An Affair of Honor (Rebel Hearts Book 2) (7 page)

“Cake too,” Dawson murmured as he picked up her dusting cloths and attended to the room in her place.

She gobbled the cake quickly, blushing at the hunger that had awakened in her. She set the cup aside carefully when she was done and hurried to him. “Thank you, but that is my duty.”

Dawson smiled broadly. “I’m starting to think it shouldn’t be for much longer.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

His smile was enigmatic as he turned away. “Just wait. I have a feeling things are going to change for the better for everyone very soon.”

With that, he collected the tray and sauntered away, headed for the servants’ staircase.

Four

W
illiam approached Matilda quietly, ready to admit defeat and give up trying to avoid her. Everywhere he turned, he always seemed to find her watching him with those soft, unguarded eyes.

She was currently dusting the furniture and had paused to look down the staircase at a commotion in the hall. He peered over her shoulder too, eyes widening in surprise. His half sisters—Victoria, Audrey, and Evelyn—had returned to London and brought their grandfather with them. That his own father had tagged along boded ill for his day being a quiet one.

William had been dreading seeing the old man. “Do you think if I run they can be avoided?”

Matilda started as she’d done every time he’d spoken to her since he’d left his bed a week ago. Even the presence of other servants hadn’t eased her anxiety around him, and he was sorry for that. Did she think that every time he spoke he was about to seduce her or worse? He might yet if she kept up her ridiculous behavior.

She bit her lip and looked away. “Your chances of a clean escape are slim, Captain.”

“I fear you may be right.” William grimaced and then let his eyes linger on Matilda Winslow’s face. There was an air of dejection about her William had never noticed before. Not even when he’d been at death’s door had she appeared so bleak and cast down.

He’d been avoiding her on purpose and wanted the distance to increase this past week. However, the bold woman who’d climbed atop his sickbed and made certain his life was saved had withdrawn too far from him, and he didn’t particularly care for her current demeanor. “Why can’t they be more like you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know what I mean.” He pointed down the stairs. “You are calming. They are not. They fuss about house, moving things.”

His sisters were exhausting, and they chatted incessantly. There was probably no rest for anyone when they were in the house, especially not for the servants.

“They are your sisters, and you should love them no matter what they do.” For a moment he thought she was about to say more on the subject, but then she dipped a wobbly curtsy. “I must get back to my work.”

She moved in the opposite direction, toward another room and escape from him.

Downstairs, other voices drowned out his family, and William peered back over the railing quickly as the butler greeted other callers. When he spotted the balding pate of Mr. Chudleigh’s head and the golden ringlets of his daughter, Miss Maria Chudleigh, his mouth grew dry. Chudleigh was a crony of his father’s and had the most ridiculous plan to see him wed to his only daughter. The pair hadn’t wasted any time in hounding him. Just a week out of his sickbed and they were at his door.

He jerked around as they were led into his ground floor parlor to wait. “Damn this nonsense,” he muttered, wondering how fast he could make an escape from the house.

Maria had come for him, aided by his father’s misguided notion that they would suit, determined to make a scene before his family, profess her love yet again, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prevent the embarrassment. He’d tried to outrun her once before, but she was particularly devious and swift of foot.

“Is there something you need, Captain?” Mr. Dawson asked as he appeared from the direction of the servants’ stairs, brushing specks of lint from his naval uniform.

William lifted his gaze. Matilda Winslow was poised just inside the drawing room, watching them both with wary eyes.

He wanted Matilda, and he shouldn’t. Not this much.

Dawson glanced at Matilda too, and a slow smile spread over his face. William’s temper rose. Dawson was an excellent valet in every respect save one. He was entirely too interested in Matilda Winslow, and of late he’d had a lot to say on the subject of her continued employment as a maid.

“Put that coat away. The admiralty has no use for me yet.”

Dawson spun around to face him. “Very good, Captain.”

He nodded. He should be furious that he was languishing onshore, but truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to live out the rest of his life in relative peace. As he’d lain in recovery of his wounds, he had pondered if he had possibly given enough blood in the service of his country. If the admiralty never wanted him again, he would lose no sleep at being overlooked for a command.

Dawson cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could have a few moments of your time later, Captain.”

The butler arrived, ready to announce William’s waiting visitors. “Captain, you have guests.”

“I saw them, Carter.” William waved him off with an impatient jerk of his hand. He dismissed Dawson too. “After dinner tonight.”

Whatever problem Dawson had could wait. William had to decide, and quickly, how best to extract himself from the impending family ambush waiting downstairs.

“Thank you.” Dawson hurried away with a decided spring in his step. He frowned after Dawson but was unsurprised by his transparent delight. The man had been hinting all week the servants’ hall was badly managed. He’d suggested changes needed to be made to the household staff sooner rather than later. It was probably time to do something about it. The housekeeper and butler were too set in their ways, and according to Dawson the matter couldn’t wait until William married someone to take care of the trouble for him. The house was inefficiently run, with the bulk of the work falling to only a few. The place needed a woman’s touch.

However, marrying Maria Chudleigh was not part of his plan to fix what ailed his home. He did not find her the least bit appealing. She was too headstrong for what he needed in his life. When the time came, he’d marry someone he liked, a woman willing to be disciplined and capable of running his home with or without his involvement.

He was willing to wait his whole life for her.

