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“Matilda, I am but a man and such…desire can only lead to…” Unaware of her knowledge concerning carnal matters, his words stumbled to naught.
“I am fully conversant, Seth,” she said huskily, “with the mating habits of warm-blooded mammals.”
But not of a man with blood ablaze and body primed.
Seth garnered all his scattered restraint. “Then you know why we must stop, Matilda.” He found her spectacles and replaced them on her nose. “I reinstate you as governess.”
She drew away to the corner and his own body shuddered with the rip in contact, yet he dragged himself to the opposite seat.
“I accept and thank you for reinstating me, Mr Hawkins.”
“My pleasure, Miss Griffin.”
Yet with that kiss, all had changed – at least for him – and he watched as she attempted to pin her hair with fingers aquiver, sliding strands capturing the moonlight.
He knew not where this may lead, or even if Miss Griffin desired further adventure, but he would pursue it nonetheless – this passion and like-mindedness.
In truth, they’d known each other scarce weeks, and he still recalled the pain of a tattered heart, sliced open by the wrong choice. The wound had knitted through time but like his scarred eyebrow, a faint ache endured, forever reminding him to act with caution.
He would discover more of her dreams and fears, and equally he would divulge more of himself.
“You must think me brazen, Mr Hawkins,” she murmured, catching his eye.
“No, Miss Griffin. I think you a bewitching lady.”
And therein lay a part of his dilemma.
The lady and the pugilist?
It sounded like the title for some lurid tale of absconding lovers, wicked nobles, romantic dinners, threatening relatives and a chase at the finale.
He’d revealed a little of his past, but not enough – the violence which had driven him, the brutality he’d endured in order to achieve his dreams. He had nigh ten years on Miss Griffin and a daughter to boot.
But perchance, there was one way he could show her his life. A stage on which was portrayed his background, the struggle and the years gone by.
“Miss Griffin,” he drawled low, “have you ever dressed as a nefarious footpad on the prowl?”
