Chapter 3

 

William

 

The first day she arrived, she’d called me by my given name as if she’d had every right. She’d entered my room, as if she owned the estate. Taken my sheets and replaced them with clean linens without my consent. Even gone through my personal things, searching my wardrobe for clothing.

She’d treated my threats as if I were a mere child throwing a tantrum, who didn’t deserve any notice. I didn’t want her compassion. I sure as hell didn’t want her pity. I wanted her quivering in her boots when she entered my room, much like the other staff.

Worst of all, she’d threatened that she would return. She had. Hell, the moment I’d awoken this morning, I’d sworn I could practically sense her in the blasted house.

“I will be back tomorrow, William.”

Who the hell was she to call me by my name? To take over my chambers as if she was in charge? To order me about? How I despised her. But not because she had laid claim to my home. Not even because there were maids in my room at that moment dusting and invading my private quarters.

I hated her because having her here was a reminder that I needed assistance. That I could barely bathe myself, barely dress. That I was barely a human being. A reminder that I couldn’t control one young miss. And I hated her most of all because she’d heated my body with a desire I hadn’t felt in years. Hell, she’d been buttoned up in starched clothing like any maidenly aunt, so why had she stirred my blood?

Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the window panes. If I’d been a superstitious man, I would have thought the encroaching storm a warning. The howling through the trees only added to this gothic nightmare.

“Miss, I’m done,” a maid whispered.

Like the others, she was afraid of the madman who resided at the estate like some monster in a gothic novel. I tightened my hold onto my chair. I’d thought if I ignored them, they would leave. They hadn’t. If I knew how the hell to get out of my room without tripping over something and humiliating myself, I’d bolt.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Watson said in an overly cheerful voice as she swept by, leaving her scent behind. “If you’ll tell cook to prepare the midday meal.”

“Yes, mum.”

I tried to focus on the cool breeze coming in through the open windows. The maid left, but I knew the companion my brother had hired was still there. I could sense her. I could also sense the tension in the air. She was here…but she was nervous. I supposed that’s what intrigued me so…she was scared, yet remained. Why?

“Whatever my brothers are paying you, I’ll double it if you leave me the hell alone.”

“I’m not here because of money.”

Frustrated, it took everything in my power not to stand and throw my chair across the room, toward the sound of her voice. I was twice her size, surely I could intimidate her into leaving. Hell, I was used to shouting orders and being obeyed. This slip of a maiden had her own agenda and wouldn’t be swayed. “Then why? Whatever the hell you want, I’ll give it to you.”

She paused, growing silent. What? What did she want, because it was obvious she wanted something. Everyone wanted something. She continued across the room and pushed open the window, the hinges screeching. “I’m here because I…care.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. The woman was completely insane. “How the hell can you care about a man you don’t know?”

“I do know you.”

The words whispered tauntingly through my mind. Stirred something inside that made me uneasy. I didn’t dare ask for further explanation, afraid of her response. Why her reply might make me so uneasy, I wasn’t sure.

“I know the heroic deeds you’ve done for our country.”

The disappointment I felt was immediate and consuming. The first week I’d arrived home reporters had been camped on my doorstep. Women had thrown flowers at my carriage. A war hero, they’d said. She didn’t know me. She merely wanted to be near a minor sensation. But all of those worshipping fans didn’t give two figs for me, not the real me. If they could see me now, they’d be horrified.

“I know the people you have saved…”

“I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me!” I roared, surging to my feet. “I’m not some wounded child to be taken care of.”

“Then stop acting like a baby!” she shouted back.

Startled, I actually paused. The room grew silent. A clock on the mantel ticked the seconds by. The audacity of the woman. If I’d been in my right mind I would have demanded she get out of my house that instant. Instead, I felt the unwanted tug of admiration. Not once had anyone stood up to me, spoken the truth. Not even James.

Thunder rumbled once more. A sudden gust of rain slashed at the windows. She raced forward and pulled it closed, the air stifling without the welcome breeze. The room grew silent, still. The only sound was the patter of rain upon the glass. As the wind abated, so did my anger. I felt depleted, exhausted.

