“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?”
“Everything. Trust me. I am known to have particular standards when it comes to my lovers.” And a preference for dark-haired women not unlike Matilda Winslow.
He reached forward and lightly touched her face for the first time. She had a strong jaw, slightly pointed chin, and her eyes flashed with alarm. His hand trembled, but he steadied himself. “You must look softer, irresistible.”
He tugged a few strands of hair from beside her ears. The dark strands bounced into curls instantly, just as they had when he’d let her hair down. Next he plucked the ugly tucker from the top of her bodice, prepared to draw it over her head.
Matilda reared back when his fingertips caressed the upper swell of her breast accidentally. “I will do it.”
She moved to his mirror and pulled the scrap of lace over her head, then rushed to remove her damp apron. Without it, the plain gown seemed a good deal more fetching, and Matilda looked less like a servant who had made his bed every morning.