by Heather Boyd
A moan escaped her.
William caught her head by her hair, dragged her body flush against his, and plundered her mouth, brushing his tongue against hers. She squirmed under his passionate assault, pressed her hands against his chest for support. He growled but then gentled and drew back enough that kissing him wasn’t so overwhelming. His tongue and lips worked against hers and she whimpered, not afraid but definitely uncomfortable with what they were doing. This was more than she’d ever bargained for as William’s temporary wife. She felt herself utterly overwhelmed with feelings and sensations she couldn’t begin to describe.
She clutched at his expensive waistcoat. The scarred part of his lips was just a little rough against hers, not unpleasant, but noticeable when she thought about it.
He lifted one of her arms to encircle his neck and drew her in closer as he continued to experiment with her mouth.
She held on to him firmly, feeling the muscles of his shoulders shift under her hands. He groaned and slipped his hands down to clutch her backside. He was warm and utterly, overwhelmingly male, something she’d been able to push to the back of her mind while he’d been ill. Now, though, his masculinity was shockingly obvious. He was clearly skilled at seduction and comfortable with desire. However, given their arrangement, he had no business kissing her like this. Actual intimacy was not part of their deal, and they both knew that.
She pushed against his chest, and he eased back even more. The kiss lightened, and his lips clung to hers as if he did not want to stop kissing her. She shivered as just the tip of his tongue lightly skimmed her lips in a fleeting brush, so gentle and so wicked that she grew flushed.
Matilda closed her eyes as he did it again, and that time she grew aware that her response was more than she was prepared for. She had become aroused by him.
Eventually he ceased kissing her, and she opened her eyes to a broad smile spreading over his face.
So that was kissing. That was what a kiss from William Ford felt like. Not quite the dry claiming she’d imagined a kiss could be, but something entirely more eloquent. Everything about William’s nature had been in his kiss. He demanded, he took, unless she stopped him.
He swiped his thumb across her lips from one side to the other, and again that strange sensation between her legs returned. “Well?”
The man could be gentle, but he could also be cold. How could he turn on his emotions so quickly? Would he be so open with her tomorrow?
She put her hand to the base of her throat over the necklace he’d given her, uncertain how to answer him. She never knew from one moment to the next which side of him she would meet—the man who spoke of being her friend or the one who would punish her if she displeased him.
She chose her words with care. “As I said, I have nothing to compare your kiss to. You should kiss someone else next.”
“I might, but would I enjoy it as much, my Mattie?”
She flinched hearing the name again. Her mother had called her that. It was the only thing she could remember about the woman who’d given birth to her. “Please kiss someone else next.”
He studied her a long time, eyes dark and blazing with strong emotion. Matilda trembled with anticipation for his next decision. Had she displeased him enough to be punished, or would he allow her to maintain the distance between them? He’d promised not to take her virtue, so he should save his kisses for his real wife. He should kiss the woman he could give his heart to.
That wasn’t going to be Matilda. He nodded, a sharp dip of his head. “I’ll consider it.”
He turned on his heel and left, slamming the dressing room door closed behind him. He did not lock it, but Matilda knew better than to follow him in. Trust and distance had become the currency of her life with William Ford.
That was why she’d felt safe enough to allow that one favor, because deep down she knew he would stop if she asked him to. But if she was stripped of her clothing and then climbed into bed with him afterward, she would have to contend with the change between them, and she wasn’t sure what her response to him would be.
That feeling William had roused in her body last year, when he’d spanked her and touched her intimate places, had returned.
She turned toward the drawing room chaise, sank down onto it, and then curled over on her side, clutching William’s discarded coat for a pillow. She ached between her legs, a sure sign she was not in her right mind around him.
She desired her husband to touch her there again.
She should not encourage that unless she was prepared for what might follow.
A little time apart was probably a good idea after kissing him. She would sleep here in the drawing room so he did not imagine she’d encourage further advances. She had agreed to be his temporary wife, not his temporary lover. She shouldn’t encourage more between them than an affair of short duration.
She rubbed her cheek against the rich fabric of his coat, more than a little disconcerted by her longing for William’s touch. He was a pleasant husband, except when he was spanking her. And even those times were not quite the deterrent to comfort that they should have been. Any more kisses from him like that and she was sure she was asking for trouble. She was already in too deep as it was.
Marrying William had given her a great deal to think about. She could grow accustomed to the finer things in life, but she would eventually have to move away from London to where no one knew her past with him.
How she would live after their separation, live alone with only her own company, concerned her. She was often lonely in this house, but to her surprise she was never unhappy when William had his hands on her.
Twelve
Another night, another round of appearances to cement the belief in his happy marriage, which it surely was not since they had spent last night apart. At dawn William had woken to find himself alone in their bed, and he’d been furious with himself ever since. That Matilda had spent the night in the drawing room with only his coat for a pillow had made him ashamed that his disappointment had gotten the best of him.
He’d carried her to their bed, tucked her in without waking her, and quietly left to remove the evidence of her temporary sleeping arrangement before a servant discovered they’d fought—if he could call his childish snit any sort of argument.
