A Governess Should Never... Tempt a Prizefighter Page 22

  Lost for words, he let his kiss declare his joy.

  That joy seeped like water into every joint, muscle and bone, the scent of meadows enveloping him.

  In riches and in poverty, Seth had watched men and women seek their dreams, toiling all the years with the hope that maybe, just maybe, life would reward them.

  Drawing back, he gazed to Matilda and knew fortune had looked kindly upon him. Gifted him a bride of beauty and intelligence, who’d sparked a cinder of a long-forgotten dream within him and fulfilled it this very night.

  “Then let us embark on all life’s unending adventures…” Seth cupped her cheek. “Together and as one, my love.”

  Epilogue

  “Adieu. Be good, be lovely on earth.”

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

  Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.

  “Monsieur Hawkins, we are ready, oui?”

  With a wink to the swarthy Frenchman, Seth twisted to remove the silk blindfold from his beloved’s eyes.

  Matilda blinked in the bright sunshine of Vauxhall Gardens, gifting him a loving glance before her attention was caught by the scene in front of her, palms rising to her cheeks, teeth gripping that ripe lower lip.

  “Oh, how exciting!” she cried, spectacles glittering. “I’ve always wished to view a balloon ascent.” And Matilda flung her arms around his neck, kissing him to raucous applause from the small crowd that surrounded them.

  He clasped her tight and reciprocated wholeheartedly.

  For now, they were man and wife.

  Bound together that very morning in St James’s Church before family and friends – Kian as best man, Chloe skipping along as bridesmaid and Betty giving Matilda away, her bilberry eyes moist with the honour.

  He shifted his lips to her ear. “We are not just here to view the ascent of this balloon, Matilda, for I have arranged a little something as my wedding gift.” The chatter of their guests faded as they clutched one another, lips brushing. “In a few years, I hope we can visit the Molucca Islands, to see those Birds of Paradise you so adore.” He hushed her protest. “But for now, I want you to feel the freedom of the treetops, the breeze within your hair and the land down far below.”

  “You mean… Are we to ascend in the balloon? Oh, Seth…”

  His wife drew back, a red flush to her cheeks, ebony hair tumbling in fat curls with gold ribbons. A wedding dress the colour of honey gilded her, along with a pelisse of flaxen, as she’d admitted that through their rather unconventional courtship, she had in fact grown to adore yellow’s varied hues – revealing a truth that some things were not truly disliked, merely tainted by circumstance until viewed in a different light.

  “We are to rise just above the treetops.”

  “It’s… How?”

  A single tear trailed and her glasses steamed. He removed them, cleaned them on his cuff, kissed the tear away and replaced them.

  “I have my ways.” In fact, he’d asked a member of the Academy – a scientifically minded earl who’d been on balloon jaunts before – and with a cod of blunt, the entire affair had been arranged. To be truthful, he wasn’t entirely sure he possessed a head for heights, but all would be worth it to see Matilda’s joy.

  Champagne corks abruptly flew to boisterous cheers, the champions and their wives handing out glasses, Tonks filling them to the brim. A scarlet-clad Prince lurked under a tree and the scowling young fighter, Liam, loitered by Chloe.

  The balloon lurched a touch in the light breeze as if impatient, so with congratulatory thumps on his back from Bill Richmond and John Jackson, and somewhat gentler rose petals floating down upon his bride from Mrs Ashby and Mr Keats, they clasped hands and–

  All at once, Matilda twisted, fingers slipping away, but Seth merely grinned and followed as she darted towards the couple standing quietly to the side and threw herself into their open arms.

  His father withstood the assault with a laugh, and Mother, whom he’d never seen shed a tear, surreptitiously wiped her eyes.

  A letter had been sent to their last known whereabouts and Seth had prayed it would reach them, but not having any idea of when or if they might be able to return, himself, Matilda and Chloe had decided to call the banns and…hope.

  In fact they’d been in Paris, the last city of their Grand Tour, when Father had declared he’d a funny feeling in his gizzards, a need to return home at once, so disregarding Ma’s suggestion that it might be the exotic food, they’d travelled by carriage and sea, arriving in the nick of time to see their son wed. Once more proving that happy endings were forever possible.

  With a wink, Father patted Matilda’s shoulder and she turned to clasp Seth’s outstretched hand, smile as bright as her dress.

  They raced toward their gallant Gallic pilot who bowed and commenced chucking sandbags over the side.

  The oval basket was strewn with yellow silk swags to match the striped balloon and a small set of steps was available to ascend, but Seth swept his bride into his arms and with the beaming Frenchman holding the many ropes apart, he settled her within.

  Clambering in himself, he clasped her so tight, not entirely sure it was from joy as the ropes pulled and scraped.