“That hero you so desperately want me to be is gone,” I mumbled. “Dead.”

She moved slowly toward me, so very slowly I could barely hear her footfalls, the swoosh of her skirts, over the rumble of thunder and patter of rain. “He doesn’t have to be.”

“What can I do?” I demanded, angry and desperate all at once. “I no longer have any worth.”

“In whose eyes? Perhaps through your battered vision. But you seem to be the only one who thinks so.” She released a puff of air that I felt from where I stood. She was close. Her own sweet scent mixed with the musty smell of rain that had soaked her bodice when she’d pulled the window closed. “Your brother said your sight might return.”

“My brother is hopeful,” I muttered.

“You aren’t?”

I turned toward the windows, my back to her and focused on the drip of rain. “Better to be prepared for the worst, rather than believe in the best and be disappointed.”

She laughed, a deep, husky sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “What a horrible way to live! What about hope? Our dreams are what keep us going. Give our lives meaning.”

“Dreams are for children. This is real life, and real life is destruction, disappointment. Real life is seeing your friends shot to death on the battle field, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Seeing women attacked and killed. Children with missing limbs begging on dirty street corners.”

I paused in my rant, breathless and raving.

She was silent, and for a moment I thought I had terrified her with my horror stories of war. I should have known better. “Hope is seeing your children smile.”

I sank back into my chair. She had children? Was she married? Why I felt such extreme disappointment was beyond me. Perhaps I’d needed her to be that dour, maidenly woman who could not turn the head of a man, needed to have that power over her.

“Hope is…falling in love.”

I snorted in disgust. “Have you fallen in love?”

“I have.”

A twinge of annoyance flashed through me. Her merry, positive attitude was grating on my nerves. “And what happened to your true love, for you certainly don’t seem like the happily married sort now.”

She moved around me and headed toward the bed. “We had to go our separate ways.”

I shook my head as she smoothed down the sheets. “True love means you don’t go your separate ways. True love means you’ll give up everything, everyone to be together.” I surged to my feet, grasping the back of the chair for support. “True love means never saying goodbye.”

She didn’t respond, merely moved across the room, opened a drawer, closed it. Had I hurt her feelings enough that she’d finally leave me in peace? I wanted so badly to be left to my morose thoughts, to sink into the dark oblivion that called so sweetly. I didn’t want to think and she was making me.

“Your meal should be ready in an hour or so.” She started toward me, the sound of her voice growing closer. My harsh words had meant nothing. Good lord, the woman should have been a general in the military, not taking abuse from me. “Change your clothing and I promise to leave you alone for that hour.”

“Two,” I snapped. “I’m not hungry.”

She hesitated. I knew I’d won. “Two. In two hours I’ll bring your meal and you’ll eat.”

Although I’d survived that small battle, I had the horrible feeling she was ahead in this war of wills. Still, I needed her to leave, so what else could I do but agree? I couldn’t stand to smell her sweet scent, to feel her attention on me. To imagine her thinking thoughts of my heroic deeds and wondering over my downfall. Would she return home at night and regale her family with my sad tale?

“Fine,” I relented.

She hesitated, perhaps surprised that I’d agreed. Hell, I would have done anything to get her to leave me in peace for even two hours. “Wonderful. Can you follow my voice?”

“I know my blasted room,” I growled, standing on legs that trembled from injury and disuse. “As long as you and that damn maid didn’t move anything.”

“Very well. If you’ll come to the end of the bed.”

I shuffled toward her, praying I wouldn’t trip and make a fool of myself. Four weeks I’d been here. For four weeks I’d been holed away in my chamber like the monster I’d become. I’d accepted that I’d be here for the rest of my wretched life. Now she was challenging my plans. I’d be damned if I’d let her destroy them.

I paused near the bed. I could sense her nearby. Swore I could feel the heat from her body. I knew she was lush, so damn soft that only a year ago I would have sold my soul to bed her. But what did she look like?

“Wonderful,” she said, her breath warm on my chin.

