ear.

‘Indeed.’

‘Can I ask where we’re headed?’

‘That,’ Matthew replied, setting his teeth as he narrowly avoided a stagecoach coming in the opposite direction, ‘is a very good question. I don’t precisely know. But we are following Lady Ashby and her party. They are heading for London. I need to find out where they will stop for the night.’

‘You think that attack was connected to them?’

Matthew tamped down the surge of fear as the image of Jenny, lying bloodied in her bed, rose in his mind. Her features rearranged themselves in his imagination until it was Eleanor’s face he saw and he knew, deep in his gut, that she might now be dead, had they not swapped accommodation.

‘I am certain of it,’ he replied. ‘We must enquire at the posting inns we pass, to find out if they have changed horses. We can ask if anyone knows where they plan to stop for the night. Whoever was responsible for the accident and the attack clearly knows the route she is taking and could try again.’

‘Last night brought it all back, didn’t it?’ Henry said. ‘You aren’t responsible. You weren’t responsible. You can’t protect the whole world and everyone in it.’

Matthew clenched his jaw. Henry had been with him since the early days in India, and was a trusted employee, taking on the roles of both servant and groom as required. He knew Henry referred to Uncle Percy’s death, but Matthew was still haunted by his insistence on going out that night. If only he had been at home... The guilt had near overwhelmed him at the time. His uncle’s death had spurred Matthew’s decision to return home. There was no one to anchor him to India now and he and Benedict could run their business equally well from England.

He was driven by the need to protect. It was in his nature, a part of him, but that did not fully explain why the thought of Eleanor being hurt made his stomach clench with such fear. Frustration flooded him as their progress was slowed by the need to enquire for the travellers at every likely-looking inn they passed, and the need to rest his own horses.

‘Where on earth can they be?’ he bit out, as they drew yet another blank. ‘They must have stopped for the night by now.’

‘Maybe they just had too much of a head start on us, sir. Now, don’t bite my head off, but them cattle are getting weary and you’ll be risking their tendons if we carry on much further.’

Matthew knew Henry was right. He cast a worried look at the sun, sinking to the horizon, then straightened in his seat as a milestone proclaimed they were one mile from Leek.

‘This must be it,’ he muttered. ‘They surely can’t have gone any further today. They have to be here.’

* * *

Shortly afterwards, they drew up in the yard of the George, situated right in the middle of the small market town, where the first person they saw was Timothy. Leaving Henry to see to the horses, Matthew strode into the inn, breathing easily—it seemed—for the first time that day.

‘William Brooke at your service, sir—landlord of this fine hostelry. How may I be of assistance?’

‘Good evening, Brooke. I understand Lady Ashby is a guest here tonight? I wish to see her.’

The innkeeper lowered his gaze. ‘Lady Ashby, sir? I’m sure I couldn’t say. Might I ask who is enquiring?’

Matthew resisted the urge to grab the fool by his neck. Drawing himself up to his full height, he looked down his nose at Brooke. ‘My good man,’ he announced haughtily, ‘I am Lord Ashby. Now, please be so good as to conduct me to my wife.’

The innkeeper bowed low, almost wringing his hands in his obsequiousness. ‘My humblest apologies, my lord, I wasn’t expecting you. Your lady is in the private parlour, if you would please follow me?’

Matthew followed Brooke along a passageway to the rear of the inn. The innkeeper paused outside a closed door and Matthew stayed him before he could announce Matthew’s presence.

‘Thank you, Brooke, that will be all. If you could see that we are not disturbed, I should be grateful.’

‘Very good, my lord.’ Brooke backed away, bowing as he retreated.

The fear that had plagued Matthew since before dawn that morning receded only to be replaced by a rush of anger, stoked by Brooke’s meek acceptance of his identity.

I could be anybody.

He hauled the door open and stepped inside the room.

There, sitting at her ease on a comfortable sofa, glass of wine in hand, was the object of all his fretting and fears throughout the long day. Relief exploded through him and all his pent-up emotions surged to the fore as he slammed the door shut and crossed the room in three swift strides.

Chapter Nine

Eleanor’s eyes flew open, fear seizing her throat as the door crashed shut, startling her from her drowsy thoughts. She barely had time to register his identity before Matthew Thomas was looming over her, taking her glass from her hand and hauling her to her feet. Before she could utter a word, she found herself clasped in a pair of strong arms, her head pressed hard against a broad chest, the sound of his heart thundering in her ear.

‘Thank God you are safe.’

As soon as his hold relaxed, she pushed her hands between them, against his chest, leaning back to look into his face.

‘Mr Thomas...whatever is wrong? Why are you here?’

He met her gaze with eyes that swirled with anger and fear. What had happened? Why was he so anxious? How had he found her? She gradually became aware of their surroundings. They were entirely alone, in the private parlour she had reserved for use by herself and Aunt Lucy, who was resting in her room. How did he get in? Where was Brooke?

Matthew held her gaze, his ragged breathing loud in the silence of the room. She pushed harder against him and stepped back. Instantly, his gaze sharpened and he gripped her shoulders, preventing her from retreating further, wringing a gasp from her.

‘I have been searching for you...following you...trying to catch up with you...worrying about you...’

‘But...why? I thought you were—’

‘You need protection. I—’

‘Protection?’

Eleanor, now with her wits fully about her, stiffened. This was about Aunt Lucy’s ludicrous idea that the fire and the shooting were somehow connected. For one fleeting, joyful second she had thought maybe he had followed her for her own sake—because he felt something for her. As speedily as the thought arose, she quashed it, inwardly berating herself for being a romantic fool, beguiled by a handsome face and rugged charm. She and Mr Thomas were worlds apart.

‘It seems to me the only protection I am in need of is from you.’

Her heart quailed as his eyes flared and he stepped closer. The heat emanating from him surrounded her as his breath fanned her hair, but she was determined not to reveal her rising alarm and stood her ground, glaring up at him as his eyes pierced hers.

‘A young girl was attacked—’ He stopped abruptly, his voice cracking with emotion, his expression haunted.

‘What...? Attacked? But...what has that to do with me?’

‘I’ve been frantic. If anything had happened to you, I—’

‘Mr Thomas! You’re making no sense. You said someone had been attacked?’

Matthew swiped one hand through his disordered locks and took a hasty turn about the room, returning to stand in front of an increasingly concerned Eleanor.

He hauled in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. ‘She was asleep in the room that had been reserved for you. At the inn in Stockport. Luckily, she screamed and fought him off for long enough for help to arrive. Her attacker ran away, but she ended up with several knife wounds.’

‘Oh, the poor, poor thing.’ Eleanor’s stomach churned as the full significance of Matthew’s words finally sank in. ‘But...you said...in my room? That poor girl was attacked in the bed I would have slept in?’

Her hand rose to her mouth and she felt herself sway. Matthew was by her side instantly, arms around her as she leant gratefully into his solid strength. He helped her to the sofa and sat by her side, holding her hand, rubbing his thumb gently across her knuckles.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said faintly. ‘I am not normally...that is, it was such a shock.’

She raised her gaze to his, only to find his face much closer than she had anticipated.

‘For me, too,’ he murmured, his blue eyes darkening. ‘I can’t bear to think...’ His voice tailed away as he cradled her cheek and slowly lowered his head.

Eleanor stilled as warm breath feathered her skin. Lips—surprisingly soft and tender—brushed hers...once, twice...then settled, moving enticingly. She leaned into him, feeling his hand in her hair. Pleasure and anticipation spiralled through her as her lips relaxed and she pressed closer. As his tongue probed her mouth, she raised her restless hand to caress his cheek, but her action seemed to return him to his senses. He wrenched his lips from hers and jumped up from the sofa.

‘I’m sorry.’ Harsh lines bracketed his mouth.

Eleanor tried to gather her wits, to understand what had just happened.

‘I shouldn’t have done that... I had no intention... It was a mistake,’ he said, and then muttered, as if to himself, ‘I do not need complications.’

‘Complications?’

The word jarred, rousing Eleanor from her dreamlike stupor.

He looked distant and reserved and didn’t quite meet her eyes as he said, ‘Please forget that ever happened.’

‘You regret kissing me?’

Humiliation flooded Eleanor. She had allowed a virtual stranger to kiss her, and had kissed him back, without a murmur of protest. She was her mother’s daughter all right. Blood will out. Aunt Phyllis’s voice—accusatory, censorious—echoed in her head.

‘Yes. No!’ He turned abruptly from her, raking his hand through his hair once more before facing her again. His eyes met hers, and softened. ‘No, I cannot regret it. But I forgot myself. I was frantic with worry, but that is no excuse for my behaviour. You are a lady and I like to suppose myself a gentleman, despite my station in life, yet at the first opportunity I have behaved like the lowest of rogues.’

