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 thought I heard a noise downstairs. And I saw someone outside, from the landing window.’
‘What were you doing on the landing? No, never mind.’ Matthew grabbed his jacket from the chair and bundled it into her arms, pushing her towards the bed. ‘Stay here, wrap up and don’t, whatever you do, make a sound.’
He slipped out on to the landing. At the top of the stairs he paused, straining his ears. Nothing. The window was along the landing, a few feet beyond the door of Eleanor’s bedchamber. Silent in his bare feet, he ran along and peered out. Nothing. Then a movement caught his attention. A bulky figure, in the shadows of the outbuildings. The figure moved, split in two, came together again. A flash of pale flesh as skirts were bundled up...and Matthew retreated from the window. That was the last thing he needed...to watch some lovelorn fool of a stable boy tupping his lady love when his own body was crying out for the same relief.
He gritted his teeth, willing his desires back under control. He would check Eleanor’s room, then go downstairs to make sure there was no one there, even though it appeared likely one of the maids had slipped outside to meet her lover. Which was all very well, but it had left the inn insecure, despite his impressing on the innkeeper the importance of barring the doors and posting a guard.
Where the hell was that guard? How had the maid got out without alerting him? The quicker he checked Eleanor’s room, the sooner he could go downstairs and find out what these fools were about. Galvanised into action, he entered her bedchamber. A quick glance around showed nothing amiss. He crossed to the window and flipped the curtain aside. It faced a different direction to the landing window. All was peaceful. He returned to the door and stepped out on to the landing.
And collided with a soft, familiar body.
‘What the...?’ For the second time that night, he steeled himself as he forced Eleanor away from him. ‘I told you to stay put.’
‘You were gone an age. I needed to know what was happening. Have you seen anyone?’
‘Yes...no...look, wait in there...’ he pushed her through the door into her room ‘...and I will come to tell you as soon as I’ve searched downstairs.’ He grasped her chin, forced her to look up at him. Her eyes glittered in defiance. ‘Stay here.’
Eleanor huffed a sigh but, thankfully, made no attempt to follow him on to the landing.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Matthew knocked softly on Eleanor’s door and went in. A solitary candle flickered, illuminating Eleanor, sitting on the bed, his jacket hugged around her shoulders, her hair...her glorious hair...framing her face, flowing over her shoulders...a river of silk. He itched to plunge his hands into those fragrant tresses.
Eleanor bounced to her feet, his jacket gaping. After one glance at the thin nightgown beneath, Matthew riveted his gaze to her face.
‘Well? Was there anyone down there?’
‘Just one of the maidservants.’
She had breezed in through the back door, bright-eyed and pink of cheek, as he had reached the kitchen. She had halted, momentarily disconcerted, then, with a calculating eye had swayed provocative hips as she approached him. He had declined what she offered, bolted the door, and searched the rest of the ground floor of the inn. The guard was sprawled on one of the settles in the taproom, snoring. Tempted as he had been to wake the fellow, solely in order to knock him senseless again, Matthew resisted. It was two in the morning. The inn was safely locked up again and, in a few hours, they would be gone.
At that moment, it had seemed more important to return to Eleanor...before she decided to follow him again to find out what was happening.
‘What was a maid doing up at this time?’
‘She said she had forgotten to do something.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’ He wasn’t about to tell Eleanor the truth about the maid’s night-time wanderings. ‘She’s back inside now and the doors are all bolted. It is safe.’
Eleanor visibly relaxed. She took a step towards him, into a shaft of moonshine that slid through a gap in the curtains. ‘I am sorry I disturbed you,’ she said. ‘I...I was scared.’
‘And yet you came out of your room.’ His gaze returned again and again to her bare toes, washed by moonlight, as they peeped from the hem of her nightgown. Blood thrummed through his veins. The after-effects of danger, nothing more, he told himself. ‘You could have bolted the door—’
‘The door was already bolted.’
‘And you considered the wisest course of action was to unbolt the door and venture out on to