The idea of a liar and seducer of innocents in her life was decidedly uncomfortable.
Dawson continued. “I am sure it seems unforgivable that Captain Ford lied to you. I am equally sure he did it because he cares about you so much more than he reveals. He never meant any harm, and he is a much better match for you in my opinion. Please give him another chance, or at least don’t be fooled by Lloyd’s claims that Captain Ford chased after all the maids.”
“I know William wouldn’t do that.” Matilda drew in a sharp breath. He’d focused his attention on her from the moment they’d met though. She’d sensed his interest, been flattered by it a little. He’d claimed he’d tried to fight his attraction. “I am quite done with Mr. Lloyd, I assure you.”
But was she done with William too?
She did not know the answer to that, but she would have to decide and soon. Despite William’s claim, their marriage could not stay the same. “I’d like to be alone now.”
“Very good, madam.” Dawson released a heavy sigh, as if he’d been truly afraid she’d throw over her husband so quickly. “Shall I bring up your supper tray?”
“Yes, please.” The sun was setting, her favorite time of day. “I will remain here for the evening.”
“And the captain, ma’am??
??
She glanced at the ring on her finger. The only thing she had that made her a respectable woman. “I have no message for my husband.”
Dawson added more fuel to the fire and then fled. By the time he’d returned with her supper tray, Matilda had decided what to do. Everyone believed her properly wed and bedded. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable fall happened. Why deny that her own nature required William’s firm hand to bring her peace?
If pleasure and pain were all she could have, she’d take it. Her hope of being loved would have to go begging.
Twenty-Two
Since Matilda had not come down to speak with him or left the house to meet with Harry Lloyd, William kept to his regular schedule as best he could. He ate, read, and at the time he felt right, he climbed the stairs and strolled to the dressing room. Thank God his sisters had returned to Newberry House earlier. He could not have borne their questions or disappointment in him.
He’d made a bloody mess of his marriage. The question though was could their friendship be saved?
He went into the dressing room first, but the space was empty of Matilda. Her nightclothes were still laid out upon the chaise next to the gown she had worn that day. He stared at her stockings, corset, and chemise and glanced around. What was she wearing?
He picked up her chemise and held it a moment, pulse racing as he breathed in her scent. Rosemary and lemon. Familiar scents that always decided his moods. She stirred his passions and his temper.
Matilda never slept without clothing.
To do so was immodest and sure to tempt him to break their bargain.
He hoped she knew by now that her bare skin excited him beyond reason.
Although he should not read anything into her nightgown being in the dressing room still, the sight of it made him tremble with hope. Matilda hadn’t chased after Harry Lloyd and had two options before her—keep to their terms, which ended with separation, or become his wife in every way that counted.
He had expected to talk about her choice and move forward in the manner they agreed. He needed to know her limits so he could do his best to always meet them and never stray beyond.
He undressed slowly, stripped down to his breeches, and then approached their dark bedchamber, his candle held aloft. Inside, sheets rustled as she moved in their bed restlessly.
When he stepped through the doorway his heart raced. Matilda lay in the exact center, her dark hair spilled over his pillow, but the sheets were pulled up to her chin modestly. He couldn’t tell if she was naked under the sheet, but after a moment of silent scrutiny he assumed so. She seemed more than a little nervous.
He put the candle aside on a chest of drawers, moved to the bed, and pulled back the sheet only a little so he could climb in next to her. “Matilda.”
“William,” she whispered.
He rested on one elbow, watching her carefully, and then slowly peeled back the sheet an inch or two. Her shoulder was bare. He fought jubilation and traced a circle on her skin with his fingertip, unwilling to rush to any assumption that might lead to embarrassment for either one of them. “Does this mean what I hope it means?”
“Our bargain wasn’t fair. Not to either of us.” She met his gaze. “I want to be your wife, William. I want to be the wife you want me to be.”
“You already are.” He smiled and flung the bedding away.
Matilda jumped, startled by his actions. “William!”