Complications. The word rankled. He obviously regretted his impulsive embrace. For that is what it had been—an impulse. He had found her alone and taken advantage, stealing a kiss simply because he could. Now, he was shouldering the blame in order to make her feel better and to excuse her shameful conduct in returning his embrace. Furious with herself, Eleanor turned and would have left the room without a further word had Aunt Lucy not chosen that very moment to come in, her bright gaze darting from one to the other before lingering for some time on Eleanor’s hot cheeks, triggering another surge of shame.

‘Why, Mr Thomas,’ Aunt Lucy said at length, her voice icy, ‘how very nice to see you again so soon. I had understood you to be heading in a quite different direction from ourselves. Had I been informed of your presence, I should have made sure I came down to greet you immediately. I am, after all, Eleanor’s chaperon. I can see I shall have to keep a wary eye on you, sir—it is so very easy for a woman to lose her reputation, as I am sure you are aware.’

Eleanor cringed inside. Not only did Mr Thomas now have a complete disgust of her wanton response to his advances, but Aunt Lucy’s suspicions had also been aroused. She could wonder at neither of them, for she had no less disgust for herself. Gathering her pride, she walked to the door and opened it, standing to one side.

‘Mr Thomas is just leaving, Aunt Lucy. He has said all he needs to say.’

She raised her chin, boldly meeting his gaze. He might have crushed her feelings, but she would rather die than reveal her humiliation.

‘Oh, no, I’m not,’ Matthew retorted, holding her gaze for what seemed an eternity before switching his attention to Aunt Lucy. ‘I have brought grave news, Lady Rothley, news that has serious implications for the safety of your niece.’

Eleanor clamped her teeth shut on the remark she longed to fling at his head. How had the mere touch of his lips managed to block the news of the attack from her mind?

‘What news do you bring? What implications?’ Aunt Lucy sank on to the sofa and beckoned Eleanor to sit by her side. ‘Please, Mr Thomas, be seated—’ she waved her hand at the chair opposite ‘—and explain yourself.’

‘Last night, a young woman was attacked in the White Lion in Stockport,’ he said. ‘She was attacked by an intruder wielding a knife as she slept in one of the bedchambers reserved for your party. I occupied the other.’

Aunt Lucy gasped, turning stricken eyes to Eleanor, who took her hand, her fear giving way to annoyance at Matthew’s brutal telling of the story.

‘It does not mean,’ she said, ‘that the attack was intended for me. Surely...’ she faltered as Matthew focused his hard gaze on her once more ‘...surely, it must be a—’

‘Coincidence?’ Matthew interrupted roughly. ‘One coincidence I can believe, but two? So close together? It would now seem beyond doubt there is a pattern. There have been three attempts on your life in the past few weeks. It is time to take this threat seriously. Tell me, can you think of anyone who would wish you ill?’

‘Why, no, of course not. I’ve barely left Ashby Manor in the past seven years.’

The very idea was absurd.

‘Forgive me, but...your husband? Could he wish you harm?’

‘Husb— But I’m not married, Mr Thomas. Why would you believe that I am?’

‘Not married? But, how...? You’re a baroness. You must be wed, or...perhaps you’re a widow?’

Aunt Lucy put him straight. ‘My niece is a peeress in her own right. Unusual, to be sure, but not unheard of.’

Eleanor watched as Matthew digested this information. He looked, at best, not pleased. The implication of his belief she was married dealt a further blow to her already fragile self-esteem.

Was that why he kissed me, because I was a safe target? A married woman who might enjoy a flirtation in her husband’s absence? And how much more disgust must he feel now, knowing I’m single and yet returned his kiss?

‘Hmm, that puts a very different complexion on it.’

‘What possible difference does my being unmarried make?’ Shame made her sharp with him.

‘It makes every difference. There are many reasons to kill or harm another. Were you married, the reasons someone might wish to kill you might be hatred, or possibly jealousy or passion. But now, with greed as part of the equation, it begins to make more sense. May I ask—who is your heir?’

‘My cousin, James Weare.’

‘Then he must be our prime suspect.’

‘James? Never!’

‘Greed has driven more than one to kill, my lady. The lure of a peerage, and the power and privilege it bestows, is more than enough, quite apart from any wealth that accompanies it.’

Eleanor was silent, weighing Matthew’s words against her knowledge of her cousin and his character. The fear that had plagued her at odd moments over the past few weeks returned to gnaw at her insides and she shuddered, thinking of that poor girl who had been hurt.

That could have been me. But...no! Not James. He couldn’t...not the James I know. It’s just too horrible. This is nonsense. It must be nonsense.

Eleanor looked at Aunt Lucy and Matthew, both wearing the same troubled expression, and bitter resentment bubbled up inside. How dare he come here and scare her like this, accusing her much-loved cousin of trying to kill her?

She sprang from the sofa to pace the room. ‘No, I will not believe it. James and I grew up together at Ashby—we were like brother and sister. It makes no sense. If he had wanted to kill me he could have done so with ease many times. I am convinced the fire and the accident were unrelated.’ She rounded on Matthew. ‘I will thank you, sir, to keep such wild accusations to yourself.’

Chapter Ten

Eleanor’s agitated pacing prompted Matthew to abandon the topic of her cousin’s likely guilt rather than antagonise her further.

The news she was unmarried was an unwelcome shock. He was not the kind of man to dally with innocents—although, eyeing her determined stance as the baroness challenged him, innocent hardly seemed an apt description. But also, to his surprise—and equally unwelcome—was a spurt of pleasure that she was unattached. All nonsense, of course. What on earth could he, a lowly merchant without even the backing of his family name, offer a wealthy baroness? His plans for the future were set. He would work hard to build up a successful business and then he would take the greatest satisfaction in repaying his father every last shilling of his debts. He would prove that the son so easily disowned had made a success of his life without his family’s backing.

That kiss, though... He clamped down his desire to taste Eleanor’s sweet lips again. Concentrate on the matter in hand, man...surely it’s serious enough to warrant your full attention without being waylaid by such thoughts.

‘You are in danger, my lady,’ he said. ‘That is a fact and, regardless of who might wish you ill, you must take all possible measures to ensure your safety until the culprit is found.’

‘Mr Thomas is right.’ Lady Rothley went to Eleanor, taking her hands. ‘Oh! It doesn’t bear thinking about. That could have been you attacked in your bed. You could have been murdered.’ Her voice quavered. ‘Please, Ellie, do not be stubborn. Surely you must see these happenings cannot all be coincidence? What do you suggest we do, Mr Thomas? Should we return to Ashby? Will that be safer than London?’

‘It might be the wisest move.’

Eleanor directed a scathing look at Matthew. ‘I’m sorry you are so troubled, Aunt, but I have no intention of returning to Ashby. Besides, Batley, if you remember, was concerned that the house cannot be made secure during the renovations, so we would be no safer there.’

‘Who is Batley?’

Eleanor scorched Matthew with an impatient glance. ‘He is my bailiff. No, we will not return to the Manor. We shall continue our journey to London. And that,’ she added, jabbing her finger in Matthew’s direction, ‘is not up for negotiation.’

Matthew bit back his instinctive retort. There was no point in quarrelling with Eleanor in the mood she was in. Never had he come across such an opinionated female.

‘I can see you are determined to have your way, Eleanor,’ Lady Rothley said, ‘so I shall not try to dissuade you. But I give you warning—unless you treat this seriously, we shall return to Ashby, whether you like it or not.’ At Eleanor’s mutinous look, she continued, ‘If I leave London, you will have no option other than to accompany me. You could not remain there unchaperoned. Think of the scandal.’

Eleanor visibly subsided. Her aunt’s emphasis on the word ‘scandal’ must have some particular meaning for her. Matthew wondered if she had been embroiled in some sort of scandal in the past. Was that why she was still unmarried?

Lady Rothley returned to the sofa. ‘What precautions would you advise us to take, Mr Thomas?’

‘The servants accompanying you must be put on the alert immediately, as must the whole of your household in town as soon as you arrive,’ Matthew said. ‘I will escort you for the remainder of your journey and your niece must take care never to go out unaccompanied. And by that—forgive me, Lady Rothley—I mean that she must take someone other than yourself for protection.’

He watched the conflicting emotions chase each other across Eleanor’s expressive countenance. He knew she was still mortified by their kiss, but that could not be the only reason she was so determined to hide her fears over the murder. Was it her reluctance to accept her cousin’s involvement?

