He moved backward, sliding under the sheets, tucking his pillow under his head, leaving a wide space for Matilda to fill. His eyes never left her face. He held out one hand, reaching for her.
Matilda considered his request and then nodded. He was mostly dressed; Matilda was completely covered by her nightgown. She moved to blow out the candle. They were husband and wife, and he needed her.
She climbed into his bed, rather breathless at her boldness as she pressed her back against William’s chest. He covered her up with the bedding, then wrapped his arms about her tightly. “Thank you.”
The warmth and strength of his embrace caused her heart to flutter, as did the way he kissed her hair. “You’re welcome.”
After a time his breathing slowed and his grip softened. She rolled a little away from him, but his grip firmed, preventing her leaving him. He made a sound that reminded her of his desperate
pleas during his recovery when he could not speak.
Matilda wriggled to get comfortable and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Had he suffered the nightmares even then and not been able to convey what truly troubled him?
She pressed her hands lightly over his arms, listening to him fall deeper into sleep, hoping he would not dream again.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to discover if there was any way she could help him avoid further nightmares or lessen the horror of them. He’d been so brave, stoic, hiding his troubled thoughts from her for months. The least Matilda could do was support him when he needed her most.
Fourteen
Keeping a promise had never been harder. For weeks he’d escorted his wife around London—shopping, amusements, attending balls, dining with friends while his sisters searched for a husband, and acting utterly smitten.
Which he might very well be.
Matilda had thrown herself into the role of wife with great enthusiasm. Her retiring nature had evolved into a confidence he felt decidedly proud of. But there was one problem with his scheme. He hated every moment of the lie, especially when Matilda was the center of attention from other men.
She didn’t want him, and although she did not appear to want anyone else, his palms itched every time she smiled at gentlemen, and there was to be no relief for that. He’d promised not to harm her in any way, even though she tempted him, even though she was, in all respects bar the bedroom, his loving wife.
She had grown accustomed to sleeping in his arms, at least for part of the night, and he was grateful. For the past weeks his nightmares had receded, and she respected his wish not to discuss them again. When his nightmares did return, he would cuddle up close against her until the panic faded and lie beside her until morning came.
While he listened to her even breaths at night, he considered a future that might keep her in his life. During the weeks of their marriage, he’d grown accustomed to her presence. Of taking care of her and seeing that she had everything she could need to be happy. He interrupted her conversation to pass her a glass of sherry. “For you, my dear.”
“Thank you, William,” she murmured with a shy smile. However, she quickly returned to her conversation with his excitable sisters, leaving him to his guests.
Polite wasn’t enough for him. They did not have a true marriage.
And that lack of connection was slowly eroding his calm.
He shook his head and returned to his friends. “Where is Mr. Nelson this season?”
Cobb and James Mitchell smiled broadly. “He wrote to say he found a distraction in Wales during the winter and will stay for the summer too.”
Not surprising. His friends were a lusty lot with a broad taste for amorous adventures. “Another bored married woman?”
Mitchell laughed softly. “Is there any other sort of distraction to chase after?”
“None that I know of.” William smiled and then quickly expanded that remark. “However, that was before I married.”
“Poor bastard,” James Mitchell remarked and then toasted William’s wife. “It must be such a hardship being married to that gorgeous woman.”
“Oh, it is,” he said, laughing as he was expected to do but secretly agreeing that marriage to Matilda was difficult for a man of his inclinations. He was a scarred war hero with a beautiful wife he couldn’t touch, without means for any sort of relief in the near future. It was more frustrating than not being able to speak. Even more frustrating than knowing he couldn’t kiss her again.
The fact that this sham marriage had sprung from his idea didn’t mean he had to like it. As much as he tried to be satisfied with only her friendship, he couldn’t control her the way he needed to. The way he wanted to bend her to his will would probably frighten her. He’d fooled himself that he could suppress his instincts when all he wanted to do was drag her off somewhere private to make her cry out in both pain and pleasure.
Cobb sidled closer when Mitchell drew away. “I thought to meet you at Fowlers last night.”
William glanced around discreetly before answering Cobb. Matilda still had no idea he was a client of a discreet brothel, a place that provided willing women for patrons to scold. “I’ve no desire to go.”
Even though he had permission to kiss other women, he couldn’t do it. The idea twisted his stomach into knots of distress. What if other women were not as kind as Matilda when he kissed them? What if they laughed at him or were utterly revolted by his scar?