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Abruptly Seth rose and forestalled her departure with a firm hand to her wrist. “Matilda, meet me in the library. I shall be but a moment.” He stared deeply. “Please.”
At the soft plea, she nodded and twisted away. “Good night, Mr Finlay.”
“Good night, lass.”
Matilda seized the candlestick and without looking back wandered from the kitchen, legs and thoughts sluggish with weariness and befuddlement as she ascended the stairs. Why had Seth kept so very silent and solemn at the prospect of marriage to her?
Perhaps he did not wish for another wife having been previously forsaken, but surely he never would have made such passionate love to her if that were the case.
She relit the library lantern from the candlestick, the silence solitary, and meandered to the circular reading table in the centre. An exquisite book with illustrations lay open, of the Ancient Mariner and his many trials. She flipped the pages one by one, eyes blind.
At the light tread of footstep upon the stairs, she did not turn. Neither at the footfall within the library as it approached her. Not even as a warm breath whispered over her nape. Or as a soft kiss was bestowed upon it. A calloused hand brushed her smooth arm, slid down her wrist till it covered her hand upon Coleridge’s legacy.
“Some words,” Seth uttered softly, “were left unspoken last night. Words that caught in my throat because I knew not the right moment or the right way. But in all the hours of daylight, I have called myself every type of fool for not uttering them.”
“Seth…” His body caged hers. She was unable to twist, to see his eyes, solely his hand interlacing, the warmth of his body against her back.
“And once more I shall steal another’s lines because I am a simple man, Matilda, and so many others express it better than I.” Lips kissed her ear and she shivered. “‘Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.’” His arm encircled her waist. “Never doubt I love you, Matilda. With all that I am – humble prizefighter and a man at your feet.”
A tear streaked her cheek – such a soggy goosecap she was – and leaning back into his chest, she twisted her head to gaze up at him. “I had a hundred verbose ways to tell you my feelings, Seth Hawkins. Yet now I find only three words matter.” His hazel eyes glinted, that band of gold searing with flame. “I love you.”
With a soul alightand spirit ablaze, Seth beamed at his beloved.
At dawn, he’d beamed also, awakening with body sated and mind at rest. Yet a day spent gathering information by fair means and foul had beaten at that serenity, his lips refusing to cooperate in the kitchen through unease at the plan and his ire at Astwood.
And Kian was perfectly correct in that taking Matilda to Gretna Green would solve many a problem. No need for her guardian’s permission or the lengthy calling of bans.
Yet…
Today he’d realised how much had been taken from Matilda already – her beautiful home, her parents’ legacy and her future as a daughter of the Ton.
He would take no more.
So he drew away and as she twisted in his arms, he cupped her delicate but bold jaw in his palms and gazed into the depths of her sherry eyes.
“When I ask for your hand in marriage,” he said hoarsely, “and it is a when, not an if – I want you to be utterly free to answer. Not because of threats or escape or lack of money, but because of love, and nothing else. I was troubled by Kian’s suggestion because I do not want you to ever feel forced or compelled to marry me. Otherwise I would be no better than Astwood or Sidlow – granting you no choice. I stayed silent because if you agreed to such a proposal, it would mean a clandestine and arduous elopement to Scotland. All as though it were us who were ashamed of our love.”
“Seth–” He placed a finger to her lips.
“I stayed silent because I want to listen as the bans are read loud to all and sundry, feel the anticipation and emotion. I stayed silent because I want to say and hear those solemn words of devotion and respect which will bind us together for eternity before my daughter, family, friends and God. Not in front of a wearied Scottish blacksmith who solely wants the coin.”
Ebony eyelashes fluttered, fingers clasped.
“I stayed silent because I want to watch you dance at our wedding breakfast with Betty, Kian and all those who adore you. To see you drink champagne with Mrs Ashby and your literary group. To wear any bloody colour you choose. To not be looking over your shoulder.” He breathed deep. “I stayed silent because I love you so very much and you deserve better, nay you deserve everything, Matilda Griffin.”
He waited.
The rasp of their breath, the patter of rain, the scent of book and flower…‘this bloody tyrant, time.’
Then she tugged him close and kissed him, firm and rough, which he hoped might signal her forgiveness for his silence in the kitchen.
Lips teased his earlobe. “Never have I met a man more considerate or selfless than you,” she whispered before drawing away with eyes that glittered bright with love in the lantern light. “But know this… I shall indeed drink champagne at my wedding and wear whatever I wish…but I shall dance with none but my new husband.” She cupped his jaw. “I love you with all my heart. And so together, we shall wait, Seth Hawkins.”
