Matilda knew too well what he hid from everyone. The mask and other things had disappeared, she suspected to a locked chest kept beneath this very bed. He had a darkness and a taste for inflicting pain on women despite his seemingly proper appearance.
She peeked at his face as she drew back. His eyes had widened a little, and then they darkened to a dense black. She shook her head as her body tightened in response to his obvious irritation. What the captain wanted to do with her would be her ruin if she gave in to her feelings again.
“Of course you will recover.” She studied him as coldly as she could. “Besides, you don’t really want a mere servant to have the last word do you?”
He changed the grip he had on her hand. He made a sound of protest and squeezed.
“Shh, you must remain calm and allow Mr. Simmons to do his work.” She loosened his grip; the right hand that had spanked her until she’d cried had a deep cut down his thumb and would need salve applied to it and new bandaging. She would attend to that herself. Later. The most pressing concern was his face.
She set his palm over her knee and pressed down carefully so she didn’t cause further injury. “I won’t leave your side no matter what the doctor does to you.”
His eyes closed, his fingers flexed on her knee.
“I think he’s ready. Fetch the laudanum and a narrow spoon. I recall seeing one for infants in the nursery cupboard.”
The captain’s fingertips dug painfully into her knee.
She glanced down at him, startled by his response. “I am not suggesting you are a babe in arms. The smaller spoon will make it easier for you to take the medication.”
His stare promised retribution and equal humiliation if word of him eating from an infant’s spoon spread beyond this room. That was exactly what she’d hoped for. He still had fire in him if he could be so easily offended, and that fire would help him fight for life.
“Hold that anger close to your heart and let it lend you strength for what is to come, Billy Boy.”
He stared at her, breath churning as tension between them grew.
She smiled with satisfaction that her jibe, use of his childhood nickname, got under his skin. “This will hurt.”
His fingers squeezed her knee painfully again.
“Be still now. You’ll need your strength for what is to come.”
Mrs. Young sobbed. “This is madness. We’ll be blamed if he dies.”
Matilda spared her a fleeting glance. “Better to do something than nothing at all. Do it. Do it quickly and all at once,” she urged, resettling herself over the captain’s body. It was a strange perch, but at least from here she could observe Mr. Simmons at work and distract the patient while he endured the pain.
Mr. Fellows returned and carefully spooned laudanum into the side of Captain Ford’s mouth. It was a higher dose than she’d expected him to be given, and she prayed the man knew what he was about. The doctors turned away to discuss the procedure in private.
Matilda watched Captain Ford sink slowly under the influence and breathed a sigh of relief when he struggled to keep his eyes open and the pressure of his gripping fingers softened and slipped away. “He’s almost out,” she called to them.
She moved to brush a lock of hair back from the captain’s brow and then snatched her hand back. He deserved her compassion but wanted none of her affection. If he had, he’d never have tried to pay for her favors.
She settled her hands on his chest and felt the strong beat of his heart. He would live. Later she would decide if she could remain in his employ now that he’d returned to shore. It was almost certain that his recovery would take many months.
While he convalesced she would have time to think of what to do while she awaited her beau’s return.
Two
About three months later
The dream always started the same way. Fabric rustled and William Ford became aware of Matilda Winslow creeping into his room through a connecting door. Candlelight played over her features and prim nightgown, and he was spellbound in a way he had no right to be.
When the woman set her candle aside and climbed onto his bed to reach him where he lay in the center, he remained still lest he shatter the illusion that such moments could last.
Tonight he was properly awake and aware he was not dreaming this visitation. Matilda Winslow, a provocative maid in his employ, was in his bedchamber and crawling close. He had no idea when the woman’s nightly visits had begun, but they couldn’t continue without consequences for her.
He had been convalescing for several long months, and tonight was the first time he truly cared what had happened to him or around him.
He’d almost died, many times in fact.