An Affair of Honor (Rebel Hearts Book 2) Read online

  Suddenly he glanced up and met her gaze. His eyes were wild, dark, and focused solely on her. Matilda panted. He gripped her tingling bottom tightly, then turned his hand a fraction and used his fingers to part her thighs. His brow rose. “More?”

  She nodded, but was unsure of what he’d do next. As his fingers dipped between, touching a place only Matilda had tentatively explored before in the privacy her narrow cot afforded, she closed her eyes. She was assailed by strange sensations that made her feel warm all over. As his gentle caress grew bolder, she could not help the need to push her body into his touch.

  He brushed against her sex while she shuddered and moaned to his bewitching touch. He continued to rub through her damp curls, more insistent with each stroke, and the sensations were so different that she couldn’t account for them. She squirmed a little as an ache began where he played with her; a burning need to widen her legs further so he might press his fingers into her body.

  “Look at us,” the captain whispered. “Look at what I’m doing to you. How perfect is the moment just before your surrender?”

  Matilda struggled to catch her breath. She did look, focusing on his hand moving between her thighs, on the pink of her bottom beside his pale wrist, on the flush of color on his cheeks. She ached so badly an unladylike moan tumbled from her lips.

  “Please,” she begged of him, knowing there must be more to come. She was alive in his embrace in a way she’d never felt before. She could barely hold still.

  “Trust me,” he whispered, leaning over her body so he could speak into her ear. “You’re as eager as I am but will learn not to rush such moments. I will make the wait worth your while.”

  He teased her again, but so skillfully that Matilda began to shake. She stiffened and cried out as her body convulsed, taken over by sensations beyond her experience.

  She hung her head as her senses spun out of control again and again until his touch gentled on her sex.

  The captain’s fingers slipped away, and he eventually loosened his tight grip on her waist. He relaxed against the back of the chair and uttered a shockingly masculine groan. “An exquisite end to this affair.” He chuckled softly. “I had hoped you might hold out longer before falling. Next time you will.”

  He reached into his coat pocket, and pressed a cold coin into her hand.

  She stared at the new-minted sovereign as pleasurable satisfaction gave way to unease over what she’d allowed.

  “Oh, God.” She was a fool. Matilda twisted to look at Captain Ford’s smiling face.

  Matilda dropped the coin. She flew off his lap, shoving her gown down as she went, and fled the room as fast as she could unlock the door. She did not pause to tug up her mangled stocking; she did not heed his calls to wait. She could not bear to hear him offer more money as if she had expected to be compensated for her favors.

  One

  London, 1815

  Matilda Winslow came to a screeching halt behind the tottering housekeeper and tried to contain her impatience before she ran the gasping woman down. She shuddered at the wail echoing through Captain William Ford’s cozy London town house.

  It was not a pretty sound.

  It was a sound no man should make.

  “Dear God, have mercy,” Mrs. Young whispered as the sound trailed off. She struggled toward the steep mahogany staircase as if she were walking through knee-high mud. “He lives. He lives.”

  But at what price? Matilda shivered and followed with mincing steps, trying to remember that the older woman would not take kindly to a servant brushing past her on the stairs. Mrs. Young had to always be first. Matilda struggled with showing deference to a woman with limited sense, and she had no doubt been both lucky and foolish to still have this employment.

  Now that she could clearly hear Captain Ford crying out in pain, she understood she’d hardly any idea of how desperate the situation was when she’d first heard the startling news that he’d been returned to shore and to his London town house. The entire household had been belowstairs and most had erupted into frantic activity to cover up how little they’d been doing in his absence.

  Matilda tripped along in a daze, her heart in her throat as the sounds continued to rise and fall unabated. She had hoped to find another position before his return, but without any sort of reference, she’d been unsuccessful. She cringed as Captain Ford cried out again. He uttered agonized, incomprehensible gabble that, in her three-year acquaintance with her employer, she would never have suspected he’d be capable of making.

  The housekeeper turned to her, her cheeks an unhealthy shade of gray. “We will need to be strong. Go on without me, do what is needed.”

  She stared at the woman, struck by the notion she had not heard correctly. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. It is time you earned your wages for a change,” the woman hissed.

  That was not fair. Matilda worked harder than any of the other maids. All they did was flirt with the footmen and lift their skirts for anyone who had enough coin.

  Mrs. Young caught the banister, her fingers white on the rail, and swayed into it for support instead of moving upward. The usually self-sufficient old woman could barely stand. Matilda didn’t want her to fall on the stairs for the fuss she would make later on so she caught the eye of the nearest footman. “Assist Mrs. Young upstairs at once.”

  She skirted the protesting housekeeper, and although she would most likely be reprimanded later, Matilda hiked up her skirts and ran up the entire flight of steps toward Captain Ford’s bedchamber and that horrible noise.

  She sped along the halls and paused outside his dressing room, risking a peek first before entering. The Roberts brothers, twin footmen who should have returned downstairs to their posts by now, lingered at the bedchamber doorway, maids Jenny and Jane stood nearby, whispering to each other as was their habit. One had tears in her eyes, but most probably they were tears meant for themselves. With Captain Ford returned, their easy employment would certainly end.

