There is no need. I shall sit in the quiet for a few minutes, to catch my breath. I declare, I am quite out of practice and all this dancing has exhausted me.’
‘Very well, my pet.’
Eleanor left the ballroom and climbed the stairs to the retiring room. Finding it blessedly empty, other than the maid on duty, she sat for a short while, relaxing back in a chair, settling her thoughts and emotions.
Anyone but Arabella. Surely Matthew will see through her to the spiteful little cat she has always been? She stifled those thoughts. What did it matter to her who Matthew talked to? Or danced with? Or...?
She stood up, suddenly furious with herself. She was hiding again. If she was not careful, it would become a habit. She would not allow anyone to drive her away this time.
She stepped out of the door to return to the festivities, then froze, sensing a movement in the passageway behind her.
‘Eleanor.’
The quietest of whispers, but she would know his voice anywhere. And his scent. His unique maleness, plus the tang of citrus. She spun round to face Matthew Damerel.
‘I must talk to you.’
‘And I must not talk to you.’
He stood by the open door into the next room. He held out his hand, beckoning.
The chatter of female voices impinged on Eleanor’s awareness. A quick glance over the gallery rail to the floor below revealed a cluster of young ladies mounting the stairs, presumably on their way to the retiring room.
‘Quick. Or we shall be seen.’
Eleanor reached for the handle to the retiring-room door. She would be safe in there.
‘I will follow you if you go back inside,’ Matthew warned, reaching for her hand. ‘Come. Please.’
The voices were louder. Even if she headed for the stairs, the young ladies would see Matthew and wonder... The gossip would spread from mouth to mouth...
Wretch! Scoundrel!
With no choice left, Eleanor swept past Matthew and through the open door.
‘Despicable!’
They were in a small sitting room, furnished in a feminine style. One candle, set into a candlestick on the mantelpiece, flickered, throwing shadows around the room.
‘You must allow me to explain.’
‘Must I indeed? You could have explained this morning. You could call on me tomorrow to make your excuses. You did not have to...to...blackmail me into coming in here with you.’
‘Blackmail? Don’t be absurd.’
‘Absurd? How dare you? You come into my life—I start to trust you, to rely upon you. You make me—’ Eleanor bit her lip, appalled by what she had almost said.
You make me love you.
She gulped, her throat burning with the effort of stifling the hot tears strangling her voice and blurring her vision.
Stupid thing to even think. Just the heat of the moment.
‘I think I know you and then I find I do not even know your name. Then you threaten me with exposure if I do not do what you want...and you call me absurd for calling it blackmail? What would you call it, Mr Thomas, or Damerel, or whoever you are?’
Her chest heaved. Her outburst had stolen the very breath from her lungs. She hauled in a desperate breath.
‘I don’t even know who you are.’ The cry burst from her, searing her throat.
‘Eleanor—’
‘And do not call me Eleanor. You have no right.’
‘No right? By God, what wouldn’t I give to have that right? You have no idea...’
The grip on her shoulders tightened and she looked up through her tears into blazing eyes that churned with emotion. His face swam closer. He was going to kiss her. She felt his breath, harsh on her skin, as his lips sought hers.
‘No. I cannot. I must not.’
Eleanor stumbled as Matthew tore his hands from her and strode to the window. She sank into a chair by the unlit hearth, dropping her face into her hands. What had just happened? He had been about to kiss her; she had wanted him to kiss her. It was he who had come to his senses and stopped before his lips touched hers. How could she be so weak-willed, so unprincipled? She gritted her teeth, determined to hide her bruised feelings. If Matthew should even begin to guess how she felt about him her pride would never survive—it was in tatters as it was.
Matthew stared out into the void, battling the urge to sweep her into his arms and to hell with the consequences. But it was the consequences for Eleanor that gave him the strength to control himself. He had set out on this path, and he had no choice now but to continue if he were to protect her from her evil cousin.
‘Why are you even here?’ he said, his back to her. He had been struck with horror when he caught sight of her—stunning in pale-yellow silk—in the Lexingtons’ ballroom. ‘Pacey said you were engaged to dine with the Elys tonight.’
‘Lord Ely was taken ill so we dined at home.’ She sounded dazed. ‘Then we came...’ Her voice sharpened. ‘What are you saying? That you would not be here, announcing yourself as Matthew Damerel, had you known Aunt Lucy and I would be present? What a fine joke you have played on us, sir. I hope we have provided you with plenty of amusement.’
He faced her. ‘You are upset with me...with every right... I will explain.’
‘Go ahead.’ Her voice was icy. ‘I suggest you do it quickly, before my aunt comes looking for me.’
Matthew crossed the room to stand by the fireplace. Eleanor sat ramrod straight, hands gripped in her lap. Sitting in judgement. On him. Resentment churned his gut. Who was she, to look down on him? Why hadn’t he had the sense to walk away that first day?
‘My name is Matthew Thomas Damerel. I am the third son of the Earl of Rushock.’
‘So you are not a merchant after all?’
‘That part was true. I am a merchant; it is how I earn my living.’ He had been proud of his independence. Now it felt as though he was admitting to something shameful. There was no shred of encouragement on her face. Her eyes were unreadable, her lips set in a hard line.
‘Why lie about your name?’
‘Thomas is my middle name. I’ve lived as Matthew Thomas since I went to India. My own name is too distinctive and I did not wish to invite speculation about my past.’
‘But
