Return Of Scandal's Son. Janice Preston

the Green Man to your liking, and, forgive me, but you look as though you would welcome a fireside to sit beside and a warm drink.’

      ‘That is an enticing prospect, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, with a warm smile.

      Eleanor’s lips tightened.

      ‘Excellent,’ Matthew said. ‘That’s settled, then. I shall convey you and your niece in my curricle, and the servants and luggage can follow on in Clegg’s wagon.

      ‘Of course—’ he switched his attention to Eleanor, grinning at her poorly concealed pique ‘—once we arrive at the Green Man, should you still insist on continuing your journey then you must do so.

      ‘Shall we go?’

       Chapter Four

      The journey to the Green Man was both uncomfortable and, for Eleanor, disconcerting. The vehicle, designed to seat two comfortably, was a squeeze for three and, to her vexation, Matthew handed her into the curricle before Aunt Lucy, leaving her squashed in the middle when he leapt aboard the other side. Her objection that her aunt would feel safer sitting between them was summarily dismissed, both by Matthew and by Aunt Lucy herself, who appeared to thoroughly approve of their rescuer.

      The heat of his touch through the fine kid of her gloves as he handed her into the curricle sent an unsettling quiver through her, despite her irritation. Quite simply, Matthew Thomas rattled her, with his knowing smile and the tease in his voice and his undeniable masculinity.

      During the drive, Aunt Lucy was uncharacteristically quiet.

      ‘Are you sure you were not injured, Aunt?’ Eleanor asked, concerned.

      ‘Yes, I am sure. Do not mind me, my pet. I am a little tired, that is all.’

      Her lids drooped even as she spoke. Eleanor squeezed her hand. They had all had such a shock. She, too, felt drained, but Matthew’s rock-hard thigh pressing against hers and the heat radiating from him ensured she remained on edge. Try as she might to focus on the road ahead, her attention kept wandering to his hands, gloved in scuffed leather, as he handled the ribbons with dexterity, controlling his highly strung pair with total confidence.

      ‘How long have you had them?’ she asked, indicating the jet-black horses trotting in front, their powerful haunches gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. ‘They look...’ She hesitated, appalled by what she had almost said. ‘That is, they are a splendid match.’

      ‘They look...?’

      What a careless slip of the tongue. Eleanor firmed her lips, conscious of his head turning and those blue eyes boring into her.

      ‘They look too good for the likes of me? Is that what you were about to say?’

      She had struck a nerve there. She risked a sidelong glance. ‘I meant no offence.’

      ‘It is as well I took none, then, isn’t it?’

      She did not quite believe that. For several minutes there was no sound save the horses’ hoofbeats. Eleanor bit her lip.

      ‘You are quite right, nevertheless,’ Matthew said, eventually. ‘They are far superior animals to anything I usually aspire to and, in answer to your question, I have owned them since last night.’

      Eleanor bit back her exclamation of surprise. For an unfamiliar team they were going very sweetly indeed. Matthew Thomas was clearly a skilled whip...but he had no need of her praise to boost his already puffed-up opinion of himself. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.

      ‘Take care, my lady,’ Matthew said, after a couple of beats of silence, amusement threading through his voice. ‘You are determined not to admit your surprise, but I must inform you that I interpret your very silence as a compliment and a welcome salve to my bruised pride.’

      ‘They have obviously been extremely well schooled,’ Eleanor replied tartly, exasperated by his ability to read her thoughts.

      Matthew shouted with laughter. ‘Touché. An impressive put-down.’

      Eleanor arched one brow, but could not prevent a corner of her mouth from twitching. ‘When you warrant a compliment, Mr Thomas—whether for your driving skills or for any other purpose—please be advised that I shall not stint in offering one. Until then...’

      Silence reigned for a moment, then Matthew laughed again.

      ‘You are a hard lady to please,’ he said. ‘Let me see...’ from the corner of her eye Eleanor saw him lean forward and glance across at Aunt Lucy, who appeared to be dozing ‘...you almost cause an accident by running in front of my curricle—an accident that was only prevented by my superior driving skills. I cut your injured horses free, rescue your aunt and maidservants, help pull your carriage upright, and now I am transporting you to an inn to recuperate, and still I do not warrant any praise for my actions. Tell me, Lady Ashby...’ his voice lowered to a husky whisper as he put his lips close to her ear ‘...what, precisely, can I do for you that will earn your approval?’

      Eleanor suppressed a quiver as his breath tickled across her sensitive lobe and caressed her neck. Risking a quick glance, she could see he was fully aware of the effect he was having on her. She stiffened, her earlier amusement vanquished. She ignored his question.

      ‘Do you travel far, sir? I do not believe you said where you are heading?’

      ‘No, I do not believe I did.’

      He did not elaborate, and Eleanor gritted her teeth against the extended silence, raising her chin and keeping her eyes riveted to the road ahead.

      Eventually, he sighed in an exaggerated fashion and continued, ‘I stay at Ashton for two nights. After that, I plan to visit Worcestershire before I return to London.’

      She itched to question him further, but held her silence.

      ‘Do you travel to London for the Season, my lady?’

      ‘We do.’

      ‘And do you go every Season?’

      ‘We do not.’ Two could play at being evasive.

      ‘Have you travelled far today?’ His voice quivered.

      ‘From Lancashire.’

      ‘North of the county or south?’

      She slanted a suspicious look at him.

      ‘Is that where you call home?’

      His voice was now definitely unsteady. Eleanor stifled her hmmph of irritation.

      ‘You, sir, are being deliberately provoking.’

      His laugh burst free. ‘Pax. I could continue this game of question and answer all day, but I suspect you do not share my enjoyment of the ridiculous. I shall not bore you with further impertinent questions.’

      Unreasonably, Eleanor was stung by his assumption that she lacked a sense of humour. She was unused to this kind of byplay between a man and a woman and she was aware her embarrassment caused her to appear stiff and unfriendly. Although why she should care about his opinion of her, she did not know. However well he spoke, he was not of her class. She wondered what he was—a prosperous farmer, perhaps, or a merchant or a military man?

      She felt his eyes on her and risked another sideways glance. He captured her gaze—his eyes warm, his expression open. His easy smile transformed his face, giving him a charm that Eleanor found instantly appealing. To her confusion, she read admiration in his regard and her blood heated instantly at the notion. She felt a telltale blush creeping up her neck and cheeks and, uncertain, she tore her gaze from his.

      She was her own woman—rare in this day and age—in control of her own life and finances, answerable to no one, not even her trustees since she had reached her twenty-fifth birthday. She was strong and decisive