by Heather Boyd
“Remarkably observant.” He caught her wrist again and stroked the soft skin on the inside. “But don’t dare test me again without expecting consequences.”
She shivered, and he hardened further at that sign of her unease around him. The thrill of having a woman even temporarily in his power only ever increased his desire.
“Your sisters have been writing every day and offering all sorts of treatments for you,” she said in a rush, attempting to draw away.
“Dear God, that is grim news.” He released her, bent one knee, and leaned on it. He hoped the gesture would set her at ease. He was master of his desires tonight. “What did you do with the advice?”
“I considered some of their suggestions, but then Mrs. Young took the letters from me before I could memorize them all.” She frowned. “I do hope they were answered to their satisfaction. They seemed very concerned about you.”
“I see.” Anger rose in him that the housekeeper had interfered. He let out another curse under his breath at his train of thought. Far better for Matilda that she be kept at a distance than become more involved in his life and with his sisters, but still…
“I would have liked to have written back to Miss Evelyn. She suggested I kiss a crown and place it directly over your heart to ward off infection, which of course could not have any effect on an injury like yours.” Her brow creased. “Does she really think that could have worked?”
“Evelyn has been infatuated with the occult in the past, but I had hoped she’d grown out of that foolishness,” he mused, shaking his head in disgust. Clearly he’d been away from them for too long, and his father’s romantic nature had corrupted them into bird-witted ninnies. Now he was better, he would oversee their reading much more strictly and see what sense they had left. “I will speak to her about such nonsense when I see them again.”
“That would be a good idea.” Matilda appeared a practical, no-nonsense kind of woman, and he was pleased. “Her suggestion speaks more of a romantic dream than of any science. I am aware that sometimes it is only faith that keeps despair at bay, but it was very surprising to read such a thing from someone with her education.”
He studied the woman who had bullied him back to life. Their conversation tonight was the most Matilda had ever spoken to him directly, aside from reading the daily newssheets and his correspondence. He was intrigued by her clarity of thought. “You’ve nerves of steel to have stayed at my side for so long. More courage than ten officers to witness what you must have done.”
“My father tried to shield me from the horrors of his work, but it seems he merely prepared me for what was to come working for you.” Her head dipped. “It is necessity for a servant to avoid squeamishness. I haven’t the luxury of fainting as so many of the delicate ladies of your class are prone to do.”
“Matilda,” he said, his voice carrying a warning. There had always been an odd remark or expression when she read that hinted at bitterness at the antics of the ton mentioned in the papers. For all of her headstrong ways with the doctors, she possessed a finely tuned moral compass. He’d had to remind himself more than once that she was not of his world. They were quite different in every respect.
She’d probably kept her father’s home until his death and overseen servants herself. He imagined she’d done very well at it too. Since coming here, she would have only dusted and entertained his sisters, who treated her as their own plaything while he had watched her with growing hunger.
And then what had he done but punish her when his own vices had spun out of control?
He tightened his grip on the sheet as lust crept up on him once more. He did not deserve her kindness and compassion. He was not a man anyone could love and had no delusions his nature was normal.
He had in truth not expected her to be still employed in his home. He’d thought she would have fled while he’d been away at sea. It was astonishing she hadn’t found other employment while he was away, though without a reference she might not have had a choice.
Before his injury, he’d briefly entertained the idea of offering her a new role in his life, but time had been short and he’d not been able to locate her before leaving last year. He couldn’t very well place such an offer in a letter. He’d changed his mind about the wisdom of making her his lover while they’d been apart, and especially so after his injury had thrown them together again.
Even though Matilda had the perfect temperament—quiet, trustworthy—she deserved better from him.
He’d do well to reestablish some boundaries. “Watch your tone when you speak to me.”
“Yes, Captain.” She swung off the bed and then patted her hair as she discovered he’d let it down. “When did you…?”
She quickly scrambled for the ribbon, but since he’d hidden it in the palm of his hand, her search was in vain. However, in her zeal to find her property, her enticing curves were revealed by the candle’s flickering light, and he had a fine view down her nightgown. He swallowed, itching to run his hands along her sides. Scold her for flaunting herself before him too.
It was well beyond time he took himself back to his usual brothel and purged his unreasonable urges.
She stood up and huffed, drawing her hands down the long strands of her hair to neaten her appearance. “I trust you are able to call for Mr. Dawson’s help now if you need it during the night?”
Mention of his valet soured his night. The man’s fussing was driving him to distraction. “I won’t need Dawson.”
“Of course.” She ducked down and collected her slippers, then fussed with her hair again. She seemed extremely uncomfortable with it loose. “If there is nothing else.”
“Wait,” he begged, but he sat up too quickly and clutched at his face as his newly healed skin stretched uncomfortably. “I have a great many questions that require answers.”
Matilda hurried for his nightstand, scooped out a little of the cream kept there, and pushed his hand aside impatiently. She carefully patted the rosemary-scented ointment along his tingling scar. William held her shoulders to steady himself as she rubbed gentle circles over the rough edges. Months without relief had made him aware of every touch upon his skin as if it were a flame. He flexed his mouth as she recapped the jar, then slid his fingers down to her narrow waist.