With trembling fingers, I unbuttoned my shirt. If she wanted to see me in all my naked glory, so be it. With little care for my nudity, I shrugged the shirt from my shoulders. I knew scars peppered my torso, yet I wouldn’t cower. She’d wanted this. The damn shirt got stuck at my elbows. With a growl, I tugged at the material.

“Here,” she said. “Allow me to assist.”

She leaned forward, bold as you please. Her soft scent teased and taunted. Her hair tickled my nose as her warm body pressed into mine. Blood raced to my cock. Hell, I didn’t want to be attracted to her, but my body had other things in mind.

It had been months since I’d indulged. Much, much too long. I was desperate. Why else would I be attracted to a woman I barely knew? At least my attraction came with the realization that certain parts of my body still worked quite well. Too well.

“There,” she said softly as she pulled the shirt loose.

My hands curled as I resisted the urge to reach out, to smooth my fingertips over her face and know her features. She moved around me and stood at my back. I felt the clean shirt press against my fingertips and slide up my arms. Close, so damn close I could feel the heat from her body. She pulled the garment over my shoulders and moved around to face me. Her sweet, sweet fragrance stole my breath, made me confused and disoriented.

Slowly, much too slowly, she started to button the shirt. I didn’t dare breathe. Nothing bothered this woman. Not my nudity. Not my anger. Not my injuries. What the hell did I need to do to get her to leave?

Her gentle fingers brushed against my lower belly, then up my chest. My muscles jumped, tightened as desire roared through my body. It was pure torture. Did she do it on purpose? In my aroused state I couldn’t think clearly.

Whether she did on purpose or not, didn’t matter. I had no control. My cock grew long and hard, thickening with each brush of her hands. Baffled by my own body, I could only stand there as attraction swirled unheeded through me. I’d always had a healthy appetite, yet had always been able to show restraint.

“Your trousers,” she whispered, most likely horrified by the state of my arousal. I told myself I didn’t care, but I couldn’t seem to stop the flush from traveling up my neck. Hell, I hadn’t blushed since I’d been a lad. “Can you take them off yourself?”

“I can handle it,” I growled.

I’d been to hell and back, and in those years I’d grown tough as the very nails that had held this estate together for three hundred years. Yet with a brush of her fingertips, a whispered word, a touch of her scent, desire pounded through me.

“Very well.” She paused, and then was stepping back away from me. I wavered on my feet, feeling off balance, lost without her support. I swore I could still feel her touch, as if she branded me. “Two hours, William, two.”

“Is that a threat?” I muttered.

She turned and started toward the door. “Merely a promise.”

 

****

 

Lillian

 

With his luncheon tray in hand, I paused outside William’s door, taking a moment to calm myself. He couldn’t see me, but I had no doubt he knew he made me nervous. The intensity of his tone, the hardness of his body, the heat from his form…

I noticed everything about him.

Everything he did stirred my blood in a way it hadn’t been stirred since I’d been eighteen. Why? How could he still make my knees weak after all of these years? I wanted to laugh with the ridiculousness of it all, at the same time I wanted to cry in frustration. I could leave him no more than I could stop breathing.

Steeling my nerves, I pushed open the door and swept inside. Tension hung heavy in the air. I could show no weakness. In many ways he was like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The more attention I gave him, the larger the tantrum he’d throw.

He’d found his seat near the windows and I had to resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. How utterly alone he looked. Isolated from the world. I wanted to drop the tray and run to him. To throw my arms around him and tell him all would be well. Offering him comfort would do no good. There was a sense of detachment that worried me, as if he wasn’t truly part of this world.

“You will eat your meal, William.”

“I’ll do whatever the bloody hell I want to do. Who gave you command over me?” he growled. “And who the hell gave you leave to call me by my given name?”

I couldn’t help but smile. He reminded me so much of Benjamin in that moment. He was all bark, as my grandmother used to say. “Your brother Oliver gave me leave for both.”

