A Governess Should Never... Tempt a Prizefighter Page 21

  Shielding both Matilda and his daughter, Seth tugged them to the rear of the box, Matilda stumbling.

  “Kian!” Chloe cried, fingers stretching forth.

  And glancing back, he beheld his friend stamping on the drapes, almost out, but that bloody greatcoat of his was aflame at the hem and Kian abruptly twisted, batting with a gloved hand.

  “Go help him!” screamed Matilda and his daughter wriggled from his grip. He darted over, endeavoured to tear the coat from Kian’s shoulders, but buttons snared and it wouldn’t budge.

  “Leave me, damn it. Get the women out,” Kian hissed, but the fire had snaked to his shoulder capes, so with no time, Seth twisted him, curled his heel around the back of his friend’s ankle and swept him from his feet.

  Following him down, he rolled him upon the boards, beating at the eager flames, burned wool singing his palms.

  The blaze spluttered, smoked, snuffed, and Seth breathed deep. “You good?”

  Wild cheers and Seth’s head shot up, saw the culprit pinned to the sawdust of the arena by Kian’s clown, the audience applauding, the fire doused, all believing it part of the bloody show.

  And he twisted to–

  “Matilda! Chloe!” he yelled to the empty box.

  A rush of air as Kian hurtled past him for the curtain.

  Matilda’s scream was severed as the arm encircling her throat from behind wrenched tight.

  Through eyes that watered, she saw Mr Finlay wrestled to the hall floor by broad-shouldered men hammering him with blows, while another gripped Chloe, fingers twisted in her hair.

  Seth tore towards her, and Matilda fought for breath, to warn, but all she could do was lock eyes – too late as the awaiting villain spun him, knuckles crashing into his jaw.

  Raking the arm which grasped her, she strove to wrest it from her neck, fright overwhelming all else as the callous grip began to drag her backwards, her throat aflame, lungs empty.

  Matilda’s heart roared its pulse in her ears as she was hauled to the deserted staircase, slippers finding no purchase on the rugs, Seth and Mr Finlay a blur of shadow and fists as her glasses knocked sideways.

  Stubble pressed to her cheek, harsh breath in her ear.

  “You bloody harridan. I’m your guardian and you’ll do as you’re told.”

  Guardian?

  And Matilda stilled…

  As far back as she could remember, she’d considered herself a calm, level-headed sort of person, not prone to histrionics, bad humour or bouts of petulance. Her confidant, Evelyn, referred to her as rational, and even Seth appeared to think her quite sensible.

  Yet at this moment and at that voice, an ember of unbeknownst temper lit within her.

  It flared and flourished.

  This guardian had squandered her beloved parents’ money, her dowry, threatened Seth, his daughter and their splendid academy, shaken her harshly, bruised her wrists, stolen her future and sought to marry her off to a diseased libertine with fetid tongue.

  A savage rage now flamed and spat, overwhelming all fear, all sound, all else.

  And so, with the last remnants of her breath and all her gathered might, she pitched her head back to bestow a reverse nobbler to his ivories.

  The grip loosened, allowing her a lungful, so fisting her right mitt, she shifted her hip to one side and burst a box of fives in Astwood’s ballocks.

  Yowls of pain disturbed her ear, the arm dropping, and she spun on a yellow-slippered heel.

  He bent to clutch his ballocks and she spied her chance, so without remorse, peppered his lugholes with thumb-curled fists.

  No time to dally and she pitched a chopper to his chin, chipped him low, and then, for good measure, bashed a rattler to his potato trap.

  Her guardian fell upon his arse on the crimson rug and Matilda raised her right foot to stomp on his talliwa–

  “Mercy!” he cried.

  Matilda took no notice and walloped down.

  Lamentably, in her enthusiasm, the slipper merely grazed his thigh but ’twas good enoug–

  “Miss Griffin!” With skirts hoisted and blond mop flopping, Chloe hurtled towards her. “That was magnificent,” she cried breathlessly. “I saw it all.”

