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A rushof air left Matilda’s lungs that she felt quite sure had been held in since last night.
In fact, she’d been irksomely bothered by inexplicable dreams of Mr Hawkins all night through. He’d been sternly reprimanding her, nude except for those snug black breeches. Not so irksome, some might say, but then a magnificent pair of feathered wings coloured in gold and red had sprouted upon his back. Within a clear blue sky, he’d soared aloft, dipped and twisted before, with a fiery gaze, he’d swooped down upon her, rough hands encircling her waist and–
Then she’d woken up.
Inexplicable, as she’d said.
Matilda cleared her throat and took refuge in cool courtesy. “That would be splendid, thank you.” And she attempted a swift bobbed curtsey, aware she only knew sweeping, elegant forms. Maids appeared able to bob in all haste without nigh falling over. “I also wished to ask a…favour.”
Eyebrows raised, that enigmatic scar wrinkling. “Tell me on the way.” And he waggled his forearm.
With some hesitation, she laid her hand on the indigo superfine, sensed his muscles tense. “Of course…Sir.” Thatbeing the correct address, she’d concluded late last night, as he was her employer…and it was less protracted than Mr Hawkins. And in any case, the maid did it.
They departed the ground floor study and he pointed to a black-painted door opposite the kitchens. “The only area out of bounds,” he stated, “is the basement as it’s for club members and my own use.”
Matilda shuddered. What on earth did males do down there? Was it some kind of fighting pit where barbaric combat was enacted…or a changing abode where taut thighs or unclothed musculature might be glimpsed?
She breathed deep – that kind of wild imagining was the result of not having any novels to occupy her.
“I will avoid it at all cost, Sir,” she assured fervently.
A smile shifted his lips – lopsided and disturbingly attractive – hazel eyes twinkling, aquamarine waistcoat complementing his olive-toned skin. Delicate flowers were embroidered upon the cotton, which in no manner detracted from his masculinity, and a single row of blue buttons tempted one’s gaze to follow upwards…or downwards.
He appeared young and carefree this morning, and it occurred to her that Mr Hawkins had looked most tired last night. “Does the Academy take much of your time?”
“It is lessening now the membership is stable, but in the early days it was unending – accounts, shows, exhibitions, let alone the classes. I have assistants, equally capable, but most members only wish to learn from the champion prizefighter, not his assistants.” He guided her up the staircase. “On the first floor, you are familiar with the dining and drawing rooms, and you’ve seen the ballroom we use for our personal sparring practice, but there is also a small salon with a balcony here.”
They wandered left and into a pleasant, light room with sofas, no books, French doors and walls decorated in muted colours. Which reminded her…
“The favour, Mr Hawkins… I-I wondered if I might request…” This subject was vulgar in the extreme, and her parents would turn in their graves, but needs must… “Might I have an advance on my wages? It’s just that Cousin Astwood replaced my entire wardrobe with yellow and I am aware it is hardly proper governess attire.”
He twisted, his gaze settling on her nankeen skirts. “I did wonder. Although I have to say that while your cousin may be an oaf, he does have exquisite taste. The colour adds a sheen to your skin and intensifies the coal silk of your hair…if you don’t mind me saying so.” He fiddled with his cuff.
No, she didn’t mind at all. No one ever complimented her. But then yellow was nature’s attractant, the flowers in spring blooming that hue for the early insects.
“I’m afraid that in order to forge ahead in my profession, I ought to dress suitably. I would only need a small advance…I think.” Shamefully, she had no idea. She could recite Hamlet and yet had no inkling as to the cost of a simple brown frock.
Mr Hawkins unlocked the French doors and they wandered onto the balcony that overlooked the garden and hence Green Park. By day, their lush neighbour appeared tranquil and not scary at all.
Grey clouds hung low and heavy with ominous rain as they had done most days this year, a scant breeze gusting cologne of leather and male.
“The dressmaker is visiting next week as Chloe likewise needs new clothes. She could fit you at the same time.”
“My requirements are simple.”
“As you wish.” Mr Hawkins urged her back inside as she shivered in the crispness of the hour. “And as for wages, I also need a…favour, and if you agree, it will pay for these dresses.”
Matilda pursed her lips and crossed her arms.
What would a widowed virile man ask of his female unchaperoned governess?
Rampant images from a Greek vase she’d once viewed startled Matilda – disturbing and altogether indelicate. “What exactly do you wish me to do?”
He swivelled from the French door. “It’s my turn to host our Annual Champions’ Dinner at the weekend, and as you are here, I wondered if you could act as my hostess? Conversation, menus and suchlike.”
Oh.
But…
