The Complete Regency Surrender Collection. Louise Allen

Damerel and Mr Matthew Damerel.’

      ‘Oh, my.’ Aunt Lucy clutched at Eleanor’s forearm with urgent fingers. ‘I always thought there was a familiarity about him. He favours his mama, of course, and his brother is his father’s son. No wonder I missed the connection when we met Mr Damerel with Derham the other day.’

      Eleanor excused herself to the group of ladies she was chatting to, and turned to her aunt. They were at the Lexingtons’ ball, their dinner engagement with Lord and Lady Ely having been cancelled.

      ‘I beg your pardon, Aunt, what was that you said?’

      Aunt Lucy tugged Eleanor round to face the door. ‘Look who is there, talking to our hosts.’

      Eleanor perused the knot of guests at the ballroom door. As she spied a familiar shock of dark-blond hair, she gasped.

      ‘It’s Matthew... I mean Mr Thomas,’ she whispered.

      ‘Mr Damerel, it would now seem,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘I wonder... I do seem to recall some scandal, years ago. Oh, tsk. My memory is not what it used to be. I have been buried in the country for far too long.’

      Eleanor struggled to make sense of what she saw. Matthew—tall, handsome...elegant, even—in immaculate black evening clothes. What is he thinking? He will never get away with...but... Stephen Damerel? Has Matthew somehow persuaded him to take part in this charade, or...? She could not think straight. Matthew was looking around, that keen blue gaze sweeping the throng.

      Eleanor turned away. ‘Aunt Lucy, I am feeling a little faint. Might we go into the other room and sit quietly for a few moments?’

      She struggled to keep her expression neutral as Aunt Lucy peered up at her. ‘Of course, my pet. Come, let us slip out of this door.’

      They made their way into a room that had been set aside for the older, less lively guests who enjoyed a quiet gossip away from the banter and bustle of the ballroom.

      Eleanor sank into a chair with its back to the door.

      ‘Who is he?’ she demanded, as her aunt sat opposite her.

      ‘It would seem his name is Matthew Damerel.’

      ‘He was with Mr Damerel, so...are they related?’

      ‘I think they must be brothers...it is coming back to me...there was a third brother...he was a wild youth, expelled from school, a black sheep. Left England under a cloud, although his father—Rushock, you know—hushed it all up. He was ever a stickler—couldn’t abide scandal. Disowned the boy, I seem to recall. I wonder if he knows Matthew has returned.’

      Eleanor listened with a sinking heart. Anger...hurt...humiliation...she could not sort one emotion from the other...they flooded her and she wanted to sink through the floor and never have to face Matthew again. Her behaviour had been shocking enough...succumbing to the hot looks and honeyed words of a man she believed beneath her station in life. But now...that man was one of her peers. The son of an earl, albeit disgraced. How he must have laughed at her naivety. What a disgust he must feel for her, knowing her to be so lacking in morality that she had encouraged...nay, instigated...such intimacies with a man such as she had believed him to be.

      And to think...she had even confessed her desire to be accepted into society and her desire to gain approval to attend Almack’s in order to banish the memory of her mother’s shameful behaviour.

       Oh, how he must have chuckled, to hear my hopes and aspirations, when all the time he had his own shady past to conceal. Scandal, Aunt Lucy said. The very last thing I need.

      She wanted to disappear. She wanted to die...to crawl into a dark corner and lick her wounds like an injured animal.

      But she wouldn’t.

      She stood up. ‘Come,’ she said to Aunt Lucy. ‘Mr Th—Mr Matthew Damerel might have made a fool out of both of us, but I will not hide away, afraid to face him.’

      ‘Ellie, my dear. I beg of you, do not do anything you may live to regret.’

       Too late for that, dearest Aunt, if you did but know.

      Eleanor headed for the ballroom, Aunt Lucy on her heels.

       I wonder what he did.

       I do not care. He is not a suitable acquaintance for me and that is that.

      As they reached the door, Aunt Lucy clutched at Eleanor’s arm.

      ‘Do not forget that nobody, other than James and Ruth, knows we are already acquainted with Matthew Damerel. Just follow my lead when we are introduced.’

      Eleanor patted her aunt’s hand. ‘Do not fret. I am not about to ruin my chances of acceptance by enacting a vulgar scene. I shall be above censure at all times, you may trust me on that.’

      ‘Lady Ashby.’ A tall, russet-haired gentleman was bowing before her. Lord Derham. ‘We meet again. If you are not engaged for this dance, would you do me the honour?’

      Eleanor smiled. ‘Thank you, my lord. I should be delighted.’

       This is more like it. An earl. Tall. Very handsome.

      Eleanor gazed into green eyes...eyes that did absolutely nothing for her. No shortened breath. No quickened pulse.

       Mayhap I simply prefer blue eyes? It means nothing.

      As she skipped down the line of dancers, a figure at the edge of the floor—talking to Aunt Lucy—caught her attention. Her heart squeezed, then lurched, and she missed her step. She hastened to catch up with the music, concentrating fiercely on the steps of the dance until the end.

      Lord Derham returned her to Aunt Lucy, still standing with Matthew and his brother.

      ‘My dear, you remember Mr Damerel?’ Eleanor could hear the anxious undertones in her aunt’s voice.

      ‘Indeed. Good evening, Mr Damerel.’

      ‘And this is his brother, Mr Matthew Damerel.’

      Eleanor forced a gracious smile as she nodded her head at both men. She could feel the trace of those ice-blue eyes as they travelled from her head to her toes and back again. How very impolite! She tilted her chin and focused on Lord Derham.

      Only to find a wide-shouldered figure blocking her view.

      ‘Might I beg your hand for this dance, Lady Ashby?’ Matthew leaned in, lowering his voice. ‘As long as you do not consider a third son beneath your touch?’

      Had she imagined that hint of a warning? Could James be right? Was he another fortune hunter? After all, what did she know of him? She was a fool—she had kissed him, told him her secrets and, in return, he had given her a false name and now she discovered he was hiding a disreputable past. Well, she was wise to him now and this one dance would give her the opportunity to tell him so, and to caution him to keep his distance from her. After that, she would banish him from her life and her thoughts, for the sake of her reputation if nothing else.

      ‘Of course, Mr Damerel.’ She stretched her lips in a sweet smile. ‘I should be delighted.’

      It was a country dance. As soon as the opportunity arose she whispered, ‘You lied.’

      As he opened his mouth to reply, she carried on. ‘No, I do not want to hear your excuses. From now on...’ The steps of the dance forced them apart. When they came together again, Eleanor continued, ‘...you are to leave me alone. I do not want my name associated with yours in any way, shape or form.’

      His lips thinned. ‘That was not your view when you thought me a humble merchant.’

      Oh! How ungentlemanly, to throw that at her, even though it was exactly what she had feared he would think.

      ‘I have my reputation to think of,’ she whispered at the next