It was a partial lie, but he didn’t need to know. Oliver had given me leave to do what I wished. He grunted in response. This was a side of William I’d never seen in the short time we’d been together. I’d witnessed the best of him and now I supposed I was seeing the worst.

His worst did not frighten me. Nothing he did could compare to what I’d gone through the last eight years with my husband. Even now William was a saint compared to Charles. Besides, knowing that William wasn’t perfect was a relief in some way.

I moved to his chair and set the tray upon the side table next to him. Watching him carefully, I lifted the dome. The scent of chicken and potatoes filled the room. It was country food at its best, heavy and hardy. Yet, I realized with some disappointment he didn’t seem the least bit interested.

He was still strong and fit, but he would lose his strength if he didn’t find nourishment. I pushed the side table closer. He didn’t move, but continued to focus straight ahead as if I wasn’t there.

“You promised to eat. Do you not keep your promises?”

His lips tightened. “I’ll eat when you leave.”

I hesitated, torn between wanting to make sure he kept his promise and wanting to give him his privacy. Everything was so much more difficult than I’d expected. I knew he’d be hurt and injured, but I hadn’t expected him to not even try to get better. Perhaps he didn’t realize how much I cared, but surely he realized that his brothers worried about him. I had to resist the urge to beg him to try. Begging would not work with William.

I glanced nervously at the windows. The rain still fell. The path home would be flooded with mud. If I was rational, I’d leave now. With a sigh, I realized I’d proven again and again that I’d never been rational. Instead of leaving, I moved to the bell cord and pulled the rope.

He picked up a chunk of chicken and shoved it into his mouth.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

He froze.

I realized only too late that I shouldn’t have reacted. To see a man so sure, so socially inclined reduced to hunching over his plate and shoveling food into his mouth like an animal had left me surprised.

“Do I offend you?” Just to spite me, he grabbed a handful of potatoes and shoved them between his lips. “Forgive me if I don’t wish to stab myself in the face while I try to eat.”

The door opened and a maid stepped inside. “Yes, miss?”

“Scissors. Find some please, and bring them to me.”

“Yes, miss.”

She disappeared, shutting the door. William continued to shovel food into his mouth as if I wasn’t there, as if he didn’t give a damn what I thought. That proper gentleman who had offered me comfort had turned into a feral beast. He’d become a shell of himself. Yet, to give him sympathy would bring out the worst in him.

“Stop,” I demanded.

He paused, his lips turning down in a frown.

“Did you lose your manners along with your eyesight?”

His jaw clenched, his annoyance palpable. I very well might have pushed too far. “If you don’t like it, leave.”

“You are acting like a child,” I continued, ignoring him. “You will eat with utensils or not eat at all.”

I reached out and snatched the tray away. The maid happened to return with the scissors at that moment. She gasped, freezing a few feet from me. I had no doubt the entire kitchen staff would know within moments. The entire house by dinnertime.

“Thank you.” Balancing the tray in one hand, I grabbed the scissors from her with my other. “That will be all.”

She scurried away, only too eager to escape and spread her gossip. With nervous trepidation, I watched her go. Too late to turn back now. I prayed that when Oliver said I could do as I pleased, he’d meant the words.

Clearing my throat, I focused on William. “You will eat with your utensils or not at all.”

“Fine. Give me the fucking fork.”

I flushed over his harsh word choice, glad he couldn’t see me. How much enjoyment he’d find at the thought that he could make me uncomfortable. Slowly, I set the tray down next to him.

He held out his hand. I placed the fork against his palm and wrapped his fingers around it. Skin against skin. I paused for the briefest moment, my hand on his. Touching him felt so very right. He had scars across his knuckles. Similar scars to what he had across his chest and back. My heart hurt, tears burning my eyes.

How much pain had he gone through? How many days and nights wondering if he would survive? If he would see England and his family once more? The pain and the fear he must have experienced made my chest ache. I wanted to roar with the injustice of it all. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. He would only despise me if I showed compassion.

“There you are,” I whispered, releasing his hand.

He didn’t move. An awkward silence fell between us.

“Slowly,” I urged him, settling on a stool next to his chair. “Just go slowly.”

