Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return: Return of Scandal's Son / Saved by Scandal's Heir

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.’