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‘I was late leaving Stockport because I had to speak to the magistrate before I could leave—’
‘Why should the magistrate wish to speak with you?’ Eleanor asked.
‘I told you—I was in the next bedchamber to the girl who was attacked. When she screamed, I went in. I saw him...but he gave me the slip.’
‘Then you know what he looks like. Describe him. I shall soon know if it was James.’
‘He wore a mask. All I know is that he was shorter than me and of a medium build. There are any number of men who would match that description. By the time I left I was sure you would be well on your way. We—that is, Henry and I—enquired at all the posting inns we passed until we found where you had stopped for the night. Mr Brooke was indeed reluctant to admit you were in residence. I’m afraid I had to resort to a little subterfuge.’
Two pairs of eyes watched him expectantly. He drew a deep breath, bracing himself.
‘I told him I was Lord Ashby. Your husband.’
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Eleanor let forth a peal of laughter that made Matthew stare in bewilderment. What on earth...? She should be furious...ringing a peal of anger, not laughter, over his head.
‘What is so funny?’ He sounded so stiff and pompous he almost cringed.
Eleanor gasped for breath, hand flat to her chest, as giggles continued to spill from her lips. Was that a note of hysteria? Matthew glanced at Aunt Lucy, who looked as stunned as he felt.
‘Oh... I am so sorry...the look of dread on your face...if only you could have seen it...’
‘I shall, of course, ensure that you do not suffer by my hasty and ill-considered actions, Lady Ashby—’
Eleanor sobered at his words. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Please do not. Really, Mr Thomas, I had begun to think you a man of sense, then you come up with the most ridiculous ruse to confound poor Brooke, and then find yourself forced to make amends by making an offer you clearly have no wish to make. Oh, this is just the spur I needed to jolt me out of that horrid fear that was near paralysing me. No doubt it will soon overwhelm me again but, for now, I am happy just to enjoy the joke.’
‘Joke?’ Indignation stirred. ‘You believe an offer from me would be a joke?’
She rose to her feet. ‘Not in the way you are clearly taking it,’ she said, in a placatory tone. ‘I promise. I only meant it is a joke in as much as we barely know each other, our stations in life are so different and we have done little but squabble since we met.’
A sudden flush stained her cheeks and she turned from him abruptly. Was she, like him, remembering that kiss? But, other than that omission from her list, she was right.
‘Well! My niece might think this a laughing matter, but I can assure you I do not, young man,’ Lady Rothley said, as she also stood. ‘What were you thinking? Brooke and, most likely, all his staff, believe you to be Lord Ashby and are aware that you have spent time alone in this parlour with my niece. You cannot sustain this masquerade—our servants will surely let slip that there is no Lord Ashby. And as soon as your trickery is known, Eleanor’s reputation will be in tatters. What a tangle.’
She was right. He had acted without thought, driven by his frantic belief that Eleanor was in danger. Now he had succeeded in embroiling her in a possible scandal. That thought brought to mind Eleanor’s reaction to Aunt Lucy’s earlier threat of scandal. An odd reaction, almost as though she feared for her reputation more than most. And yet she could laugh at this situation. She was certainly a puzzling woman.
‘You can say you were with me the whole time, Aunt Lucy,’ Eleanor said. ‘And Mr Thomas must find another inn to stay in tonight.’ She met his gaze. She was deadly serious now, no hint of amusement on her countenance. ‘It will not do for you to remain, for you cannot continue the deception of being my husband. Brooke will say nothing. After all, he cannot claim to be blameless. He failed to even announce you, which is inexcusable. After all, you could have been anybody.’
‘Precisely,’ Matthew growled. ‘And if you believe I’m going to leave you unprotected in this place tonight, you are way off course. In fact, I believe it is too dangerous for you to remain the night. Knowing he failed last night, I would not put it past the attacker to strike again. And as he’s clearly familiar with your itinerary, he will know you are here tonight.’
His words brought a flash of fear to Eleanor’s expression. It was regrettable, he thought, as he pictured her laughing only a few moments ago, but it was surely better for her to be frightened than to dismiss the very real risks.
