string of pearls. His hands curled into fists against the urge to reach for her.
She touched one of those fists...a fleeting contact, but enough to trigger that vibrant spark that arced between them whenever they touched. His resolve hardened. He must stay strong. Eleanor might believe her feelings lay hidden, but they shone from her eyes. He must disillusion her—she must understand there was no future for them, for her sake and her standing in society as much as for his pride.
‘I was caught cheating at cards,’ he said. ‘My accuser was then attacked and robbed. That is why my father sent me to India. My accuser was badly injured and Father feared he might die.’
‘But you didn’t do it.’ Her declaration rang with conviction.
‘I was long ago cleared of the attack,’ he said.
‘Why did you not come home, then?’
‘I am not wanted here.’ Claverley’s scornful words had pierced deeper than he realised. Damn him. And damn everything. And, in particular, damn his youthful indiscretions...his thoughtless, careless certainty that nothing could touch him. ‘Not then. Not now. I have a debt to repay to my father. Once that is discharged, I shall return to my previous existence.’
‘You are still bitter about his rejection of you. Is it not time to put that bitterness behind you and think of the future?’
‘Am I not justified if I do feel bitter? Would you not feel the same had you been rejected by your...?’ Too late, he bit his tongue. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot. I should not have said that.’
He saw her swallow. ‘It is true my mother left me. I don’t think I have ever been bitter about it, though.’ She took his arm. ‘Come, let us walk and talk. It is easier to speak with honesty when you cannot see the other’s face.’
They continued to stroll.
‘Mayhap I was never bitter because I still had my father,’ she said.
‘But it must have affected you.’
‘Of course it did. It devastated me. But...but...’ From the corner of his eye he saw her shrug in a helpless fashion. ‘I thought it was my fault.’
He had to strain to hear her. His heart swelled. He had been eighteen—old enough to rationalise his father’s behaviour. Eleanor had been eleven years old. Still a child. No wonder, at times, she doubted herself. No wonder she concealed that inner doubt behind a shell of determined independence. He covered her hand with his and squeezed gently.
‘You know now it was not your fault, I hope?’
She inhaled sharply. ‘Of course. But we were talking of you and your father.’
Her voice was bright and positive. He bit back a smile. She was the most courageous woman he had ever met.
‘May I tell you what I think, without annoying you?’
And here was a first—asking if he wanted her opinion before voicing it. ‘Go on.’
‘I think you should meet your father with an open heart. Listen to what he says and, more importantly, how he says it. Do not barricade your heart behind a wall of pride.’
That’s easy for her to say. ‘I will try,’ he said.
‘Did you prove you did not cheat at cards?’
‘Who says I didn’t cheat?’
‘I say. I know you, Matthew Damerel. You are too honourable to do such a thing.’
A lump formed in his throat and his eyes smarted at her absolute conviction. She believed in him, unquestioningly, when his own father had not.
‘Come.’ His voice was gruff. ‘We must go back inside. I do not want you to catch a chill.’
* * *
‘Cousin Eleanor, how are you?’
It was some time later when the familiar voice roused Eleanor from her reverie and she turned to see James standing over her, Ruth clinging to his arm. Eleanor’s heart faltered. She studied James’s face. Could he really be responsible for those attacks? But, if not him, who? And why?
‘I am delighted to see you without that guard dog of yours in tow,’ he continued.
At least he hadn’t noticed her new guardians. Despite her earlier annoyance, the sight of Lord Derham and Lord Vernon Beauchamp, hovering watchfully, eased her apprehension. They had appeared shortly after Matthew—with a wink at Eleanor and a whisper of ‘Think of Almack’s’—led Lady Cowper on to the dance floor. Eleanor, grateful for a respite from dancing, and for some time to ponder Matthew’s earlier revelations, had sunk into a vacant seat next to Aunt Lucy and several of her friends.
Conscious that Aunt Lucy had stopped talking and was looking over in a none-too-friendly fashion, Eleanor rose to her feet, keen to avoid a repeat of the unpleasantness when James had called into Upper Brook Street.
‘I am very well, thank you, James, and Mr Damerel—for I must presume that is to whom you refer—is merely a friend concerned with my well-being.’
‘Damerel?’ James’s brow wrinkled. ‘I thought he was called Thomas. You don’t mean to tell me there are two of them?’
Eleanor inhaled deeply, determined to remain calm. ‘He is the son of Lord Rushock,’ she said. ‘He uses another name for his business.’
She ignored the disdainful curl of James’s lip. ‘It is delightful to see you both,’ she said, including Ruth—who looked pale and anxious—in her smile. ‘I was about to take a turn around the room. Would you care to join me?’
They fell into step, with James in the centre, and made their way slowly around the edge of the dance floor.
‘Have there been any further incidents?’ James asked quietly.
‘Yes.’ Eleanor told him of the man she had seen outside the house, and the man who had accosted and threatened Agnes, and described him to James.
Rather than further the conversation, James turned monosyllabic, his arm under Eleanor’s hand rigid. What had caused him to clam up? A guilty conscience? Matthew would surely say so if he were here. Eleanor gave up trying to make conversation and spoke across James to Ruth, who clung to her husband’s other arm.
‘I trust you are fully recovered now, Cousin Ruth.’
Ruth shot a nervous glance at James before replying, ‘I am quite well, thank you, Eleanor.’
James nodded approvingly at Ruth, who smiled tremulously. What did that look mean? The tension that simmered between husband and wife was palpable, but Ruth appeared to gain in confidence and proceeded to chat to Eleanor in an unusually friendly manner. She quizzed Eleanor about the forthcoming parties and events to which Eleanor had received invitations and offered advice as to which were likely to be the most enjoyable and which might prove a bore. Eleanor began to wonder if she had misjudged Ruth at their previous meeting. Perhaps Ruth had simply been on edge due to her imminent visit to the doctor, as James had claimed?
‘James,’
