Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return - Janice Preston - Страница 20

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.