An Affair of Honor (Rebel Hearts Book 2)

by Heather Boyd

  He lifted his chin toward the staircase as he released her. “It has been a long day. I want you to go upstairs and get into my bed.”

  Her heart hammered against her ribs in panic. “But I thought I was to stay in the guest bedroom.”

  “You are my wife now. It is expected that you spend some nights in my bed. Especially tonight.”

  Matilda swallowed her fear. She’d been trying not to think about tonight and what would happen when they were alone. Captain Ford had said nothing about wishing for intimacy between them, but it was his right as her husband to take his pleasure with her. “Yes, Captain.”

  “William.” He nodded and took another step back.

  “William.” Matilda dipped a curtsy and then fled to his bedchamber.

  In something close to blind panic, she rushed through undressing and redressing into a modest nightgown that had been laid out on the bed. The new, soft garment covered her from neck to toes, but she felt exposed and altogether naked by changing in this room. She scurried into his bed. Glanced around swiftly, then darted back out again to the candle and blew it out before scrambling under the covers once more, heart thundering.

  She lay still, clutching the sheet to her chin as William’s footsteps echoed in the adjoining dressing room. He was not alone; his voice was a soft murmur as he spoke with another man, most likely Dawson as he readied for bed. She blushed thinking of him removing his elegant attire, stripping down to even less than when he’d been abed during his recovery.

  She lifted her head to peek over her toes as a door closed, but it was not her door. The faint outline of light under the bedchamber’s heavy oak door flickered, and then darkness fell in the adjoining room. She could not hear William moving about anymore, but surely he was coming in?

  After a few minutes of silence, she sat up in consternation.

  She couldn’t hear anything beyond her own frantic breathing.

  Matilda took a steadying breath, reassured but confused since she could hear no sign of her husband moving about.

  Her husband.

  When it became apparent William wasn’t coming tonight, Matilda lowered herself to the bedding and glanced dispiritedly around the dark room. This was her wedding night. The night she’d expected to give her virtue to Harry Lloyd.

  In his place, William had the right to sleep with her.

  She swallowed as new tears filled her eyes. He would come to her soon and then… She had no idea.

  It might be true she’d done very well for herself in marrying Captain Ford, but she was quite terrified now. His family was one of the most distinguished in society, accepted anywhere they wanted to go. The man was wealthy, and so far he’d not stinted her any comfort. The terms of the marriage contract had been very generous indeed. He’d brought a legal man into his home to study and explain to her the document he’d drafted, explaining what her portion would be upon his eventual demise, as if there was not going to be a separation between before then. It had been rather strange to think of the moment of William’s death again, which was surely far removed now that he was out of harm’s way.

  She would be well supported, financially, for the rest of her life. They had not discussed their eventual separation in any detail, but William had promised they would as soon as his sisters had found husbands.

  But he was a stranger. Her husband.

  It was a great step up for the daughter of a medical man and the wild gypsy he’d married out of lust and been deserted by as soon as Matilda had been born.

  This was not the future she’d expected to have. It wasn’t bad, but a life without love wasn’t at all unfamiliar. She’d never known a love beyond her father’s infrequent affection. Even the memory of Harry’s regard was a distant and fleeting memory. She didn’t know how to react to William and his occasional kindness.

  It took a long time to fall asleep that night, and when she did wake at the usual hour the household came to life, she was still in bed and still alone.

  Nine

  Matilda was a deep sleeper. She slept curled on her side, her long dark lashes fanned over her olive cheeks, her slender arms stretched out but kept modestly covered by the bedding. She looked striking in his bed. So innocent and tranquil. The perfect relief for his darkness. He would love nothing more than to wake her from her slumber with his touch, to draw the bedding back and make love to her for the whole of the day.

  He wanted to explore every curve of her body usually hidden by her gowns. Touch and be touched as if their marriage was real.

  Instead, William remained seated on a straight-backed chair, his hands clenched tightly on his thighs.

  Being married to the woman was proving difficult. It had only been a week since they’d spoken their vows, and the urge to control her, urges that plagued his every thought every day of this marriage, were becoming difficult to placate. He was grateful that society did not expect newlyweds to socialize very much in the early days of their marriage and their invitations so far had been few. Matilda had needed this time to accept her elevation from maid to lady. And for himself, he struggled to understand the intense relief and contentment he felt every time she drew near.

  He was married. His bachelor days were behind him. He’d expected to eventually resent his grandfather’s interference.

  But he did not.

  Matilda sat up suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered as she spotted him sitting beside the bed.

  William got to his feet slowly and approached her. “Matilda.”

  She pulled the sheet up farther to cover her chest the closer he came. “Captain.”

  How long might it take her to grow accustomed to him? He hoped sooner rather than later. “I answer to William when we are alone.”

  She licked her lips nervously and glanced around as if seeking escape or her robe. He’d taken her robe away while she slept, tossing it back into the dressing room where all unworn clothing belonged.

  “Yes, William.” Her grip on the sheet tightened.