‘When Brooke allowed me to enter your private parlour, simply on my word that I was your husband, he confirmed my belief that you are completely vulnerable. We must all leave.’ He paused, pondering. He had caused this problem. He must find the solution.
‘Wait here a minute,’ he said. ‘I have an idea.’
He went in search of Brooke. ‘Please attend us in the parlour as soon as convenient, Brooke,’ he said. ‘I should like to discuss the security of your establishment and the safety of your guests.’
‘Yes, my lord. Immediately, my lord.’ Brooke followed Matthew back to the parlour.
As Matthew entered, Eleanor said, ‘What do you...?’ Her question tailed away as Matthew shook his head, hoping she would interpret his warning and follow his lead. He winked, then rounded on Brooke.
‘To begin with, I must tell you that I am not Lord Ashby. My name is Matthew Thomas.’
‘Not...? But, sir, you gave me to believe... I allowed you...’
‘Quite. You believed my claim and you showed me into what was supposed to be a private parlour for the use of these ladies. I must inform you—and this is not to be spoken of outside this room—that we already had grave concerns over Lady Ashby’s safety.
‘Now then, I told that lie in order to see how easy it might be for an intruder to gain access to Lady Ashby whilst she is staying here. I not only tricked you into revealing her whereabouts, but also persuaded you—with little difficulty, I might add—to allow me to enter her private parlour unannounced.
‘I must inform you, Brooke, that you have failed my test miserably. Had I harboured evil intentions towards Lady Ashby, there would have been nothing to prevent me carrying out my worst. I am extremely disappointed.
‘Lady Rothley happened to be with her niece at the time, but you were not to know that. Anything could have happened and, as a result of your failures, I am afraid we have no alternative but to move to another establishment for the night.’
‘No, I beg of you, sir, ladies, please do not leave. A thousand apologies, milady—’ Brooke bowed to Eleanor, wringing his hands in his anguish ‘—for my failures. I can promise you it will not happen again. I shall place guards on each door. You are our only guests tonight and I swear to turn any latecomers away. I shall have a man patrolling all night long. The George will be more secure than the Tower itself, of that you have my word.
‘Do please reconsider. My wife has prepared a feast for tonight—it is ready to be served, and it is dark outside and beginning to rain. Surely you would prefer to stay here in the warm than go out in search of other accommodation?
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘if there is someone out there who means you harm, he could attack you more easily outside than if you remain safe and snug in here, especially now I am aware of the danger.’
He looked eagerly from one to the other.
Matthew heaved a sigh, concealing his relief that Brooke had fallen for his ploy. ‘Well, if you promise you will put guards on the outer doors—and for the whole night, mind, not just until we retire—we will stay. Although, make no mistake, my man, you are still on trial. If I discover any lapse in attention, it will be the worse for you.’
‘Yes, my...sir.’ Brooke bowed his way out of the door.
Matthew looked at Eleanor and Lady Rothley. ‘Well? Have we come through unscathed?’
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_541df832-5687-5083-98a6-3014b52cd8b1)
‘I believe so. Well done,’ Eleanor said and smiled at Matthew. ‘The poor man didn’t know if he was coming or going. I don’t think it even crossed his mind to question that Aunt Lucy was in here the whole time.’
Aunt Lucy was not so quick to forgive. ‘Let us hope this doesn’t get back to Lizzie and Matilda,’ she warned, ‘for I doubt they will be so easy to deceive.’
* * *
Dinner was served at a table set for three in the private parlour. Brooke had not lied when he promised them a feast and they were served with dishes of succulent roast meats, pigeon pie, vegetables and rich sauces, followed by stewed apples, blancmanges, dried fruits and nuts, all accompanied by some very palatable wines.
Conversation at the dinner table was necessarily stilted, with the serving maid and Brooke himself in and out of the room. As the last dishes were cleared away, Eleanor heard Brooke murmur in Matthew’s ear, ‘Brandy, sir?’
They had eaten in the parlour, so it was impossible for Eleanor and her aunt to leave Matthew to his brandy, as was customary. As he pushed his chair back and stood, presumably to go through to the taproom, Eleanor said, ‘If you would care for some brandy, Mr Thomas, please do not feel obliged to leave.’
