Although...and she had cringed as the full version of events from the night before unfolded in her mind’s eye...she had kissed Matthew. Not the other way around. And the things she had told him. She winced at the memory. She did not doubt that the brandy had lowered her inhibitions, but her decision to stay had been before a drop had even touched her lips. What on earth had come over her? All the tenets of her upbringing, all of her innate sense of self-preservation and good old-fashioned common sense, had simply disappeared.
And what must Matthew Thomas think of her? She must take care in her future dealings with him—she must guard both her reputation and her heart, for he was clearly a danger to both. She conjured up a picture of those rugged good looks and the memory of that kiss, and she quivered. Oh, yes, he was a danger to her all right. A danger she would find hard to resist. But resist she must. Aunt Phyllis had only been half-right about the dangers of men and their seductive ways. She had never warned Eleanor of the treachery of a woman’s own body, when she was attracted by a man. Why had none of the gentlemen of her acquaintance ever enticed her like this?
Hmmph. It was no good brooding over it. What had happened had happened. She must ensure she was never again alone with Matthew. It would only be for a couple of days and then their paths would never cross again.
* * *
In the yard of the George two chaise-and-fours were standing ready for their journey. Aunt Lucy and Eleanor would travel in the first—as yesterday—and Lizzie, Matilda and Timothy would ride in the second. Eleanor looked around. There was no sign of Matthew, or of his curricle and pair. Perhaps, she thought with a swell of relief, ignoring the sting of disappointment that followed close on its heels, he had decided against accompanying them after all.
A footstep behind her, and the waft of tangy citrus, alerted her to his presence.
‘Good morning, my lady. I trust your headache is better?’
Eleanor inclined her head. ‘Very much so, Mr Thomas. Thank you for enquiring.’
So formal. She risked a glance. He held out his hand.
‘Allow me to assist you into the chaise.’
She placed her gloved hand in his. Strong fingers closed over hers and anticipation whispered deep in her belly. She lifted her chin and climbed the steps into the vehicle, taking her seat next to Aunt Lucy, who was already inside. She looked to the door, to thank Matthew, and bit back a gasp as he climbed in behind her.
‘Are you not driving yourself?’
She felt her colour rise as Matthew regarded her, one brow raised. She had not meant to sound so brusque.
‘I drove the horses hard yesterday,’ he said. ‘They will benefit from a day or two’s rest and then Henry will drive them to London in easy stages. I am afraid, therefore, that you must endure my presence for the remainder of the journey to London.’
‘How pleasant it will be to have your company, Mr Thomas.’ Aunt Lucy beamed as she nudged Eleanor. ‘Will it not, my pet?’
* * *
We will forget this ever happened.
Matthew Thomas had been true to his word, Eleanor granted him that. Not by a single look, or word, or deed did he even hint at what had passed between them at the George. Far from being relieved, Eleanor found herself growing more and more irritated as time passed. When she had vowed never to be alone with Matthew again, she had imagined him contriving circumstances in which they would meet and she would be the strong one, denying him despite his protestations. Instead, he made no effort whatsoever to manoeuvre her into being alone with him. They had not even had the opportunity to exchange a private word.
Not that I want to be alone with him.
She simply longed for the chance to spurn him. To prove that kissing him was something she regretted. Deeply.
* * *
The following morning, Eleanor paid the reckoning at the White Hart in Loughborough and was about to climb into the post-chaise, when Matthew strode from the inn, a thunderous frown on his face.
‘I pay my own way.’
‘And a very good morning to you, too, Mr Thomas,’ Eleanor said, lifting her chin. Both she and Aunt Lucy had broken their fast in their rooms, so this was their first meeting of the day. His manner did not bode well for a pleasant journey. ‘There is no call for you to turn top-lofty. This is my party, my journey. I pay.’
It was the only way she could retain her dignity. The tug of attraction was still strong. The memory of his kiss still set her senses aflame. His assumption of command throughout their first day of travel—overseeing the changes of the horses, arranging refreshments and private parlours to rest in, and checking and organising the security of the inn they stayed in overnight—had lifted the burden of responsibility from Eleanor. And she was both relieved and affronted by it. An inner tussle with her conscience had resulted in her admitting—but only privately—that, on balance, it was pleasant to have a man to take charge for a change.
She was no longer shy and uncomfortable with him. Mayhap that was because he no longer looked at her in that particular way, his blue eyes penetrating until her innermost thoughts felt exposed to his inspection. And, since that night at the George, he had neither teased her nor flirted with her. His manner had been that of a polite, casual acquaintance. Eleanor had been able to move past the fluster and the blushes, and treat him—on the surface, at least—as the simple travelling companion he was. But the desire to assert her authority was powerful and paying their way was how she chose to salvage her self-esteem. Ultimately, she who pays the piper calls the tune, she thought with satisfaction.
She had known he might object. She had not anticipated such fury. It was rigidly controlled, but fury none the less.
‘You may pay for your own accommodation and that of the servants,’ he said in a tight, low voice, ‘but I will not have you paying for my room and board. Here.’ He thrust out his hand, opening it to reveal a clutch of coins on his palm. ‘Take them.’
‘No. You are supplying a service. I will be responsible for your expenses.’ Eleanor turned and climbed into the post-chaise.
‘By God, you are the most infuriating woman I have ever met.’ Matthew leant in the open door, blue eyes blazing. ‘I have no need of your charity, Lady Ashby.’
Eleanor swallowed hard. ‘I do not view it as charity, but as my obligation.’
‘I may not have your wealth, but I am not poor. I can pay my way.’
‘I did not think for one moment that you couldn’t. Tell me—’ she locked gazes with him ‘—if I were a man, could you honestly say we would be having this same discussion?’
Matthew opened his mouth, then closed it again. Inhaled, nostrils flaring. He climbed into the chaise and sat down, leaning back into the corner, eyes narrowed as he regarded her.
‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I cannot imagine another man accepting he might need my protection. But do not think that means I will accept you paying for my accommodation or my meals on the rest of the journey, for I will not.’
‘And if I pay anyway?’
‘Then