‘There is no need for you to inconvenience yourself, Mr Thomas. I am certain you are reading far more into this than you need to. I am grateful for your concern, but I have no desire to cause further delays for you. You should forget all about this little matter and continue with your—’

‘Little matter?’ Matthew exploded to his feet, itching to take hold of Eleanor and give her a good shake. Infuriating woman! ‘Have you not taken in a word I’ve said? You have more need of protection than I supposed, if that is your belief. I will not allow you to continue to put yourself in jeopardy—I must and I will escort you tomorrow. What if your cousin should try again?’

Eleanor stared at him incredulously.

‘Ellie.’ There was a wealth of warning in Lady Rothley’s voice. ‘Please remember your—’

‘Will...not...allow? How dare you? You have absolutely no jurisdiction over me, sir. I have known you precisely one day. I have known James all my life. I will never believe him to be capable of something like this.’ She drew herself up to her full height, standing almost nose to nose with him. ‘I know him. You don’t.’

She held his gaze, her large eyes defiant. If he continued to pursue the matter, might she stubbornly show her defiance by taking needless risks? Short of throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off to safety—which, he thought with a silent oath, he would be more than happy to do at this moment—he was not sure how else to persuade her.

But...there was one angle they had not yet considered. ‘Who else knew the details of your journey? Maybe that will help us to identify the culprit.’

Eleanor stilled, staring at him, her eyes stricken, her rebelliousness dissipating as swiftly as it had arisen. ‘James.’ Her voice caught and the word came out as a croak. She cleared her throat. ‘James knew.’

She slumped on to the sofa, next to her aunt, who clasped her hand.

‘He wrote and reserved the rooms for us in order that we would not be stranded for the night.’ She looked at her aunt, her tawny eyes huge in her suddenly ashen countenance. ‘I still cannot believe it. Not James. Oh, Aunt Lucy. How shall I ever face him?’

‘There, there,’ Aunt Lucy patted Eleanor’s hand, raising worried eyes to Matthew. ‘It seems we are indebted to you once again, Mr Thomas. Your offer to escort us tomorrow is gratefully accepted. Although,’ she added acerbically, ‘do not for a moment imagine that I have forgotten your earlier behaviour, for I have not.’

Matthew merely bowed his head. He could not deny he was at fault there and could think of nothing to say that would not make an awkward situation even worse. When he raised his head, he found Aunt Lucy eyeing him with suspicion.

‘I am curious,’ she said. ‘How did you find us? And how did you come to be in here, alone, with Eleanor? I am certain Brooke would not have conducted you to our private parlour and left you here with Eleanor without so much as a maidservant in attendance.’

Matthew cursed silently as the enormity of the lie he had told Brooke hit him. The innkeeper was certain to let slip his belief that his guest was a distinguished lord and married to Eleanor to boot.

‘I was late leaving Stockport because I had to speak to the magistrate before I could leave—’

‘Why should the magistrate wish to speak with you?’ Eleanor asked.

‘I told you—I was in the next bedchamber to the girl who was attacked. When she screamed, I went in. I saw him...but he gave me the slip.’

‘Then you know what he looks like. Describe him. I shall soon know if it was James.’

‘He wore a mask. All I know is that he was shorter than me and of a medium build. There are any number of men who would match that description. By the time I left I was sure you would be well on your way. We—that is, Henry and I—enquired at all the posting inns we passed until we found where you had stopped for the night. Mr Brooke was indeed reluctant to admit you were in residence. I’m afraid I had to resort to a little subterfuge.’

Two pairs of eyes watched him expectantly. He drew a deep breath, bracing himself.

‘I told him I was Lord Ashby. Your husband.’

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Eleanor let forth a peal of laughter that made Matthew stare in bewilderment. What on earth...? She should be furious...ringing a peal of anger, not laughter, over his head.

‘What is so funny?’ He sounded so stiff and pompous he almost cringed.

Eleanor gasped for breath, hand flat to her chest, as giggles continued to spill from her lips. Was that a note of hysteria? Matthew glanced at Aunt Lucy, who looked as stunned as he felt.

‘Oh... I am so sorry...the look of dread on your face...if only you could have seen it...’

‘I shall, of course, ensure that you do not suffer by my hasty and ill-considered actions, Lady Ashby—’

Eleanor sobered at his words. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Please do not. Really, Mr Thomas, I had begun to think you a man of sense, then you come up with the most ridiculous ruse to confound poor Brooke, and then find yourself forced to make amends by making an offer you clearly have no wish to make. Oh, this is just the spur I needed to jolt me out of that horrid fear that was near paralysing me. No doubt it will soon overwhelm me again but, for now, I am happy just to enjoy the joke.’

‘Joke?’ Indignation stirred. ‘You believe an offer from me would be a joke?’

She rose to her feet. ‘Not in the way you are clearly taking it,’ she said, in a placatory tone. ‘I promise. I only meant it is a joke in as much as we barely know each other, our stations in life are so different and we have done little but squabble since we met.’

A sudden flush stained her cheeks and she turned from him abruptly. Was she, like him, remembering that kiss? But, other than that omission from her list, she was right.

‘Well! My niece might think this a laughing matter, but I can assure you I do not, young man,’ Lady Rothley said, as she also stood. ‘What were you thinking? Brooke and, most likely, all his staff, believe you to be Lord Ashby and are aware that you have spent time alone in this parlour with my niece. You cannot sustain this masquerade—our servants will surely let slip that there is no Lord Ashby. And as soon as your trickery is known, Eleanor’s reputation will be in tatters. What a tangle.’

She was right. He had acted without thought, driven by his frantic belief that Eleanor was in danger. Now he had succeeded in embroiling her in a possible scandal. That thought brought to mind Eleanor’s reaction to Aunt Lucy’s earlier threat of scandal. An odd reaction, almost as though she feared for her reputation more than most. And yet she could laugh at this situation. She was certainly a puzzling woman.

‘You can say you were with me the whole time, Aunt Lucy,’ Eleanor said. ‘And Mr Thomas must find another inn to stay in tonight.’ She met his gaze. She was deadly serious now, no hint of amusement on her countenance. ‘It will not do for you to remain, for you cannot continue the deception of being my husband. Brooke will say nothing. After all, he cannot claim to be blameless. He failed to even announce you, which is inexcusable. After all, you could have been anybody.’

‘Precisely,’ Matthew growled. ‘And if you believe I’m going to leave you unprotected in this place tonight, you are way off course. In fact, I believe it is too dangerous for you to remain the night. Knowing he failed last night, I would not put it past the attacker to strike again. And as he’s clearly familiar with your itinerary, he will know you are here tonight.’

His words brought a flash of fear to Eleanor’s expression. It was regrettable, he thought, as he pictured her laughing only a few moments ago, but it was surely better for her to be frightened than to dismiss the very real risks.

‘When Brooke allowed me to enter your private parlour, simply on my word that I was your husband, he confirmed my belief that you are completely vulnerable. We must all leave.’ He paused, pondering. He had caused this problem. He must find the solution.

‘Wait here a minute,’ he said. ‘I have an idea.’

He went in search of Brooke. ‘Please attend us in the parlour as soon as convenient, Brooke,’ he said. ‘I should like to discuss the security of your establishment and the safety of your guests.’

‘Yes, my lord. Immediately, my lord.’ Brooke followed Matthew back to the parlour.

As Matthew entered, Eleanor said, ‘What do you...?’ Her question tailed away as Matthew shook his head, hoping she would interpret his warning and follow his lead. He winked, then rounded on Brooke.

‘To begin with, I must tell you that I am not Lord Ashby. My name is Matthew Thomas.’

‘Not...? But, sir, you gave me to believe... I allowed you...’

‘Quite. You believed my claim and you showed me into what was supposed to be a private parlour for the use of these ladies. I must inform you—and this is not to be spoken of outside this room—that we already had grave concerns over Lady Ashby’s safety.

‘Now then, I told that lie in order to see how easy it might be for an intruder to gain access to Lady Ashby whilst she is staying here. I not only tricked you into revealing her whereabouts, but also persuaded you—with little difficulty, I might add—to allow me to enter her private parlour unannounced.

‘I must inform you, Brooke, that you have failed my test miserably. Had I harboured evil intentions towards Lady Ashby, there would have been nothing to prevent me carrying out my worst. I am extremely disappointed.

‘Lady Rothley happened to be with her niece at the time, but you were not to know that. Anything could have happened and, as a result of your failures, I am afraid we have no alternative but to move to another establishment for the night.’

‘No, I beg of you, sir, ladies, please do not leave. A thousand apologies, milady—’ Brooke bowed to Eleanor, wringing his hands in his anguish ‘—for my failures. I can promise you it will not happen again. I shall place guards on each door. You are our only guests tonight and I swear to turn any latecomers away. I shall have a man patrolling all night long. The George will be more secure than the Tower itself, of that you have my word.

