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“Were your parents alive when you gained the championship? They would have been so proud.” She attempted to place the cap back on the jar but her fingers fumbled and he took it from her with a broad grin.
“What makes you think they’ve cocked their toes?”
“Well…” She frowned, twisted her hands and shuffled her bare feet. “Neither you nor Chloe has ever mentioned them.”
“Fair enough. But that’s probably because they are in Rome, last we heard. On a Grand Tour of the Continent. Like the young nobs do.”
Matilda goggled and slid her glasses back up her nose.
“My wife may have lost patience with me, but my parents never did.” He shook his head. “They battled on, watched me, supported me, my father still working for that bloody fiend.” His gaze firmed. “But eventually I got us all out. Not just me and Chloe, but all of us. My parents have a little place in Richmond now.” He brushed her cheek. “But like you, they always wanted to travel. So once Napoleon had been seen to last year, off they went.” He kissed her lips, light and tender.
“Well, I never,” Matilda murmured, his tale leaving her strangely serene but oddly befuddled.
“I suppose,” he said with a tilt to his head, “that happy endings do exist. Hardship can turn to comfort. Despair to hope. I only wish all stories could end thus… Your parents. Kian’s wife.”
“I wish that too, Seth. But it cheers me so to hear of happy endings for others. It reminds me that life can also be wonderful.” Matilda tipped her head back. “Next you’ll be telling me that the vicious innkeeper repented his ways and is now a vicar.”
“Nah, he drank himself to death.”
Her bare toes burrowed into the rug and she smiled. A drowsy lassitude encased Matilda, a rush of satisfaction that Seth’s life was now a contented one, that happy endings existed. She brushed his cheek, fingers tingling with the rough stubble, emotions a blur but all containing this man before her. “I hope you won’t think me brazen but… I admire you so much, Seth Hawkins.”
Seth’s shoulderno longer ached; it was his whole being that ached for this woman. “And I so admire you, Matilda Griffin.” He’d thought never to allow another woman so close to his heart. Thought to spend his life devoted to his Academy, books and daughter.
Yet with her boldness, cleverness, golden spectacles and sherry eyes, Matilda had burst into his life, a yellow spring blossom flowering before him, casting her scent and luring him in.
She bit that ripe lip and he softly halted her with a brief kiss. “Thank you, Matilda. Never have I been granted such tender care.” Nor had a woman cared to read medical tomes or gather ligature thread for him, or ask of his childhood, and listen.
Tomorrow they must talk of Astwood, and mayhap of feelings for each other, but for now, her glasses had slid down her nose one more, eyes not wide but slumberous.
“Would you…” Her black lashes lifted. “Would you mind holding me? Just for a moment. You see, I…”
She’d no need to continue, for he knew.
Knew that after today, she needed comfort. As did he.
Knew she craved the reassurance of a tight embrace. As did he.
Knew she did not wish to be alone. As neither did he.
He thumped a sizeable cushion and placed it at the head of the sofa, reclined, careful not to undo all her good work on his shoulder, and held out his arms. “Come, Matilda.”
A slow smile and she keeled into his embrace, tucking her legs and skirt up onto the sofa. He buried one hand in her hair, felt the slip of silk through his fingers, and brought the other tight about her waist.
Her head fitted so perfectly beneath his chin, the scent of fresh flowers overwhelming his senses. The evening held a stillness of promise, and he laid his head back, content, lips rested and brow smooth.
At some hour soon, she would have to retire to her chambers, but for now, he would relish this closeness.
“I’m so sleepy, Seth,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Then sleep, sweet Matilda, ‘the honey-heavy dew of slumber’.”
Her lips curved against his skin as she smiled, her body lax and pliant, moulding to his nude torso. A hand that had been stroking his forearm fell still and her breathing deepened.
Softly, he kissed her hair, as Betty’s Special Tonic, which could fell the strongest of fellows within a moment, finally claimed the bravest, kindest, most caring woman he’d ever known.
