in a way they never had with Donald.
‘It would seem that, for once, you are right, Mr Thomas,’ she retorted. How did he manage to ruffle her feathers quite so effortlessly?
He laughed. Their eyes met and Eleanor felt a jolt of pure energy shoot through her. Her cheeks flamed. Flustered—and irritated by her reaction—Eleanor jerked her gaze from his and stared at the flames, saying, ‘Goodness, this fire is hot.’
She searched in her reticule for her fan and plied it, grateful for an occupation as she fought to control her inner turmoil. Thankfully, Aunt Lucy appeared not to notice anything amiss, and launched a determined crusade to discover as much information as possible about their rescuer. Matthew proved adept at evading her questions, clearly relishing their verbal swordplay, and Eleanor viewed her aunt’s increasing frustration with quiet enjoyment.
She relaxed back in her chair, allowing her nerves to settle. Without volition, her gaze wandered over Matthew, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the solid muscle of his legs. She watched as he picked up his cup with a broad hand—no gentleman’s soft, well-manicured hand this, but strong and masculine and capable. He drained the contents, his penetrating eyes flicking to her face as he leaned forward to set his cup on the table, his lips still moist from the tea. Desire coiled deep within her as the rumble of his voice enveloped her. She could listen to him for ever. How wonderful would it be to be able to lean on such a man, to share the burden of her life?
Even as that thought flitted into her brain, she suppressed it. She needed no man to lean on. She had spent the three years since her father’s death striving to prove that point. Besides, he would end up the same as all the men who had ever shown her any attention—interested only in her fortune.
She dreamt of being swept off her feet, of being wooed by a man who was besotted with her and declared his undying passion for her, but could she ever trust her own judgement?
Donald had fooled her with his eager courtship after they met at James and Ruth’s wedding. He was an army officer and had returned to Ashby, shortly afterwards, when he was on leave. Eleanor had believed he was in love with her and, even though his kisses had left her strangely unmoved, she had persuaded herself her love for him would blossom given time.
She studied Matthew and desire flickered deep within her...surely a kiss from a man like Matthew Thomas would not leave her unmoved? She tore her attention from his sensual lips, vaguely scandalised by her outrageous thoughts.
Would she ever know the feel of a real man in her arms?
She blessed the day she had discovered Donald’s true intent. She had overheard him discussing her with his sister, Ruth, and their contempt for Eleanor was clear. Donald was interested only in her position and the wealth she would inherit from her ailing father. The following day, to her father’s distress, she had refused Donald’s offer of marriage and he had returned to his regiment. Sadly, she had heard, he had not survived the war.
Eleanor’s father had died the following spring and Eleanor still regretted that he had died worrying over both her future and that of the estate.
The room had fallen silent. Eleanor came back to the present with a guilty start.
‘You appear lost in your thoughts,’ Matthew said. ‘It would seem they are not all pleasant?’
Blushing, Eleanor realised that she had been staring directly at Matthew whilst her mind wandered. Aunt Lucy was dozing by the fire and they were effectively alone together.
‘I am sure they would be of no interest to you, Mr Thomas.’
‘I think you would be surprised at my interests, my lady,’ he replied softly, his blue eyes aglow.
There was admiration in his gaze. Awkwardly, Eleanor gazed down at her hands, entwined in her lap, uncertain how to respond. Her come-out, as well as her experience with Donald, had taught her to be cautious of reading too much into a man’s supposed admiration for it seemed, more often than not, that it was disingenuous.
Matthew continued to regard her steadily, waiting for her reply. Irritation at his persistence clambered over her discomfort.
‘Indeed, you are mistaken, sir.’ She injected a bright, vacuous note into her voice. ‘My thoughts were exceedingly pleasant. I was thinking of all the gowns and hats and shoes and other fripperies I shall buy in London and of all the wonderful parties and balls I shall be invited to. Why—’ she fixed him with an arch look ‘—I dare say I shall never be at home, what with all the shopping and the amusements London has to offer.’
His lips twitched and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
‘In other words, your thoughts are none of my business. I shall pry no further. We are all entitled to our secrets, after all. Now, let us return to the innocuous subjects you seem to prefer; do you go to London for the Season every year?’
Eleanor laughed, unaccountably pleased that he had not been fooled by her performance. He was clearly intelligent and she did have some pride. She had no wish for this man to believe she was a brainless ninny, despite her subterfuge.
‘I believe I answered that query the first time, sir. But I shall expand upon my previous effort, which was, I admit, a little brusque. This will be the first time I have been to London in seven years.’ She faltered momentarily, memories of her first Season all too raw even after all this time, before continuing, ‘I am looking forward to it. I have become quite dull at home, you know, and I am more than ready for all the excitement and diversion London can offer.’
She saw his eyes narrow as she stumbled over her words. She cautioned herself to take care. Intelligent? Oh, yes. And disconcertingly perceptive, to boot.
‘I am most fortunate that Aunt Lucy is accompanying me,’ she continued. ‘To lend me countenance, she would have me believe. She has not been to town for several years, but she was a notable hostess in her day. I suspect,’ she added, smiling, keen to eliminate her slip from his mind, ‘she is eager to see if she can still wield the same influence.’
‘She appears to be a most redoubtable lady—I have no doubt she will be setting the standards with ease. Will you be joining other family members in town?’
‘My cousin James and his wife, Ruth, live in London. James has kindly leased a house on my behalf, however, so we shall not be obliged to reside with them. My family is small in number, I fear. Other than James, there are only my cousins on my mother’s side—Lucas and Hugo, Aunt Lucy’s sons. Lucas is at Rothley, but I hope Hugo might be in town, for Aunt Lucy’s sake.’
‘Rothley,’ he said. ‘I know the name, but I cannot quite place where it is.’
‘It’s in the county of Northumberland.’
‘And a colder, more desolate place you could never imagine,’ Aunt Lucy interjected, ‘although it’s very wildness is extraordinarily beautiful, too, in its way. Exactly what part of the country do you hail from, Mr Thomas?’
Aunt Lucy—wily lady that she was—had out-manoeuvred Matthew. Eleanor could see his frustrated struggle to avoid answering such a direct question without telling an outright lie. Somehow, she did not think him so dishonourable. Evasive, yes. Secretive, yes. But not out-and-out