‘Do please reconsider. My wife has prepared a feast for tonight—it is ready to be served, and it is dark outside and beginning to rain. Surely you would prefer to stay here in the warm than go out in search of other accommodation?

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘if there is someone out there who means you harm, he could attack you more easily outside than if you remain safe and snug in here, especially now I am aware of the danger.’

He looked eagerly from one to the other.

Matthew heaved a sigh, concealing his relief that Brooke had fallen for his ploy. ‘Well, if you promise you will put guards on the outer doors—and for the whole night, mind, not just until we retire—we will stay. Although, make no mistake, my man, you are still on trial. If I discover any lapse in attention, it will be the worse for you.’

‘Yes, my...sir.’ Brooke bowed his way out of the door.

Matthew looked at Eleanor and Lady Rothley. ‘Well? Have we come through unscathed?’

Chapter Eleven

‘I believe so. Well done,’ Eleanor said and smiled at Matthew. ‘The poor man didn’t know if he was coming or going. I don’t think it even crossed his mind to question that Aunt Lucy was in here the whole time.’

Aunt Lucy was not so quick to forgive. ‘Let us hope this doesn’t get back to Lizzie and Matilda,’ she warned, ‘for I doubt they will be so easy to deceive.’

* * *

Dinner was served at a table set for three in the private parlour. Brooke had not lied when he promised them a feast and they were served with dishes of succulent roast meats, pigeon pie, vegetables and rich sauces, followed by stewed apples, blancmanges, dried fruits and nuts, all accompanied by some very palatable wines.

Conversation at the dinner table was necessarily stilted, with the serving maid and Brooke himself in and out of the room. As the last dishes were cleared away, Eleanor heard Brooke murmur in Matthew’s ear, ‘Brandy, sir?’

They had eaten in the parlour, so it was impossible for Eleanor and her aunt to leave Matthew to his brandy, as was customary. As he pushed his chair back and stood, presumably to go through to the taproom, Eleanor said, ‘If you would care for some brandy, Mr Thomas, please do not feel obliged to leave.’

‘No, indeed,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘In fact...Brooke, my good man, would you bring two glasses, please? A little tot will help me sleep, I make no doubt. My niece and I shall retire very soon, Mr Thomas, and leave you to enjoy your brandy in peace.’

‘Thank you.’ Matthew said. ‘I doubt I shall be long in following you to bed. It’s been a long, eventful day.’

Brooke soon returned with a full decanter and two glasses. After drinking her tot, Aunt Lucy rose to her feet. ‘Come, Ellie, it is time for us to retire. Mr Thomas, may we leave you with the task of checking Brooke’s security arrangements? We shall see you in the morning. Goodnight.’

‘My pleasure,’ Matthew said. ‘Goodnight, ladies.’

As soon as the door closed behind them, Aunt Lucy said, ‘I wonder who our Mr Thomas really is?’

Eleanor paused, her foot on the bottom stair. ‘What do you mean: who he really is?’

Aunt Lucy looked back at the parlour door. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But there is something...oh, I don’t know...something almost familiar about him. And, just as I think I’m on the brink of grasping it, it slips away again. Never mind. I am sure it will come to me in time.’

They continued up the stairs to the first landing and Eleanor wished her aunt goodnight at her bedchamber door. Lizzie helped her to undress before leaving and Eleanor climbed into bed, exhausted, ready for a good night’s sleep. As soon as her head hit the pillow, however, her mind sprang to life, reliving the fire and the accident, fretting at the attack on that young girl—could it truly be connected to her? Was James responsible? No, she could never believe it of him. Not attempted murder. But the very thought that someone might wish to kill her was too much to bear and she tossed and turned until finally, still wide awake, she decided to go downstairs to see if she could sneak a tot of brandy for herself. If it helped Aunt Lucy to sleep, mayhap it would do the same for her?

Relighting her candle, she found her slippers and wrapped her large woollen shawl around her. Taking up the candlestick, she stepped softly on to the dark landing and crept to the head of the stairs. Stomach churning uneasily, despite Brooke’s promise to post two guards at every external door, she tiptoed down the stairs to the parlour. Surely everyone must have retired by now? She could hear nothing but the distant rumble of snores—a comforting sound, confirming there were people within reach should she need them.

She hesitated a moment at the parlour door, listening, before lifting the latch and pushing the door open.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Matthew stood before the fire, one booted foot on the fender. He had removed his jacket, leaving him clad in shirt, waistcoat and pantaloons, which clung to his buttocks and muscular thighs. His left hand was propped against the mantelshelf as he stared down into the glowing embers and his right cradled a goblet of amber liquid. Eleanor had not thought for one minute he would still be up, for had he not said he would be retiring soon after them? Thank goodness he had not heard the door open. Her fingers tightened, clutching her shawl closer around her. She must leave. Now. She would be foolish to remain.

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.

She was no longer shy and uncomfortable with him. Mayhap that was because he no longer looked at her in that particular way, his blue eyes penetrating until her innermost thoughts felt exposed to his inspection. And, since that night at the George, he had neither teased her nor flirted with her. His manner had been that of a polite, casual acquaintance. Eleanor had been able to move past the fluster and the blushes, and treat him—on the surface, at least—as the simple travelling companion he was. But the desire to assert her authority was powerful and paying their way was how she chose to salvage her self-esteem. Ultimately, she who pays the piper calls the tune, she thought with satisfaction.

She had known he might object. She had not anticipated such fury. It was rigidly controlled, but fury none the less.

‘You may pay for your own accommodation and that of the servants,’ he said in a tight, low voice, ‘but I will not have you paying for my room and board. Here.’ He thrust out his hand, opening it to reveal a clutch of coins on his palm. ‘Take them.’

‘No. You are supplying a service. I will be responsible for your expenses.’ Eleanor turned and climbed into the post-chaise.

‘By God, you are the most infuriating woman I have ever met.’ Matthew leant in the open door, blue eyes blazing. ‘I have no need of your charity, Lady Ashby.’

Eleanor swallowed hard. ‘I do not view it as charity, but as my obligation.’

‘I may not have your wealth, but I am not poor. I can pay my way.’

‘I did not think for one moment that you couldn’t. Tell me—’ she locked gazes with him ‘—if I were a man, could you honestly say we would be having this same discussion?’

Matthew opened his mouth, then closed it again. Inhaled, nostrils flaring. He climbed into the chaise and sat down, leaning back into the corner, eyes narrowed as he regarded her.

‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I cannot imagine another man accepting he might need my protection. But do not think that means I will accept you paying for my accommodation or my meals on the rest of the journey, for I will not.’

‘And if I pay anyway?’

‘Then there will be some very lucky innkeepers between here and London, for they will be paid twice over for the one service.’

Hmmph. ‘It appears I must concede the point this time.’

‘What point might that be, Ellie?’ Aunt Lucy asked as Timothy handed her into the post-chaise.

‘Mr Thomas is offended that I have settled his account at the inn.’

‘I see,’ Aunt Lucy said, as she settled on to the seat between them.

She said no more, but it was clear from the sidelong look she bent on Eleanor that she considered her niece to be in the wrong. The journey passed with very little conversation other than passing comments on the scenery or the weather.

* * *

At the first stop to change the horses, however, Aunt Lucy returned to the subject as soon as Matthew left the post-chaise.

‘I am surprised at you, Ellie. Have you no consideration for a young man’s pride?’

‘Of course I have.’ Eleanor was stung by her aunt’s criticism. What about her own pride? Being kissed by a man—no, kissing a man—and then being roundly ignored? ‘I meant no slight.’ Had she really bruised his pride? Guilt stirred deep inside as she reviewed her actions and their conversation. Although she was determined to prove her capabilities in running her estates, she had always taken care not to flaunt her wealth or her privilege in front of others. Particularly men. She had realised, as she matured, that many men resented her title and her wealth simply because they afforded her that elusive advantage—for a female—of independence.

‘The best solution is for you to hand over the travelling purse to Mr Thomas,’ Aunt Lucy said, ‘and then he can settle the accounts and his pride will not suffer.’

‘No. Why should I hand over my money to a near stranger? What if—?’

‘What if I were to abscond with your funds?’ Matthew had appeared at the open door. His eyes glittered. ‘Trust me, Lady Ashby, I have no need of your few paltry coins. I have my own business and my own property. It may not match yours, but it is more than sufficient for my needs.’

He climbed in and slammed the door. The vehicle jerked as the horses took the strain and they were on the road again.

‘You have property, Mr Thomas? In London?’ Aunt Lucy asked.

Eleanor was, for once, grateful for her aunt’s insatiable curiosity. She would never have lowered herself to ask the question, but she was dying to know the answer.

