“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?”