hands lifted of their own volition and clutched his lapels. She rose on tiptoe. Her kiss was no fleeting flirtation of the lips, but a warm, moist pressure as she angled her mouth to his. Matthew responded with a groan, his arms enfolding her, pulling her against the full length of his hard body. One splayed hand supported her back and the other cradled her head as he returned the pressure of her lips and increased the intensity of the kiss. Warm, brandy-flavoured lips parted and she opened in response. He captured her breath as his tongue caressed and explored. She followed his lead, surrendering to a deeper, darker, more wanton kiss than she had ever imagined possible. She never wanted that kiss to end.
She threaded her fingers through his hair as he gathered her closer, his hand tracing the curve of her spine to her bottom. She lost track of time. The only reality was in their kiss—a wicked, glorious promise of greater delights to come. She clung ever closer, her hands exploring the width of his shoulders and the long line of his back until she reached his taut buttocks, so very different to the soft roundness of her own.
He gasped into her mouth and, with another groan, tore his lips from hers, taking her by the shoulders and holding her away from him, steadying her as her knees threatened to buckle. Bemused, she studied his features, reading his regret and his resolve.
‘I think,’ he said, his voice husky with desire, ‘you should go. This is not wise. It can never be.’
His words brought her back to reality. Heavens! What was she doing? She searched his eyes, deep blue, swirling with so many complex emotions.
‘I should not have stayed,’ she whispered. ‘It was reckless. You are right. This can never be. We should not be alone together.’
He gave a shaky laugh. ‘No, we should not and, as you said, heaven help us if your aunt should discover us. Go on, now. Go. We will forget this ever happened.’ His deep tones resonated through her. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
Eleanor returned to her bedchamber as if in a dream, her emotions in turmoil. Thoughts and memories tumbled through her mind. What had she done? Dismay at her disgraceful behaviour clashed with desire; regret with joy; mortification with a guilty longing for more. Confused, she slipped into her dreams.
The following morning Eleanor breakfasted in her bedchamber.
‘She has the headache,’ Lady Rothley announced when she joined Matthew at the breakfast table. ‘I’m sure it is not to be wondered at, with all these goings-on.’
No, indeed it is not, Matthew thought, with a wry inner smile.
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘I hope she will feel well enough to travel today.’
‘Oh, I am sure she will bounce back. My niece is a strong woman. She will not allow a headache to overset her, or her plans.’
That I can well believe.
‘I will send a message to the stables to delay our departure for an hour,’ Matthew said. ‘Hopefully by then she will feel better.’
‘That is most thoughtful, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, beaming as she beckoned to a serving girl, who had just entered the parlour with a plate of freshly cooked eggs.
The maid curtsied. ‘Yes, milady?’
‘Please ensure a message is taken to Lady Ashby to tell her our departure is delayed until half past ten.’
‘And ask Mr Brooke to relay the same message to one of our men, will you?’ Matthew added.
‘Yes, milady. Yes, sir.’ The maid hurried away.
‘I very much appreciate your sacrifice, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, as she nibbled at a slice of toast. ‘This will, I am afraid, delay you even further. I cannot tell you how much better I slept for knowing you are to accompany us on the rest of the journey.’
‘I am delighted to be of service, my lady.’
If only Lady Rothley knew how close he had come to leaving the inn at first light, urgent with the need to put Eleanor, and the conflicting emotions she aroused in him, out of his mind for good. He had a plan for his life. And that plan most definitely did not include a beautiful, strong-willed baroness who—having blithely informed him how determined she was to prove to society that she was not her mother’s daughter—had then kissed him. Very thoroughly. And most enjoyably. His blood thrummed at the memory.
‘She is not a bad girl, Mr Thomas.’
Lady Rothley’s attention was on her plate, so she did not notice Matthew’s start at her words. Was she a mind-reader? He blanked his expression, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.
‘She is so determined to prove that she can succeed without a man to lean on,’ she continued, ‘she becomes a touch...overbearing...at times. You may have noticed.’
Matthew almost choked on his coffee. ‘No,’ he gasped, battling to contain a near-overwhelming urge to laugh. ‘No, I cannot say I have noticed. Not overbearing. A little...managing, perhaps.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Her ladyship’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘That is much more diplomatic. You have a nice turn of phrase, Mr Thomas. Eleanor works so hard, you see, and has been too isolated since her father died. He wished her to wed before he died, but...well, it did not work out. And her aunt—not me, her Aunt Phyllis, the one who lives with her—well, she has no more sense than a noddycock, filling poor Ellie’s head with dire warnings about bankruptcy and how women don’t have the brains for business. Well, what would you expect from a spirited girl like Ellie? She’s bound to want to prove everyone wrong.’
‘Yes. Of course,’ Matthew replied, his head reeling.
‘Oh, dear. Now I have put you to the blush, Mr Thomas. I should not let my mouth run on so, but all this business...the attacks...and the responsibility of taking Eleanor to London after last time—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘There I go again. You are too easy to talk to, Mr Thomas, that is the trouble, and I must confess it is a relief to have someone to confide in. One cannot talk to the servants about such matters and, of course, I could never speak so frankly of my worries to Ellie. It helps, too, that you are not part of our world, so I forget to be discreet.’
Matthew stood, his chair scraping across the floor. He did not want to hear any more of Lady Rothley’s confidences...he was intrigued enough by Eleanor already, without learning more about her, or having his sympathy stirred.
Although the temptation to abandon Eleanor and her aunt this morning had been powerful, in the end his conscience had won. He could not forget they were in danger. He had given his word that he would escort them to London and he would do so. But he had vowed to avoid being alone with Eleanor for the rest of their journey. He need only be strong for another few days, and then he need never see her again.
‘You may rely on my discretion, my lady. Now, if you will excuse me, I must settle my account with Brooke, and speak to my man about the arrangements for the journey.’
Eleanor, meanwhile, was battling not only her pounding head, but also the lowering memory of her scandalous conduct. She had appeared in the parlour, in the dead of night, clad only