‘No, indeed,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘In fact...Brooke, my good man, would you bring two glasses, please? A little tot will help me sleep, I make no doubt. My niece and I shall retire very soon, Mr Thomas, and leave you to enjoy your brandy in peace.’
‘Thank you.’ Matthew said. ‘I doubt I shall be long in following you to bed. It’s been a long, eventful day.’
Brooke soon returned with a full decanter and two glasses. After drinking her tot, Aunt Lucy rose to her feet. ‘Come, Ellie, it is time for us to retire. Mr Thomas, may we leave you with the task of checking Brooke’s security arrangements? We shall see you in the morning. Goodnight.’
‘My pleasure,’ Matthew said. ‘Goodnight, ladies.’
As soon as the door closed behind them, Aunt Lucy said, ‘I wonder who our Mr Thomas really is?’
Eleanor paused, her foot on the bottom stair. ‘What do you mean: who he really is?’
Aunt Lucy looked back at the parlour door. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But there is something...oh, I don’t know...something almost familiar about him. And, just as I think I’m on the brink of grasping it, it slips away again. Never mind. I am sure it will come to me in time.’
They continued up the stairs to the first landing and Eleanor wished her aunt goodnight at her bedchamber door. Lizzie helped her to undress before leaving and Eleanor climbed into bed, exhausted, ready for a good night’s sleep. As soon as her head hit the pillow, however, her mind sprang to life, reliving the fire and the accident, fretting at the attack on that young girl—could it truly be connected to her? Was James responsible? No, she could never believe it of him. Not attempted murder. But the very thought that someone might wish to kill her was too much to bear and she tossed and turned until finally, still wide awake, she decided to go downstairs to see if she could sneak a tot of brandy for herself. If it helped Aunt Lucy to sleep, mayhap it would do the same for her?
Relighting her candle, she found her slippers and wrapped her large woollen shawl around her. Taking up the candlestick, she stepped softly on to the dark landing and crept to the head of the stairs. Stomach churning uneasily, despite Brooke’s promise to post two guards at every external door, she tiptoed down the stairs to the parlour. Surely everyone must have retired by now? She could hear nothing but the distant rumble of snores—a comforting sound, confirming there were people within reach should she need them.
She hesitated a moment at the parlour door, listening, before lifting the latch and pushing the door open.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
Matthew stood before the fire, one booted foot on the fender. He had removed his jacket, leaving him clad in shirt, waistcoat and pantaloons, which clung to his buttocks and muscular thighs. His left hand was propped against the mantelshelf as he stared down into the glowing embers and his right cradled a goblet of amber liquid. Eleanor had not thought for one minute he would still be up, for had he not said he would be retiring soon after them? Thank goodness he had not heard the door open. Her fingers tightened, clutching her shawl closer around her. She must leave. Now. She would be foolish to remain.
Still she hesitated. Something about the way he was standing and staring into the fire tugged at her heartstrings. He looked a little...lost, somehow, and the urge to offer comfort was strong. The memory of his kiss set her lips tingling, despite her confusion over his subsequent reaction when he had said he did not want complications. Eleanor bit her lip, considering.
No. She must go. They had tempted fate once already today. She must not do so again. She stepped back but, before she could close the door, something—a slight noise perhaps, or just the movement—betrayed her. Matthew looked up. She caught a glimpse of loneliness and sorrow before his mask slipped back into place.
She swallowed hard, her nerves in shreds. Why, oh, why, had she lingered? Why did she not retreat the second she saw him? It was too late now. She stepped inside the room and closed the door.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Thomas,’ she whispered. ‘I was unable to sleep and I thought to come down for some brandy, in the hope it might help.’
His voice was low, but she could hear the steel behind his words. ‘And so you decided to wander around the inn at the dead of night? Even after everything that’s happened?’
‘I was careful! Besides, I knew you had inspected the doors and windows, so nobody can get in.’
His jaw firmed. ‘You place far too much faith in my abilities.’ He lifted his glass to his lips and tipped his head back.
‘Why should I not?’ Eleanor said. ‘I trust you.’