  Matilda shooed them away. “Back to your duties before Mrs. Young sees you.”

  She ignored their protests and pushed her way between the towering footmen. The captain’s valet, Dawson, had returned with his master, and at the sound of her voice, he turned toward her. A sensible man she knew fairly well, Gregory Dawson had dark circles under his eyes, and his expression was bleak.

  His appearance was unkempt too, his jaw covered with several days of stubble, his usually impeccable clothes wrinkled and stained in some places with what appeared to be dried blood. He looked about ready to fall down from exhaustion. She grasped his forearm, offering compassion and her strength. He was particularly attached to his employer for some reason, even going so far as to follow him to sea by his own choice.

  “Miss Winslow,” he whispered with relief at seeing her.

  “Mr. Dawson.” She shivered as another moan filled her ears. “What has happened?”

  The man paled further. “He’s dying.”

  Matilda swallowed hard at the idea of a world without Captain Ford and then noticed strangers in his room. “Who is in there?”

  “Mr. Simmons and Mr. Fellows, physicians both. They came with us direct from the docks.” Dawson shuddered as Captain Ford moaned brokenly again. “They don’t mince words.”

  Dawson shifted to lean against the wall, revealing the whole of the room to Matilda.

  She shuddered at the sight of four men holding William Ford down. “Why was he not taken to the Naval Hospital for treatment?”

  “He’s not expected to live very long,” Dawson whispered. “The hospital was said to be overflowing, so I brought him home to die because I knew he’d prefer to be here where it is quiet.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but she dashed them away. She had wished injury on William Ford many times over the past year for his treatment of her, but this was beyond anything she’d ever imagined he’d deserve.

  She bit her lip, unable to comprehend that nothing could be done to save the captain. “Surg
eons perform miracles every day. My late father treated many men and never gave up until the last moment of a patient’s life. He saved many when I had felt their recovery hopeless. Has word been sent to the duke, to any of the captain’s family?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Ford made landfall ahead of us and went ahead with the message.”

  “Good. Mrs. Young should be on her way up.” As an afterthought, she added, “Make sure she has a chair as soon as possible. Keep an eye on her in case she faints.”

  “How like you to care about everyone.” He smiled tightly and then scraped his fingers through his hair. It didn’t help him look more composed. “It is good to see you again, despite the circumstances.”

  “It’s good to have you home.” She touched his arm again. “Get some rest, and I will see what I can do to help.”

  Matilda entered the room and at once was assaulted with the odor of turpentine. The unpleasant scent brought reminders of all the times some poor broken soul had been carried into her father’s simple home to be mended over their kitchen table. She breathed through her mouth until her nausea passed, and tried to recall what her father might have done in a similar situation.

  “Hold him still,” Mr. Simmons barked out while the captain twisted and moaned brokenly beneath clutching hands.

  The captain should be calmer.

  She eased closer, assessing the men in the room and the mood. Every face was grim. No one would meet her gaze. “What are you doing to him?”

  The doctor grimaced as he peeled back a blood-soaked scrap of linen from the captain’s head. “What must be done.”

  The captain bucked again, and the men struggled to keep him on the bed.

  “Well, don’t stand about gawking, girl.”

  Girl! She’d argue that description, but she was the only maid in the household with experience that might lend assistance to the physicians. “My father was a surgeon. I helped him save lives. What can I do?”

  The physician assessed her with a scathing flicker of interest and then scoffed. “You either help hold him down or wait out there with everyone else.”

  He didn’t believe she could help. How typical that men of science refused to believe a prettier face than theirs might have skills to offer too. She wasn’t surprised by his skepticism, merely annoyed.

  Matilda moved toward the bed. She had experience with the treatment of minor wounds, though she had rarely been called upon to use her knowledge since coming to work for Captain Ford. The housekeeper did not like any reminder that she possessed more of an education than the old goat did herself and always consulted with an apothecary.

  The captain’s arms and legs were already pinned; another fellow held his head still but his body writhed between all of them. She could barely make out his face beyond his uncovered eyes. His lashes were dark and appeared moist. The rest of his head had been swathed in linen some time ago judging by the grubby state of it.

  Matilda leaned across the bed and pressed her hands down on the captain’s heaving chest.

  Simmons glanced her way. “There’s not enough room for everyone to stand. Get on the bed beside him.”

  Although surprised by the request, Matilda carefully climbed up. She knelt beside William Ford, and the odor of him—sweat, turpentine and other strong scents—almost made her gag. She pushed on his ribs firmly and breathed shallowly. “Like this?”

  He chose that moment to buck, and Matilda was almost tossed off entirely.

  “You’ll need to apply more weight, Miss Winslow,” Dawson suggested as he drew close. “Let me do it.”

  Matilda shook her head as she took in Dawson’s sagging shoulders. He stared at his employer with tears in his eyes. “You’re already exhausted, Dawson. Go and sit down before you fall down.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Dawson said. “Not after…”

  She stared at the valet in horror. How could he know her shame at the captain’s hands?

