to control himself. He had set out on this path, and he had no choice now but to continue if he were to protect her from her evil cousin.
‘Why are you even here?’ he said, his back to her. He had been struck with horror when he caught sight of her—stunning in pale-yellow silk—in the Lexingtons’ ballroom. ‘Pacey said you were engaged to dine with the Elys tonight.’
‘Lord Ely was taken ill so we dined at home.’ She sounded dazed. ‘Then we came...’ Her voice sharpened. ‘What are you saying? That you would not be here, announcing yourself as Matthew Damerel, had you known Aunt Lucy and I would be present? What a fine joke you have played on us, sir. I hope we have provided you with plenty of amusement.’
He faced her. ‘You are upset with me...with every right... I will explain.’
‘Go ahead.’ Her voice was icy. ‘I suggest you do it quickly, before my aunt comes looking for me.’
Matthew crossed the room to stand by the fireplace. Eleanor sat ramrod straight, hands gripped in her lap. Sitting in judgement. On him. Resentment churned his gut. Who was she, to look down on him? Why hadn’t he had the sense to walk away that first day?
‘My name is Matthew Thomas Damerel. I am the third son of the Earl of Rushock.’
‘So you are not a merchant after all?’
‘That part was true. I am a merchant; it is how I earn my living.’ He had been proud of his independence. Now it felt as though he was admitting to something shameful. There was no shred of encouragement on her face. Her eyes were unreadable, her lips set in a hard line.
‘Why lie about your name?’
‘Thomas is my middle name. I’ve lived as Matthew Thomas since I went to India. My own name is too distinctive and I did not wish to invite speculation about my past.’
‘But when you returned to England...surely, with your family here—’
‘No!’ Matthew scrubbed his hand across his jaw. How could he make her understand? ‘That is the point. I am...was...’ He stared down into the empty grate. Revealing his past—humbling himself—to Eleanor was harder than he anticipated, particularly in the face of her cold demeanour. But the truth was the only way if he was to regain her trust. ‘My father disowned me when I was eighteen. I was rebellious in my youth—heedless of the troubles I left in my wake as I pursued my own pleasures. I was expelled from Harrow, sent down from Oxford, I drank too much, gambled, ran up debts...’
‘Not so very different to many young men,’ Eleanor said into the silence as he hesitated.
Matthew heaved a frustrated breath. ‘No, not so very different. But then, at eighteen, I was falsely accused of something. My father believed my accuser’s word against mine. He and Claverley—my eldest brother—decided I must go to my great-uncle in India. I refused, determined to stay and clear my name, but they wouldn’t listen.’ He fingered the bump on his nose—a constant, bitter reminder of their betrayal. ‘Claverley took me by surprise. Knocked me out cold. When I came to, the ship had set sail and I could do nothing about it.’
‘What were you accused of?’
‘Does it matter?’ He was loath to admit the sordid details. ‘Will you trust me when I say the accusation was false?’
‘Trust you? How can I trust you?’ The words burst from Eleanor as she shot to her feet. ‘You have lied and made a fool of me.’
‘How have I made a fool of you?’ He fought to hold the reins of his temper. ‘And I did not lie... You are not listening—I have lived as Matthew Thomas for eight years. My use of that name had nothing to do with you.’
‘Nothing to do with me?’ Her voice rose. ‘Even after you kissed me?’ Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze.
‘Why,’ he growled, ‘should I tell you something I had no intention of ever revealing to anyone, ever again?’
‘So why have you revealed it now?’ She jabbed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’
She was like a dog worrying at a bone...why could she not just accept what he was saying without challenging him?
‘Is it to prove you would be an acceptable match for me by birth? Is that it? Was James right? Are you just another fortune hunter?’
The lid blew off his self-control. ‘Fortune hunter?’ The words erupted from his mouth. Yet another false slur! Was it not enough he had been labelled a cheat all these years? ‘How dare you? There is no force on earth that would persuade me to court a woman who not only outranks me but has tenfold my wealth.’
Her eyes narrowed and her jaw jutted forward. ‘Then why are we here?’
‘What do you mean? I told you... I needed you to understand.’
‘But why me? Why not...oh, I don’t know! Aunt Lucy? Or...or Arabella Tame? Why have you singled me out for your explanations?’
‘Because they do not need my protection,’ he ground out. ‘You do. I cannot leave you vulnerable. Good God, I have never met such a stubborn, infuriating woman. I tried to talk to you downstairs, but, no! You would not listen.’ He grabbed her shoulders. ‘I had to change my name back. How the he—deuce can I protect you when I was constantly afraid to show my face in society in case I was recognised? That is the only reason I am reclaiming my true identity. Obligation. And believe me when I say I am beginning to regret embarking on this whole nightmare.’
‘Oh!’ Eleanor jerked out of his hold. ‘Obligation?’ She inhaled, then straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and shook out the skirts of her ballgown. She raised both hands to smooth down her hair. ‘I see. Well, you had no need to bother. I release you from any obligation... I have all the protection I need, thank you, Mr Damerel.’
She didn’t quite know how she got there, but Eleanor found herself out in the passageway, heading blindly towards the staircase, the crush of the ballroom awaiting her. As she descended the stairs, her wits began to reassemble. Anger and humiliation still bubbled, tempered only slightly by her guilt at flinging that vile accusation at Matthew.
Moistening dry lips, swallowing convulsively, she fumbled for her dance card to discover the name of her next dance partner. The space was blank and she gave thanks for that small mercy. She walked into the ballroom, head high, feeling as though every eye in the place was on her; as though every person knew what a fool she was; and as though her name was on every lip and it was spoken with scorn.
‘Aunt Lucy, I am sorry, I have the headache. Would you mind if we go home?’
Aunt Lucy was still deep in conversation with Sir Horace. ‘Oh dear, you do look rather pale, my pet,’ she said, worry creasing her forehead. ‘Of course we can go. Please do excuse us, Sir Horace. I hope we shall meet again soon.’
A delicate pink tinged Aunt Lucy’s cheeks as Sir Horace kissed her hand. ‘You can be sure we will, dear lady,’ he said.
He had two choices. Again. He could follow his head or his instinct. His head told him to leave her to her fate. She had rejected his offer of help enough times now. And she had insulted him. Those two words...circling in his head, like buzzards...is that what she truly thought of him? Of his reasons for returning to her side again and again? A fortune hunter? Had her cousin succeeded in poisoning her mind against him? No one could blame him for walking away this time.
Or he could harden his soul against those words and follow his instinct, which was to protect her come what may. And that meant he must proffer an olive branch. His temper had got the better of him, but he had not said anything untrue. She was stubborn. And she was infuriating. And there was no way on earth his pride would allow him to court her—no matter