“That should help,” she whispered as he caressed her.
“Thank you.” He studied her as he inched his fingers around her lithe body. He almost couldn’t breathe for the anticipation and tension thrumming beneath her skin. “Don’t go,” he whispered.
The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he’d asked for.
Her gaze fell. “Tomorrow you must write to your family and inform them you are well again. They will want to visit. Tomorrow morning, after you’ve taken your breakfast, is the appropriate time to ask your questions. Mrs. Young will want to speak to you too, and she can fill you in on all you have missed.”
The housekeeper set his teeth on edge. Mrs. Young would have done nothing and allowed him to die. “I will retrieve my sisters’ letters to you and then speak to you alone tomorrow.”
She shivered and took a pace back, slipping out of his grasp. “Thank you.”
“Why do you fuss over me and then run away?”
“It is not right. I need this position.”
“I’m not about to dismiss you. Quite the reverse in fact.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you going to offer for me?”
William froze, startled by the suggestion. Hadn’t she run away from his passions before? He could not have a lover who disliked the tone of his desires. “I had not considered it.”
“You held my hand a great many times in the beginning,” she whispered.
“I remembered something of that,” he acknowledged guiltily. He had a hazy recollection of comfort whenever she was close. A nightmare made smaller and insignificant after her whispered words of kindness. “I don’t recall your making any attempt to stop me from touching you. Not even once. You were kinder to me than I
deserve.”
“You were ill.” She brought her hand up to her chest. “It was sometimes easier to let you have your way. You were not yourself.”
No doubt he’d been exactly himself, full of want to control her, but he would not reveal that truth to her now. Not if he could never have more than she was comfortable giving up. A marriage of unequal passions was utterly out of the question.
He threw himself out of the bed and followed her. “My actions reflect only on me.”
She stared up at him, her bottom lip quivering. “Yes, Captain.”
She should flee now. Her wary gaze drew him like a magnet, and he took a pace forward, unraveling the ribbon in his hand. “Come here and I will repair your hair.”
She held out her hand for the ribbon, but William shook his head stubbornly. It was his mistake to fix. “Turn around and face the mirror.”
She jumped, and he realized he’d said much the same thing to her that sunny afternoon he’d spanked her bottom red. He waited to see if she would comply, and when she slowly turned like she had the last time, he was pleased. Good servants were hard to find. Obedient ones like Matilda were extremely distracting.
William wasted no time in gathering her hair and running his fingers through the dark locks. He plaited the mass into a thick rope and tied it off with the ribbon and a bow the way he’d prefer it worn at night. He held her shoulders, admiring his handiwork, and then drew the light lemony fragrance that clung to her skin deep into his lungs. His cock ached as she held still, almost in his arms but not quite close enough to reveal his desires should she brush against him. “That should suffice,” he said in a voice thickened by growing lust.
“Thank you.” A hesitant smile teased her lips as she turned.
He kept his hands on her upper arms and his breath caught. Dear God. If he didn’t release her soon he might go mad. She seemed the type to…
His bedchamber door creaked open. “Captain?”
Dawson’s voice cut through his desire in a horrifying second.
He released Matilda and shoved her rudely toward the dressing room door before she was seen standing in his arms by his valet.
Tomorrow night, no matter what else occurred, he would take himself to the brothel and deal with his desires in the only way he could. There were women there who liked what he could make them feel far more than Matilda Winslow ever would.
Three
Matilda dumped the soiled linen in the laundry for washing, then turned to follow the sound of rushed steps toward the servants’ hall. She passed the butler as he clutched a bottle of red wine in his hands, rattling his keys as he locked up the wine cellar behind him.
“You are tardy, Miss Winslow.”
She was early. There wasn’t much point in protesting that she was ahead of her own schedule. Mr. Carter commanded the servants by his own rules, most of which had nothing to do with kindness or forward thinking. “Yes, Mr. Carter.”
She hurried to her place at the long table of the servants’ dining hall for her first meal of the day. It had been a week since the captain had emerged from the relative privacy of his bedchamber, and she’d been up for several hours already, preparing the house for the new day, lighting fires, dusting tables in every room and hallway on the ground floor.
Now that she no longer needed to perform the lighter work of hovering near Captain Ford’s bedchamber, she was already tired. The months she’d spent at his bedside were the easiest days since she’d entered his service.
The cruel whispers swirling around her daily made her hours of drudgery worse, and she had no one to comfort her here.
She did her best to ignore the other servants as she sat down to eat, but it always stung that everyone thought so little of her efforts. Because the captain had singled her out, they assumed her his lover. They believed she’d shared his bed during his recovery because she desired him, or desired his money. Jenny and Jane, the other two upstairs maids, were the most dim-witted imbeciles with but one thing on their mind—attracting any man no matter what they offered—a pretty trinket in return for their favors pleased them very well. They teased her constantly, assumed her after the captain’s attention.
