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