He lifted the fork and headed straight for his chin. I reached out, grasping his wrist before he stabbed himself. With an angry growl he tossed the fork across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.

I sat quietly, waiting for him to calm down, knowing there was nothing I could do. Helplessness washed over me. I wanted to beg him to try. Beg him to be the man I knew he could be. Instead, I remained mute, afraid I’d say the wrong thing. Or worse, I’d say something that would give away my true identity.

“You’re married,” he said after a few moments of silence.

It sounded more like a condemnation than a question. “No. Not any longer.”

I lied for some strange reason I couldn’t explain. They were coming so easily now. My entire life felt like it was built on a trembling tower of lies. And here I was lying once more. Why? But I knew why…I didn’t want him to think of me as attached. I wanted to pretend, just for a moment or two, that I had my freedom.

“You were,” he muttered.

I stared at his lips. The same lips that had kissed me so softly those years ago. They seemed harder now. I wondered if they were. “I…was.”

“You must have thought you loved him greatly.”

And just like that I couldn’t lie anymore. “No. I’ve loved one man in my life and it wasn’t my husband.”

He jerked his head toward me. I almost smiled. The truth had shocked him. Good, if I kept him on his toes, perhaps he wouldn’t notice when I started to cut his hair.

“See, I can be surprising too.”

“Indeed,” he murmured.

I stood and picked up the scissors. Without thought, I pulled my stool closer to him and settled down. My knees were placed intimately between his thighs. He tensed, leaning back as if I had a disease he feared catching. “I’m going to trim your beard.”

“You will not—”

“I will, and if you move, I’ll cut your throat. So sit still.”

His jaw clenched. “Good God, did you just threaten me again?”

I grinned and reached forward. With gentle hands, I trimmed the hair around his chin until it showed his square jawline and a vague resemblance to the man I’d once known. He didn’t move the entire time. He barely breathed. Although he looked like he belonged in the slums of London, he didn’t smell unclean. No. He smelled good. Much, much too good. I breathed deeply, trying to recall his scent from those years ago. Was it the same?

“I’d like to cut your hair, but it’s tangled in the bandage.”

He paused for the briefest moment. I was sure he would refuse. “Take it off.”

My mouth went dry and a cold sheen of sweat broke out across my forehead. If he opened his eyes…if he saw my face. “I don’t want to hurt—”

“You won’t. My eyes will stay closed.”

He was giving me permission, which was so much more than I’d ever expected. I leaned forward, my breath stirring the hair around his temples. With trembling hands I reached around and untied the bandage.

The wrapping fell down around his shoulders. A long jagged scar slashed across his perfect face. I had to swallow my gasp of surprise. The shock of seeing his beautiful face destroyed was almost too much. My chest felt tight, my heart ached.

The skin was sewn together as well as could be expected, but it would leave a horrible scar. His eyelids were red, swollen and closed. I wanted to cry out with the unfairness of it all. I couldn’t. If I reacted, I would ruin everything.

I stood. “Do you have a comb? Clean bandages?”

“Top drawer.”

I skirted around him and moved to the wardrobe. I needed the moment away to gather my bearings, calm my frayed nerves. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that this should have happen to him. A man who had done so much for his country. A man who had showed me so much compassion those many years ago. I pulled open the first drawer and found the comb and bandage.

“It’s horrifying,” he muttered. “Isn’t it?”

I headed back toward him. “No. It will heal.”

He was frowning as I set the supplies upon the table, as if he didn’t believe me. I didn’t dare hesitate, for fear I’d lose my nerve. Instead, I leaned forward, my breasts brushing his shoulder, my thighs pressed to his. I heard his sharp intake of breath. This was too intimate, something a wife would do. A heated flush raced to the pit low in my belly. I had to fight the sudden desire to squeeze my thighs together.

Gently, I combed the thick strands of his hair, remembering the feel of his locks between my fingers. It was all I could do not to caress him. To tell him the truth. But no. It would be selfish on my part. He had so much to deal with already. This wasn’t about me or our past relationship, it was about making him better.