‘Yes, in Bloomsbury. My great-uncle bequeathed me a small house in his will. As I said, it is enough for me.’

‘What was his name?’ Aunt Lucy asked. ‘Mayhap I knew him.’

‘You would not have known him, Lady Rothley. He spent all of his adult life in India. He was my grandmother’s brother—their father was a cloth merchant. They did not move in your circles.’

The conversation was at a close and Eleanor settled down for the remainder of the journey. Just two more nights, then we shall be in London. And then...she closed her eyes and concentrated on planning her campaign for full acceptance in society and those all-important vouchers for Almack’s, burying deep the ache in her heart at the thought she would never see Matthew Thomas again.

Chapter Thirteen

Matthew gazed broodingly at Eleanor across the dining table on the evening of the following day. It was the last night of their journey. Tomorrow they would be in London. He would deliver Eleanor and her aunt safely to their door, say goodbye and never have to set eyes on the top-lofty, arrogant, beautiful, stubborn woman again. His brain and his body were in complete conflict. He wanted her. Badly. He was not even sure he liked her. But he definitely wanted her. The tension in his muscles whenever she was close could not be denied.

He’d had to steel himself against the hurt in those beautiful, tawny-brown eyes as he had treated her with cool civility during the first day of travel, when he barely trusted himself to even look at her. After that, it had become easier as Eleanor withdrew behind her grande dame persona. Matthew had busied himself as much as possible at every stop they made, lest he reveal the desire that burned deep within him every time he came within touching distance of her.

‘You still won’t be safe.’ The words were out there before he could consider them, or where they might lead.

Eleanor lowered her knife and fork and fixed those luminous eyes on him, candlelight highlighting gold flecks he had not noticed before. They drew him in, charging his blood, making him wish the impossible.

A man could drown in such limpid beauty.

Pfftt. Next thing, I’ll be reciting poetry. That’s what happens when a man spends too long in the company of females. He gets soft.

‘Would you care to expand upon that remark, Mr Thomas?’

‘I meant to say, how will you keep safe in London? There have been no further incidents, but the closer we get to London, the more traffic there will be, the more people on the streets. How will you distinguish friend from foe?’

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed before she returned her attention to her plate and resumed eating. Time suspended as he held his breath. Was she ever going to reply?

‘I was thinking the same thing myself,’ she said, finally, surprising him. He had expected vehement denial of the risk.

‘I shall have to employ extra footmen as guards,’ she continued. ‘I have Timothy, and there is William, who travelled ahead with the others to prepare the house, but I do not think I can rely on just those two. Not when they have other duties to fulfil as well.’

‘Do you truly believe a couple of extra footmen will suffice to protect you?’

She regarded him steadily. ‘What action would you suggest I take, Mr Thomas?’

Her tone was sweet, at odds with the challenge in her eyes. All day he had been telling himself they would reach London tomorrow and he could walk away. He should walk away. It was not his problem, no matter how attracted he was to her. But, deep down, he struggled against the notion of leaving her to her fate. She was still in danger; he would be leaving her unprotected. Yes, she was wealthy enough to hire a small army to guard her, but they would still be hired men, motivated by money. What if her cousin were to bribe one, or more, of them? No, he could never trust hired men to protect her as well as he would.

It is not your problem. There is nothing you can do.

It was true...and yet he could not abandon her.

His dilemma had pounded incessantly at his brain. If he were to stay, how could he protect her? It would mean entering her world. He could not allow Eleanor and Lady Rothley to introduce him as Matthew Thomas, only to have his true identity revealed by someone who happened to remember him and what had happened.

He was the black sheep of his family. He had never felt as though he belonged—the third son, his two older brothers providing the requisite ‘heir and spare.’ Then Sarah, two years his junior, fêted and spoiled as the only girl until, seven years later, the last of the five siblings—another girl, favoured as the baby of the family, leaving him, smack bang in the middle, with no place to belong.

Yes, he had been a wild youth, up to all and every caper: expelled from Harrow; sent down from Oxford; drinking; gambling deep; huge losses; and affairs, not always discreet, with married women. He understood, looking back, his father’s fury. But, no matter how wild and impetuous he had been, Matthew could never forgive his father for believing his own son capable of not only cheating at cards, but also cold-bloodedly attacking and robbing his accuser, Henson, and leaving him for dead.

Neither his father nor Claverley, Matthew’s eldest brother, would listen to Matthew’s protestations of innocence. Dishonourable conduct. Their easy acceptance of his guilt had deeply wounded Matthew. Their sole concern had been to get him out of the country in case Henson died. They had hauled him off to the docks and bought him passage on the first ship to India and to his great-uncle.

He had long ago been cleared of the charge of attacking and robbing Henson—thanks to Uncle Percy’s efforts—but the accusation of cheating still hung over him and the knowledge that his father had discharged so many of Matthew’s debts still rankled. On his return to England he had vowed to repay those debts come what may. Other than that, he wanted nothing to do with his family...none of them had ever replied to the letters he had written in those early years of exile and he had given up writing after a while. They had disowned him. He would forget them in return—put them out of his mind.

‘Mr Thomas?’

He came back to the present with a start.

‘I beg your pardon. I was thinking of my commitments. It so happens that I have some free time at my disposal at the moment. I believe I told you I have two cargoes en route from India—’

‘No, did you?’ Lady Rothley interjected. ‘I do not recall that, Mr Thomas. When was it you told us?’

Matthew cursed beneath his breath. He had told Eleanor, that night in the parlour of the George. The night they kissed. He should be more cautious. Her ladyship was much too sharp to fool. ‘I apologise,’ he said, smoothly, ‘I thought I did mention it. Obviously not.’

‘No. I cannot remember anything about that at all,’ Eleanor said, nose in the air as her lips tightened.

Ha! She says the words, but her eyes tell the truth. She remembers that night as clearly as I do.

‘To continue, I have a few weeks’ respite until the ships are due in dock. I can be available to escort you wherever you wish whilst you are in London—only until we can unmask the culprit, of course.’

‘Thank you for your kind offer, Mr Thomas.’ Eleanor’s words were so sweetly reasonable, with just the right hint of apology, they made Matthew’s teeth grind. ‘I must decline, however. I have no doubt you will still have some business to attend to and I have no wish to further complicate your life.’

She was still flinging that ill-considered remark in his face. Resentment bubbled in his gut.

So bloody superior. Leave her to her fate, man, and get on with your own life.

Being back in London had been hard enough, with the memories it evoked, despite his care in avoiding the fashionable haunts where he might be recognised. His pride dictated he remain incognito until he was in a position to pay back his father—which he would be just as soon as Benedict arrived in port. If he reverted to his family name any earlier, it would be bound to rake up the past.

‘Very well, my lady. I shall say no more on the subject.’

* * *

The idea was preposterous. Did Matthew really believe he could pass himself off as a gentleman? Guilt nibbled at Eleanor at that ungenerous thought. She was being unfair. He was intelligent, educated; he had presence. Of course he could pass as a gentleman. She had long since stopped viewing him as anything but. He might be a merchant, but no one else would know, only herself and Aunt Lucy.

That presence of his: he exuded raw masculinity—it enticed her, enthralled her, terrified her. Honesty compelled her to admit that her real objection to his protecting her in London was the way her heart leapt every time she saw him.

The way her lips tingled every time she relived their kisses.

The way her blood boiled every time she recalled those words: I do not need complications.

How ironic that the only man who had ever made her heart beat faster was the one man she could never have. He might have the wherewithal to fool society for a short time, but she knew the truth. He was a merchant. He might be successful. He might even be wealthy. But she could never, ever, ally herself with a man of his class. Like mother, like daughter. It would bring all the old scandal tumbling out of the past, piling on to her head. It would bury her. She could never hold up her head in society again and she would never be accepted for Almack’s.

Nevertheless, she could see by his scowl that her words had touched a nerve.

She drew breath. ‘I meant no offence, Mr Thomas. I am persuaded you would loathe kicking your heels at those interminable society parties. You have had a fortunate escape. Members of the ton can be very narrow-minded and are not welcoming to outsiders.’

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. ‘I quite see that you are doing me a favour.’

Was that bitterness? The urge to soothe his ruffled feelings was strong, but Eleanor forced herself to continue eating. Their mutual attraction was undeniable. But that was all it was. There were no tender feelings there.

Not on his part.

Nor on mine!

They had been thrown into one another’s company during the journey, and she had come to rely on him. Too much. Once she made new acquaintances in London, she would lose this dependence on him. It was all false. Not real. She rubbed at her temples and then pushed back her chair.

‘It has been a long day. If you will excuse me, I shall retire.’

