Читать книгу The Complete Regency Surrender Collection - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 133

Chapter Twenty

He had two choices. Again. He could follow his head or his instinct. His head told him to leave her to her fate. She had rejected his offer of help enough times now. And she had insulted him. Those two words...circling in his head, like buzzards...is that what she truly thought of him? Of his reasons for returning to her side again and again? A fortune hunter? Had her cousin succeeded in poisoning her mind against him? No one could blame him for walking away this time.

Or he could harden his soul against those words and follow his instinct, which was to protect her come what may. And that meant he must proffer an olive branch. His temper had got the better of him, but he had not said anything untrue. She was stubborn. And she was infuriating. And there was no way on earth his pride would allow him to court her—no matter how his heart leapt at the mere sight of her and no matter how his hands curled into fists every time another man spoke to her, or smiled at her, or took her hand and led her on to the dance floor.

He simply could have said those things more diplomatically.

‘You are very quiet,’ Stephen commented as he drove his curricle into Hyde Park at five o’clock the following day.

‘Sorry,’ Matthew replied. ‘I was wondering how long it would be before the rest of the family arrive in town.’

It was not a lie; he had been wondering what their response to his letters would be. His family hadn’t been uppermost in his mind, though.

He had called at Eleanor’s house in Upper Brook Street, determined to make amends for the night before, only to be informed by Pacey that the ladies were walking in the park. A short time later, Stephen had driven past—on his way to the park—and taken Matthew up.

‘Not long, I should imagine, although I would hazard a guess our father will come on his own at first,’ Stephen said. ‘How will you play it?’

Matthew shrugged, his gaze skimming the clusters of walkers, searching. ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he replied absently. ‘I suppose it will depend on his attitude. I am looking forward to seeing Mama and the girls, though.’

Not only was Sarah now wed, and a mother, but Caroline was to make her bow to society next spring. Little Caro...all grown up. How strange to find their lives had moved on without him. He had much catching up to do.

His heart gave a sudden lurch; speaking of catching up, there was his quarry. Eleanor, stylishly clad in a peacock-blue walking dress, with ivory spencer and bonnet, was strolling with Lady Rothley, who was leaning on the arm of a slight, very upright gentleman. As Matthew watched, they stopped to speak to another group walking in the opposite direction.

‘Hey!’ Stephen nudged Matthew. ‘You need to clean out your ears, little brother. That’s twice I’ve asked you the same question.’

Matthew tore his attention from Eleanor. ‘Sorry. Wool-gathering. What was it?’

‘I asked you what had grabbed your attention over there, but I’ve worked it out for myself. The Baroness Ashby? Are you serious?’

Matthew glared at his brother. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Whoa, there. Don’t raise your hackles at me.’ Stephen reined his pair to a halt a short distance from the group that included Eleanor. ‘It was no reflection on the lady’s charms. Look, Matt, you’ve only just arrived in town, so I’ll drop you a hint. Don’t set your sights on that particular lady. She’s only been in town a week or so herself, but already she’s been declared the Catch of the Season, despite her age. The deuce knows how she’s still single, with all that wealth...those northerners must be a group of slowtops not to have fixed their interest with her by now. And it’s not just the money...her husband will have the right to sit in the Lords on her behalf, you know. The Betting Book at White’s is already filling up with wagers as to which lucky fellow will breach her defences first.’

‘I am well aware of her circumstances,’ Matthew growled, his muscles rigid. ‘We met on the road to London.’

Stephen whistled. ‘Did you now...you kept that very quiet. Well, well. Thinking of donning leg shackles, are you?’

‘No!’ Matthew hauled in a breath. He must tell Stephen the truth, or he would end up drawing his cork. ‘My sole concern is for her safety.’ He recounted the circumstances of his meeting with Eleanor and his discovery of the danger she was in.

‘Nasty business,’ Stephen said. ‘You’ll be hard put to protect her on your own, though. I’ll pass the word to some of the other fellows—only the ones I can trust—and tell them to keep an eye out for any ne’er-do-wells sniffing around.’

‘Ha! Plenty of them to be found, but not necessarily ones intent on killing her.’