  Matilda pushed her bent spectacles up her nose and breathed deep. “Do you think so?” She bit her lip. “I’d not thought I had the wherewithal but… All at once, I found myself so intensely irritated with the man.”

  “You were perfect.”

  Matilda blushed and glanced up.

  The villain who’d trapped her young charge lay inert, legs akimbo, while a phoenix-like Mr Finlay was poking a sound nobbler to the breadbasket of another. Her beloved Seth was milling a rather burly brute with a stout sneezer to the conk followed by a rib tickler to the…ribs.

  “Do you think we should assist them?”

  “Nah, they’ll be fine,” declared Chloe. “Here, I gathered some curtain ties for your cousin.” And they commenced on Astwood’s ankles, snaking it none too gently till he resembled a mast in port.

  A lost straggler from one of the other boxes lurched towards them, blinked and paused, parted his lips, closed them, and then peered to his gin bottle. Matilda merely glared and shooed a hand before stuffing a handkerchief in Astwood’s mouth as a precaution.

  The agreeable Mr Finlay bust a whiffler to his opponent’s whisker bed, toppling him like a felled oak, and Seth’s assailant, mayhap realising his chances were now slim, turned tail to scarper down the stairs.

  She and Chloe dashed to surround the two men, and Matilda tumbled into Seth’s embrace. His cravat had loosened in the fray and a swelling marred his clean jaw, but he felt so very warm and safe.

  Strong arms swamped her and she grinned, tilting her chin in pride. “I whiffled him good and proper, Seth.”

  “Did you see it, Pa?” Chloe gushed. “Miss Griffin gave him a plumper to the nutmegs. It was amazing. I’ve never been so proud.”

  Matilda felt rather proud. And exhausted and jubilant and she desperately wished to return home. To float in the bathhouse pool and let this evening seep away, let freedom saturate.

  Seth kissed her knuckles. “Those doubts, my Matilda, are traitors no more. You can do anything.”

  “Well done, lass,” Mr Finlay likewise declared with a grin, dusting off his attire. “Remind me not to meet yer in a dark alleyway.” He bundled the remnants of his charred coat under one arm. “Now then, what would yer like to do with yer cousin? I could fetch the magistrate or… I wonder…” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Perhaps we could give the smetchet a choice. If I recall, the Prince has a ship leaving for China in a couple of days. D’yer think he’d be any good at swabbing decks? By the time he gets back from there, all should be settled, aye?”

  In the crimson shadowed hall of Astley’s Amphitheatre, with the scent of burned cloth, exotic perfume and magic in the air, Matilda grinned within Seth’s arms. “That sounds perfect, Mr Finlay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You are so very giddy that you will not give yourself time to think before you speak.”

  Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.

  Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.

  Meet me in the basement.

  S.

  In Gothic novels, such a message read beneath the ghostly radiance of the moon would send a shiver of dread down the heroine’s spine, but Matilda’s medulla spinalis tingled solely with elation.

  Before indulgence of that elation could take place, however, she hastened from her bedchamber and into the hall, dropped her linen towel to the side table and made for the door opposite.

  A light knock and she entered. “Chloe?”

  “Hmm. I’m still awake. I’m writing a book.”

  Gosh.

  Sitting propped up in bed beside a lantern, Chloe scribbled away with pencil in hand while strewn over the coverlet were sheets of paper smothered in diagrams and arrows.

  Matilda squinted from the doorway. “And wh
at is the subject matter, dearest?”

  “Well, it’s entitled How to Defend Oneself Against Villainous Relatives: Volume One.”

  Miss Appleton did advise that themed compositions were a necessary part of a lady’s blossoming education, so Matilda nodded in approval. “That will be an undoubted success.” She smiled and wandered in, adoring her young charge’s bedchamber, caught at that moment between girl and woman, yet nonetheless all Chloe – books and boxing gloves, ragged dolls and…illustrations of half-naked pugilists.

  Perching on the bed, she lightly patted Chloe’s hand. “I just wished to thank you for today. I never could have fought off my cousin without your fine instruction. Initially I was so frightened, but I could hear your words in my head – that it’s the element of surprise that makes it possible.”