Chapter Fourteen

Matthew came awake instantly, his eyes wide as he strained to see. He leapt from his bed as he heard the click of the door latch and, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of his bedchamber, he could make out the slowly widening crack as the door inched open. One stride and he hauled it wide. A tall figure stumbled against him. Soft curves, a feminine gasp and the scent of jasmine identified the intruder as Eleanor. Every fibre of every muscle tensed as his arms came around her in reflex.

‘What—?’

‘Mr Thomas!’

Even in the extremes of arousal, he identified the panic in her whisper.

‘What is it?’ He gripped her upper arms, moving her away from his rampant body, giving thanks he had chosen to sleep in his nightshirt.

‘I thought I heard a noise downstairs. And I saw someone outside, from the landing window.’

‘What were you doing on the landing? No, never mind.’ Matthew grabbed his jacket from the chair and bundled it into her arms, pushing her towards the bed. ‘Stay here, wrap up and don’t, whatever you do, make a sound.’

He slipped out on to the landing. At the top of the stairs he paused, straining his ears. Nothing. The window was along the landing, a few feet beyond the door of Eleanor’s bedchamber. Silent in his bare feet, he ran along and peered out. Nothing. Then a movement caught his attention. A bulky figure, in the shadows of the outbuildings. The figure moved, split in two, came together again. A flash of pale flesh as skirts were bundled up...and Matthew retreated from the window. That was the last thing he needed...to watch some lovelorn fool of a stable boy tupping his lady love when his own body was crying out for the same relief.

He gritted his teeth, willing his desires back under control. He would check Eleanor’s room, then go downstairs to make sure there was no one there, even though it appeared likely one of the maids had slipped outside to meet her lover. Which was all very well, but it had left the inn insecure, despite his impressing on the innkeeper the importance of barring the doors and posting a guard.

Where the hell was that guard? How had the maid got out without alerting him? The quicker he checked Eleanor’s room, the sooner he could go downstairs and find out what these fools were about. Galvanised into action, he entered her bedchamber. A quick glance around showed nothing amiss. He crossed to the window and flipped the curtain aside. It faced a different direction to the landing window. All was peaceful. He returned to the door and stepped out on to the landing.

And collided with a soft, familiar body.

‘What the...?’ For the second time that night, he steeled himself as he forced Eleanor away from him. ‘I told you to stay put.’

‘You were gone an age. I needed to know what was happening. Have you seen anyone?’

‘Yes...no...look, wait in there...’ he pushed her through the door into her room ‘...and I will come to tell you as soon as I’ve searched downstairs.’ He grasped her chin, forced her to look up at him. Her eyes glittered in defiance. ‘Stay here.’

Eleanor huffed a sigh but, thankfully, made no attempt to follow him on to the landing.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Matthew knocked softly on Eleanor’s door and went in. A solitary candle flickered, illuminating Eleanor, sitting on the bed, his jacket hugged around her shoulders, her hair...her glorious hair...framing her face, flowing over her shoulders...a river of silk. He itched to plunge his hands into those fragrant tresses.

Eleanor bounced to her feet, his jacket gaping. After one glance at the thin nightgown beneath, Matthew riveted his gaze to her face.

‘Well? Was there anyone down there?’

‘Just one of the maidservants.’

She had breezed in through the back door, bright-eyed and pink of cheek, as he had reached the kitchen. She had halted, momentarily disconcerted, then, with a calculating eye had swayed provocative hips as she approached him. He had declined what she offered, bolted the door, and searched the rest of the ground floor of the inn. The guard was sprawled on one of the settles in the taproom, snoring. Tempted as he had been to wake the fellow, solely in order to knock him senseless again, Matthew resisted. It was two in the morning. The inn was safely locked up again and, in a few hours, they would be gone.

At that moment, it had seemed more important to return to Eleanor...before she decided to follow him again to find out what was happening.

‘What was a maid doing up at this time?’

‘She said she had forgotten to do something.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’ He wasn’t about to tell Eleanor the truth about the maid’s night-time wanderings. ‘She’s back inside now and the doors are all bolted. It is safe.’

Eleanor visibly relaxed. She took a step towards him, into a shaft of moonshine that slid through a gap in the curtains. ‘I am sorry I disturbed you,’ she said. ‘I...I was scared.’

‘And yet you came out of your room.’ His gaze returned again and again to her bare toes, washed by moonlight, as they peeped from the hem of her nightgown. Blood thrummed through his veins. The after-effects of danger, nothing more, he told himself. ‘You could have bolted the door—’

‘The door was already bolted.’

‘And you considered the wisest course of action was to unbolt the door and venture out on to the landing? Have you no...?’ He bit his tongue against the diatribe he longed to heap on her head. He did not want an argument now. Not here. Not with her standing there like that. Passion simmered dangerously close to the surface as it was. Anger would fuel an already tense situation. ‘Why did you not just shout for help?’

She cast him a scathing look. ‘I had no wish to cause a fuss by waking everyone. Aunt Lucy would be petrified and, as for Lizzie and Matilda, they would be in hysterics. Can you imagine?’

He could...but still...

‘You have no concept of your own safety, do you?’ he growled, closing the gap between them.

Her eyes were large and watchful, glinting as they held his gaze. Her lips firmed. She did not retreat.

‘I was completely aware of the risk,’ she said. ‘The noise I heard was downstairs. I merely peeked out of my door. There was no one there, or I would have screamed. Loudly. I am not a fool. But neither will I cower in my bed until trouble finds me.’

Her stubborn courage infuriated him; it terrified him; it made his heart swell with an emotion akin to pride. Her breath had quickened, her chest rising and falling. Without volition his gaze lowered to her pebbled nipples, outlined by the thin fabric of her nightgown. Blood surged to his loins. He forced his attention back to her face, his heart hammering.

He could feel her heat. Her breath whispered over the suddenly sensitised skin of his face and neck. An intense feeling of protectiveness washed over him and he raised his hand to caress her cheek—soft and smooth. Her eyelids fluttered down and she drew in a tremulous breath.

‘Goodnight, Eleanor,’ he whispered. He dropped his hand and forced himself to turn for the door.

‘Wait!’

He paused, his hand on the latch, not trusting himself to look round. There was a rustle and his jacket was thrust into his arms.

‘It would not do for Lizzie to find this in the morning.’

Matthew opened the door.

‘Thank you, Matthew.’

Her words stayed in his mind long after he had climbed into his cold, empty bed. He could not decide whether she was thanking him for what he had done, or for what he had not done.

And she had called him Matthew.

* * *

She had long dreamed of falling in love. She would not give up her independence for anything less. What she had never considered was this confused state of mind that accompanied her feelings about Matthew Thomas.

Desire.

Yes, she desired him, and she recognised it and admitted it for what it was, despite her innocence. Was it possible to feel desire without love? Men certainly did.

Think of it the other way round. Could I imagine loving a man without desiring him?

She thought not.

Desire.

* * *

The following morning, Eleanor studied Matthew, who was seated on the far side of a dozing Aunt Lucy, from under her lashes. He stared broodingly out of the chaise window at the passing scenery. The bump on his nose was more noticeable in profile. How had it been broken? Fighting? How little she still knew of him.

Last night... In her mind’s eye she saw him again, clad only in his nightshirt, the neck open, revealing bronzed, smooth skin. It reached to just above his knees and she had drunk in the sight of his naked calves and feet—muscular, hair-dusted, so very different from her own pale, smooth limbs. She, thank goodness, had been totally covered by her nightgown and, apart from her hair being loose, she had been no more exposed than if she had worn a day dress. Less, in fact, as the fashion now was for a scooped neckline and her nightgown buttoned chastely to her neck.

Matthew moved, shifting round to prop his shoulders into the corner and refolding his arms. He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and glanced across to Eleanor. She did not look away, but held his stare as his blue eyes darkened and his jaw firmed. He looked away first.

Desire.

He felt it, too. That fact gave her an inner confidence she had not imagined before they met. Even her own mother had abandoned her...that pain still ran deep. And Donald...his silken words and treacherous kisses...he had lied without compunction...told her he loved her...and she had believed him because she wanted to, until the truth had smacked her in the face and she could no longer fool herself with the pathetic fantasy of her own making. Being desired by an attractive man like Matthew had salved her inner doubts about her allure as a woman and her self-esteem had blossomed.

It had not taken her long to become comfortable in his presence. It helped that he no longer teased or flirted. She appreciated his restraint, even though she felt she might now enjoy such banter and might even be able to join in the game without fear of ridicule. Trust. She barely knew him, yet she trusted him, not only to protect her against her unknown enemy but, and more importantly, to protect her against herself. Against her desire and her needs. Last night—if he hadn’t left when he did, she shuddered to think of the consequences.