Matilda had slept for most of the day and kept her own company once she’d risen. William was still trying to decide whether he should apologize for the bad kiss or not, but he had accepted he wouldn’t try to kiss her again anytime soon.
He didn’t like the way she looked at him so warily now.
William escorted Matilda into the Hamersley ballroom, feeling just a little unsettled by the tension between them and the loud crowd. He held tight to Matilda’s elbow as the noise of the ball washed over him, attempting to guide her through the throng. The walls seemed closer than usual, the colors and sounds brighter. Harsher. It was a crush, but he should be used to large gatherings. He’d enjoyed a very active social life during his shore leave and recognized many faces he knew well.
Lord Deacon appeared before him suddenly, almost out of thin air, grinning from ear to ear and laughing. “By the devil, if it isn’t itty-bitty Billy Ford. How good to see you again.”
That bloody nickname! Gods, he’d hated Deacon for that. He ground his teeth as he held out his hand, determined not to show his annoyance.
They shook hands, and Deacon stared at his face. “Damn, but that’s a horrific scar.”
“It is.” He turned his face slightly to show it, and for the first time he was glad to address the worst of his alteration. Deacon might be a bull in a china shop when it came to diplomacy, but he was always honest. William’s appearance caused everyone he met to pause, but few came right out and mentioned the change in his face. “But as a beautiful woman once insisted, better disfigured than dead. So here I am.”
Matilda shuddered, and he patted her hand in an attempt to soothe her. Her remark as he’d lay dying had been the turning point. Ther
e were good reasons to fight for his life, one of them stood at his side.
“And that’s a very good thing too. I would have missed you.” Deacon clapped him hard on the shoulder, and then his gaze shifted to Matilda, brows rising in expectation. His expression conveyed his appreciation of his view—Matilda’s quiet beauty never failed to turn heads, much to William’s annoyance. “So this is the woman who tamed you? I had heard the rumors of the marriage but could not believe it until now. Introduce us, you oaf.”
He unclenched his teeth. “Matilda, darling, this is Thomas Bastrum, Earl of Deacon. We roughhoused as children on his estate and in Essex, but unfortunately he hasn’t grown up enough to learn some manners yet.”
Deacon bowed deeply to Matilda. “Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s just jealous that now there’s no question who’s the better looking gentleman of the pair of us.”
William snorted. “He claimed that before the scar.”
“Then he’d better hope not to meet anyone with as long a memory as mine.” She smiled shyly and then leaned forward a little to add in a softer voice, “My husband’s looks haven’t changed that much to force him to second place to anyone.”
William choked back his surprise at the praise while Deacon laughed. Damn it all! Matilda could say the most flattering things in public. Word was sure to spread of her admiration too, which would make the eventual news of their parting so much more shocking to a scandal-loving society.
It was all an act of course, flattery designed to encourage public belief in their happy marriage, but her remarks of indifference to his injury never failed to stroke his ego. His scar was hideous, his whole face twisted to one side, and he had noticed more than a few women become distressed at the sight. Not Matilda though. She barely paid it any attention and always looked him in the eye.
“I’d be honored if you’d grant me the pleasure of a dance, madam,” Deacon asked of Matilda, his eyes glowing with good cheer and innocent friendship.
William nudged Matilda softly so she would accept. He’d talked to her about dancing with other men. Although she was nervous about putting a foot wrong and having her feet crushed time and again, he’d promised that he’d be watching so she’d never feel alone. Dancing with Deacon should pose no problem to her toes. He was a decent sort, and not one to overstep with a man’s wife, and by all accounts he danced well.
“It would be a pleasure,” she murmured. Matilda turned to him and smiled warmly. “Excuse me, darling. I will return soon.”
“I’ll be waiting.” And watching.
He always watched her. He couldn’t seem to stop. Since the first night he’d held her in his arms, he’d been unsettled whenever they were apart.
They left him to line up on the dance floor. Deacon was well over six feet, and next to Matilda he appeared a veritable giant. Matilda swirled her skirts a little as the musicians tuned their instruments. A cotillion began, and William moved closer, keen to watch how Matilda did with the dance. She fascinated him. She was very graceful, which had at first surprised him. When they had practiced at home, he had quickly come to the conclusion she might have taken lessons before entering service.
About her former life she was reluctant to speak. Anything he found out, he’d had to pry out of her carefully.
Even with Deacon she was light on her feet, graceful and charming to watch. Her lithe movements made his heartbeat quicken.
They moved farther away, and although he’d prefer to follow, a new wave of guests arrived from the direction of the card room, and he was blocked.
Annoyed, he tried to push his way through to no avail. He was jostled, and the noise of hearty greetings rose around him. The stink of cigar smoke and alcohol filled his nose, and he fought a sudden wave of nausea.
He lost sight of Matilda and Deacon as his heart raced.
In fact, he couldn’t see anyone he knew around him, and the idea that he was left behind, abandoned, rolled over him like a breaking wave in a high sea.
