Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (10 page)

“If you’re feeling up to it, I thought it might be easier for me to shave you while you’re seated rather than lying down. Otherwise, I’ll have to clamber all over the bed, which wouldn’t do at all.”

William stifled a splutter, deciding silence was the only acceptable response.

“Could you find me something to wear as a nightshirt?” he asked his new assistant while Hannah covered him in a blanket and made preparations for his shave. He would need to send to London for his wardrobe and arrange for a visit from a tailor. Never having been much of a dandy, his officer’s uniform had sufficed for most occasions.

“See if you can find His Lordship some clean underclothes, as well,” Hannah added as Trevor left to do their bidding.

William groaned. Was there no end to his shame? His battered pride urged him to thank her for her assistance and then politely dismiss her. But a masochistic streak he’d been unaware he possessed compelled him to prolong his suffering, determined to enjoy her presence no matter how unwise.

“Ready, my lord?” she asked.

He nodded, and she wrapped a towel around his neck and then lathered his face with soap. Whether she was oblivious to it or intentionally ignoring his discomfort, her pragmatic manner helped put him at least marginally at ease.

“Mrs Potts is in seventh heaven now she has some help in the kitchen,” Hannah said, her lips pursing in concentration as she made the first pass of the blade. William watched her avidly as she went on to give details regarding the number of staff that had been hired. “There’s a chicken casserole for your dinner with rice custard for dessert.”

His frown deepened. “No luncheon?” How did she expect him to recover if he was forced to skip meals?

“You slept straight through. It’s quite late in the afternoon.”

He glanced towards the windows, and the fading light proved her words to be true.

“Wake me in future,” he said, his tone the same he would use when issuing an order.

“Rest is probably more important at this stage in your healing, but I’ll see what Grace has to say when she comes by in the morning.”

Not used to being contradicted, he opened his mouth to argue, but she snapped it shut with a finger to his chin before lathering soap over his lips. Effectively silenced, and not for the first time, he directed his most menacing glower her way, but she took absolutely no notice.

Huffing out a breath through his nose, he attempted to relax while she scraped off the longest beard he’d ever grown in his life. He would not miss it, but he couldn’t help wondering what she’d think of the scarred visage her endeavours would reveal.

“Do you want to keep the moustache?” she asked after working steadily on his neck, jaw, and cheeks.

He shook his head. He’d worn one as an officer to make him look older—and fiercer—but that seemed counterproductive to his current situation. Heaven knew, finding acceptance in his present locale was unlikely, but he imagined the more civilised his appearance, the better.

Not that a shave and a haircut could accomplish miracles.

Initially maintaining a careful distance, Hannah seemed to forget herself as she worked. Humming tunefully, her body came to rest against his legs, her breasts occasionally brushing against his shoulder and chest. While he was certain she was unaware of her actions, he was not. Between her gentle touch, comforting scent, and the sight of her womanly figure right before his eyes, his body’s reaction was inevitable. At least the blanket was conveniently placed.

Playing with fire and sure to be burned, William was past denying the attraction he felt for his unlikely nurse. He might not have experienced infatuation before, but he knew enough to recognise the signs and found himself hard-pressed to fight it. Actually, he had felt something similar once before, the memory inspiring a quirk of his lips that almost earned him a nick.

“Keep still,” Hannah scolded, waiting for him to compose his features before continuing.

The only time he’d allowed himself to develop feelings for a girl was when he was a boy. Then, as now, the object of his interest had been Miss Hannah Foster. He had idolised her, he recalled, permitting the memories to resurface for the first time in almost thirteen years. Her friendship had meant a great deal to him, her golden hair, warm smile, and confident manner having engendering his admiration all those years ago, just as they did now.

There’d been no place for such tender emotions when he was sent away to boarding school. Refused permission to return home but once a year by a father who couldn’t stand the sight of him, William had told himself it was a blessing, saving him from any number of lashings, verbal and physical. But his way of coping with the isolation had been to block out all memories of home, specifically the pleasant ones, whenever they’d arisen. Having been made excruciatingly aware of his heritage by his tutors and peers, by the time he returned home for his father’s funeral he’d already vowed not to follow in his forebear’s footsteps. Hannah had approached him at the graveside, compassion writ clearly on her features, but William had pretended not to recognise her.

There would be no forgetting her this time, and he wondered how he’d bear the pain of her inevitable departure.

“Almost done.” Hannah attempted a reassuring tone in response to the viscount’s perpetual scowl. Having spent the previous ten days nursing her patient single-handedly, she was surprised at how unsettling it was to give him a simple shave. Scraping the blade across his lathered cheeks and the chiselled line of his jaw should not have felt as intimate as some of the tasks she’d already performed. But somehow, it felt more so. The way he studied her every move—which was hardly surprising considering she was holding a rather sharp blade to his throat—increased her self-consciousness. Whenever their bodies came into contact, something she couldn’t avoid entirely, an odd sensation skittered over her skin. To calm her nerves, she hummed a tune, relieved when he didn’t complain. Nevertheless, by the time she was finished, she felt quite unlike herself.