  “Mes amis, we go to the sky, oui?”

  At Seth’s nod, more sandbags were freed, and gradually, with hardly perceptible movement, the basket creaked and lifted from the grass. A lengthy tether began to uncoil from the ground for a few broad-shouldered fellows to later haul them back down to earth.

  “It feels so insubstantial,” his bride whispered, tentatively prodding the wicker with her slipper. “Yet strong at the same time.”

  Seth concurred with the former, wasn’t sure about the latter, but Matilda’s wide smile and even wider eyes eased his concern.

  A cheer rang out as they hovered twenty feet or so off the ground and waved at the onlookers that huddled below – fighters and nobles all watching in awe. His daughter bounced upon her toes, gesturing madly, Kian waggled his feather-clad hat, and Betty’s eyes were as wide as her husband’s agape mouth.

  “I thought it would be bumpy for some reason,” declared Matilda, “but it’s gentle, like floating on a cloud. Oh, Seth, I can imagine how a bird must feel – so serene and free.” She peered up above to the sealed balloon. “I’ve read of all this, but to see it and feel it? ’Tis miraculous.”

  Further they rose to the sky, the air cooling a little, the Frenchman testing wind speed with some type of cogged metal device. The grassy field grew smaller; they could view the thick branches of Vauxhall’s elms over yonder, then higher, till they overtook the verdant leaf canopy – seventy feet or so from the ground.

  “Enough, oui?” the Frenchman enquired, black eyes flashing with verve.

  Matilda laughed and shook her head; Seth swallowed and nodded, but the pilot allowed the balloon to drift another foot or twenty before, with a contented inhale, he turned to fiddle with some knots.

  They tentatively peered down below at the cluster of faces, beaver hats and beribboned bonnets – Matilda pointed and waved at her friend Evelyn, the lady’s red hair a beacon within the crowd. Next to her loomed her husband, a member of Seth’s Academy, but there was no way on earth – or sky – that he was letting go of the basket to acknowledge him – duke or no duke.

  A gust abruptly caught them, the balloon seeking further freedom from its earth-bound tether, ropes groaning like an old ship to be broken up.

  Seth gulped.

  “Have no worry, Monsieur et Madame.” The Frenchman shrugged.

  Matilda giggled. “Seth, it’s a wonder – like flying.”

  He clasped one arm around her waist from behind, that chill breeze rippling against their faces, the sky a never-ending blue. A bird flitted past with a startled blink of beady eye and Seth laughed loud, nerves easing.

  “You are the wonder, my love.” And he kissed her hair, earlobe and nape, heard her soft sigh and savoured this moment.

  The balloon dipped
a little, London unfurling behind the lattice of ropes, its ancient river below them – the lifeblood of the city – wending its way across the land, and the medieval Palace that declared its age with squat defiance.

  But Seth merely watched his beloved wife, bold and brave and relishing every adventure.

  Matilda heaved in great lungfuls of the cold, pure air, felt dizzy from the expanse of blue and awed by the many ropes that twisted about them before they smothered the striped balloon like a tremendous fisherman’s net.

  It made one feel minuscule yet immense, audacious yet fainthearted.

  In the distance, London’s rooftops melded into verdant fields and scattered villages, the perspective from far above on such a clear day making the bustling city appear so insignificant as compared to nature’s abundance beyond.

  Yet so many lives unfolded within this metropolis, fortunes lost and found, folk working and at leisure, families grieving and rejoicing.

  A warm whisper of breath touched her ear. “Do you ever wonder,” he murmured, lips teasing the tendrils, “how we managed to find this love in such a large and busy world?” His arms tightened. “The lady and the pugilist – I mean, we never should’ve even crossed paths, and yet now, holding you in my embrace, I cannot imagine a life without you.”

  Matilda rested her head on his shoulder and smiled at the colourful balloon, surrounded as it was by the blue boundless sky, before she turned her back on London to plait her fingers at her husband’s nape, to watch the breeze ruffling his hair, that lopsided smile and those twinkling hazel eyes saturating her with joy. And she knew that this enthralling adventure would be one of many that married life would hold for her.

  “Mayhap an unseen hand guides us.” She smoothed a glove across his honey-coloured waistcoat, the one she and Chloe had chosen together, felt his heart race and muscles tauten. “But had I known such a love as ours existed, I would have searched forever to find you, Seth.”

  Lips met in eternal devotion as the balloon ropes softly creaked in the breeze, and recollections of her dear father drifted to the fore…

  ‘Why did I love her? …Because it was her; because it was me.’

  Why had love chosen them?

  …Because he was Seth; because she was Matilda.

  The End

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading A Governess Should Never… Tempt A Prizefighter. I truly hope you enjoyed Seth and Matilda’s tale.