The captain gave her nothing but trouble.
She glanced down the table, missing the steady presence of her beau Harry Lloyd but grateful he might never hear these terrible whispers about her character. They had met when he was a footman here, but he had gone away to make his fortune so they might marry one day soon. It was disappointing that she’d not had word of him recently, but the promise of his love kept her warm at night. It could not be too long till he came back to collect her and they could start a life together somewhere nicer.
She took her place well down the table from the highest-ranking servants in the house and forced a smile as the housekeeper strolled in with Mr. Dawson following close on her heels.
“His Lordship passed another quiet night,” Mr. Dawson informed everyone, smiling broadly at the news.
“That is very good.” The butler nodded approvingly as he poured wine for Mrs. Young and himself. “He’s had a trying time of it, but it seems he is out of danger at last.”
“Indeed he has.” The housekeeper glanced over everyone as she snatched up her brimming glass.
No one but the upper servants took wine so early in the day, and Matilda fumed. Such gluttony turned her stomach.
Mrs. Young’s eyes lingered on Matilda, and her glass twitched in her hand. “We will still endeavor to keep as quiet as possible so he is not disturbed and stay out of his way.”
The household was walking on eggshells around William Ford as they went about their duties. He’d been irritated for most of the week and usually scowled when he saw her working nearby.
“He has no plans to go out today,” Dawson remarked, casting a quick glance in Matilda’s direction. “He’s settled in the library and seems in exceptionally good spirits. He has asked to speak to you at eleven, Mrs. Young.”
There were a few among the servants who sighed with relief. The others glanced her way, no doubt wondering what she knew of the captain’s evening activities that might have attributed to his good mood.
The captain confused her. One moment speaking to her as an equal, touching her hair, and the next shoving her away and refusing to even acknowledge her existence. He’d been cold and abrupt all week, and he made her consider that running away might have been a better option than continuing to live another day under his roof.
Matilda held her breath, but Dawson never mentioned a similar summons for herself to see the captain. She was disappointed. Captain Ford had not recovered her letters from Mrs. Young yet nor had he passed them along. He had apparently forgotten his promise to retrieve them from the indolent housekeeper, if he ever intended to get them back for her at all.
Matilda lowered her eyes as the butler said grace, adding thanks for the captain’s continued good health while she gave thanks the man had finally ventured downstairs.
Amen.
She had to dust the first floor today, which contained the drawing room, his dressing room, and bedchamber. Those rooms needed a good airing too. She didn’t particularly want him anywhere close at hand to observe and comment on her efforts.
Heaped platters were passed around, starting at those servants of highest rank down to those far lower. When the first plate of meat landed next to Matilda, there was decidedly less to choose from than she’d hoped to find. She filled her plate sparingly, leaving enough to the young scullery maid and boot boy so they’d keep up their strength. A servant’s life was hard, and they were very young and still growing like weeds. The footmen always left everyone else too little to fill their bellies, and that made her angry. However, there was nothing she could do about it. She had absolutely no influence belowstairs.
“Want to wager we find her in the library later,” someone whispered.
Matilda made the mistake of looking up and discovered Jenny and Jane were smirking at her. The pair o
f maids laughed outright at her scowl. Matilda resumed her meal, annoyed by their continued speculation about her supposed affair with the captain.
They were convinced she’d bewitched him, if there was such a thing even possible.
She sipped the cup of tea that had been set before her plate, pushing Captain Ford and his critical gaze from her mind. Her easier duties were in the past. She must face the realities of life in service once more. Every brief moment of idleness at his side had been a precious respite, gone and soon to be forgotten.
She swallowed another mouthful, noticing absently her tea left a strange taste in her mouth. She took another sip and then spluttered as she realized the tea had been laced with salt rather than the usual single spoon of sugar she’d been granted.
Across the table, the other maids were struggling not to laugh. Matilda pushed to her feet, begged to be excused, and without waiting for a response fled for the kitchen to find fresh water to rinse her mouth out with.
She spat the disgusting taste out into the nearby washroom basin several times until the vile flavor was gone. She hated this place. No one was kind here.
Heavy treads approached. “Miss Winslow? Are you all right?”
Matilda hurried to pat her mouth with her only handkerchief before Mr. Dawson saw what she’d been doing. She could never be sure if Mr. Dawson should be considered her friend or not. He was the captain’s man and almost as critical as their employer. “The tea was too hot.”
He lifted his hand. He had her cup judging by the familiar chip next to the handle. He poked in one finger. “Lukewarm at best. Are you sure that’s all it was?”
“Yes, Mr. Dawson.” Matilda didn’t want trouble.
The way he’d been looking at her this past week made her suspect he’d seen her in the captain’s arms last week too. He’d been different toward her lately. Concerned for her welfare in a way he never had before, asking her opinion about everything she ought not to care about as a lowly maid. Almost to the point of embarrassing her even more in front of the other servants with his deference.
