LITMIR.BIZ

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would not do for Lizzie to find this in the morning.’

      Matthew opened the door.

      ‘Thank you, Matthew.’

      Her words stayed in his mind long after he had climbed into his cold, empty bed. He could not decide whether she was thanking him for what he had done, or for what he had not done.

      And she had called him Matthew.

      * * *

      She had long dreamed of falling in love. She would not give up her independence for anything less. What she had never considered was this confused state of mind that accompanied her feelings about Matthew Thomas.

       Desire.

      Yes, she desired him, and she recognised it and admitted it for what it was, despite her innocence. Was it possible to feel desire without love? Men certainly did.

      Think of it the other way round. Could I imagine loving a man without desiring him?

      She thought not.

       Desire.

      * * *

      The following morning, Eleanor studied Matthew, who was seated on the far side of a dozing Aunt Lucy, from under her lashes. He stared broodingly out of the chaise window at the passing scenery. The bump on his nose was more noticeable in profile. How had it been broken? Fighting? How little she still knew of him.

      Last night... In her mind’s eye she saw him again, clad only in his nightshirt, the neck open, revealing bronzed, smooth skin. It reached to just above his knees and she had drunk in the sight of his naked calves and feet—muscular, hair-dusted, so very different from her own pale, smooth limbs. She, thank goodness, had been totally covered by her nightgown and, apart from her hair being loose, she had been no more exposed than if she had worn a day dress. Less, in fact, as the fashion now was for a scooped neckline and her nightgown buttoned chastely to her neck.

      Matthew moved, shifting round to prop his shoulders into the corner and refolding his arms. He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and glanced across to Eleanor. She did not look away, but held his stare as his blue eyes darkened and his jaw firmed. He looked away first.

       Desire.

      He felt it, too. That fact gave her an inner confidence she had not imagined before they met. Even her own mother had abandoned her...that pain still ran deep. And Donald...his silken words and treacherous kisses...he had lied without compunction...told her he loved her...and she had believed him because she wanted to, until the truth had smacked her in the face and she could no longer fool herself with the pathetic fantasy of her own making. Being desired by an attractive man like Matthew had salved her inner doubts about her allure as a woman and her self-esteem had blossomed.

      It had not taken her long to become comfortable in his presence. It helped that he no longer teased or flirted. She appreciated his restraint, even though she felt she might now enjoy such banter and might even be able to join in the game without fear of ridicule. Trust. She barely knew him, yet she trusted him, not only to protect her against her unknown enemy but, and more importantly, to protect her against herself. Against her desire and her needs. Last night—if he hadn’t left when he did, she shuddered to think of the consequences.

      Now, she must look to her future. There would be many suitable men in London. She hoped she might meet one who would make her blood sizzle the way Matthew Thomas did. And that he might view her as an alluring woman and not as a walking treasure chest.

      ‘We are almost there,’ Matthew said.

      The view from the window had gradually changed. Where before there had been fields and woods and heaths and pleasant market towns and small hamlets, they now travelled through a maze of busy, dingy streets, the wheels clattering over endless cobbles.

      ‘It will be a relief not to have to travel again tomorrow,’ Aunt Lucy said, stirring and yawning.

      ‘Are you quite well, Aunt? You are very pale.’

      ‘I have the headache, my dear. I shall be quite all right after a lie down.’

      * * *

      At Upper Brook Street, the servants sent on ahead had readied the house, and it was almost like arriving home, with Pacey, Eleanor’s butler, and Mrs Pledger, her housekeeper, at the door to greet them. Matthew supported Aunt Lucy into the hall and then Mrs Pledger and Matilda took over, helping her up the white-marble staircase to settle into her bedchamber.

      Eleanor surveyed the bright, welcoming entrance hall. If the rest of the house was of a similar standard, it would be more than adequate for their stay in London. She was resigned to spending the next few months, at least, in London, whilst Ashby Manor was made habitable.

      Eleanor smiled at Matthew. ‘Would you care for a dish of tea before you leave? Or a glass of wine?’

      ‘Thank you—tea would be most welcome.’

      Pacey showed Eleanor and Matthew into a back parlour, decorated in green and gold.

      ‘Please leave the door open, Pacey, and instruct one of the maids to come and sit in here with us,’ Eleanor said. She would start as she must go on, with a keen regard for her reputation and those vital vouchers for Almack’s. After the butler left, she continued, ‘I might not always seem it, but I am grateful for your help, Mr Thomas. And for your company. You have helped make a long, tedious and what might have been a dangerous journey infinitely better.’

      ‘Have you any idea how soon you will be able to appoint new footmen?’

      ‘No. I am sure Pacey will arrange that. There is bound to be a Register Office nearby.’

      * * *

      ‘Indeed there is, my lady,’ Pacey said when asked upon his return to the parlour. ‘Shall you require me to appoint additional staff?’

      ‘Yes.’ Eleanor told the butler of the happenings on the road.

      ‘Lady Ashby will need two footmen to accompany her whenever she goes out,’ Matthew said. ‘Plus, you must treat the security of this house as of the utmost importance. External doors must be bolted and ground-floor windows latched at all times, no matter the inconvenience.’

      ‘My lady?’

      The butler turned to her for confirmation, allowing Eleanor to accept Matthew’s instructions with more grace than she might otherwise have achieved. ‘Yes, Pacey. It is as Mr Thomas has said.’

      ‘And strong lads, mind. They need to be stout enough to protect her ladyship.’

      ‘With your leave, my lady, I shall visit the Register Office immediately. The sooner we can appoint the extra staff the better, it would seem.’

      Two maids brought in a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches, and one of the maids remained in the room afterwards. A rebellious part of Eleanor regretted her impulse to follow propriety so strictly, but she knew it was the correct thing to do. It forced their conversation on to everyday matters. Eventually, Mr Thomas stood to take his leave. Eleanor rose to her feet, her insides hollowing as she realised she might never see him again.

      ‘I do hope you will call upon us from time to time, to let us know how you go on.’

      He bowed. ‘Of course.’ He reached into his pocket and handed her a sheet of paper upon which he had written an address. ‘If you have need of me, send word.’

      Eleanor took the sheet with suddenly trembling fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice strangling as her throat swelled. To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears and she hurriedly tried to blink them away. This would never do.

      Matthew reached for her hand, and squeezed. He lowered his voice as he asked, ‘Are you all right?’

      Eleanor hauled in a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I am sorry...so foolish of me. I dare say it’s the journey...so very exhausting.’

      She

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