  “Time to get up,” he told her, casting a glance at the windows where the light of midmorning shone through the gaps.

  Matilda usually wept in the mornings, he’d heard her several times and had allowed the behavior, but as he’d waited for her to wake that day he had decided enough was enough. He couldn’t bear her sadness over Harry Lloyd, a liar and scoundrel, for one more day. She deserved a better man to look after her.

  He meant to be the man she turned to in future.

  Lloyd could never spoil her as he was doing; even if their marriage was temporary, she was better off with him. Better for Matilda to believe the man dead than discover the truth of his character and be disappointed.

  “Come.” He held out one hand to her, a test of her trust.

  When she placed her fingers over his, he assisted her out of bed, receiving a lovely flash of slender leg for his viewing pleasure, and lured her into the dressing room while she wore nothing but her nightgown. The fire was burning, pleasantly warm, and tea, cheese and bread to toast, enough for two, had been brought up at his request.

  He placed her in the center of the room and surveyed her. She had the makings of a perfect wife for him. Beautiful, clever but modest. However, modesty was only preferred outside their private rooms.

  “I am going to take off your nightgown,” he warned her.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening. “That is indecent.”

  “We are man and wife.” He met her gaze directly. “You must grow accustomed to obeying me. Turn and face the mirror.”

  She swallowed, and then her chin lifted. “So you can spank me like last time?”

  He admired her defiance, even if it was misplaced. “Perhaps if you are very lucky I will.”

  He smiled at her shocked expression. He drew closer, reaching for her gown to lift it over her head. He did not intend to touch her intimately, but he would know her as much as his conscience allowed. A glimpse of her nakedness would go a long way to satisfying his hunger to understand
her better. He waited for her decision. “Well?”

  She seemed torn but eventually nodded.

  His hands trembled a little as he lifted her gown. She had lovely, slender legs, and his heart raced as he moved the garment higher. The spanking last year had only revealed so much, and he devoured her with his eyes now.

  Her gently curved back was a work of art, long and delicately muscled, no doubt from her recent years of service. Matilda was exquisite, beyond anything he’d imagined. He glanced at her face to convey his appreciation but discovered she’d closed her eyes. A pity she could not revel in their first truly intimate moment together as he was doing.

  Her skin was golden, even beneath her clothing where he’d imagined her paler. The shade hinted at foreign ancestry he couldn’t place. Her breasts were small and tipped with plum-colored nipples. Her waist was tiny and flared to generous hips, and at the apex of her thighs a nest of dark curls covered her sex. Her bottom, as he remembered fondly, was round and full. Perfect for his hand.

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  Her lashes fluttered and she met his gaze. “My mother?”

  He smiled as her cheeks reddened with a blush. She blushed so frequently around him that he often wondered at the direction of her thoughts. Was she wicked of thought under her proper facade? “You’ve only spoken of your father and his career.”

  “I, um.” Her long lashes fluttered again, not a coquettish flirtation but actual distress. Her hands twitched to cover her breasts and lower.

  “Don’t do that.” William gently returned her hands to her sides. “Please continue.”

  “I never knew her. She died when I was very young.”

  “So did mine. I was barely six years old when Mama passed away. I remember her hands were gentle, but no more than that.” When Matilda failed to share her own confidences about her mother after a lengthy interval of silence, he concluded her late mother was something of a delicate subject or utterly unknown to her. He let the matter drop, not wishing to spoil the morning with unpleasant remembrances. She would speak of her mother eventually if she knew anything at all about the woman.

  He circled behind her as she shivered. “You are so beautiful.”

  There was a very long pause before she found her voice. “Thank you.”

  He smacked her left buttock once, gratified by her shocked gasp. His fingertips tingled from where they’d touched her, and he rubbed them together, savoring the sensation. “Next time, don’t hesitate to answer me.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  He took a stance behind her, admiring the slight reddening of her skin from his slap. “Three more for not using my given name in private as I have asked you to do,” he whispered.

  Matilda gasped each time he flicked his hand out to administer a gentle discipline appropriate for her lapse, but only swayed a little. Four was enough to begin a day with. Too many and she might be overcome with fear as she had been on their wedding night when he’d suggested she share his bed. He needed her to understand that her virtue was safe with him and punishments were not lasting.

  William moved to the chaise where he’d been sleeping this past week and lifted a fine and very sheer chemise that he’d chosen from the Cabot’s Haberdashery shelves. He carefully slid the garment over Matilda’s head, lifting her hair out of the way gently, and then found a cotton-and-whalebone corset to bind around her chest. He tightened the laces firmly, then had her sit on the edge of the chaise. She bounced up a little as the firm surface pressed against her tender bottom.

  He knelt at her feet to hide his grin, covered her slender legs with new stockings, and tied the ruby-red garter ribbons beneath each knee briskly. When he was done, Matilda swiftly brought her knees together before he could glimpse more than the top of her thighs.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  He gestured to the table. “Then sit and pour tea for us both please.”

  Matilda fled across the room to where a table had been set for them earlier, and while she poured, William toasted bread. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you. And you?”