Now, she must look to her future. There would be many suitable men in London. She hoped she might meet one who would make her blood sizzle the way Matthew Thomas did. And that he might view her as an alluring woman and not as a walking treasure chest.

‘We are almost there,’ Matthew said.

The view from the window had gradually changed. Where before there had been fields and woods and heaths and pleasant market towns and small hamlets, they now travelled through a maze of busy, dingy streets, the wheels clattering over endless cobbles.

‘It will be a relief not to have to travel again tomorrow,’ Aunt Lucy said, stirring and yawning.

‘Are you quite well, Aunt? You are very pale.’

‘I have the headache, my dear. I shall be quite all right after a lie down.’

* * *

At Upper Brook Street, the servants sent on ahead had readied the house, and it was almost like arriving home, with Pacey, Eleanor’s butler, and Mrs Pledger, her housekeeper, at the door to greet them. Matthew supported Aunt Lucy into the hall and then Mrs Pledger and Matilda took over, helping her up the white-marble staircase to settle into her bedchamber.

Eleanor surveyed the bright, welcoming entrance hall. If the rest of the house was of a similar standard, it would be more than adequate for their stay in London. She was resigned to spending the next few months, at least, in London, whilst Ashby Manor was made habitable.

Eleanor smiled at Matthew. ‘Would you care for a dish of tea before you leave? Or a glass of wine?’

‘Thank you—tea would be most welcome.’

Pacey showed Eleanor and Matthew into a back parlour, decorated in green and gold.

‘Please leave the door open, Pacey, and instruct one of the maids to come and sit in here with us,’ Eleanor said. She would start as she must go on, with a keen regard for her reputation and those vital vouchers for Almack’s. After the butler left, she continued, ‘I might not always seem it, but I am grateful for your help, Mr Thomas. And for your company. You have helped make a long, tedious and what might have been a dangerous journey infinitely better.’

‘Have you any idea how soon you will be able to appoint new footmen?’

‘No. I am sure Pacey will arrange that. There is bound to be a Register Office nearby.’

* * *

‘Indeed there is, my lady,’ Pacey said when asked upon his return to the parlour. ‘Shall you require me to appoint additional staff?’

‘Yes.’ Eleanor told the butler of the happenings on the road.

‘Lady Ashby will need two footmen to accompany her whenever she goes out,’ Matthew said. ‘Plus, you must treat the security of this house as of the utmost importance. External doors must be bolted and ground-floor windows latched at all times, no matter the inconvenience.’

‘My lady?’

The butler turned to her for confirmation, allowing Eleanor to accept Matthew’s instructions with more grace than she might otherwise have achieved. ‘Yes, Pacey. It is as Mr Thomas has said.’

‘And strong lads, mind. They need to be stout enough to protect her ladyship.’

‘With your leave, my lady, I shall visit the Register Office immediately. The sooner we can appoint the extra staff the better, it would seem.’

Two maids brought in a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches, and one of the maids remained in the room afterwards. A rebellious part of Eleanor regretted her impulse to follow propriety so strictly, but she knew it was the correct thing to do. It forced their conversation on to everyday matters. Eventually, Mr Thomas stood to take his leave. Eleanor rose to her feet, her insides hollowing as she realised she might never see him again.

‘I do hope you will call upon us from time to time, to let us know how you go on.’

He bowed. ‘Of course.’ He reached into his pocket and handed her a sheet of paper upon which he had written an address. ‘If you have need of me, send word.’

Eleanor took the sheet with suddenly trembling fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice strangling as her throat swelled. To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears and she hurriedly tried to blink them away. This would never do.

Matthew reached for her hand, and squeezed. He lowered his voice as he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

Eleanor hauled in a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I am sorry...so foolish of me. I dare say it’s the journey...so very exhausting.’

She braved a glance at his face. His blue eyes burned into hers and she could not tear her gaze away.

‘Day or night,’ he said, ‘if ever you have doubts, or you are scared, do not hesitate to send for me. I will get to you as soon as I can.’

Chapter Fifteen

Matthew stood in the shadows of King Street, opposite the house where his life had changed for ever. It looked smaller, somehow, and seedier than he remembered. Or was it the enthusiasm of youth that had coloured the place as glamorous and alluring? The sight of excitable young bucks, in twos and threes, swaggering along the street before lifting the knocker and gaining admittance, was profoundly depressing. Nothing changes. Young men...their bravado...seeking thrills...believing themselves up to any and every trick in the book.

If only they knew...

Thud...chest about to explode...king of hearts, fluttering to the floor... Henson, accusing, face dark, fists clenched...thud, thud...stammered denial, hands shaking, mouth sucked dry...faces, in and out of vision, disbelieving, sneering...voice hoarse, trying to be heard...needing to be believed...failing...alone...thud, thud, thud...anger, fury boiling over, challenging Henson...challenge accepted...men turning from him...no one willing to stand as second.

His breath juddered as he hauled it in and he was aware of sweat coating his brow and upper lip. He reached for his handkerchief, and passed it over his face. So real. He had sworn never to return. Why had he come?

A pair of large, tawny eyes materialised in his mind’s eye. He had handed Eleanor his address as he took his leave of her and, for the first time in days, her outer shell of bravado had cracked. He had glimpsed the frightened girl inside, belying her rejection of his help. He had itched to take her in his arms and soothe away her fears. He would never have that right, but she needed protection and he could not deny that urge deep in his gut, no matter how hard he tried. He must find out who was trying to kill her. It was his duty to keep her safe, even if it meant facing his worst fear.

When he’d arrived from India, nigh on a month ago now, he would have cut his eyes out rather than start probing this old sore. Henson had been stabbed and robbed that same night, before their duel, snatching away Matthew’s chance to fight for his honour and to clear his name.

Dishonourable conduct. He could not allow his scandal to taint Eleanor by association, which it would surely do once his true identity became known. He must—somehow—prove his innocence. A lead weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he pictured Eleanor’s growing trust of him turn to scorn when she discovered the truth of his exile to India.

He would gain nothing by going inside the house opposite. All these hells were crooked—in favour of the house, of course—but it was not the house that had falsely accused him of cheating all those years ago, nor the house that had believed him responsible for attacking Henson shortly afterwards. The old resentment curdled his stomach. His own father. His own family. They had believed him capable of both charges. They had washed their hands of him. And now, if he was to protect Eleanor, he would—inevitably—be recognised. Remembered. Accused all over again.

Henson.

Where to begin to look? Matthew ran through the names of the men round the table that night—names branded in his memory.

Henson, both Alastairs—Lady Rothley’s sons, Silverdale, Hartlebury, Perivale.

He would have to hope some of them were in London for the Season. The older of the two Alastairs, Lucas—now the Marquis of Rothley—was not in town. That was no loss; he and Henson had been thick as thieves. But the younger brother, Hugo...he might be a good place to start.

He must prove his innocence. Deep in his gut, he believed others around that table must know the accusation to be false. They just hadn’t spoken up against Henson—older, worldly-wise, a man the young bucks admired and wished to emulate. Maybe now, as more mature and, hopefully, responsible adults, they would take the opportunity to clear their consciences.

Matthew turned abruptly on his heel and strode away.

* * *

Three days after their arrival in town, Pacey opened the front door for Eleanor and Matthew was on the doorstep. Rendered temporarily speechless, she was grateful Aunt Lucy took charge.

‘Mr Thomas! Why, what a pleasant surprise. How do you do?’

Matthew removed his hat and bowed, his blond hair glinting in the early afternoon sunlight.

‘Good afternoon, Lady Rothley.’ He bowed and then his blue gaze rested on Eleanor’s face and her heart kicked into a gallop. ‘Your servant, Lady Ashby. I am very well, thank you. Have I called at an inconvenient time?’

‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘We are—’

‘No,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Your timing is perfect. We are going to call on Eleanor’s cousin, James. Would you care to accompany us?’

‘Aunt! I don’t think... I beg your pardon, Mr Thomas, but—’

‘I should be honoured,’ Matthew said. ‘Are you planning to walk?’

‘Yes,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘It is not very far, but it will be pleasant to have a gentleman’s arm to lean on. Come, Ellie. Peter and William can still accompany us.’

Eleanor straightened her bonnet and sailed past Matthew on to the pavement. She could think of nothing worse than Matthew being present when she and James had their first meeting. Her irritation that James had not even had the courtesy to call on her in the three days since her arrival was bound to reveal itself and she was loath to give Matthew another reason to think ill of her cousin.

