Читать книгу Return Of Scandal's Son - Janice Preston - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Matthew, on the verge of springing from the curricle, paused, his interest roused.

‘Aunt Lucy! That is preposterous. Bonny’s death was an accident.’

‘You cannot be certain of that, Ellie. What about the fire at the Manor? Someone set that fire and lurked around to see what happened. He brained Fretwell to stop him rescuing you, in case you had forgotten.’

‘Brained...! Aunt! What a thing to say.’ Eleanor’s voice lowered, holding a clear warning. ‘Mr Thomas does not want to hear those wild conjectures. I’ll warrant it was as I said—a burglar, and Fretwell was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘A burglar? In the library? Why would a burglar deliberately set fire to a pile of books? You must not dismiss this as coincidence.’

Eleanor glared daggers at her aunt, who took no notice, continuing, ‘Your bedchamber is directly over the library and now a shot is fired at our carriage. Who knows what their intention was, but you are a common factor to both, you cannot deny it.’

‘I think you have been indulging in too many Gothic novels,’ Eleanor said. She laughed in a dismissive fashion, but Matthew caught the haunted look that flashed across her face. ‘That sort of thing simply doesn’t happen in this day and age. Do you not agree, Mr Thomas?’

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.