“Dear God, you’re all heathens,” he cried out as Eve prodded his scar with no fear or evident revulsion and Victoria scrubbed his head, disturbing his hair.
“Does it hurt?” Eve asked boldly, rubbing her fingertips over the rough and bumpy scar just as Matilda sometimes did when applying a cream to ease an itch.
He’d much rather Matilda’s gentle fingers than Evelyn’s prodding, so he moved out of danger. “Not now.”
“You talk funny,” Audrey said after adjusting her gown. At least she held back from attacking him with affection. “Your words slur just a little too.”
“So they do.” Despite his best efforts to cure himself, he still had trouble making his mouth do what he wanted all the time. When he smiled, he was left with the suspicion that he was utterly terrifying to others.
“It doesn’t matter,” Victoria insisted with a grin. “You still sound enough like our surly brother that you could never be mistaken for an impostor.”
He sat up, shaking his head. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation on the floor.”
“We don’t care where we are,” Victoria claimed. “We are so very glad to see our big brother.”
He took in the faces of three women most dear to him, noting how much they’d grown, changed, in the past year while he’d been at sea. They were stunning, and his hope for a quiet and uneventful season died a sudden death. They would undoubtedly be popular with the gentlemen in society, and that meant he’d have to be right by their sides for each event they attended. He needed to keep a watchful eye over them and make sure they were not pestered or imposed upon and that his family didn’t marry them off to unworthy men.
“Girls, girls,” Maria said as she broke into their conversation.
William looked up into the pinched face of the woman who had schemed to become his wife for the past five years. She paled when she saw his face properly at close range and then collapsed back into the softness of a well-padded chair in a very fair impression of a faint.
William scowled at her behavior. He was not about to be lured over there to reassure Maria he wasn’t a monster now.
He stood and helped his sisters to their feet while Chudleigh and his father fussed over Maria and helped her sit up. They offered her sherry and pillows and any number of foolish things.
William turned to his grandfather, the Duke of Rutherford, and bowed deeply. “Your Grace.”
The old man, never one to stand on ceremony with family, hugged him tightly until he squirmed. Rutherford pounded his back a few times. “About time you sent for us.”
William drew back, concerned by the catch in his grandfather’s voice. The duke’s expression was steely; there was no hint of the tears William had feared he might see. “The worst is over. I am as good as I will ever be.”
“Could have been worse,” the duke whispered, studying his face keenly. William’s face was caught in a tight grip and turned so the shorter man could see the scar properly. “Thank heavens for that.”
“No. Thank Matilda,” he murmured when released. “She is the one who deserves the credit for keeping me alive.”
When he glanced around for her, Matilda had backed away to wait in the shadows of the dining room. Dutiful. Silent. A perfect servant doing her best to be overlooked by her employer’s guests. That would not do if she were to play the part he wanted her to.
He looked her over boldly and then tipped his head, hoping she’d remember to keep up her side of their bargain and pretend to enjoy his attentions. “What are you doing over there, darling?”
A hesitant smile fluttered over her lips as everyone gasped. “Waiting for the right moment to be introduced, sweetie,” she said with a small smile of triumph.
Sweetie?
Oh, that was good. He’d happily discipline her for uttering such a cloying remark if he could. She drew close, and when she reached his side she slipped one hand over his shoulder. The gesture was perfect. Affectionate and just a touch too assured for her to be mistaken for anything but an intimate female acquaintance of his. William did not allow women to handle him in public.
He grinned at her boldness. He’d missed that about her. He’d missed her touch and never realized how much until now. “I should introduce you all to my Matilda.”
“Your what?” his father burst out, eyes widening.
“Oh, how romantic,” Evelyn shrieked. She clutched her hands to her chest with all the dramatic flair of a stage actress. “You married your maid!”
He faltered at her assumption. Claiming a marriage had taken place hadn’t been his intent, but it absolutely solved his problem of how to thwart his father’s matchmaking efforts. He wanted his father and Mr. Chudleigh to understand that enough was enough. He would not marry Miss Chudleigh. Being excluded from the marriage mart was exactly what he needed to send her packing. Claiming he’d already wed guaranteed they would never darken his door again.
Matilda’s hand slid down his shoulder when he did not immediately speak up to deny they’d wed. He caught her wrist before she could run, then threaded their fingers together and squeezed tightly, holding her close to his side. Keen to appear affectionate, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it too.
“Indeed we are. We wanted to surprise everyone with the news.” He stared at his father, unsurprised that the old man appeared ready to explode.
Matilda squeezed his hand in return, and her face transformed into an utterly besotted expression. He was astonished. He’d never seen the like before—not directed toward him.