peered out into the twilit street. She laughed self-mockingly, and shook her head. ‘It is foolish, I know, but I cannot help but look outside every so often, in case I see him.’
‘It is not foolish. You are right to stay alert. Where is Alastair? Is he here?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She smiled at Matthew over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. ‘He is upstairs, completing his toilette. He attends society events rarely and his pride dictates he is not found wanting.’
‘He does not enjoy such gatherings, then?’
‘No, and judging by what has remained unsaid, I suspect that, in my cousin’s case, it is a case of mamas and chaperons beware.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He leads a reckless life and my uncle did not leave the family fortunes in a robust state. Not many parents would countenance an impoverished second son courting their daughter.’ She flushed. ‘Oh! That was tactless indeed. I am sorry, I did not mean... I hope I did not cause offence?’
‘My shoulders are broader than that, I hope,’ Matthew said. Her words might have stung if he had not already inured himself to that truth. ‘Besides, Alastair’s position as second son is positively charmed compared to mine. A third son is a far more hopeless proposition, would you not say?’
She looked up, laughing again. ‘Only if those parents were fixed upon their daughter marrying for position. Or wealth.’
Their gazes fused. Matthew’s waistcoat suddenly seemed too tight to draw breath as Eleanor’s smile faded and her eyes questioned his. Without volition, he raised his hand to her cheek and trailed his fingers down soft, silken skin to her mouth.
‘Eleanor.’
Her eyes widened, darkening as her lips parted. A quick glance to the pianist, who was absorbed by his trilling chords, and Matthew tilted her chin, lowering his head to touch his lips to hers. It felt like home. Where he belonged. With a deep groan, he gathered her to him, backing her through the curtains into the narrow bay beyond, ignoring the clamour of caution in his head.
Her arms snaked around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair as their tongues entwined. The rush of blood to his groin kept his conscience at bay as he plundered her sweet mouth. The press of her body to his, her full breasts squashed against his chest, her unique perfume—jasmine, interwoven with the tantalising scent of feminine arousal—flooded his senses as his hands roamed her voluptuous curves. Lost in the most arousing kiss of his life, he forgot time, place and propriety as Eleanor cupped his face, then slipped questing hands beneath his coat to caress his chest.
As her touch crept lower Matthew reluctantly resurfaced. A stolen kiss was one thing. Any more...
‘Eleanor...’ A harsh whisper from fevered lips as the enormity of his actions hit him. ‘You are...irresistible.’
He could hardly bear to meet her eyes. Instead, he peeked through the slight gap between the curtains. The room was still empty. The pianist beyond was still absorbed in his music.
‘Quickly,’ he said, leading her back into the room. He stepped back. Examined her. No signs of ravishment, her hair still in place.
It wasn’t her hair you were manhandling. Guilt shrouded his thoughts, penetrated deep into his heart. What had he done?
‘Matthew...?’
‘I am sorry. I had no intention...’ He paused. It was not possible. The future. Could he...? Every ounce of his pride rose up to smother his guilt. No. He could not. ‘You are so very lovely. But...’
She released him from the hook upon which he squirmed. ‘But it can never be?’
He shook his head.
A frown creased her forehead. ‘You will make up your differences with your father and the rest of your family, you will see. You only need the time and the opportunity.’
‘And then what?’
He had not meant to sound so harsh, hated the hurt that surfaced in her tawny eyes before she dropped her gaze.
‘I will not be a kept man.’
‘You have your business interests—’
‘They are nothing in comparison.’
‘In comparison to what?’ she snapped. ‘You have worked for what you have, Matthew. How does that make you a lesser being?’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I would never view a gentleman who earns his way in the world as inferior to a gentleman who has inherited his wealth.’
‘Then you are the exception to the rule,’ Matthew said, ‘for that is exactly how society views a man who has to work for a living.’
‘Who cares what—?’
‘You care. You came to London to erase the memory of your mother’s scandal, to be accepted for Almack’s. You care what society thinks of you. You want a position in society, and you have one. And I care what society would think of me if...’
His voice had risen. He stepped back and Eleanor’s hand slipped from his arm.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, quieter now. ‘I had no intention of raising false expectations. I will not be labelled a fortune hunter on the catch for a rich wife. My honour...’
‘Your honour?’ Her eyes flashed scorn. ‘You speak of honour, yet you think nothing of stealing kisses from a maiden who, by your own admission, you would never wed.’
The bitter words hung in the air between them. Why could she not see how hard this was for him, too? Did she think it gave him pleasure to picture her with another man?
‘You should go and find your gloves before your guests arrive.’
Eleanor left the room without another word, back straight, head high.
He had expected nothing less.
* * *
Although he had stated his case, Eleanor’s words nevertheless came back to him at times during the evening. I would never view a gentleman who earns his way in the world as inferior to a gentleman who has inherited his wealth. He believed her. The problem was not with her views on the chasm between them, but with his. And with his pride. He might start with just a tiny feeling of inferiority, but what if it were to grow? What of Eleanor’s penchant for having her own way? How long before their disparate circumstances reared up to cause trouble? He would never be approved to buy vouchers for Almack’s—not that he would want them, but that was hardly the point. Would she grow to resent him and to regret shackling herself to a gentleman who would not be fully accepted everywhere?
She deserved better than him and, in time, she would see it.
On the other hand...love. He could think about her, and them, and all the reasons—very good reasons—why they should stay apart. It was the only outcome that made sense. But then, in his heart... Eleanor. She was so deeply entrenched he could not imagine a day without loving her. He had no interest in any other woman.
Confused, Matthew chatted, and danced, and played cards by rote as Eleanor acted the gracious hostess. He clenched his jaw against the pain of seeing Eleanor with other gentlemen, all more worthy of a wealthy peeress than he.
* * *
When will they get here? How will he react? Will he hate me for interfering?
Eleanor’s nerves skittered as she chewed at her lower lip, hoping she had done the right thing. She looked around, seeking Matthew, and her stomach clenched in irritation at the sight of him dancing with yet another pretty miss. He had not danced with her and she could not blame him.
That kiss...she had been swept away by it...swept away by him...until anger had allowed her to gather her wits. She had returned to reality with a painful bump. Matthew was right. It was for the best. She could see it now. It could never work. She was better off without him.
There was a flurry of