‘Uh-oh...do I detect a sour note, little brother? Seems to me you’ve developed a soft spot for the lady. It won’t do, you know. You’d never stomach a wife that much richer than you, not with that stiff-necked pride of yours.’

Matthew jumped out of the curricle, ignoring his brother’s knowing smirk.

Let him think what he pleases.

‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.

‘Keep that heart of yours well fenced, Mattie,’ Stephen called after him. ‘I can see it from here...glowing on your sleeve.’

Stephen’s laughter faded as he drove away and Matthew grimaced. Had he really lamented the loss of his brother’s banter and company all these years?

Matthew thrust Stephen from his mind as he approached Eleanor, who stood apart from the rest of the group, talking with a fashionably dressed lady whose back was to Matthew. Eleanor’s eyes widened momentarily when she saw him and her lips firmed before her gaze slid on past him. Other than that, she gave no sign of recognition.

Matthew reached the pair just in time to hear Eleanor’s companion—whom he now recognised as Emily Cowper, one of the influential patronesses of Almack’s—saying, ‘From what dear Lady Rothley has told me, it seems you had a horrid time of it during your first Season, my dear. Let me take your name to the Committee and see what I can do.’

Here was a fortunate coincidence. Eleanor could hardly cut him dead in front of her ladyship, not without risking that all-important voucher. He smiled at Eleanor and lifted his hat.

‘Good afternoon, Lady Ashby. We meet again.’

She managed a wintry smile. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Damerel. Have you met Lady Cowper?’

‘I have not yet had that honour.’

‘Lady Cowper—Mr Matthew Damerel.’

‘Charmed, my lady.’ Matthew bowed, summoning his most winning smile.

Lady Cowper’s cheeks took on a pink hue. ‘Goodness me, yet another stranger in our midst—we are being spoilt this year. Where have you been hiding yourself all these years, sir?’

‘Oh, I was a wicked youth, my lady... I have no doubt you were well protected from the likes of me. Alas, as a third son, I needs must earn a living and have lived in India for several years past.’

‘Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance now, Mr Damerel. You were pointed out to me last night, but you disappeared before I was able to gain an introduction.’ She smiled teasingly at him. ‘Infamous behaviour, sir.’

‘I am mortified, dear lady. Had I but known of your presence, I would most certainly have contrived an introduction. Now we are old friends, however, I shall have no compunction in begging a dance the next time I see you, for I have it on good authority there is no other lady in the ton so light on her feet.’

‘You, sir, are a shameless flatterer, but I shall look forward to it. Oh! There is Lord Plymstock. Please do excuse me, for I have something I most particularly want to say to him. I shall do what I can for you, Lady Ashby. Goodbye.’

Eleanor watched her leave. ‘Well,’ she said, without so much as a glance at Matthew. ‘I had no idea you could act the flirt so convincingly, sir.’

He lowered his voice. ‘I know how much gaining approval for Almack’s means to you, Eleanor. It cannot hurt to keep the lady sweet.’

A muscle in her jaw clenched and she lowered her gaze to study the ground.

‘I owe you an apology. For the things I said last night,’ Matthew said.

‘Which things, precisely?’ She glanced around, then pierced him with an unforgiving glare. ‘Do you mean you do not consider me stubborn? Or infuriating?’

A short laugh burst unbidden from his lips. ‘By Jupiter, you get right to the point, don’t you? My choice of words was poor. My apology is more for my behaviour than for the things I said. And, more importantly, for not telling you the truth of my identity beforehand—although, in my defence, I did try.’

‘You did? Might I suggest you did not try very hard?’

‘You may believe that if it makes you feel better, but when I called upon you yesterday morning it was my intention to tell you all. Then your cousin arrived and you were, understandably, upset. I called back later, but you were engaged with callers. And, yes. You are stubborn and infuriating. But I suspect you would say the same about me.’

She caught his eye. ‘I might,’ she said. ‘But not in public,’ she added, tilting her nose. ‘I have too much care for my reputation. Now, I must return to my aunt.’

Before she could move, Matthew took a stride towards her and crooked his arm.

Eleanor raised a haughty brow. ‘I do not think—’

‘Lady Cowper is looking. Do you want her to suspect we have quarrelled?’

‘My returning to Aunt Lucy will not look as though we have quarrelled.’

