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 mutual attraction was undeniable. But that was all it was. There were no tender feelings there.
Not on his part.
Nor on mine!
They had been thrown into one another’s company during the journey, and she had come to rely on him. Too much. Once she made new acquaintances in London, she would lose this dependence on him. It was all false. Not real. She rubbed at her temples and then pushed back her chair.
‘It has been a long day. If you will excuse me, I shall retire.’
Matthew came awake instantly, his eyes wide as he strained to see. He leapt from his bed as he heard the click of the door latch and, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of his bedchamber, he could make out the slowly widening crack as the door inched open. One stride and he hauled it wide. A tall figure stumbled against him. Soft curves, a feminine gasp and the scent of jasmine identified the intruder as Eleanor. Every fibre of every muscle tensed as his arms came around her in reflex.
‘What—?’
‘Mr Thomas!’
Even in the extremes of arousal, he identified the panic in her whisper.
‘What is it?’ He gripped her upper arms, moving her away from his rampant body, giving thanks he had chosen to sleep in his nightshirt.
‘I