Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  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 he
r 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.’

  What had she done? Although she had scant experience of men, Eleanor was aware, on some deep, primeval level, that when they had locked eyes she had wanted him to...what? Touch her? Follow her? Blood will out. She had, somehow, enticed him without words and honesty compelled her to admit it, if only to herself. She couldn’t censure him when she was equally at fault. She was simply grateful that he was too much the gentleman to accuse her of leading him on.

  ‘As we have only just agreed upon a truce, Mr Thomas, it would be a little poor spirited of me to resume hostilities so soon. It has been a long, trying day, so perhaps we may blame it upon that?’

  ‘You are all generosity. Now, I must be on my way but, with your leave, I shall convey your aunt’s request to Fairfax before I depart. And might I suggest you return to your aunt forthwith, before that fierce maid of yours comes in search of you?’ He made an exaggerated pretence of looking behind him, a comical expression of fear on his face.

  Eleanor tried, and failed, to swallow a giggle. ‘Goodness, I never took you for a coward, Mr Thomas. Lizzie was only doing her duty as she saw it, with Aunt Lucy too exhausted to look out for my reputation.’

  As she laughed up at Matthew his eyes darkened and Eleanor saw a powerful emotion swirling in their depths before he blinked, and it was gone. When he spoke, however, his voice was steady. Had she imagined his response?

  ‘I trust you will spend a comfortable night, my lady, and I will see you upon my
return to town.’

  ‘I shall not say goodbye, then, but au revoir, Mr Thomas, and thank you again for your assistance today.’

  ‘It was my pleasure. Until we meet again.’

  He bowed and was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Just before dawn the following morning, Matthew was jerked awake from a fitful sleep by a piercing scream. It took a couple of moments for him to register his whereabouts—he was in one of the two rooms bespoken for Eleanor and her aunt at the White Lion in Stockport. He catapulted from his bed as a series of thuds sounded from the next bedchamber. It was dark in his room and he groped his way to the door.

  In the passage, the next door but one to Matthew’s room had opened and the occupant peered out, holding aloft a candlestick. The wavering flame illuminated the scowling features of an elderly gentleman, clad in his nightcap and gown.

  ‘What’s to do?’ he grumbled.

  Matthew didn’t waste time answering, but ran to the door between them and flung it open, vaguely aware of the man hurrying along the passage, quavering, ‘That’s my Jenny’s room!’

  The bedchamber was as dark as his and all Matthew could make out was a shapeless, struggling mass on the bed. He darted forward, yelling, ‘Bring the light.’

  As the elderly man reached the open door, the scene was suddenly revealed: a figure in black, turning in Matthew’s direction, eyes glinting through holes in a mask; the flash of a blade; blood, streaking the bed linen in vivid splashes of red; a girl’s terrified face, mouth suddenly slackening as her eyes closed.

  Matthew grabbed the man, hauling him from the bed. He staggered backwards as the assailant swiftly changed from resistance to flinging himself at Matthew. Stiff fingers jabbed at Matthew’s windpipe as a blade burned his arm and the man wriggled free, barging past the man with the candle as he fled the room. Matthew dragged in a painful breath and rushed to the door, but the assailant was already out of sight. The elderly man—presumably Jenny’s father—stood frozen, his mouth gaping in horror.