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‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘There is nobody there—it was surely a stray shot and, as for your suggestion that Mr Thomas might have had any part in it, I’m surprised at you. You are not normally given to such flights of fancy.’
Fretwell reddened, but stubbornly held her gaze. ‘Be that as it may, milady, I know what happened to me the night of the fire. That was no accident. It was deliberate.’
‘Very well, I shall take care, but please keep your conjectures to yourself. I don’t want Lady Rothley upset and there is no reason for Mr Thomas to become further embroiled in our problems.’
Movement further along the road caught her attention. Her footman was on his way back, accompanied by another man leading a pair of draught horses.
‘Come, Timothy is here now with help. Let us go and sort the carriage out, then we can all get away from here and put your mind at rest.’
Although how she was to contrive that, with a damaged carriage, she could not imagine. Aunt Lucy, Lizzie and Matilda, the latter still sobbing into her handkerchief, were sitting on a grass bank a short way along the road. Eleanor, more shaken by the accident than she would admit, wished for nothing more than to join them, leaving the men to cope.
But this was her carriage, her horses and her servants.
Ergo, her responsibility.
She joined the men, ignoring the curious looks of both Mr Thomas and the farmer, a wiry, weatherbeaten individual of few words, but surprising strength. Her own men knew better than to question her desire to be involved.
It soon became clear that Mr Thomas still considered himself in charge and Eleanor, at first bemused at being relegated to a mere onlooker, grew increasingly indignant at being totally ignored.
She stepped forward, preparing to assert her authority.
Chapter Three (#ulink_b49a749c-57c6-59fa-972a-eecd2e7c4a52)
Matthew Thomas studied the overturned carriage.
‘Tie the chain there,’ he said to Timothy, pointing to a position on the spring iron at the rear of the carriage and trying to ignore the baroness, who was clearly itching to get involved.
‘Timothy,’ she said in an imperious tone, after the footman had attached the chain, ‘you ought to attach that chain further forward—it is too near the back there.’
Matthew straightened from checking that the chain was secure and turned to face Eleanor, lifting a brow.
She raised her chin, holding his gaze in typical aristocratic haughtiness.
‘If you pull from there it will surely pull the carriage around, rather than upright,’ she said.
He felt his temper stir and clamped down on it hard. He was not the wild youth he had once been and the intervening years had taught him to control his emotions, particularly in fraught situations like the present.
‘When the other chain is attached—as it will be shortly—towards the front of the carriage, it will counteract the pull on this chain. And pull the carriage upright.’
He deliberately blanked his expression, hiding his amusement at her indignation as she drew herself up to her full height—which was considerable, for a woman. She was barely four inches shorter than his own six feet. Her bright blue cloak had swung open to reveal a curvaceous figure, which Matthew perused appreciatively before returning his gaze to clash with her stormy, tawny-brown eyes. Her dark brows snapped together in a frown.
His interest had been aroused the minute he had leapt from his curricle and stared down into her face, pale with shock. She was strikingly attractive, although not a conventional beauty—courageous, too, leaping in front of his horses that way. His heart had almost seized with terror as he had fought to avoid her. Admittedly, he had been springing the horses—keen to test their paces—but that fact had not mitigated his fury, which was fuelled as much by the fear of what might have happened as by anger.
Now his interest was still there, but tempered with reality. He could admire her beauty, as one might admire, and even covet, a beautiful painting or a statue. But he would admire from a distance. He was no longer part of her deceitful world. He turned his attention once more to the stricken carriage.
‘We will need some poles to lever the carriage as the horses pull,’ Eleanor declared some minutes later.
Matthew once more stopped what he was doing. He took a pace towards Eleanor, catching a glimpse of—was that fear?—in her expression as she retreated. Then her lips tightened, and she stepped forward, bringing them almost nose to nose. Pluck? Or was that merely her innate feeling of superiority?
