Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  Matthew stared out into the void, battling the urge to sweep her into his arms and to hell with the consequences. But it was the consequences for Eleanor that gave him the strength to control himself. He had set out on this path, and he had no choice now but to continue if he were to protect her from her evil cousin.

  ‘Why are you even here?’ he said, his back to her. He had been struck with horror when he caught sight of her—stunning in pale-yellow silk—in the Lexingtons’ ballroom. ‘Pacey said you were engaged to dine with the Elys tonight.’

  ‘Lord Ely was taken ill so we dined at home.’ She sounded dazed. ‘Then we came...’ Her voice sharpened. ‘What are you saying? That you would not be here, announcing yourself as Matthew Damerel, had you known Aunt Lucy and I would be present? What a fine joke you have played on us, sir. I hope we have provided you with plenty of amusement.’

  He faced her. ‘You are upset with me...with every right... I will explain.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Her voice was icy. ‘I suggest you do it quickly, before my aunt comes looking for me.’

  Matthew crossed the room to stand by the fireplace. Eleanor sat ramrod straight, hands gripped in her lap. Sitting in judgement. On him. Resentment churned his gut. Who was she, to look down on him? Why hadn’t he had the sense to walk away that first day?

  ‘My name is Matthew Thomas Damerel. I am the third son of the Earl of Rushock.’

  ‘So you are not a merchant after all?’

  ‘That part was true. I am a merchant; it is how I earn my living.’ He had been proud of his independence. Now it felt as though he was admitting to something shameful. There was no shred of encouragement on her face. Her eyes were unreadable, her lips set in a hard line.

  ‘Why lie about your name?’

  ‘Thomas is my middle name. I’ve lived as Matthew Thomas since I went to India. My own name is too distinctive and I did not wish to invite speculation about my past.’

  ‘But when you returned to England...surely, with your family here—’

  ‘No!’ Matthew scrubbed his hand across his jaw. How could he make her understand? ‘That is the point. I am...was...’ He stared down into the empty grate. Revealing his past—humbling himself—to Eleanor was harder than he anticipated, particularly in the face of her cold demeanour. But the truth was the only way if he was to regain her trust. ‘My father disowned me when I was eighteen. I was rebellious in my youth—heedless of the troubles I left in my wake as I pursued my own pleasures. I was expelled from Harrow, sent down from Oxford, I drank too much, gambled, ran up debts...’

  ‘Not so very different to many young men,’ Eleanor said into the silence as he hesitated.

  Matthew heaved a frustrated breath. ‘No, not so very different. But then, at eighteen, I was falsely accused of something. My father believed my accuser’s word against mine. He and Claverley—my eldest brother—decided I must go to my great-uncle in India. I refused, determined to stay and clear my name, but they wouldn’t listen.’ He fingered the bump on his nose—a constant, bitter reminder of their betrayal. ‘Claverley took me by surprise. Knocked me out cold. When I came to, the ship had set sail and I could do nothing about it.’

  ‘What were you accused of?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ He was loath to admit the sordid details. ‘Will you trust me when I say the accusation was false?’

  ‘Trust you? How can I trust you?’ The words burst from Eleanor as she shot to her feet. ‘You have lied and made a fool of me.’

  ‘How have I made a fool of you?’ He fought to hold the reins of his temper. ‘And I did not lie... You are not listening—I have lived as Matthew Thomas for eight years. My use of that name had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me?’ Her voice rose. ‘Even after you kissed me?’ Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze.

  ‘Why,’ he growled, ‘should I tell you something I had no intention of ever revealing to anyone, ever again?’

  ‘So why have you revealed it now?’ She jabbed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

  She was like a dog worrying at a bone...why could she not just accept what he was saying without challenging him?

  ‘Is it to prove you would be an acceptable match for me by birth? Is that it? Was James right? Are you just another fortune hunter?’

  The lid blew off his self-control. ‘Fortune hunter?’ The words erupted from his mouth. Yet another false slur! Was it not enough he had been labelled a cheat all these years? ‘How dare you? There is no force on earth that would persuade me to court a woman who not only outranks me but has tenfold my wealth.’

  Her eyes narrowed and her jaw jutted forward. ‘Then why are we here?’

  ‘What do you mean? I told you... I needed you to understand.’

  ‘But why me? Why not...oh, I don’t know! Aunt Lucy? Or...or Arabella Tame? Why have you singled me out for your explanations?’

  ‘Because they do not need my protection,’ he ground out. ‘You do. I cannot leave you vulnerable. Good God, I have never met such a stubborn, infuriating woman. I tried to talk to you downstairs, but, no! You would not listen.’ He grabbed her shoulders. ‘I had to change my name back. How the he—deuce can I protect you when I was constantly afraid to show my face in society in case I was recognised? That is the only reason I am reclaiming my true identity. Obligation. And believe me when I say I am beginning to regret embarking on this whole nightmare.’

  ‘Oh!’ Eleanor jerked out of his hold. ‘Obligation?’ She inhaled, then straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and shook out the skirts of her ballgown. She raised both hands to smooth down her hair. ‘I see. Well, you had no need to bother. I release you from any obligation... I have all the protection I need, thank you, Mr Damerel.’

  She didn’t quite know how she got there, but Eleanor found herself out in the passageway, heading blindly towards the staircase, the crush of the ballroom awaiting her. As she descended the stairs, her wits began to reassemble. Anger and humiliation still bubbled, tempered only slightly by her guilt at flinging that vile accusation at Matthew.

  Moistening dry lips, swallowing convulsively, she fumbled for her dance card to discover the name of her next dance partner. The space was blank and she gave thanks for that small mercy. She walked into the ballroom, head high, feeling as though every eye in the place was on her; as though every person knew what a fool she was; and as though her name was on every lip and it was spoken with scorn.

  ‘Aunt Lucy, I am sorry, I have the headache. Would you mind if we go home?’

  Aunt Lucy was still deep in conversation with Sir Horace. ‘Oh dear, you do look rather pale, my pet,’ she said, worry creasing her forehead. ‘Of course we can go. Please do excuse us, Sir Horace. I hope we shall meet again soon.’

  A delicate pink tinged Aunt Lucy’s cheeks as Sir Horace kissed her hand. ‘You can be sure we will, dear lady,’ he said.

  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.

&
nbsp; ‘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 reputati
on. 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.