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.