Return Of Scandal's Son. Janice Preston

curricle and pair and Eleanor made her way slowly towards the men and the carriage.

      She was self-consciously aware of the stranger’s scrutiny, which she returned unobtrusively. His curricle and pair were top quality, but his clothing—a greatcoat hanging open over a loose-fitting dark blue coat, buckskin breeches and an indifferently tied neckcloth—was not of the first stare. No gentleman of her acquaintance would settle for comfort over elegance. His build was athletic, his face—sporting a slightly crooked nose that had surely been broken and badly set in the past—was unfashionably tanned and the square set of his jaw somehow proclaimed a man who would be ill at ease in society’s drawing rooms.

      He would make a formidable opponent. The words crept unbidden into her head. Opponent? Mentally, she shook herself, irritated that she imagined menace all around her since the fire.

      She braced her shoulders, lifted her chin and met the stranger’s stare. Cool blue eyes appraised her, sending another shiver whispering down her spine, this time of awareness. His features spoke of strength and decisiveness and, yes, even a hint of that menace she had imagined earlier. His eyes narrowed momentarily before he smiled. It transformed his face—still rugged, but softened as his eyes warmed.

      ‘I thank you for your assistance, sir.’

      He bowed. ‘It was my pleasure, ma’am.’ His smile widened. ‘I have long dreamed of rescuing a damsel in distress and now—’ his arm swept the scene ‘—my dream becomes reality.’

      Eleanor glanced at his face, suspecting him of mockery, but the candour of his expression and teasing light in his eyes appeared to hide no malice.

      ‘Nevertheless,’ she said, ‘I do thank you and I am sorry to have so nearly caused another upset.’

      ‘You did the right thing. There could have been serious consequences had you not been so decisive. Or brave.’ He studied her anew and she recognised the devilish glint in his eye as he added, sotto voce, ‘Or foolhardy.’

      Eleanor stiffened and opened her mouth to retaliate, but he was already spinning round, his attention caught by a faint shout from within the overturned carriage.

      ‘Good heavens!’ Eleanor put her irritation aside as she remembered Aunt Lucy and the two maids, still trapped inside. ‘Sir, might I impose on you once more?’

      ‘Who is in there?’

      ‘My aunt and our two maids.’

      The stranger leapt on to the carriage, knelt and reached down through the open doorway to help out Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda before lowering them safely to the ground.

      He was certainly accustomed to taking charge, Eleanor thought, watching him work, wondering who he was and where he came from as Aunt Lucy joined her, pale and shaken.

      ‘How are—?’ Eleanor got no further.

      ‘Who is our rescuer, I wonder?’ were the first words Aunt Lucy uttered, in a sibilant whisper. ‘I wonder where he is from. He is very attractive, in a manly sort of way, is he not, Ellie?’

      ‘Hush, Aunt Lucy. He’ll hear you,’ Eleanor hissed as he strode towards them, his greatcoat swinging open to reveal muscular, buckskin-clad legs. He was hatless, and his dark blond, sun-streaked hair fell over his forehead at times, only to be shoved back with an impatient hand.

      ‘It seems I am in your debt again, sir,’ she said.

      ‘I repeat, no thanks are necessary. It was...is...my pleasure. If I might introduce myself? Matthew Thomas, at your service, ladies.’

      Aunt Lucy, her small dark eyes alight with curiosity, replied, ‘Lady Rothley.’

      Mr Thomas bowed. ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Rothley. And...?’

      ‘Allow me to present my niece, Eleanor, the Baroness Ashby.’

      Mr Thomas bowed once more. ‘Enchanted, Lady Ashby.’

      As he straightened, his bright eyes locked with Eleanor’s, appreciation swirling in their depths. Eleanor’s insides performed a somersault. Oh, yes, she agreed silently with her aunt, he was certainly attractive. She switched her gaze from Mr Thomas to Fretwell, who had returned and now joined them, a frown creasing his brow.

      ‘Fretwell, I do hope this hasn’t aggravated your head wound. It has only just healed.’

      ‘I’m all right, milady, barring a few bruises. Lucky nothing was broken; leastwise, nothing human,’ he added gloomily.

      ‘Indeed, it could have been much worse. What—’

      ‘Milady—’ Fretwell shot a suspicious glance at Mr Thomas before lowering his voice ‘—if I might have a word?’ With a jerk of his head he indicated the far side of the road.

      Mystified, Eleanor excused herself and followed him. ‘What is it?’

      ‘We must get away from here as soon as we can, milady,’ he said. ‘It’s not safe. You’re too exposed and we don’t know who he might be, either. He appeared very timely after that shot, don’t you—?’

      ‘Fretwell! Surely you’re not suggesting the horse was shot deliberately?’ Eleanor denied Fretwell’s suspicions despite her own doubts. ‘Why would anyone—?’

      ‘After the fire, milady, it seems a mite coincidental.’

      The fire... The by-now-familiar coil of unease snaked through Eleanor. Irritated, she suppressed it. It was her duty to maintain her composure in front of her servants. If they began to view her as a feeble woman, their respect for her, and her authority, would soon diminish.

      ‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘There is nobody there—it was surely a stray shot and, as for your suggestion that Mr Thomas might have had any part in it, I’m surprised at you. You are not normally given to such flights of fancy.’

      Fretwell reddened, but stubbornly held her gaze. ‘Be that as it may, milady, I know what happened to me the night of the fire. That was no accident. It was deliberate.’

      ‘Very well, I shall take care, but please keep your conjectures to yourself. I don’t want Lady Rothley upset and there is no reason for Mr Thomas to become further embroiled in our problems.’

      Movement further along the road caught her attention. Her footman was on his way back, accompanied by another man leading a pair of draught horses.

      ‘Come, Timothy is here now with help. Let us go and sort the carriage out, then we can all get away from here and put your mind at rest.’

      Although how she was to contrive that, with a damaged carriage, she could not imagine. Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda, the latter still sobbing into her handkerchief, were sitting on a grass bank a short way along the road. Eleanor, more shaken by the accident than she would admit, wished for nothing more than to join them, leaving the men to cope.

      But this was her carriage, her horses and her servants.

      Ergo, her responsibility.

      She joined the men, ignoring the curious looks of both Mr Thomas and the farmer, a wiry, weatherbeaten individual of few words, but surprising strength. Her own men knew better than to question her desire to be involved.

      It soon became clear that Mr Thomas still considered himself in charge and Eleanor, at first bemused at being relegated to a mere onlooker, grew increasingly indignant at being totally ignored.

      She stepped forward, preparing to assert her authority.

       Chapter Three

      Matthew Thomas studied the overturned carriage.

      ‘Tie the chain there,’ he said to Timothy, pointing to a position on the spring iron at the rear of the carriage and trying to ignore the baroness, who was clearly itching to get involved.