Eleanor winced inwardly at the spectacle they must present: it was bad enough having two burly footmen dogging her footsteps wherever they went but, now, to be seen in the company of... Eleanor looked beyond Aunt Lucy to Mr Thomas, strolling nonchalantly along the pavement, cane swinging. A cane? His blue superfine coat was well tailored, his tall hat set at a jaunty angle and—although he still presented a rugged and slightly dangerous appearance—no one would doubt him a gentleman. Mayhap he was wealthier than she had assumed. But he was still a merchant.

‘...and we have spent much of our time shopping and with dressmakers,’ Aunt Lucy was saying. ‘The fire at Ashby destroyed much of Eleanor’s clothing, of course, and it is a long time since I came to London. My dresses are sadly outmoded, I fear.’

Eleanor smiled to herself, recalling their argument over Aunt Lucy’s need for some new gowns. Suspecting her aunt’s funds were limited, Eleanor had refused to give way and eventually Aunt Lucy had conceded that Eleanor might treat her to a couple of new evening gowns. After all, Eleanor had argued, you are only in London on my behalf. It is right and fair that I should bear your expenses. Pride satisfied, Aunt Lucy had then thrown herself with enthusiasm into their shopping expeditions.

‘What had your cousin to say about the carriage accident and the attack on that girl?’ Matthew asked as they turned into Hill Street, where James and Ruth lived.

Trust him to settle upon the one topic she had hoped would not arise. Anger at James for not visiting her battled against her anxiety at seeing him again.

‘We have not yet spoken,’ she replied.

‘Very discourteous of him,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Both Eleanor and I are disappointed by his neglect of his familial duty. It’s been three days since our arrival and not even a note from him to enquire if the house is satisfactory.’

‘I am sure he has good reason, Aunt.’ Why she felt obliged to defend James, she did not know, when in reality she thought his conduct indefensible. She glanced behind, reassured by the stoical presence of William and one of the new footmen, Peter.

‘No doubt his guilty conscience,’ Matthew said.

Eleanor glared at him. ‘Mayhap you should not come inside with us, if you are determined to stir the coals. James is hardly likely to attack me in his own house. Even if he is guilty.’

‘Please do not desert us now, Mr Thomas. I feel so much safer with you here. I begged Ellie not to call upon James unannounced like this, but she would not listen to me.’

‘Why did you not just send him a note and ask him to call on you?’ Matthew said. ‘Then you would meet him on your territory.’

‘I cannot sit at home on tenterhooks waiting and wondering when he might appear. Surely that is understandable?’

‘I understand you are impatient, Eleanor. Just like your mama.’

Eleanor stiffened. Just like her mama. That was exactly what no one must think any more. Apprehension had churned her stomach on and off all day, for tonight marked the beginning of her assault on society, at the Barringtons’ ball. Aunt Lucy had been busy leaving cards with her old acquaintances and the invitations had started to trickle in.

Their new gowns had been delivered that morning and Eleanor was both looking forward to and dreading the moment she must enter the Barringtons’ house and find all those eyes upon her. This time, however, she would not allow the whispers and innuendoes to overset her. She would hold her head high and prove she was not like her mother. At least visiting James gave her something else to worry about.

Aunt Lucy grabbed Eleanor’s hand. ‘I am sorry, Ellie. I don’t know why I said that. I dare say I am nervous at the thought of facing James and what to say to him. I know you are nothing like my silly, selfish sister.’ She halted outside a tall, narrow house. ‘Look, isn’t this James’s house?’

‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, her stomach beginning to churn. ‘This is it.’

She inhaled deeply to settle her nerves as Matthew rapped on the door.

‘Mr Thomas, I know I do not have to say this, but please do not say anything to provoke James.’

‘Me? Provoke?’ Matthew’s brows shot up.

Eleanor laughed. ‘Of course, you would never dream of such behaviour, would you?’

For a long time there was no sound from within but, just as Matthew lifted the brass knocker to rap again, the door opened.

Eleanor stepped forward. ‘Be so good as to inform Mr Weare that his cousin, Lady Ashby, is here and begs a few moments of his time.’

The footman stared at her with a doubtful expression and then stood aside. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Ashby. I shall inform the master you are here. If you would care to follow me?’

They entered a dim hallway that, despite the good address and smart external appearance of the house, showed signs of wear and neglect. The house smelled in need of a good dose of fresh air, to blast away the stale cooking odours. The footman led them into a small reception room—equally musty and shabby, with heavy, dusty-looking dark green curtains framing the dirty glass of the window. Eleanor stripped off her gloves to await her cousin, trying to conceal her increasing unease.

Within a few short minutes, the door flew open and James appeared. Eleanor went to him, her hands held out in greeting, smiling, genuinely pleased to see him again. One look into those clear grey eyes banished many of her doubts. This was James—her beloved cousin, her childhood playmate.

‘James, my dearest cousin, it has been much, much too long. Do please forgive us for calling unannounced, but I could not wait to see you. I do hope we are not putting you out?’ She looked him up and down, then added, teasingly, ‘You look very well, Cousin, but it seems you might have gained one or two pounds since last I saw you. You remember my aunt, Lady Rothley, do you not?’

‘Indeed I do,’ James responded, with a brief bow in Aunt Lucy’s direction. ‘How do you do, Lady Rothley?’

‘And this is Mr Thomas.’ Eleanor sent Matthew a warning look, which he returned with an innocent lift of his brows. How should she explain his presence? ‘He kindly escorted us here.’

‘In addition to the two footmen loitering in my hall?’ James asked, but nevertheless shook Matthew’s hand. ‘You are looking very well, Eleanor,’ he continued, ‘but you should have informed me of your arrival. I would have called upon you.’

Eleanor frowned, puzzled by his manner. As James entered the room his surprise had been palpable, but there had been no sign of pleasure, and his greeting—although polite—held no warmth. Neither had he reassured her that they were welcome. Indeed, his words held more of a scold than a greeting. There was something about his manner—an edginess—she could not understand. Her doubts began to stir again.

Surely Matthew can’t be right about James? No! I will not believe it.

Her stomach started to churn and she clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms. ‘You must have been aware we were to arrive on Saturday.’ She squared her shoulders, steeling herself to keep her voice steady. ‘It was you, after all, who made the arrangements for the journey. For which, by the by, I thank you.’

James frowned. ‘I am sorry, Eleanor. I left the arrangements to my man and I seem to have lost track of the days somewhat.’

It is up to me to bridge this divide between us.

‘Well, never mind now. It is not so very far to come. Oh, it is so very good to see you again, James.’ Eleanor determinedly quashed her doubts as she clasped his hands again. ‘We have become virtual strangers since you left Ashby. I do so wish it could be otherwise.’

James’s face darkened at the mention of the Manor. ‘There is nothing for me there, Eleanor, as you very well know. We are better off in town.’

Again, an underlying wariness. ‘Is there anything amiss, James? You do not seem completely happy to see us and you have not even invited us to take a seat. Have we called at an inconvenient time?’

He had the grace to look ashamed, casting a fleeting glance at the door as he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have an appointment in half an hour, one I cannot cancel. May I arrange to call upon you tomorrow instead?’

The door opened and Ruth—a slight woman with wispy, fair hair—entered the room. On seeing Eleanor, she stopped abruptly, her pale face set in its customary peeved expression.

‘You did not tell me we were expecting visitors, James,’ she said.

‘I am sorry, my dear.’ He hurried to her side, placing one hand under her elbow. ‘Come and say hello to Cousin Eleanor. Her aunt Lady Rothley is here, too. And this is Mr Thomas. I was just explaining to Eleanor about our appointment.’

‘I am sure they can have no interest in that,’ Ruth said, as James urged her forward.

Reflecting that uncivil behaviour in another did not mean one should forget one’s own manners, Eleanor smiled at Ruth, extending her hand.

‘Cousin Ruth, how do you do? I hope we find you in good health?’

Ruth touched Eleanor’s hand fleetingly. ‘I am well enough, thank you.’

She dropped a brief curtsy to Aunt Lucy, ‘Lady Rothley,’ and nodded unsmilingly at Matthew, ‘Mr Thomas.’ After a brief pause, she added, ‘I am sorry, Cousin Eleanor, but we must leave now if we are not to miss our appointment. I hope you will forgive us.’

Aunt Lucy caught Eleanor’s eye and raised an elegant brow.

‘There is no need to apologise, Ruth,’ Eleanor said. ‘We took a chance in calling upon you uninvited and I understand you cannot tarry if you have an appointment. I hope you will both call upon us soon so we can have a proper catch up with all the news.’

Ruth smiled again and inclined her head. ‘We shall bid you goodbye, then.’ She tugged her arm free from James’s grip and moved to stand by the open door, leaving the visitors no choice but to leave.

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