New Release | A Governess Should Never… Tempt a Prizefighter by Emily Windsor #historicalromance



Title A Governess Should Never… Tempt a Prizefighter

Author Emily Windsor

Genre Historical Romance

Publisher Senara Press

Book Blurb

“So tell me, Miss Griffin, why should I employ you as governess?”

A question to rouse fear within the breast of any prospective governess but for Matilda, a lady without references, appropriate brown clothing or any experience with children whatsoever, doubly so.

Yet alone in the world except for a brutish guardian and a malodorous betrothed, Matilda must seek her own future, even if that means employment in the household of a rugged ex-prizefighter with sizeable muscles and doubtless minuscule intellect.

“Please continue to enlighten me, Miss Griffin.”

Mr Seth Hawkins, owner of famed Boxing Academy, has reached the point of desperation in his search for a governess.

Yet with no other suitable candidates, could this yellow-clad, bespectacled female who seemed to think him a witless dolt with calloused knuckles and no books, teach his daughter the ways of a lady?

The Lady and the Prizefighter.

One should never judge a man by his well-defined muscles or a lady by her yellow-silk slippers, for beneath both façades lay yearning hearts, shared dreams and a taste for adventure.

With scandalous kisses in midnight carriages, tavern jaunts, whifflers, nobblers and dressing as a nefarious footpad on the prowl, the vocation of governess has never been so exciting…

A fun, heart-warming Regency romance, this is the first book in a companion series to the Games of Gentlemen.

This tale contains sensual scenes.

Excerpt

Hawkins Boxing Academy. Outskirts of Piccadilly. May 1816.

“So tell me, Miss Griffin, why should I employ you as governess?”

Oh botheration.

And Matilda fidgeted in the unyielding chair.

The interview had been progressing quite satisfactorily until now. They’d greeted one another in a cordial manner, lamented the bitter spring weather and Mr Hawkins, her prospective employer and owner of this famed Boxing Academy, had shown her to his somewhat masculine study.

Chestnut panelling smothered the walls from floor to ceiling, a few drawings of sturdy ruffians in pugilistic stance embellishing its manliness. A battered chaise of dun leather sat in the corner whilst the desk gleamed with fresh wax.

Matilda’s lips parted to answer, but for once words failed her, so instead she contemplated a bird fluffing its wings upon the windowsill outside and ardently wished she could swap places.

Although perhaps not with a scrawny sparrow but rather a brightly coloured Bird of Paradise. To be far away on the tropical Molucca Islands and not shivering in this rugged study, being interviewed by a man who’d once been a prizefighter.

Males of the species could be so savage.

His cough prompted for attention and she returned her gaze to Mr Hawkins.

“It appears,” he said, flicking her application letter and hoisting an eyebrow, “that you have no previous experience.”

Matilda crossed her arms.

How hard could it be? Although Mr Hawkins may be factually correct, she had thrice read Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.

The somewhat crisp author, a Miss Elizabeth Appleton, had been hired by the 9th Earl of Leven no less, so she must have known what she was writing about.

Mr Hawkins set to scrutinising her application letter once more…and Matilda set to scrutinising Mr Hawkins.

Dark hair the colour of chocolate, ruthlessly trimmed and without curl; a light linear scar to his right eyebrow; a firm chin which could never hide its burgeoning stubble; sultry olive-toned skin; and a classical nose that looked to have been forcibly inclined to the left.

A decidedly handsome man, the crooked appendage adding a certain je ne sais quoi.

Then there were those…muscles.

Even clothed, they were noticeable – which was curious because as a rule, Matilda would not notice at all. Muscle and brawn, in her humble opinion, were uninspiring, belonging to men of paltry intellect.

Yet these were inspiring. Never had she studied real ones before, and she longed to prod and measure. Purely for anatomical endeavour, of course. How would they feel when–

“Ahem.”

Double botheration…

She’d been caught inspecting that broad chest encased by a pale-gold waistcoat with pleasing feather motifs, its oval collar and glimpse of brass buttons drawing one’s eye. Whatever his former vocation and current profession, Mr Hawkins dressed with exquisite distinction: a midnight-blue coat stretched along extensive shoulders, and tight pantaloons sculpted a callipygian figure.

A widower, she’d read as a part of her preparations for this interview, with some three decades to his name, Mr Seth Hawkins had apparently set the prizefighting world alight before opening his Academy.

He thrust the letter aside, clasped his substantial hands and sighed deeply. “Do you have any experience whatsoever?”

Well, no. Hence her rare silence.

In that now shunned application letter, she’d penned with keen verbosity her knowledge of geography, history, astronomy and so forth, hoping to bamboozle the man with protracted explanation and incomprehensible words – she was good at that.

Perchance she ought to fib about her past experience: state she’d educated a younger brother who’d gone on to discover a cure for boils, or imply her references had gone astray on her return voyage from India, having educated a Maharaja’s daughter.

Matilda sighed and slid her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.

A close confidante, Miss Evelyn Pearce, had told some blistering fibs recently in order to escape dire circumstance, which had resulted in her being abducted by the richest duke of all England.

So perhaps being circumspect with the truth did have its benefits.

Sparkling hazel eyes gazed at her in query across the desk, his fingers shifting to splay upon the leather inlay.

Robust knuckles and calloused skin.

Matilda shivered.

However, those broad knuckles did not belong to a rich duke.

They belonged to a muscled beast of a man whose wits had most likely been knocked out in some prizefighting field in Somerset.

Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)

US:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08MB7C1J6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i10


UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B08MB7C1J6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0


https://www.amazon.com/author/emilywindsor


https://www.bookbub.com/authors/emily-windsor


https://www.goodreads.com/EmilyWindsor



Author Biography

Emily grew up in the north of England on a diet of historical romance and strong tea.

Unfortunately, you couldn't study Regency slang, so she did the next best thing and gained a degree in Classics and History instead. This 'led' to an eight-year stint in engineering.

Having left city life, she now lives in a dilapidated farmhouse where her days are spent writing, fixing the leaky roof, battling the endless vegetation and finding pictures of well-tied cravats.

Social Media Links

https://facebook.com/AuthorEmilyWindsor

https://uk.pinterest.com/EmilyWindsorBks/

https://www.instagram.com/emilywindsorwritesregency/

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