  Pictures that inspired this story, including waistcoats, crumpets, buttercup gowns and Bullock’s Museum, can be found on my Pinterest

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  All Emily’s books are written using British English spelling.

  Read on for an excerpt from ‘The Duke Of Diamonds’

  THE DUKE OF DIAMONDS - OUT NOW

  Casper Brook, the eighth Duke of Rothwell, has forever spurned frivolous pleasures, his restless emotions remaining buried beneath duty and command.

  Yet when a titian-haired minx perches upon his ducal desk and claims to know the whereabouts of his one burning obsession, a game of wits and passion erupts...

  Prologue

  Delicate yet spirited. Undeterred by life.

  She embodied all he yearned for.

  Casper trailed a solitary finger along the thin black ribbon caught in a tight bow at her nape and longed to lean close, to loosen it with a single nip of his teeth.

  Tendrils of walnut-brown hair caressed her earlobe and he traced the curls, ached to feel such resplendence upon his bared skin.

  The defiant beauty, however, refused to turn at his impudent touch, denying Casper her silken face. Instead, she merely presented him with a blushing cheekbone, glimpse of stubborn chin and naked shoulder held straight and bold.

  Some labelled Casper cold and obsessive, tedious and brusque… Yet with this woman, he felt anything but. He burned, body consumed with want, flushed with pride and possession.

  She belonged to him.

  Yet if he were to be truthful, utter perfection remained out of reach. A pale, curved scar marred that exposed shoulder, skin cast sallow against the coils of darker hair, and her gown flamed a brash crimson lake.

  It mattered not.

  Duty to his estate, the burden of responsibility, suffering tenants, failing crops – all was soothed in her presence.

  He willed that cheek to turn, to have her gaze upon him and whisper words of temptation. So reaching out once more, he grazed a thumb across the lace edge of that brazen frock as it rode low upon her back, revealing a contrary pure-white corset laced with lemon ribbon.

  But naught. No female sigh nor sensual shudder.

  Casper Brook, the eighth Duke of Rothwell, murmured a derisive laugh, twisted from her, snuffed out the candle and with quiet tread, strode from his study.

  Leaving the exquisite portrait in darkness.

  Also by Emily Windsor

  All Available Here

  GAMES OF GENTLEMEN SERIES

  The Duke of Diamonds - Out Now

  Casper Brook, the eighth Duke of Rothwell, has forever spurned frivolous pleasures, his restless emotions remaining buried beneath duty and command.

  Yet when a titian-haired minx perches upon his ducal desk and claims to know the whereabouts of his one burning obsession, a game of wits and passion erupts...

  RULES OF THE ROGUE SERIES

  An Earl in Wolf’s Clothing (Book 1)

  From the hallowed halls of London’s Almack’s to the unkempt taverns of Drury Lane, from whispered words in glittering theatres to seductive encounters at Vauxhall Gardens – an earl must pursue his love.

  A determined lady. An even more determined gentleman.

  Let the pursuit begin…

  Merry Christmas, my Viscount (Book 2 - Novella)

  Seduce a rogue? By Christmas Eve? What a troubling resolution for the most proper widow Mrs Lily Mereworth to be left with… How? And more importantly, who?

  Ghost stories on a windy night, swordplay down the Great Portrait Gallery, a lady and a spymaster with no thought to love… Merry Christmas.

  Let Sleeping Dukes Lie (Book 3)

  “Strait-laced. Ruthless. Arrogant.” – The Duke of Rakecombe has forever spurned love…and with good reason.

  “Forthright. Impudent. Capricious saucebox.” – The fiery Miss Aideen Quinlan refuses to be spurned, unable to erase the memory of the duke’s vehement kiss…

  An unlikely couple, an unquenchable passion.

  Resistance is futile.

  Marquess to a Flame (Book 4)

  The Marquess of Winterbourne has long been guided by his Rules of the Rogue, but as spy for the Crown, his next mission will break every single one. Sent to the wilds of Cornwall to beguile secrets from a lady, the last thing this rogue expects is to unearth his own buried heart.

  CAPTIVATING DEBUTANTES SERIES

  Captivated by the Viscount

  My Captive Earl

  Her Noble Captive

  About the Author

  Emily grew up in the north of England on a diet of historical romance and classical mythology.

  Unfortunately, you couldn’t study Georgian slang or the Regency London Season, so she did the next best thing and gained a degree in Classics and History instead. This ‘led’ to an eight-year stint in engineering.

  Having left city life, she now lives in a dilapidated farmhouse in the country where her days are spent writing, fixing the leaky roof, battling the endless vegetation and finding pictures of well-tied cravats.

  Happy Reading,

  Love,

  Emily

  x

 

 

  k you for reading books on Archive.