‘It will when I follow you. She will wonder why we do not walk together.’

‘Blackmail again, Mr Damerel?’ Despite her words, Eleanor laid rigid fingers on Matthew’s sleeve and her two footmen—who had halted at a discreet distance from their mistress—fell into step behind them.

‘Do not imagine this means I have forgiven you,’ she hissed even as her expression remained serene.

‘Oh, I know you have not,’ Matthew countered. ‘I am curious, though. Why, precisely, are you still so angry with me?’

‘Oh!’ Eleanor halted and stared at him. ‘Do you have to ask?’

‘Well...yes, I’m afraid I do. You see, I cannot decide if you are still cross over my not telling you my real identity or because of my behaviour last night or because of what happened with James yesterday.’

They resumed their stroll, Eleanor staring straight ahead. Lady Rothley appeared to have finished talking with her friends. She looked round and, seeing Eleanor was with Matthew, she gave a little wave and then walked on ahead, her hand on the upright gentleman’s arm.

‘And if I say it is all three?’ Eleanor asked eventually.

‘Then I shall have to humbly apologise for all three,’ Matthew said promptly. ‘But you will understand that I am reluctant to apologise for something you may not still be angry about—there is only so much humble pie I can manage at one sitting.’

He was encouraged to hear a stifled giggle as Eleanor’s fingers tightened on his sleeve. A sidelong glance revealed her lips pursed tight.

‘There now, that is better, is it not? Do you think we might be friends again, or should I grovel some more?’

Eleanor almost burst with the effort of not laughing. ‘G-grovel? C-correct me if I am mistaken, but I have seen little s-sign of grovelling from you, sir. Cajoling, yes. Grovelling? I don’t believe so.’

It was difficult to maintain her righteous indignation in the face of Matthew’s teasing, but Eleanor was not yet ready to fully forgive him. The truth was that her feelings were much more complex than mere anger. There was anger—smouldering still—after his behaviour last night. Her heart quailed when she thought of the implications had they been seen; her reputation would have been ruined for ever. And she was hurt by his lack of trust. Why had he not told her the truth earlier, particularly after she had confided in him about her mother? And then there was the humiliation over those kisses and the lowering realisation that—even last night, when she was so furious—she still would not have rebuffed his kiss.

As for his argument with James—

‘Tell me you do not place any credence on your cousin’s suspicions,’ Matthew said.

She shot him a startled look. How could he know what she had been thinking?

‘No,’ she said.

‘Your eyes tell a different tale,’ he said. ‘You doubt me and my motives. I can see how you might suspect a sinister agenda after everything that has happened to you, but please believe that I told you the truth last night about my reasons for not using my real name.’

Eleanor hesitated. Her doubts about Matthew, raised by James and fuelled by last night’s events, had shaken her to her core, but a restless night had brought some perspective. Should she judge him through James’s eyes, or through her own experience? His actions—those times on the journey to London when he had saved her from her own naivety—were surely not those of a fortune hunter? Even last night, it had been Matthew who had stopped before their lips had touched.

‘I will admit that yesterday did raise doubts in my mind,’ she said, still not ready to completely let him off the hook.

‘I can only hope you will not allow those doubts to fester,’ he replied. ‘I thought I could protect you as Matthew Thomas, but I was wrong—the risk to your reputation if I was exposed was too great. Believe me when I say that is the only reason I have reclaimed my own name now. You remain in danger. I have sworn to protect you, and I hope you will accept my continuing protection and allow me the opportunity to expose your attacker.’

Calmness settled over Eleanor at his words. She could not deny her feeling of vulnerability with only footmen in attendance, but she would not admit that to Matthew.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I accept. If only to keep Aunt Lucy happy; she feels much safer when there is a gentleman around.’

‘For Aunt Lucy’s sake,’ Matthew repeated, very slowly.

Eleanor glanced at him, suspecting he was poking fun at her, but he remained straight-faced.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I am pleased that is settled. Now, I’ve been dying to ask...who is the gent with the splendid whiskers?’

Eleanor bit back a smile as she looked ahead to Aunt Lucy and her escort. ‘They are quite magnificent, are they not? He is Sir Horace Todmorden and I believe he is courting Aunt Lucy. Is that not delightful?’