  A blush lit Chloe’s cheek – the first she’d ever seen. “I’m so glad it worked.”

  “And I would like to learn more techniques, Chloe. If you will?”

  “Of course,” she gushed. “I should love to. And…and if you like, we could work on overcoming that fright. Pa says it’s all about finding the calm within yourself…which I’ve never found. But then I’m only thirteen. Fourteen in November.” She bit her lip, green eyes bright. “And yes.”

  “Yes?”

  The jumble of papers was shoved aside. “When we got back, Pa asked if I’d be agreeable with the two of you marrying, and I said yes. Just in case you thought I might not. In truth, I can’t wait.”

  “Oh…” A fervid heat crept into Matilda cheeks and she fiddled with the blue coverlet. “Well, I haven’t actually been… We may need more time… I wouldn’t like to presume…”

  Chloe rolled her eyes and tucked her knees up. “You make Pa happy. He’s spent so long working, to look after me and build our academy. And you’re not exactly a wicked stepmother.”

  “Even if I make you quill tea caddies?”

  Sniggering, Chloe flung her arms around Matilda’s neck, all gangly limbs and messy blond plait, lavender wafting.

  Tears smarted, and although affection still felt peculiar to Matilda, now it was a comfortable sort of peculiar – one she relished – and she returned the hug, keen and tender.

  This loving girl would become a glorious woman, with or without a lady’s accomplishments, and she drew away to bestow a soft kiss to her young charge’s forehead. “Good night, Chloe. Do not stay up too late writing.”

  “Good night, Miss Griffin. I won’t, and I’m so glad you chose to come here as my governess.”

  “Me also, Chloe.” And after a last squeeze, Matilda rose to cross the room, shutting the door softly behind her and letting her spine rest back upon it for a moment.

  Had she chosen to come here?

  Once, Matilda had thought fate to be cruel but mayhap its nature was fluid, its guise shifting like the Saharan sands. For if fate had indeed guided her to this household, then it could also be miraculous and benevolent.

  The lantern flickered. The basement beckoned.

  So she grabbed the linen towel from the table and in an exceedingly unladylike manner darted along the hallway, vaulted down the stairs, sprinted for the black-painted door, tugged it open and…

  Seth heard the gasp, knew Matilda had discovered the apple blossom and ivy which littered the basement stairs.

  Roses would have been preferred but the spring had been so bitter, the gardens failing to produce even a single bud, so he and Chloe had swiftly gathered what they could in the pitch dark.

  Footsteps scampered down the steps, the door was thrust wide and then another gasp…

  Never would he label himself a romantic man, but when he put his mind to a task, he tended to carry it out to the best of his ability, and in the past days, aside from keeping Matilda safe, he’d planned for this moment.

  Small boats of candles floated in the pool, with rosemary scattered in the water; Pears soap had been melted and added to the beeswax to scent the room; a new lady’s silk bathrobe – not in yellow – hung on the peg; and in the corner, he’d managed to procure a bronze statue of her beloved Bird of Paradise with outstretched wings, an upright tail and haughty expression.

  “Oh, Seth, it’s beauteous.”

  As was his enchanting Matilda in a gown of saffron, barefooted and with her midnight hair loose and free. Maybe he himself should have togged up in a silk jacket and frilled shirt but he wished her to look upon him and accept him for who he was – a man in mere cotton slops but with a heart full of love.

  “Betty says if we get wax in the pool, she’ll resign.”

  That wasn’t quite the romantic line he’d wished to begin with, but Matilda smirked and commenced unbuttoning her dress, so it couldn’t have been all that bad.

  Of course he was well aware, as he aided in slipping the garment from her shoulders, that she might refuse his proposal, sell the books and jewel on her birthday and travel to the Molucca Islands with some fellow who knew the difference between the Gold-breasted Bird of Paradise and the Red-breasted Bird of Paradise – besides the obvious.

  But he also knew that Matilda Griffin possessed not a fickle bone within her delectable body, and that when she said she loved a man, she meant it wholeheartedly and forever.