‘If—’ he kept his voice low, in order that the others shouldn’t overhear ‘—you are so keen to help, might I suggest you go and hold the horses so Henry can come and assist? Unless, that is, you really are capable of putting your shoulder to the carriage as the horses pull? I would suggest, with the utmost respect, that you are neither built, nor dressed, for such an activity.’
‘Hmmph!’ Her gaze lowered.
‘Good point about the poles, though, my lady.’ He waved an arm to the rear of the carriage, where two stout poles lay on the ground. ‘The farmer, as you can see, has thought of everything.’
She followed the direction of his gesture. A flush coloured her cheeks.
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. Then, ‘I hadn’t noticed them.’
Shame pricked Matthew’s conscience. He had not meant to make her feel foolish. He should not have risen to her arrogance—it was not her fault she was a part of that world he so despised. He reminded himself she must still be in shock after the accident.
They were still standing very close, her perfume tantalising his senses—floral notes interwoven with the undeniable scent of woman. A wave of desire caught him off guard and he spun away, forcing his attention back to the problem at hand.
The carriage was pulled upright with much heaving and straining, and they examined the extent of the damage. One wheel would need replacing, but the rest of the damage could be repaired. Try as he might to ignore her, Matthew was constantly aware of Eleanor’s presence. He could feel the frustration radiating from her as she peered over his shoulder at the carriage.
‘There’s a wheelwright in the village over yonder,’ the farmer, who had introduced himself as Alfred Clegg, said. ‘I’ll send word. The horses can go in the home paddock for the time. Where’re you folk heading?’
‘We have rooms bespoke at the White Lion in Stockport,’ Eleanor replied.
The farmer scratched his head, peering at the sky. ‘That’s a tidy way, mum. And it looks like rain.’
‘Do you have a carriage or some such that you could loan or hire to us?’
‘’Fraid not, mum. The missus is to market today in the gig. Hay wagon is all I got.’ He looked at her dubiously. ‘It might do for your luggage, and mebbe the maids there wouldn’t object, but...’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘Anyways, my horses couldn’t get all the way to Stockport and back—they’m built for power, not speed.’
‘It so happens that I have a room reserved at the Green Man in Ashton tonight,’ Matthew said. ‘It is much nearer than Stockport and it is clean and comfortable—I’m sure there will be enough accommodation for us all. The hay wagon is an excellent suggestion for the luggage and the servants and I can take the ladies in my curricle, if they have no objection to squeezing in.’
He looked around the group as he spoke. Approval shone on the faces of the majority, the exceptions being the baroness, who looked mutinous, and Fretwell, who was eyeing him with deep suspicion. Lady Rothley had joined them in time to hear Matthew’s proposal.
‘That sounds an excellent suggestion, Mr Thomas. Do you not agree, Ellie?’
Matthew returned Lady Rothley’s smile, praying she would not recognise him. He had known her sons, of course—wild rakes, the pair of them—but he was certain he had never met the marchioness. It was many years since he had been cast out from the world these ladies inhabited and, although in his youth he had borne a striking resemblance to his mother, he had lived a full and eventful life since then. He suspected the similarities were no longer so apparent. At the thought of his mother, his heart contracted painfully before he dismissed his weakness with a silent oath. His family had not believed his innocence; they had banished him from their lives and forgotten his very existence. Bitterly, he forced his black memories into the box where he confined them and slammed the lid.
‘I should prefer to continue as planned to Stockport, Aunt,’ Eleanor was saying. ‘Fretwell, you may as well stay here—if Clegg does not object—and then take the remaining horses home tomorrow, as planned, as long as they are all fit.’
The farmer nodded his consent.
Fretwell scowled, shooting a suspicious glance at Matthew. ‘I think I should stay with you, milady. For protection,’ he muttered.
Matthew felt his brows shoot up. What was he missing here?
‘No, Fretwell, I will not alter my plans. I shall hire another carriage to convey us to London. Joey, you can also stay on here and oversee the repairs. I shall arrange for a team to be sent out so you can follow us down to London with the carriage.’