A crash farther along the hall caught his attention. Matilda had toppled a vase of flowers. The vase was saved, but water splashed over the mahogany hall table and made quite a mess. He took a pace forward as Matilda simply stared at the slow-dripping water as if she was dazed.

“Miss Winslow,” he murmured in concern. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Captain. Forgive me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and then threw her cloth over the puddle. “I’ll clean this up immediately.”

She was never usually so clumsy, but she had seemed out of sorts today. Tired too. Was it true that most of the work of the house fell to those most dedicated in his service?

He moved toward her as she knelt and dabbed ineffectually at the puddle, exhaling heavily as she worked.

After all she’d done for him, didn’t she deserve something more from life than menial work? He smiled. Perhaps there was a way to solve both his problem and help her escape a life of servitude.

His solution was unorthodox, and if she’d been born a lady he would never suggest it, but if he convinced Maria that he’d taken his maid as a lover and could never be persuaded to give Matilda up, the plague of womanhood might be shocked enough at him—disgusted too, he hoped—to give up her quest to become his wife.

It would be easily confirmed that Matilda had spent a great deal of time with him should enquiries be made. All he needed was Matilda Winslow’s agreement and participation to pull it off.

He strode toward Matilda purposely. “You will do something for me,” he demanded. Matilda stumbled to her feet, but he caught her before she tripped. “Not so fast. I need your help.”

Matilda struggled. “Let me go.”

“No.” He tugged her into his empty dressing room for a private word and shut the door. “You’re going to be my lover from today.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”

William cursed under his breath. He had wondered that very thing many times—mostly when Matilda was near. She had the most distracting affect on his speech, causing him to blurt out orders rather than gild them with necessary politeness. He had to do better than this if he wanted her help. He took a calming breath. “Quite possibly, but it is either convince others that I am hopelessly infatuated with a servant in my employ, or I will be blackmailed into marriage with that woman downstairs.”

Her brow creased and her fear disappeared entirely. “What woman?”

It went against the grain to confide in anyone, but she had to help him. “Miss Maria Chudleigh claims to have acquired a declaration of love from me in writing of all things. She is here now, most likely to advance her claim that we are to marry during the season.”

Her expression soured. “Congratulations.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t recall even meeting Miss Maria on my last visit home, and I sure as hell don’t profess my love for women willy-nilly. No man with any self-respect wears his heart on his sleeve and should not expect to suffer such foolish declarations in return. Miss Chudleigh wrote to discuss our marriage as if it were a fact, but I won’t be blackmailed into a parson’s trap. I would not have chosen her for a bride under any circumstances.”

Matilda’s jaw firmed. “I see.”

“Good. Now, we are not speaking of a lasting union or anything based in fact.” He set his hands on his hips. “I want you to pretend to be in love with me long enough to drive her away, preferably into the arms of another man.”

“Wait just a moment. I did not agree to help you.” Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t possibly lie about being involved with you. What will everyone say?”

“Did you not hint last week that the staff are whispering that I like you too much?”

She blushed. “They will learn the error of their ways soon enough, as I did.”

“If I sent you away to another house, that would suggest I had already tired of you and confirm their suspicions.” He saw her shock at his blunt appraisal. “I’ll pay you very handsomely if you can act the part of lover.”

Her expression shifted to surprise.

“If I have my way, you’ll never need to work as a servant again. Someone else can clean up after you from now on.”

Her gaze narrowed. “How handsomely?”

Matilda had overcome her aversion to taking his money at last. Thank heaven for the adoption of good sense. He approved of her reversal, and since time was of the essence, he made several calculations quickly. The right amount of honey could attract the sweetest bee. “An allowance. A town house. Servants of your choosing. Whatever you require for your comfort.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Anything?”

He nodded curtly. “As long as I don’t have to bleed or go bankrupt.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You will apologize first.”

He moved close to her. “For what?”

Her jaw lifted and her eyes blazed. “For hurting me.”

At last, an opening to discuss his mistake. The Fords lived by a code he thoroughly approved of—never admit fault—but when it came to Matilda Winslow, he’d make an exception. He should have exercised better control and protected her from his nature.

He leaned closer, brought his face down beside hers so his voice wouldn’t carry. As much as he’d enjoyed spanking her bottom until it had glowed red after catching her in his room, he’d had no true right to ever discipline her, even if she’d given her permission. She had not known enough of his nature to accept what it was he offered.

That day he’d lost his head and had not fully considered how his desires must have seemed to an innocent young maid. And he was sure she’d been an innocent that day, judging by her frantic escape from his rooms. Afterward he’d made a vow never to run such a risk again, but he’d never stopped thinking about her bare skin, hot against his palm, or her reaction to his intimate touch.

“I apologize for spanking your pretty backside,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened as if she’d not expected him to admit fault at all. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on his. “Apology accepted. A house in London to live in, five hundred pounds, and you’ll pay my expenses from any Bond Street merchants for two years.”

A great deal less than most mistresses demanded, or wives, from what he’d gathered. He breathed in her scent, a familiar mixture of rosemary and lemon, and his senses stirred. Dear God, he wanted to devour this woman, spend hours bringing her exquisite sensations of pleasure and pain if she would let him. He licked his lips as the urge to kiss her grew. “I can live with that.”

Matilda spun on her heel and marched to the door that connected to the drawing room.

“Wait.” He hurried to stop her. “No one will believe the pretense if you look too buttoned up or shabby.”

She paused at the doorway, glanced over her shoulder and then down at her dress. “What does what I look like have to do with pretending to be in love?”