She hesitated. What had she said? That sounded... Matthew was appraising her, brows raised, a knowing smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
‘I mean,’ she added quickly, ‘I trust your capabilities.’
‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘don’t spoil it now. I could get very used to basking in your approval.’
Eleanor felt the blood suffuse her face, her insides squirming at his teasing smile. ‘I must go. I bid you goodnight.’ She turned to the door.
‘Don’t go.’
She paused, her hand already on the latch.
Are you going to flee every time a man shows a smidgeon of interest in you? Irritably, she tried to shrug away that insidious voice in her head.
‘Stay a moment, please. I’d welcome the company.’ There was a hint of a plea in those words.
Her awkwardness receded. He had looked desolate. Mayhap she could help. She had come downstairs for brandy... She would not scuttle away as though she had done something wrong. There could be no harm in staying for a minute or two, as long as they weren’t seen.
She slowly faced him, then gestured to the decanter that remained where Brooke had left it on the sideboard. ‘Would you pour me some brandy, please?’
She crossed the room, hugging her shawl even more tightly around her, as he poured out a measure of the spirit. Her doubts reared up again...why did I not go when I had the chance?
Because you want to know, the treacherous voice in her head whispered. You want to know how it feels when a man desires you.
Matthew’s blue gaze captured hers as he handed her the goblet, their fingers brushing. Eleanor all but snatched the glass from his hand.
‘Thank you,’ she said, moving swiftly to stand next to the fireplace.
‘You are most welcome, my lady.’
His deep voice resonated, sending a quiver of excitement darting through her core. Oh, my. Warning bells rang loud and clear but she chose to ignore them. Yes, it was scandalous to be here, alone, with Matthew, but she was in control. Nothing would happen. Mayhap she could view this as practice—to help her conquer the hideous embarrassment that had plagued her during her come-out. If she could learn to converse unselfconsciously with the attractive, but undoubtedly unsuitable, Matthew Thomas, might that not stand her in good stead in London, where there would be attractive, suitable gentlemen to talk to and dance with?
Eleanor fixed her gaze on the goblet cupped in her hands. She swirled the glowing liquid round the bowl, warming it before lifting it to her lips. She sipped, then coughed at its fiery strength. She was aware, without looking, that Matthew had resumed his stance on the opposite side of the hearth, setting the decanter on the mantelshelf.
Feeling emboldened, she said, ‘You know a great deal about me, but I know next to nothing of you. Other than you have a good eye for horseflesh.’
He stared into the dying fire. ‘There is nothing much to know and the details are unlikely to interest you.’
‘Nevertheless...’ She allowed the silence to hang between them. While she waited, she drank again, relishing the warmth as the brandy slid down her throat.
‘Since the age of eighteen I have lived and worked overseas. I am a merchant—my world is far removed from the world you inhabit.’
Eleanor raised her brows. He had been more forthcoming in that one sentence than he had since they first met. ‘Where did you live?’
‘India. I only returned to England a few weeks ago.’
‘Do you miss it? Will you go back there?’
He frowned, still gazing into the embers. ‘I miss some aspects of it and I may return in the future, who knows? But not to live. England is my home from now on.’
‘Why did you go out there in the first place?’
He shrugged. ‘I needed to make a living. My great-uncle was an East India merchant, and I went to work with him. When he died, I decided to come home.’
‘What about work? How will you make your living now?’
He laughed, softly. ‘You ask a lot of questions, my lady,’ he said. ‘More brandy?’ He proffered the decanter and waited, brows raised.
‘Thank you.’ Eleanor held her glass out and he poured her another measure of the amber spirit. ‘It is very nice. I can understand why Aunt Lucy thought it would help her sleep.’
Matthew watched her sip again at the brandy, eyes crinkling. ‘Is this the first time you’ve tasted brandy?’
‘Oh, yes. Now, what was it I said?’
‘You asked how I will make my living now I am back in England. I warn you, this is the last question and then it is your turn to be interrogated. I shall make my living the same way I always have—in trade. We import tea, rugs, cloth, porcelain, anything really, from India and, sometimes, China. If there’s a market for it, we import it.’
‘We?’