He broke out into a sweat as he gasped and mopped his brow with his handkerchief. A woman brayed like a horse right behind him, causing him to jump, but the hubbub kept rising until he could only hear the sound of his own desperate breathing and quickening heartbeat.
William dug his fingers under his cravat, desperately trying to gain some air, frantically trying to see where he was headed, determinedly trying to reach his Matilda again.
Although he tried to move forward to where he thought Matilda might be by now, he was utterly surrounded by a wall of strangers. A glass smashed to the floor, a man shouted, and William gasped out loud. Panicked. Afraid.
He saw an opening in the crowd and shoved his way through it, not stopping until he reached the empty terrace and the fresh night air beyond. But even out here, there were hidden dangers. He heard whispers and moans from the darkness. There was no escape from people with prying eyes, lurking in the shadows with their lovers.
He dragged in huge breaths as his pulse raced. He needed…
From within the ballroom, noise continued to drown out all thought he might have had of going back inside. He stumbled into the darkness, desperate for a moment alone. He didn’t want to be seen like this. He reached the shelter of a low stone wall and rested against it as his ears began to ring and a second, hotter fever broke out all over his body. He stood again and managed to walk away, allowing the cooler night air to slide across his face.
He ran.
Running for safety.
William clutched his head, covered his ears, overwhelmed by sounds that had no right to be heard in this place or time. Weapons clashed, pistols boomed as if he was in the midst of battle, commanding a ship of doomed men with no hope of winning the day. Just as in his nightmares.
He kept moving as the onslaught continued. He ran for his life, fleeing before the pain began again.
He burst out of a gateway but couldn’t break free of the memories. The stink of battle enveloped him, and he ran until a wall stopped him. He clutched at the brickwork, then sank to his knees, covered his head, and prayed for death to take him quickly this time.
Thirteen
Matilda shook William. She shook him harder than she ever should and tried to lift his face from his bent knees. She was so afraid. It wasn’t natural for a grown man to be huddled against a crumbling wall like this, cowering and muttering to himself. He made no sense.
“Billy. Billy. What has happened to you?”
He sucked in a shuddering breath suddenly and blinked up at her. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve told you not to use that name.”
Matilda dragged him into her embrace. “I’ve been calling your name for so long. Why didn’t you answer me?”
He put his arms around her and squeezed her. Then he shifted to lean against the wall. He glanced around, blinking at his surroundings in the weak moonlight. “I don’t know.”
“Is he all right now, Mrs. Ford?” Lord Deacon whispered with a nervous glance for their surroundings. “Is there anything more I can do to help?”
Matilda was grateful Deacon wasn’t the sort to draw attention to them right now. She didn’t want anyone to see William like this. She did not know how to explain his behavior. She stood and faced the man. “No, I think we’ll be fine now.”
Deacon checked the lane and then came back. “Are you sure?”
William clutched her gown and tugged.
“Thank you for all you’ve done, but I can manage him now.” She kneeled down and pressed her hand to William’s brow. She discovered him warm but not fevered. He caught her fingers and held them lightly in his but said nothing more. “Would you mind leaving us and returning to the ball, my lord? We will rejoin the party shortly.”
Deacon glanced around, eyeing the shabby surroundings with distaste. “I’m not sure I should leave you both out here. We are very far from the ball. It could be dangerous.”
Matilda had grown up in such a place. For now they were perfectly safe. She could hear nothing but the occas
ional rat or mouse shuffling through the straw to the left.
“I remember the path back.” The last thing William would want was a fuss or for a friend to see him so unlike his usual self. “Everything will be fine now. We will be along in a little while. I promise. Please.”
William clutched Matilda’s wrist as soon as Deacon left them. “I’m sorry.”
Matilda crouched down at his side and cupped his face, drawing his gaze up to hers. He seemed so bewildered that her heart was moved. “It is all right, I’m just glad I found you. Lord Deacon saw you go and stayed with me until we discovered you hiding here.”
“He’s a good friend.” William’s fingers slipped slowly from her skin. “I hate to imagine what he thinks of this.”
“Don’t worry about Deacon.” She listened to his breathing, which thankfully had slowed down quite a bit since she’d roused him. “I’m just glad you came to no harm out here in the dark.”
William studied the darkness around them. “Where are we?”
“I’m not entirely sure. You fled the ballroom and the garden too and traveled a distance along the rear lane. We are outside someone’s abandoned stables.”
He stood quickly, mopping his brow with a snowy white handkerchief. Matilda stood too so she could brush his hair back from his face. His skin was damp, as if he’d been running for hours. Quite frankly, she was baffled by his behavior tonight. She had thought nothing but the idea of making a match with Miss Chudleigh had ever bothered him.
He held out his hand. Matilda placed her wrist across his palm, smiling as his fingers folded around her limb. His fingers drummed over her pulse a moment, then tightened.
“We should go before we are seen,” he said softly.
The discomfort in his voice stilled her tongue from asking any more questions about his flight from the ball for the time being.