her understand? ‘That is the point. I am...was...’ He stared down into the empty grate. Revealing his past—humbling himself—to Eleanor was harder than he anticipated, particularly in the face of her cold demeanour. But the truth was the only way if he was to regain her trust. ‘My father disowned me when I was eighteen. I was rebellious in my youth—heedless of the troubles I left in my wake as I pursued my own pleasures. I was expelled from Harrow, sent down from Oxford, I drank too much, gambled, ran up debts...’
‘Not so very different to many young men,’ Eleanor said into the silence as he hesitated.
Matthew heaved a frustrated breath. ‘No, not so very different. But then, at eighteen, I was falsely accused of something. My father believed my accuser’s word against mine. He and Claverley—my eldest brother—decided I must go to my great-uncle in India. I refused, determined to stay and clear my name, but they wouldn’t listen.’ He fingered the bump on his nose—a constant, bitter reminder of their betrayal. ‘Claverley took me by surprise. Knocked me out cold. When I came to, the ship had set sail and I could do nothing about it.’
‘What were you accused of?’
‘Does it matter?’ He was loath to admit the sordid details. ‘Will you trust me when I say the accusation was false?’
‘Trust you? How can I trust you?’ The words burst from Eleanor as she shot to her feet. ‘You have lied and made a fool of me.’
‘How have I made a fool of you?’ He fought to hold the reins of his temper. ‘And I did not lie... You are not listening—I have lived as Matthew Thomas for eight years. My use of that name had nothing to do with you.’
‘Nothing to do with me?’ Her voice rose. ‘Even after you kissed me?’ Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze.
‘Why,’ he growled, ‘should I tell you something I had no intention of ever revealing to anyone, ever again?’
‘So why have you revealed it now?’ She jabbed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’
She was like a dog worrying at a bone...why could she not just accept what he was saying without challenging him?
‘Is it to prove you would be an acceptable match for me by birth? Is that it? Was James right? Are you just another fortune hunter?’
The lid blew off his self-control. ‘Fortune hunter?’ The words erupted from his mouth. Yet another false slur! Was it not enough he had been labelled a cheat all these years? ‘How dare you? There is no force on earth that would persuade me to court a woman who not only outranks me but has tenfold my wealth.’
Her eyes narrowed and her jaw jutted forward. ‘Then why are we here?’
‘What do you mean? I told you... I needed you to understand.’
‘But why me? Why not...oh, I don’t know! Aunt Lucy? Or...or Arabella Tame? Why have you singled me out for your explanations?’
‘Because they do not need my protection,’ he ground out. ‘You do. I cannot leave you vulnerable. Good God, I have never met such a stubborn, infuriating woman. I tried to talk to you downstairs, but, no! You would not listen.’ He grabbed her shoulders. ‘I had to change my name back. How the he—deuce can I protect you when I was constantly afraid to show my face in society in case I was recognised? That is the only reason I am reclaiming my true identity. Obligation. And believe me when I say I am beginning to regret embarking on this whole nightmare.’
‘Oh!’ Eleanor jerked out of his hold. ‘Obligation?’ She inhaled, then straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and shook out the skirts of her ballgown. She raised both hands to smooth down her hair. ‘I see. Well, you had no need to bother. I release you from any obligation... I have all the protection I need, thank you, Mr Damerel.’
She didn’t quite know how she got there, but Eleanor found herself out in the passageway, heading blindly towards the staircase, the crush of the ballroom awaiting her. As she descended the stairs, her wits began to reassemble. Anger and humiliation still bubbled, tempered only slightly by her guilt at flinging that vile accusation at Matthew.
Moistening dry lips, swallowing convulsively, she fumbled for her dance card to discover the name of her next dance partner. The space was blank and she gave thanks for that small mercy. She walked into the ballroom, head high, feeling as though every eye in the place was on her; as though every person knew what a fool she was; and as though her name was on every lip and it was spoken with scorn.
‘Aunt Lucy, I am sorry, I have the headache. Would you mind if we go home?’
Aunt Lucy was still deep in conversation with Sir Horace. ‘Oh dear, you do look rather pale, my pet,’ she said, worry creasing her forehead. ‘Of course we can go. Please do excuse us, Sir Horace. I hope we shall meet again soon.’
A delicate pink tinged Aunt Lucy’s cheeks as Sir Horace kissed her hand. ‘You can be sure we will, dear lady,’ he said.
He had two choices. Again. He could follow his head or his instinct. His head told him to leave her to her fate. She had rejected his offer of help enough times now. And she had insulted him. Those two words...circling in his head, like buzzards...is that what she truly thought of him? Of his reasons for returning to her side again and again? A fortune hunter? Had her cousin succeeded in poisoning her mind against him? No one could blame him for walking away this time.
Or he could harden his soul against those words and follow his instinct, which was to protect her come what may. And that meant he must proffer an olive branch. His temper had got the better of him, but he had not said anything untrue. She was stubborn. And she was infuriating. And there was no way on earth his pride would allow him to court her—no matter how his heart leapt at the mere sight of her and no matter how his hands curled into fists every time another man spoke to her, or smiled at her, or took her hand and led her on to the dance floor.
He simply could have said those things more diplomatically.
‘You are very quiet,’ Stephen commented as he drove his curricle into Hyde Park at five o’clock the following day.
‘Sorry,’ Matthew replied. ‘I was wondering how long it would be before the rest of the family arrive in town.’
It was not a lie; he had been wondering what their response to his letters would be. His family hadn’t been uppermost in his mind, though.
He had called at Eleanor’s house in Upper Brook Street, determined to make amends for the night before, only to be informed by Pacey that the ladies were walking in the park. A short time later, Stephen had driven past—on his way to the park—and taken Matthew up.
‘Not long, I should imagine, although I would hazard a guess our father will come on his own at first,’ Stephen said. ‘How will you play it?’
Matthew shrugged, his gaze skimming the clusters of walkers, searching. ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he replied absently. ‘I suppose it will depend on his attitude. I am looking forward to seeing Mama and the girls, though.’
Not only was Sarah now wed, and a mother, but Caroline was