Having been absorbed by her task, she hadn’t focused on the picture that was emerging. After wiping the remaining suds from his face and neck with a damp towel, Hannah stood back to view the viscount’s face laid bare. He was watching her closely, and when her mouth dropped open, he raised his good hand to cover the scar that ran jaggedly down the right side of his face from brow to jaw line.

“I should have kept the beard.”

“Oh, no.” She reached towards him, staying her hand when he flinched. Distressed at having offended him, she hurried to explain. “I’m not bothered by your scar, my lord. It was visible even with your beard.”

“Then why the look of horror?”

“It wasn’t horror but surprise, as I didn’t expect to recognise the boy I knew in the man you have become. You’ve changed a great deal since your father’s funeral, obviously, but there is a lot that’s similar.”

Truth be told, she had been shocked by how handsome he was. Not classically, his features far too rugged and weather-worn to suit Brummell and the like, or so she imagined. Hannah’s knowledge of
tonnish
fashion was limited to gossip overheard at the occasional soirée, and she’d not attended one of those in an age. Her personal opinion was that his strong jaw and well-formed mouth perfectly complemented his dark eyes and aristocratic nose.

“I recognised you, also,” he admitted gruffly, and her expression betrayed her confusion. “Playing the organ in the chapel.”

“But you didn’t know my name.”

“I was . . . uncertain.”

“I see,” she murmured, wondering how much he recalled of their childhood friendship.

“So, not
too
beastly, then?” He gestured towards his scar, the insecurity in his tone calling to her compassionate nature.

“Not at all. I think it’s quite becoming.”

He snorted. “Liar.”

Hannah’s eyes widened at the accusation, though she was pleased to see the hint of a smile twitching his lip. “Really, my lord. Are you accusing a vicar’s daughter of manufacturing falsehoods?”

“Blatantly,” he said, his smile widening.

“I’ll have you know I never lie.” She looked down her nose at him in mock indignation, and he raised one eyebrow. “Well, only on the rarest of occasions, and only in the protection of another’s feelings.” He eyed her pointedly, and she recognised the error of her wording. “Not
that I was lying to protect
your
feelings, of course.”

“Of course. You just happen to find facial scars appealing.”

“On you,” she said, and then blinked, flustered by her admission. “What I meant to say”—she took a deep breath—“is that a scar on a gentleman can look quite dashing, in particular when it is known it was earned in an honourable fashion. It’s really quite unfair, as a lady in a similar predicament could only ever be an object of pity.”

“And I am not to be pitied?”

His expression was droll, but Hannah sensed genuine curiosity behind his question.

“Hardly.” She fetched a brush and tackled his tangled locks in preparation for his haircut. “You’ve survived dreadful injuries against terrible odds. If anything, I would say you’re remarkably fortunate. God has granted you a second chance.”

“At what?”

“At a future and a family of your own,” she said and then froze.

“I think not,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s of no consequence.” His stony expression couldn’t mask his pain, and Hannah’s heart sank. “The haircut can wait. Help me back to the bed.”

“Certainly, my lord,” she murmured, suitably chastened. “I’ll tell Dawkins you’re ready for your sponge bath.”

“It can wait, too. I’d like my supper, and then I think that’s enough for today.”

William’s tone was dismissive, but at least he hadn’t banished her entirely, though perhaps he should have. Hannah may have taken on her mother’s care during the long years of her illness, and her sisters’ upbringing both during that time and since. Not to mention helping her dedicated-but-somewhat-absent-minded father cope with both his grief and his duties. But that didn’t mean she should take on the responsibility of the viscount’s ongoing care.

The problem she faced when she excused herself to go and collect his supper was that she
wanted
to.

Chapter 10

Pity

The atmosphere was strained for the rest of the evening. When Hannah offered another apology, the viscount dismissed her concerns. “I’m just tired,” he said, but she thought it obvious her thoughtless words had affected him deeply.

“I appreciate your attentiveness, but there’s no need for you to spend the night curled up in a chair,” he said when evening came. “I assume you’ve been using one of the guest rooms for your clothing and such? You’ll get a much better sleep in a proper bed.”

“But what if you should need assistance?”

Dawkins gestured to one of the doorways leading off the enormous bedroom. “There’s a cot in the dressing room I can use. I’m a light sleeper, and I’ll leave the door open so I can hear His Lordship if he wakes.”

“Oh. What an excellent idea.” Hannah felt foolish, as she hadn’t thought to check, not that she’d have felt comfortable being even that far away from her previously fretful patient. Despite his improving condition, she was still wary of leaving him. “You’ll come and wake me if I’m needed?” she asked the young ex-soldier, who appeared quite capable despite his injuries.

“Of course, Miss Foster.”

“Good night, Miss Foster.” The viscount punctuated his words with a determined nod, and Hannah reluctantly took her leave.
 

After waking repeatedly throughout the night, each time with a start as she imagined she’d heard him calling for her, Hannah felt decidedly anxious when she entered his bedroom early the next day.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said, finding him sitting propped up in the bed. Having taken extra care with her appearance, she patted her hair to make sure no wisps had escaped her braided coronet. She paused halfway between the door and the end of his bed and curtsied.

He dismissed the action with a wave. “None of that. You’re not a servant.”

“Maybe not, but my rank is
considerably lower than yours. It’s expected for the daughter of a vicar to curtsy to a viscount.”