  He sighed. “The chaise is too short.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” He turned while the bread finished toasting and admired his wife’s proportions for a long while. Exquisite, but out-of-bounds. A pity. He carried the first slice to her plate when it was ready, then returned to toast another for himself. “Keeping your virtue intact was my idea, hence the separate sleeping arrangements.”

  Matilda frowned as she tugged the sheer chemise a little farther down her legs. “I appreciate that.”

  “But we cannot be strangers,” he said as he lifted his gaze slowly up her body. Her corset-bound breasts practically spilled out of the garments. He grew heated as he recalled what lay beneath. “For better or worse, you are my wife, and I can only sleep on that chaise so often before a servant catches me there.”

  A deep frown line appeared on her brow. “I would not like to be gossiped about any more than we already are. I could easily return to the chamber upstairs.”

  “No. I don’t care for the separation,” he said quickly.

  William liked knowing Matilda was far from the servants. He wasn’t at all worried about any gossip they stirred up. If there was talk about his sudden marriage, the scandal would blow over soon enough.

  One only had to look at Matilda now, or when she was properly dressed, to see her appeal. He had the luxury of not caring that such a choice was unpopular since it was to be as brief a marriage as possible. He had Rutherford’s support, and that meant his sisters would not suffer any slights during the season. He was content with his and Matilda’s chaste arrangement, especially since the alternative was being followed by Miss Chudleigh. Matilda did not chase him at all.

  “I would have you grow used to me touching you, seeing you uncovered like I have this morning. I did not like the way you held the bedsheet to your chest as if I were about to impose on you. I assure you I will not try to steal your virtue, but I would like to dress you each day in place of a maid.”

  “You startled me this morning.” She licked her lips. “I had not expected to see you when I woke.”

  “You will see me every morning now.” He nodded, deciding to deny himself such a simple pleasure no longer. He would break her of her hesitation eventually, allowing her time to come to terms with his presence and her place in his life. “I will dress you, and we will take breakfast together.”

  “And at night?”

  “We will share the same bed from tonight. We can discuss our day and fall asleep together, side by side,” he told her, tipping his head to the side as she worried at her lip. “We have done that before, many a night in fact, during my recovery.”

  “Except that I did all the talking. You never said a word even when you could.” She pointed her finger at him and then attempted to hide the gesture behind her back. “I only fell asleep near you a few nights by accident.”

  “I did not mind. I have missed your reading to me though.” He grinned. “The chaise was acceptable for the first nights of our marriage but no longer. Agreed?”

  “Yes, William.”

  He smiled widely at hearing his name, but he noted she’d dropped her toast to her plate while they conversed. “Eat. We have errands to run today.”

  She picked up her toast again but spoke before taking a bite. “What sort of errands?”

  He supposed he’d have to grow used to explaining everything in detail. One of the facets of marriage every man must accept if he wished for a congenial home life. “My grandfather has offered a town carriage for our use this season. I will, of course, order one bespoke, but until that task can be completed, we will make do with one of the Newberry conveyances on loan.”

  She paled a little. “If you think that best.”

  William leaned his head on his hand, cradling his scarred cheek in his palm. “I expect you to answer me immed
iately Matilda, but if you agree with everything I say then our conversations will grow dreadfully dull before too long.”

  She glanced away, frowning. “Do you really need a town carriage?”

  “We need one, yes,” he corrected her. “The carriage in question will be on loan from Newberry House and is largely used by my cousin Sally when she is in Town. Since Sally remains at Newberry Park with her new husband, it has been offered to us until we can acquire our own. I have a larger landau, but it is better used for long journeys rather than the tight confines of London’s streets. I never got around to purchasing a smaller carriage for myself. I’ve hardly been ashore long enough to need one before and have most often hailed a hack for short journeys about Town.”

  “That is very sensible.”

  “I will not allow you to hail a hack,” he said in case she ever entertained the idea. “You will have your own carriage and the protection of our staff whenever you go out.”

  “I see.” She swallowed. “You come from a large family.”

  “I do.” He smiled. “Does the idea of meeting all of them worry you? Don’t let it. They are not unkind people, but I did choose to live four blocks away from everyone quite deliberately. They are loud and often meddlesome. I am sure you will come to agree with me by the time of our separation.”

  “You do not like a fuss,” she whispered, eyes dropping to her lap.

  “Obviously. I prefer a quiet life,” he reminded her. He sipped his tea and finished his toast. “If the war has taught me anything, it is to cling to the familiar and value what I have. Peace, routine, and all the comforts my wealth can provide for us. I used to keep dogs as a boy. Do you care for them?”

  “I had a black spaniel until I was fourteen,” she confessed. “Blackie. I was terribly unimaginative as a child to name him so.”

  Her nose wrinkled, and he studied her warmer expression with approval. “I probably should confess to having been an equally unimaginative child. I had a terrier. I called him Blackie as well.” He frowned, recalling that long-dead pet and his sadness at being told it had been shot by mistake by a guest at Newberry Park. He shook his head. How long ago must that have been?