  Matilda turned away from Dawson quickly. She had hoped no one had known she’d been caught red-handed and punished for her curiosity. It was her own fault. When Captain Ford had closed the door behind him, effectively trapping her in his room, she had known he’d ruin her. She’d given him permission to do whatever he liked. She had enjoyed it too until he’d handed her a coin for services rendered as if she was a prostitute.

  “I’ll be fine,” she whispered and concentrated on the patient rather than the man and how low he’d made her feel since that day.

  Although entirely improper, sitting on the captain to hold him down might be her only option what with the way he was thrashing about. She was light and didn’t want to be thrown off and hurt in the process of helping. Matilda carefully lifted her skirts and straddled William Ford, settling him between her thighs and pinning his sides with her knees. Thank heavens she’d taken to wearing drawers or she might truly be thought a wicked woman. A hot blush filled her cheeks as the doctors stared at her improper position. The surprise in their eyes caused Matilda to make sure the drawers covering her legs were hidden from view too. She carefully settled all her weight on the patient’s belly and then pressed her hands to his upper chest.

  “What are you doing, girl?” Mrs. Young gasped, having finally arrived. “Have you no shame?”

  “She is doing what only she could,” Dawson insisted.

  The next time Captain Ford moved after the doctor’s treatment, he did not move very much at all. “I think this has helped,” she whispered.

  “Agreed.” Dawson turned away, dragging Mrs. Young toward a comfortable chair near an open window, then stood back to observe. Mrs. Young began to pray loudly.

  As Matilda sat on Captain Ford’s chest, she became aware that his breathing was strained and sounded very wet. He gurgled.

  The bandages around his mouth were stained pale red and damp, as if they’d been constantly soaked. Her eyes widened with understanding. “Quickly, lift him up.”

  “What?”

  “He cannot breathe.” She pushed away the men holding Captain Ford’s arms to no effect. “He must be allowed to sit up.”

  The doctors stared at the captain and then each other. “We can’t see the wound if he is upright.”

  “For goodness’ sake, let go of his arms and lift up the whole headboard then. He’s been trying to get up, and you won’t let him. His mouth is full of liquid. He’s drowning in it.”

  “Do it,” Dawson ordered as the men holding Captain Ford hesitated to follow her instructions.

  As soon as he was released, Captain Ford struggled upright, latching on to Matilda even as he cried out in pain. He clung to her tightly, gasping and sputtering around his moans.

  Matilda cradled his well-padded head to her shoulder as the men quickly moved to the headboard, planted their feet, and raised them both up at an angle. Matilda eased the captain back against his pillows as soon as she could and immediately noticed his bandages had bloomed reddish brown around his mouth.

  “Good God,” Fellows murmured and then turned aside to gag into a handkerchief.

  Matilda controlled her revulsion at the sight and concentrated on helping the captain breathe easier. “Get those bandages away from his face now. Cut them off if necessary. Bring fresh linen and warm water to clean him with.”

  It shocked her that these medical men were so slow to act. Had they no idea how to treat the captain properly?

  “You’ll need to bring in bricks from the yard,” Dawson advised the idle footmen who’d reappeared at the door at the commotion. “Bring a dozen or so to support the weight.”

  The doctor leaned over the captain holding a pair of scissors and carefully cut through the remaining layers of bandages, freeing a corner of his mouth and nose. Captain Ford drew in a huge breath and closed his eyes as the doctor recommenced peeling the bandages away from the wound one layer at a time.

  The bed rocked a little when the bricks were brought in and set in place. The fellows who had been holding the bed up flexed their shoulders b
ut did not move to hold the captain down again. They stepped back and then silently filed out of the room.

  The captain caught her eye and stared at her. He was breathing easier, and he did not fight his treatment anymore.

  “You’ll be all right now,” she whispered.

  His left hand slipped over hers, and his fingers tightened around her wrist in viselike grip. The captain’s eyes darted left and right, examining those around him. When he did it again before meeting her gaze, she understood.

  “Your family are all in the country.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. He hated strangers in his home, but she could imagine he’d want those he loved at his bedside at a time like this. “I’m sure they will be here soon.”

  She shifted a little as her knees cramped.

  When Mr. Simmons removed the final strip of bandage covering the wound, the captain spluttered out a garbled curse. He squeezed her thigh painfully and then fainted dead away.

  Matilda stared at the angry wound that stretched over what had once been the captain’s perfect left cheek. “Oh, no.”

  He had once been very handsome, and her eyes stung at the horror she faced now.

  The injury gaped, a jagged and deep cut.

  Mr. Fellows rushed outside. The sound of his retching in the hall soon followed.

  Mr. Simmons turned his face away for a long moment. “It’s a miracle he’s survived this long. We’ll make him comfortable, but we must prepare for the worst.”

  “No!” The defeat in the surgeon’s tone angered Matilda on the captain’s behalf. “If William Ford has lived this long, he undoubtedly intends to recover. Fords never quit nor do they ever give up, sir. It isn’t in his nature nor should it be in yours. Fix him.”

  Matilda looked to Dawson for support, expecting the valet to agree with her and remind the doctor of whom he was dealing with. Captain Ford was the most stubborn, taciturn man she had ever met. He would fight for life surely.