Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return. Janice Preston

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СКАЧАТЬ me some brandy, please?’

      She crossed the room, hugging her shawl even more tightly around her, as he poured out a measure of the spirit. Her doubts reared up again...why did I not go when I had the chance?

      Because you want to know, the treacherous voice in her head whispered. You want to know how it feels when a man desires you.

      Matthew’s blue gaze captured hers as he handed her the goblet, their fingers brushing. Eleanor all but snatched the glass from his hand.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, moving swiftly to stand next to the fireplace.

      ‘You are most welcome, my lady.’

      His deep voice resonated, sending a quiver of excitement darting through her core. Oh, my. Warning bells rang loud and clear but she chose to ignore them. Yes, it was scandalous to be here, alone, with Matthew, but she was in control. Nothing would happen. Mayhap she could view this as practice—to help her conquer the hideous embarrassment that had plagued her during her come-out. If she could learn to converse unselfconsciously with the attractive, but undoubtedly unsuitable, Matthew Thomas, might that not stand her in good stead in London, where there would be attractive, suitable gentlemen to talk to and dance with?

      Eleanor fixed her gaze on the goblet cupped in her hands. She swirled the glowing liquid round the bowl, warming it before lifting it to her lips. She sipped, then coughed at its fiery strength. She was aware, without looking, that Matthew had resumed his stance on the opposite side of the hearth, setting the decanter on the mantelshelf.

      Feeling emboldened, she said, ‘You know a great deal about me, but I know next to nothing of you. Other than you have a good eye for horseflesh.’

      He stared into the dying fire. ‘There is nothing much to know and the details are unlikely to interest you.’

      ‘Nevertheless...’ She allowed the silence to hang between them. While she waited, she drank again, relishing the warmth as the brandy slid down her throat.

      ‘Since the age of eighteen I have lived and worked overseas. I am a merchant—my world is far removed from the world you inhabit.’

      Eleanor raised her brows. He had been more forthcoming in that one sentence than he had since they first met. ‘Where did you live?’

      ‘India. I only returned to England a few weeks ago.’

      ‘Do you miss it? Will you go back there?’

      He frowned, still gazing into the embers. ‘I miss some aspects of it and I may return in the future, who knows? But not to live. England is my home from now on.’

      ‘Why did you go out there in the first place?’

      He shrugged. ‘I needed to make a living. My great-uncle was an East India merchant, and I went to work with him. When he died, I decided to come home.’

      ‘What about work? How will you make your living now?’

      He laughed, softly. ‘You ask a lot of questions, my lady,’ he said. ‘More brandy?’ He proffered the decanter and waited, brows raised.

      ‘Thank you.’ Eleanor held her glass out and he poured her another measure of the amber spirit. ‘It is very nice. I can understand why Aunt Lucy thought it would help her sleep.’

      Matthew watched her sip again at the brandy, eyes crinkling. ‘Is this the first time you’ve tasted brandy?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Now, what was it I said?’

      ‘You asked how I will make my living now I am back in England. I warn you, this is the last question and then it is your turn to be interrogated. I shall make my living the same way I always have—in trade. We import tea, rugs, cloth, porcelain, anything really, from India and, sometimes, China. If there’s a market for it, we import it.’

      ‘We?’

      ‘My business partner, Benedict Poole, and I. He is, as we speak, sailing back to England with two more cargoes.

      ‘And that is more than enough about me... You told me you have you not been to London for seven years. Was that your come-out? Why have you never been back?’

      The swift change of subject had Eleanor replying before she could consider her words. ‘It was my come-out, yes, but I hated it.’

      ‘Hated? That is a strong reaction to something that is meant to be pleasurable.’

      ‘What do you know about come-outs and Seasons?’

      ‘Oh, I hear talk,’ he replied. ‘I thought it was compulsory for every young lady to adore their come-out.’

      She couldn’t help giggling. ‘Not me. I was shy and, looking back, too immature.’

      ‘That doesn’t explain why you have not been back since. You are far from shy now.’

      Heat rose to burn her cheeks as their kiss loomed large in her thoughts. Matthew’s suddenly intense expression suggested he, too, was thinking of it. She gulped her remaining drink, then held out her glass for more, ignoring Matthew’s raised brows as he poured a little...a very little...brandy into her goblet.

      As she opened her mouth to ask for more, Matthew said, ‘Why are you so wary of scandal?’

      The breath whooshed from Eleanor’s lungs. ‘What...what do you mean? I am not—’

      ‘Uh-uh.’ Matthew shook his head at her, eyes brimming with amusement. ‘I answered all your questions...no avoiding the awkward ones.’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘Your aunt gave me the clue. You were full of indignation and she stopped you with that one phrase—“Think of the scandal.”’

      Eleanor forced a light laugh even as she registered—somewhere deep down—that her mind was a touch fuddled. She concentrated fiercely on her words. ‘You show me anyone who relishes their own scandal, Mr Thomas. It seems quite reasonable to me that I should not wish to be tainted.’

      ‘Entirely reasonable, yes. But her words and your reaction suggest something more than the normal desire to avoid scandal. As if, maybe, there is something in your past? Come now, how bad can it be? A few stolen kisses?’

      Eleanor stiffened. She could hardly blame him for believing such a possibility.

      His lips twitched. ‘I promise I will not hold your scandal against you.’

      ‘It is not my scandal. It was my mother’s. And I do not wish to talk about it.’ She put her glass on the mantelshelf. ‘I am going to bed.’

      Matthew caught her hand. ‘No, don’t go. I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities.’ He smiled, ruefully. ‘I fear I am out of practice in how to treat a lady. I promise to pry no further.’

      His touch sent a tremor racing through her and she snatched her hand from his. For some reason, his assumption that she needed protection from the truth—that her female sensibilities somehow precluded her from facing СКАЧАТЬ