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“Did someone enter the carriage?”
A nod, and his dread erupted into a dangerous fury. He’d tear London asunder to find whoever…
“Did this person…touch you?”
A shake of the head. “Astwood,” she wailed. “He saw me. Recognised my glasses. Followed me. Saw me sit atop with you.”
With firm hands, he stroked her hair and lifted her chin. “What did he want?”
She twisted away, sobbed, but he waited.
“He spat I was a whore coming here, thinks I’m your mistress, and that if I don’t return tonight and wed Sidlow, he’s going to say you were bribed to lose fights, drive away all your patrons and then burn your Academy to the ground.”
“Matilda–”
“I couldn’t bear it. You’ve worked so hard. To survive this life and to succeed. You’re magnificent. And Chloe too, no harm must ever befall her. I’ll pack my bags and leave.”
Seth fell still.
Which was all wrong because his fury at Astwood should have surged unchecked.
But…
A blanket of satisfaction had dampened the violent emotion.
Because Miss Matilda Griffin sought to protect him.
Him.
She’d return to that pathetic excuse for a man because she knew how hard Seth had worked to escape this life of poverty. How much the Academy meant to him…
With gentle thumbs, he dried beneath her eyes, clasped her cheeks and kissed her.
No option or thought. Just downright need.
Controlled but insistent, intimate then rough.
He groaned, tugged her close, no notion to cease.
For Miss Matilda Griffin was scratching at his heart, provoking no pain, only thrumming fervour and boundless anticipation. The taste of sober tears, her eager lips, the wild fingers which scratched his nape. She thrust nearer, the scent of her everywhere, yearning and frantic. Intense desperation seemed to grip her as she devoured him, and he could do naught but respond as a gasp escaped her.
And yet…
That gasp alerted his senses and stalled his roving fingers.
Matilda’s touch was too turbulent, her kiss too frenzied, as though there was no tomorrow, no time but now to explore their passion.
And then he realised… Realised that Matilda believed this would be their last embrace. That she would be returning to her guardian or marrying Sidlow.
That they would never again kiss like this – with breath seized from their lungs, neither giving a damn.
How wrong she was.
Still clasping her cheeks, he drew away.
“Matilda, you are not returning to Astwood.”
“But he’ll–”
