pay my own way.’
‘And a very good morning to you, too, Mr Thomas,’ Eleanor said, lifting her chin. Both she and Aunt Lucy had broken their fast in their rooms, so this was their first meeting of the day. His manner did not bode well for a pleasant journey. ‘There is no call for you to turn top-lofty. This is my party, my journey. I pay.’
It was the only way she could retain her dignity. The tug of attraction was still strong. The memory of his kiss still set her senses aflame. His assumption of command throughout their first day of travel—overseeing the changes of the horses, arranging refreshments and private parlours to rest in, and checking and organising the security of the inn they stayed in overnight—had lifted the burden of responsibility from Eleanor. And she was both relieved and affronted by it. An inner tussle with her conscience had resulted in her admitting—but only privately—that, on balance, it was pleasant to have a man to take charge for a change.
She was no longer shy and uncomfortable with him. Mayhap that was because he no longer looked at her in that particular way, his blue eyes penetrating until her innermost thoughts felt exposed to his inspection. And, since that night at the George, he had neither teased her nor flirted with her. His manner had been that of a polite, casual acquaintance. Eleanor had been able to move past the fluster and the blushes, and treat him—on the surface, at least—as the simple travelling companion he was. But the desire to assert her authority was powerful and paying their way was how she chose to salvage her self-esteem. Ultimately, she who pays the piper calls the tune, she thought with satisfaction.
She had known he might object. She had not anticipated such fury. It was rigidly controlled, but fury none the less.
‘You may pay for your own accommodation and that of the servants,’ he said in a tight, low voice, ‘but I will not have you paying for my room and board. Here.’ He thrust out his hand, opening it to reveal a clutch of coins on his palm. ‘Take them.’
‘No. You are supplying a service. I will be responsible for your expenses.’ Eleanor turned and climbed into the post-chaise.
‘By God, you are the most infuriating woman I have ever met.’ Matthew leant in the open door, blue eyes blazing. ‘I have no need of your charity, Lady Ashby.’
Eleanor swallowed hard. ‘I do not view it as charity, but as my obligation.’
‘I may not have your wealth, but I am not poor. I can pay my way.’
‘I did not think for one moment that you couldn’t. Tell me—’ she locked gazes with him ‘—if I were a man, could you honestly say we would be having this same discussion?’
Matthew opened his mouth, then closed it again. Inhaled, nostrils flaring. He climbed into the chaise and sat down, leaning back into the corner, eyes narrowed as he regarded her.
‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I cannot imagine another man accepting he might need my protection. But do not think that means I will accept you paying for my accommodation or my meals on the rest of the journey, for I will not.’
‘And if I pay anyway?’
‘Then there will be some very lucky innkeepers between here and London, for they will be paid twice over for the one service.’
Hmmph. ‘It appears I must concede the point this time.’
‘What point might that be, Ellie?’ Aunt Lucy asked as Timothy handed her into the post-chaise.
‘Mr Thomas is offended that I have settled his account at the inn.’
‘I see,’ Aunt Lucy said, as she settled on to the seat between them.
She said no more, but it was clear from the sidelong look she bent on Eleanor that she considered her niece to be in the wrong. The journey passed with very little conversation other than passing comments on the scenery or the weather.
* * *
At the first stop to change the horses, however, Aunt Lucy returned to the subject as soon as Matthew left the post-chaise.
‘I am surprised at you, Ellie. Have you no consideration for a young man’s pride?’
‘Of course I have.’ Eleanor was stung by her aunt’s criticism. What about her own pride? Being kissed by a man—no, kissing a man—and then being roundly ignored? ‘I meant no slight.’ Had she really bruised his pride? Guilt stirred deep inside as she reviewed her actions and their conversation. Although she was determined to prove her capabilities in running her estates, she had always taken care not to flaunt her wealth or her privilege in front of others. Particularly men. She had realised, as she matured, that many men resented her title and her wealth simply because they afforded her that elusive advantage—for a female—of independence.
‘The best solution is for you to hand over the travelling purse to Mr Thomas,’ Aunt Lucy said, ‘and then he can settle the accounts and his pride will not suffer.’
‘No. Why should I hand over my money to a near stranger? What if—?’
‘What if I were to abscond with your funds?’ Matthew had appeared at the open door. His eyes glittered. ‘Trust me, Lady Ashby, I have no need of your few paltry coins. I have my own business and my own property. It may not match yours, but it is more than sufficient for my needs.’
He climbed in and slammed the door. The vehicle jerked as the horses took the strain and they were on the road again.
‘You have property, Mr Thomas? In London?’ Aunt Lucy asked.
Eleanor was, for once, grateful for her aunt’s insatiable curiosity. She would never have lowered herself to ask the question, but she was dying to know the answer.
‘Yes, in Bloomsbury. My great-uncle bequeathed me a small house in his will. As I said, it is enough for me.’
‘What was his name?’ Aunt Lucy asked. ‘Mayhap I knew him.’
‘You would not have known him, Lady Rothley. He spent all of his adult life in India. He was my grandmother’s brother—their father was a cloth merchant. They did not move in your circles.’
The conversation was at a close and Eleanor settled down for the remainder of the journey. Just two more nights, then we shall be in London. And then...she closed her eyes and concentrated on planning her campaign for full acceptance in society and those all-important vouchers for Almack’s, burying deep the ache in her heart at the thought she would never see Matthew Thomas again.
Matthew gazed broodingly at Eleanor across the dining table on the evening of the following day. It was the last night of their journey. Tomorrow they would be in London. He would deliver Eleanor and her aunt safely to their door, say goodbye and never have to set eyes on the top-lofty, arrogant, beautiful, stubborn woman again. His brain and his body were in complete conflict. He wanted her. Badly. He was not even sure he liked her. But he definitely wanted her. The tension in his muscles whenever she was close could not be denied.
He’d had to steel himself against the hurt in those beautiful, tawny-brown eyes as he had treated her with cool civility during the first day of travel, when he barely trusted himself to even look at her. After that, it had become easier as Eleanor withdrew behind her grande dame persona. Matthew had busied himself as much as possible at every stop they made, lest he reveal the desire that burned deep within him every time he came within touching distance of her.
‘You still won’t be safe.’ The words were out there before he could consider them, or where they might lead.
Eleanor lowered her knife and fork and fixed those luminous eyes on him, candlelight highlighting gold flecks he had not noticed before. They drew him in, charging his blood, making him wish the impossible.
A