“What did you do to scare off your other companions?” I asked, snipping a lock of hair by his ear. I had to make conversation, the silence was driving me daft.

“Threw my plate at her.”

I didn’t pause. “That was it?”

He laughed, a sound that seemed to startle him as much as me. “It was.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “And the second?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Cursed at her, I believe. I can’t remember. They’ve blurred together as one.”

His hair fluttered down around me, silky locks falling like memories of our past together. Tentatively, I picked up a lock, smoothed it between my fingers. “Whatever it was, it must have been dastardly indeed. I do believe one maid described it as if the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.”

“You’re disappointed in me.”

I tucked the lock into the pocket of my skirt, feeling silly and ridiculous for such an action. I wasn’t eighteen anymore, but I felt like it when he was near. “Yes. Shame on you. They were merely trying to help.”

“No. They were merely here for the money.” He shifted in his chair. “I’m still not bloody sure why you are here.”

I didn’t bother to answer that thought. “Don’t move.”

“What is your name?”

“Mrs. Watson.”

“Your given name.”

I hesitated. He probably assumed I was offended by such intimacy. “Elaine,” I said, giving him my middle name. My grandmother’s name. In those two week’s we’d fallen in love he’d never known my middle name. How strange, when it had felt as if we’d known everything about each other.

He drummed his fingers upon the arms of his chair, impatient. Or perhaps he felt as restless as I did. “So, Elaine, who was this great love of your life?”

I paused, my heart hammering. How much dare I tell him? I wanted to tell him all, admit everything and be done with the exhausting ruse. I couldn’t. Not yet. Probably never. I was too much the coward. “He was…an amazing man.”

“Yet, not amazing enough for you.”

Ignoring the sting of pain, I shifted to the right to snip the hair around his face. Leaving had hurt William even more than I’d realized. I didn’t recognize this jaded soul. “You assume I’m at fault?”

“Aren’t you?”

I paused, studying his face. Swollen, scarred, yet still the same William. Was I at fault? Had I done the wrong thing those years ago? It didn’t really matter. It was done. Over. There was no going back.

“Sometimes it’s neither person’s fault,” I said, trying to get the words out over the sudden lump in my throat. “Sometimes it doesn’t work because of things beyond our control.”

I’d finished his hair and settled back on my stool to survey my work. Not perfect, but better. Our knees touched. I didn’t pull back. He was starting to look more and more like the William that I had known. Older, scarred, meaner. But still William.

When the swelling went down, he would be handsome. Perhaps better looking than the man I’d left those years ago. The scar would probably only add to his appeal. He could have any woman he wanted. War hero returned home. The women would fall over themselves to take care of him. Would he marry?

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “I don’t believe that no one is at fault.”

Of course he didn’t, because he blamed me. My hands shook as I leaned forward and slid my fingers through his hair, telling myself I was merely checking to make sure I’d cut the locks evenly.

But as I cupped his cheeks, his breath caught. He gripped my wrists, keeping my hands at his face. We paused for one long, breathless moment. “What do you look like?”

Trapped within his grip, I could barely think, my mind had turned to mush. “Old. Matronly.”

He frowned but released his hold. “Go on. I’ve done what you’ve said. Now leave me in peace.”

Had I disappointed him? Or maybe he knew I lied. His rebuke didn’t hurt. I was just as eager to leave as he was to escape my presence. It was too much. Realizing he blamed me, knowing how much I’d hurt him, crushed what little soul I had left.

Before I retired for the day, I picked up the clean bandage and wrapped it around his eyes, tucking in the loose end. Finished, he leaned back against his chair, his face focused on the windows. He seemed as depleted as I felt.

I knew he’d already dismissed me. He was gone. Any resemblance to the man I’d known drifted away on the open breeze. Angry, bitter William had returned. I hesitated, wishing more than anything I could tell him the truth.

“I’ll send up a maid to clean,” I said, taking one last look. Would it get easier seeing him day after day? He didn’t respond. Didn’t even look my way. “Have a good evening, William.”