Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return - Janice Preston - Страница 23

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.’