She was certainly a lady used to having her own way, Matthew thought, listening as she set out her expectations. Fretwell was clearly unhappy with her decision, but he raised no further objections.
‘I shall hire a chaise at Ashton to take us on to Stockport,’ Eleanor continued, ‘as Mr Thomas has offered to transport us as far as there.’
Her clear reluctance to spend the evening in his company irritated Matthew. Who the hell was Lady Ashby to dismiss him as a nobody? She appeared to believe that he was not worthy of her time or attention. Tempted to just forget her and be on his way, he paused. Lady Ashby needed dislodging from that high perch of hers. Besides, some female company that evening would be a welcome change to his planned solitary dinner. And she was without doubt prettier than the locals in the taproom of the Green Man, where he would most likely end up after his meal.
His devil got the better of him. He lifted one brow in deliberate provocation before directing his words at Lady Rothley.
‘With everyone so shaken, you will be far better advised to remain at Ashton tonight, my lady. I’m sure you will find the Green Man to your liking, and, forgive me, but you look as though you would welcome a fireside to sit beside and a warm drink.’
‘That is an enticing prospect, Mr Thomas,’ Lady Rothley said, with a warm smile.
Eleanor’s lips tightened.
‘Excellent,’ Matthew said. ‘That’s settled, then. I shall convey you and your niece in my curricle, and the servants and luggage can follow on in Clegg’s wagon.
‘Of course—’ he switched his attention to Eleanor, grinning at her poorly concealed pique ‘—once we arrive at the Green Man, should you still insist on continuing your journey then you must do so.
‘Shall we go?’
Chapter Four (#ulink_e950507b-ddad-5325-9fd8-f069b89fff34)
The journey to the Green Man was both uncomfortable and, for Eleanor, disconcerting. The vehicle, designed to seat two comfortably, was a squeeze for three and, to her vexation, Matthew handed her into the curricle before Aunt Lucy, leaving her squashed in the middle when he leapt aboard the other side. Her objection that her aunt would feel safer sitting between them was summarily dismissed, both by Matthew and by Aunt Lucy herself, who appeared to thoroughly approve of their rescuer.
The heat of his touch through the fine kid of her gloves as he handed her into the curricle sent an unsettling quiver through her, despite her irritation. Quite simply, Matthew Thomas rattled her, with his knowing smile and the tease in his voice and his undeniable masculinity.
During the drive, Aunt Lucy was uncharacteristically quiet.
‘Are you sure you were not injured, Aunt?’ Eleanor asked, concerned.
‘Yes, I am sure. Do not mind me, my pet. I am a little tired, that is all.’
Her lids drooped even as she spoke. Eleanor squeezed her hand. They had all had such a shock. She, too, felt drained, but Matthew’s rock-hard thigh pressing against hers and the heat radiating from him ensured she remained on edge. Try as she might to focus on the road ahead, her attention kept wandering to his hands, gloved in scuffed leather, as he handled the ribbons with dexterity, controlling his highly strung pair with total confidence.
‘How long have you had them?’ she asked, indicating the jet-black horses trotting in front, their powerful haunches gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. ‘They look...’ She hesitated, appalled by what she had almost said. ‘That is, they are a splendid match.’
‘They look...?’
What a careless slip of the tongue. Eleanor firmed her lips, conscious of his head turning and those blue eyes boring into her.
‘They look too good for the likes of me? Is that what you were about to say?’
She had struck a nerve there. She risked a sidelong glance. ‘I meant no offence.’
‘It is as well I took none, then, isn’t it?’
She did not quite believe that. For several minutes there was no sound save the horses’ hoofbeats. Eleanor bit her lip.
‘You are quite right, nevertheless,’ Matthew said, eventually. ‘They are far superior animals to anything I usually aspire to and, in answer to your question, I have owned them since last night.’
Eleanor bit back her exclamation of surprise. For an unfamiliar team they were going very sweetly indeed. Matthew Thomas was clearly a skilled whip...but he had no need of her praise to boost his already puffed-up opinion of himself. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.
