She rubbed his arm, a soothing gesture she’d done many times over the past weeks and months. At first he’d been uncertain of the gesture and what it signified, but Matilda had appeared to sense his melancholy.
She settled more comfortably. Closer. “Well, that was sensible. How do you feel?”
Dear God, the woman didn’t make anything easy.
“Like I’ve been to hell and back.” He glanced at the ceiling. He should send her away, but after all she’d done for him, the woman deserved a little conversation. “I don’t think I can adequately describe how surprised I am to be alive. When I was wounded, I feared for my life.”
“We all did, but in usual Ford fashion, death must wait till you are ready to go and not a moment sooner,” Matilda remarked humorously. “What do you remember?”
“Too much,” he whispered, drowning in memories for a brief and unpleasant moment, instantly annoyed when she brushed her hand over his shoulder once more. He owed this woman his life, and he should say something about her actions. The dimness of the chamber only added to his wicked train of thought.
Despite the impropriety, he found her wrist and held it tightly. Restraining her made him feel more settled and confident for what he needed to say next. “I cannot properly express my gratitude for the care you’ve given me. I don’t know what would have become of me had you not wished to save me.”
“You saved yourself.” Her posture softened, and he could just make out a gentle smile curving her lips. “Whatever influence I managed to have over your recovery was purely so that your sisters had no reason to cry.”
He frowned. “Why are you here?”
She sighed softly. “Dawson insisted that I sleep in the dressing room in case you needed anything during the night. I always peek in on you before bed.”
“Why you particularly and not another?”
“My father was a penny surgeon during his life, and I had the necessary experience of tending wounds and a stronger disposition than anyone else. Mrs. Young and the other servants have done nothing but weep and wail for months.” She paused a moment, then shook her head. “And Dawson remembered your instructions that only I was allowed to be in your rooms. He said you would prefer me over anyone else.”
“Ah,” he said, remembering that long-forgotten discussion with some discomfort. At the time, he’d wanted to ensure that no one else accidentally found his sex play implements. It might have also had something to do with making sure Matilda’s hair never mimicked a birds nest again as it had done earlier that morning. “I had forgotten your father’s career, but I did not think you had much interest in it. Have you studied much?”
“Some.” She shifted a little, as if embarrassed by having an education. Matilda had not always been a servant, that much he knew. She’d come into his employ not long after her father’s death. He’d been moved by her bleak face on the day they’d met and had impulsively employed her, even though Mrs. Young had not been in favor of employing a pretty girl when she had no letters of recommendation.
“I am grateful for your experience.” He shrugged. “The other maids would indeed have been too
foolish for the sickroom.”
She cleared her throat. “My father believed a familiar face could aid in the recovery of a grievously ill patient.”
“He was correct. I would rather have your pretty face hovering over me than a stranger’s.” He frowned. He had not meant to reveal a partiality, but Matilda’s presence had been an excellent distraction from the pain and frustration. Had she any idea of the effect her innocence had on him? The danger she placed herself in was foolish. He released her wrist and sat up a little, keeping the sheets high over his hips still. “There were a few occasions I feared the doctor would resign because you made them wash their hands so often.”
“Sickness can linger on the hands, but the doctors think little of women’s intelligence in such matters and of my experience in particular.” She shuddered. “I saw you at your worst that first day. After that, the physician’s disapproval of my continued presence influenced me very little, Billy Boy.”
The taunt, a nickname not used since his youth, made his palm itch. He would not tolerate the name on her lips again. He scowled. “Do you have any idea how much I hate hearing that name? Do not repeat it.”
“That is why I said it that first day—to distract from what was happening. I can explain if you will listen.” She glanced down at the bedding guiltily and ran her finger along the heavy linen.
He was somewhat appeased by her behavior. “You can try.”
“Mrs. Young likes nothing better than to recount the past, and I recalled her mentioning the taunt and your reaction to it when you were a little boy. You had quite the temper then. The surgeons were giving up. I feared you were too. So I said it, believing there was everything to gain by throwing propriety aside and goading you. I saw the anger in your eyes that day and was glad. It gave me hope you would not give up without a fight.”
“Remarkably observant.” He caught her wrist again and stroked the soft skin on the inside. “But don’t dare test me again without expecting consequences.”
She shivered, and he hardened further at that sign of her unease around him. The thrill of having a woman even temporarily in his power only ever increased his desire.
“Your sisters have been writing every day and offering all sorts of treatments for you,” she said in a rush, attempting to draw away.
“Dear God, that is grim news.” He released her, bent one knee, and leaned on it. He hoped the gesture would set her at ease. He was master of his desires tonight. “What did you do with the advice?”
“I considered some of their suggestions, but then Mrs. Young took the letters from me before I could memorize them all.” She frowned. “I do hope they were answered to their satisfaction. They seemed very concerned about you.”
“I see.” Anger rose in him that the housekeeper had interfered. He let out another curse under his breath at his train of thought. Far better for Matilda that she be kept at a distance than become more involved in his life and with his sisters, but still…
“I would have liked to have written back to Miss Evelyn. She suggested I kiss a crown and place it directly over your heart to ward off infection, which of course could not have any effect on an injury like yours.” Her brow creased. “Does she really think that could have worked?”