  For some, that might taint the anticipation of this night, but instead it made him a creature of lust, want and ragged need – to possess the exquisite Matilda with a signature and God’s blessing.

  At last, his bold lady stood before him in merely chemise, the candlelight glinting off her spectacles. After the menace of their day, they ought to have felt exhausted, but he observed that same heightened aliveness in her sherry eyes that shimmered within him – that of a contest fought…and won.

  Of now awaiting their prize.

  “I had no idea,” he declared, aiding her across the sea-green tiles and then the steps to the warm waters, “that employing a governess would also grant me my heart’s desire.”

  “‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better’,” Matilda murmured with an impish tilt to her lips.

  “That’s my line.”

  “From another discarded theatre print, Mr Hawkins? What corkers you told when we first met.” She flapped down her floating chemise in the water. “Indeed, you sought to hide your impressive light under that muscled bushel of yours, did you not? When in truth, you had an extensive library and a penchant for Shakespeare.”

  His lips twitched in silent culpability and he bobbed a floating candle across the pool, water now lapping their chests, the scent of meadow heady in the rising steam. A candle flickered, casting the bronze Bird of Paradise to a soaring shadow of momentous proportions upon the wall.

  “All this is so splendid,” Matilda whispered, eyes drifting over the scène à faire before they came to rest upon him. “Treasures surround me.”

  No longer could he contain himself. “I love you, my Matilda.”

  Her eyes turned serious but with lips soft. “I love you also, Seth, truly and deeply.” She seized his hand and touched her gentle cheek to his rough knuckles. “I love your bravery and determination to succeed, to escape and better your life.” She leaned forward and brushed his lips with her own like a caress of moth’s wings. “I love your ingenuity in building this wonderful Academy. I love the warm home that you have created for your talented daughter. I love your appreciation of literature and deep knowledge. I love your sincere heart and kind soul that treats all men equal.”

  Pure emotion clogged his throat and clattered his chest, so while he searched for words, he drew Matilda near and toyed with a black lock, dipping it in the water before stroking it over her neck. “You claim I have bravery and determination, Matilda, but you have more so.”

  “Me? No. I’m just an over-wordy nitterwit.”

  Seth shook his head and smiled. “Bravery comes in many guises, my love. You were presented with a path not of your choosing, threatened by a man who should have protected you. But rather than submitting to a life of misery, you so
ught your own future, using your wits and intellect. And in a boxing academy of all places.”

  “I was a dab worried initially,” she confessed.

  “And yet you remained strong, defying conventions and the dictates of your guardian. And…before I go on, you must… You must realise that you will continue to defy the beau monde if you freely admit to your love for an ex-prizefighter who was born in St Giles Rookery and whose daughter adores boxing.”

  “Seth? You–”

  “I may be welcomed at salons and the occasional soiree or ball by an Academy member, but I am looked upon as a curiosity, never to fit within their world.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and rubbed his nape. “You must understand what you will lose should you decide to be with me.”

  Seth had no wish to point out his disadvantages, yet Matilda had to know the consequences, had to realise the limits of his life. He was no aristocrat who could provide the trappings of society. Some would even argue with the term ‘gentleman’.

  Slender fingers teased his chest, slid upwards. “Society with its balls and soirees do not make me happy, Seth,” she whispered. “You do. Every hour, every moment that we are together. We will build our own beautiful world, with Chloe and…” She cast a shy glance. “Perhaps further siblings for her. But for now, I wish to experience all the adventures of a life with you, Seth.” She pressed close, wet chemise abrading. “I’ve read of love in books, never thought to feel it for myself, but now I never want to be without it…never want to be without you. My true gentleman.”

  Her words stole his breath and he cupped her cheeks, tilting his head.

  “So then, Matilda, I will now be plain and simple, without use of another’s prose or poetry.” He kissed her rough and wanting. “Please take me from torment and marry me? I shall be true and loving. I shall protect you and let you fly. I shall listen and be yours forever.”

  Her eyes gleamed a moist amber, fingers gripping him tight.

  “With no other reason than I love you so much and wish to spend my entire life with you, I will marry you, Mr Seth Hawkins.”