‘Take care, my lady,’ Matthew said, after a couple of beats of silence, amusement threading through his voice. ‘You are determined not to admit your surprise, but I must inform you that I interpret your very silence as a compliment and a welcome salve to my bruised pride.’
‘They have obviously been extremely well schooled,’ Eleanor replied tartly, exasperated by his ability to read her thoughts.
Matthew shouted with laughter. ‘Touché. An impressive put-down.’
Eleanor arched one brow, but could not prevent a corner of her mouth from twitching. ‘When you warrant a compliment, Mr Thomas—whether for your driving skills or for any other purpose—please be advised that I shall not stint in offering one. Until then...’
Silence reigned for a moment, then Matthew laughed again.
‘You are a hard lady to please,’ he said. ‘Let me see...’ from the corner of her eye Eleanor saw him lean forward and glance across at Aunt Lucy, who appeared to be dozing ‘...you almost cause an accident by running in front of my curricle—an accident that was only prevented by my superior driving skills. I cut your injured horses free, rescue your aunt and maidservants, help pull your carriage upright, and now I am transporting you to an inn to recuperate, and still I do not warrant any praise for my actions. Tell me, Lady Ashby...’ his voice lowered to a husky whisper as he put his lips close to her ear ‘...what, precisely, can I do for you that will earn your approval?’
Eleanor suppressed a quiver as his breath tickled across her sensitive lobe and caressed her neck. Risking a quick glance, she could see he was fully aware of the effect he was having on her. She stiffened, her earlier amusement vanquished. She ignored his question.
‘Do you travel far, sir? I do not believe you said where you are heading?’
‘No, I do not believe I did.’
He did not elaborate, and Eleanor gritted her teeth against the extended silence, raising her chin and keeping her eyes riveted to the road ahead.
Eventually, he sighed in an exaggerated fashion and continued, ‘I stay at Ashton for two nights. After that, I plan to visit Worcestershire before I return to London.’
She itched to question him further, but held her silence.
‘Do you travel to London for the Season, my lady?’
‘We do.’
‘And do you go every Season?’
‘We do not.’ Two could play at being evasive.
‘Have you travelled far today?’ His voice quivered.
‘From Lancashire.’
‘North of the county or south?’
She slanted a suspicious look at him.
‘Is that where you call home?’
His voice was now definitely unsteady. Eleanor stifled her hmmph of irritation.
‘You, sir, are being deliberately provoking.’
His laugh burst free. ‘Pax. I could continue this game of question and answer all day, but I suspect you do not share my enjoyment of the ridiculous. I shall not bore you with further impertinent questions.’
Unreasonably, Eleanor was stung by his assumption that she lacked a sense of humour. She was unused to this kind of byplay between a man and a woman and she was aware her embarrassment caused her to appear stiff and unfriendly. Although why she should care about his opinion of her, she did not know. However well he spoke, he was not of her class. She wondered what he was—a prosperous farmer, perhaps, or a merchant or a military man?
She felt his eyes on her and risked another sideways glance. He captured her gaze—his eyes warm, his expression open. His easy smile transformed his face, giving him a charm that Eleanor found instantly appealing. To her confusion, she read admiration in his regard and her blood heated instantly at the notion. She felt a telltale blush creeping up her neck and cheeks and, uncertain, she tore her gaze from his.
She was her own woman—rare in this day and age—in control of her own life and finances, answerable to no one, not even her trustees since she had reached her twenty-fifth birthday. She was strong and decisive when running her estates, responsible for not only her own comfort and lifestyle, but also the livelihoods and well-being of everyone who worked for her, plus their families—a responsibility she discharged with assurance. However, for all her outward confidence, she found herself regressing to the awkward, tongue-tied girl of her past in the presence of Matthew Thomas, simply because he was passing time with a light flirtation. Her experience with Donald had caused her to doubt her judgement of men and their true intentions. And had Aunt Phyllis not warned her time after time of the danger of showing too much encouragement to any gentleman?
