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‘Would you care to expand upon that remark, Mr Thomas?’
‘I meant to say, how will you keep safe in London? There have been no further incidents, but the closer we get to London, the more traffic there will be, the more people on the streets. How will you distinguish friend from foe?’
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed before she returned her attention to her plate and resumed eating. Time suspended as he held his breath. Was she ever going to reply?
‘I was thinking the same thing myself,’ she said, finally, surprising him. He had expected vehement denial of the risk.
‘I shall have to employ extra footmen as guards,’ she continued. ‘I have Timothy, and there is William, who travelled ahead with the others to prepare the house, but I do not think I can rely on just those two. Not when they have other duties to fulfil as well.’
‘Do you truly believe a couple of extra footmen will suffice to protect you?’
She regarded him steadily. ‘What action would you suggest I take, Mr Thomas?’
Her tone was sweet, at odds with the challenge in her eyes. All day he had been telling himself they would reach London tomorrow and he could walk away. He should walk away. It was not his problem, no matter how attracted he was to her. But, deep down, he struggled against the notion of leaving her to her fate. She was still in danger; he would be leaving her unprotected. Yes, she was wealthy enough to hire a small army to guard her, but they would still be hired men, motivated by money. What if her cousin were to bribe one, or more, of them? No, he could never trust hired men to protect her as well as he would.
It is not your problem. There is nothing you can do.
It was true...and yet he could not abandon her.
His dilemma had pounded incessantly at his brain. If he were to stay, how could he protect her? It would mean entering her world. He could not allow Eleanor and Lady Rothley to introduce him as Matthew Thomas, only to have his true identity revealed by someone who happened to remember him and what had happened.
He was the black sheep of his family. He had never felt as though he belonged—the third son, his two older brothers providing the requisite ‘heir and spare.’ Then Sarah, two years his junior, fêted and spoiled as the only girl until, seven years later, the last of the five siblings—another girl, favoured as the baby of the family, leaving him, smack bang in the middle, with no place to belong.
Yes, he had been a wild youth, up to all and every caper: expelled from Harrow; sent down from Oxford; drinking; gambling deep; huge losses; and affairs, not always discreet, with married women. He understood, looking back, his father’s fury. But, no matter how wild and impetuous he had been, Matthew could never forgive his father for believing his own son capable of not only cheating at cards, but also cold-bloodedly attacking and robbing his accuser, Henson, and leaving him for dead.
Neither his father nor Claverley, Matthew’s eldest brother, would listen to Matthew’s protestations of innocence. Dishonourable conduct. Their easy acceptance of his guilt had deeply wounded Matthew. Their sole concern had been to get him out of the country in case Henson died. They had hauled him off to the docks and bought him passage on the first ship to India and to his great-uncle.
He had long ago been cleared of the charge of attacking and robbing Henson—thanks to Uncle Percy’s efforts—but the accusation of cheating still hung over him and the knowledge that his father had discharged so many of Matthew’s debts still rankled. On his return to England he had vowed to repay those debts come what may. Other than that, he wanted nothing to do with his family...none of them had ever replied to the letters he had written in those early years of exile and he had given up writing after a while. They had disowned him. He would forget them in return—put them out of his mind.
‘Mr Thomas?’
He came back to the present with a start.
‘I beg your pardon. I was thinking of my commitments. It so happens that I have some free time at my disposal at the moment. I believe I told you I have two cargoes en route from India—’
‘No, did you?’ Lady Rothley interjected. ‘I do not recall that, Mr Thomas. When was it you told us?’
Matthew cursed beneath his breath. He had told Eleanor, that night in the parlour of the George. The night they kissed. He should be more cautious. Her ladyship was much too sharp to fool. ‘I apologise,’ he said, smoothly, ‘I thought I did mention it. Obviously not.’
‘No. I cannot remember anything about that at all,’ Eleanor said, nose in the air as her lips tightened.
Ha! She says the words, but her eyes tell the truth. She remembers that night as clearly as I do.
‘To continue, I have a few weeks’ respite until the ships are due in dock. I can be available to escort you wherever you wish whilst you are in London—only until we can unmask the culprit, of course.’
‘Thank you for your kind offer, Mr Thomas.’ Eleanor’s words were so sweetly reasonable, with just the right hint of apology, they made Matthew’s teeth grind. ‘I must decline, however. I have no doubt you will still have some business to attend to and I have no wish to further complicate your life.’
She was still flinging that ill-considered remark in his face. Resentment bubbled in his gut.
So bloody superior. Leave her to her fate, man, and get on with your own life.
Being back in London had been hard enough, with the memories it evoked, despite his care in avoiding the fashionable haunts where he might be recognised. His pride dictated he remain incognito until he was in a position to pay back his father—which he would be just as soon as Benedict arrived in port. If he reverted to his family name any earlier, it would be bound to rake up the past.
‘Very well, my lady. I shall say no more on the subject.’
* * *
The idea was preposterous. Did Matthew really believe he could pass himself off as a gentleman? Guilt nibbled at Eleanor at that ungenerous thought. She was being unfair. He was intelligent, educated; he had presence. Of course he could pass as a gentleman. She had long since stopped viewing him as anything but. He might be a merchant, but no one else would know, only herself and Aunt Lucy.
That presence of his: he exuded raw masculinity—it enticed her, enthralled her, terrified her. Honesty compelled her to admit that her real objection to his protecting her in London was the way her heart leapt every time she saw him.
The way her lips tingled every time she relived their kisses.
The way her blood boiled every time she recalled those words: I do not need complications.
How ironic that the only man who had ever made her heart beat faster was the one man she could never have. He might have the wherewithal to fool society for a short time, but she knew the truth. He was a merchant. He might be successful. He might even be wealthy. But she could never, ever, ally herself with a man of his class. Like mother, like daughter. It would bring all the old scandal tumbling out of the past, piling on to her head. It would bury her. She could never hold up her head in society again and she would never be accepted for Almack’s.
Nevertheless, she could see by his scowl that her words had touched a nerve.
She drew breath. ‘I meant no offence, Mr Thomas. I am persuaded you would loathe kicking your heels at those interminable society parties. You have had a fortunate escape. Members of the ton can be very narrow-minded and are not welcoming to outsiders.’
Matthew’s eyes narrowed. ‘I quite see that you are doing me a favour.’
Was that bitterness? The urge to soothe his ruffled feelings was strong, but Eleanor forced herself to continue eating. Their