Return Of Scandal's Son

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_1c67319d-c9cc-5590-b410-efd4b462abaa)

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.’