Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

by Michelle Styles

  Her mouth went dry. His eyes were a luminous grey and his face seemed suddenly intense and serious. She knew she ought to pick up her skirts and run like the very devil was after her. She stood still. Behind her, some bird burst out into a trill of song.

  ‘Kit,’ she breathed.

  He lowered his mouth and his lips lightly brushed hers. The kiss, if you could call it that, was over in a breath.

  Hattie fingered her lips. They ached slightly. Two bits of knowledge hammered through her. First she wanted to be kissed again, more thoroughly and second, perhaps more importantly, he was attracted to her. The realisation made her wary, in case she had mistaken it. ‘What...what was that for?’

  ‘You wanted a reason for us to fall out of civility. I gave you one.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I refuse to apologise. It was the most agreeable part of my day so far. What happens next is up to you.’

  Hattie nodded, and attempted to ignore the way her heart thudded. ‘You expect me to pick up my skirts and run as if the devil is after me?’

  He tilted his head to one side. The grey in his eyes deepened. ‘Did I mistake the moment?’

  ‘You have a funny idea of women.’

  A dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘You don’t think it was enough. You want more.’

  ‘I am made of sterner stuff and fail to wilt when someone seeks to mock me. In any case, a simple quarrel over the Romans would have sufficed.’ Hattie concentrated on a particularly nondescript piece of rock. Her mouth ached and she knew she wanted more, but that went beyond the bounds of propriety. She refused to get herself into a situation where she jeopardised her reputation. ‘Your choice of topic leaves a lot to be desired.’

  ‘You want to be kissed again. Immediately and more thoroughly.’

  ‘You are being ridiculous.’ Hattie pressed her lips together and attempted to banish the strange quivering in her stomach. ‘I never said anything of the sort.’

  ‘You told me to pick the topic and I have. It is far better to fall out of civility over something like a kiss than over anything else.’

  ‘The question of whether or not I want to be kissed by you is inappropriate.’ She crossed her arms over her breasts and tried to ignore the way they felt. ‘Completely and utterly inappropriate. I could hardly confess to Stephanie that I fell out of civility because of a kiss! Imagine the commotion.’

  ‘But you do want to be kissed.’ He cupped her cheek with firm fingers. She fought against the impulse to turn her face into his palm. ‘It is in your eyes.’

  ‘In my eyes?’

  His thumb traced the outline of her mouth.

  ‘And your lips.’

  He lowered his head. This time his kiss was slow and coaxing. Instead of merely brushing her lips, he tasted and explored. Slowly and steadily. Tiny nibbles at her lips made her stomach contract and warm pulses shoot through her.

  Hattie brought her hands up and rested them on the solid broad cloth of his coat. His hand moulded her body to his. At the insistent pressure, her lips parted slightly and she tasted the cool interior of his mouth. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sensation rippling through her. It made the memory of Charles’s kisses seem like poor milk-water.

  He groaned and deepened the kiss, drank from her. His hand tangled in her hair, pushing her bonnet off her face. He rained kisses down her cheeks, her eyes and her nose before returning to plunder her mouth.

  Hattie allowed herself one more heartbeat of pleasure. She felt ridiculously feminine and pretty, someone to be cherished. Cherished?

  The thought poured ice water into her veins. She refused to become like one of those women who fell at his feet. She was never going to become another notch, to be enjoyed and then tossed away. She had been there with Charles and never again. No romance required.

  She beat her hands against his chest. Instantly he loosened his arms. He looked down at her with a quizzical expression in his eyes.

  She stumbled backwards and attempted to breathe normally. Her body protested at the sudden rush of air between them. She knew her eyes were too large and her lips too red. She grabbed at her bonnet and tore a ribbon. It lay glistening in her hand, mute rebuke of what she’d done.

  Anger at herself, at him and at life in general washed over her. After all her promises, all she had been through, the first man with a reputation crooked a finger and she behaved like a babbling schoolgirl. This stopped before it ever started.

  ‘That should never happen again. Ever!’ she said when she had regained her balance. ‘I forbid it!’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Forbid?’ Kit watched Hattie through narrowed eyes.

  Hattie’s breath was far too quick and her eyes were huge blue-green pools. It took all of his self-control not to pull her back into his arms. His response to her was entirely unexpected. Ever since Waterloo, nothing—not even with the most experienced courtesans London could offer was there any excitement or response, but one gentle brush of his lips against hers and his body started to rage out of control. He’d kissed her again to make sure and had nearly fallen off the edge.

  He wanted to drink from her mouth and leisurely explore the contours of her body. Silently he willed her to come back into his arms and to allow the kiss to develop further. With a great effort, he concentrated and brought his breathing under control.

  ‘You only needed to tell me to stop,’ he said when she continued to stand away from him, looking at him with those huge eyes. ‘And I will, if that is what you truly desire.’

  ‘I should never have done something like that. I’m not like that. I’m not given to...’

  ‘I’m very honoured.’ Kit clung on to his sanity. She was frightened of her response. Intellectually he should have expected it, but it still hit him in his gut. She had enjoyed the kiss until she had started thinking and remembering that she was a respectable person.

  ‘All I know is that it must not happen again. I’m not that sort of a woman. I’m a widow who has responsibilities. I’m not looking for a quick tumble in the hay.’

  ‘Do you see any hay around here?’

  Hattie gave an impatient stamp of her foot. ‘You know what I mean!’

  Hattie took a step backwards, half-stumbled on a rock and tumbled down on her bottom. She gave an exasperated cry.

  ‘Do you need help?’ Kit held out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it and scrambled to stand up.

  ‘I can manage on my own. I always do.’

  ‘Your bonnet is crooked.’

  ‘Is it? I...I hadn’t noticed.’

  Kit reached out and straightened her straw bonnet, placing it firmly on her head, pulling it forwards so she was once again the perfectly proper woman he’d first met. He should say the words he’d planned to end it, but they stuck in his throat. He wanted more of her. He wanted to see if the promise in the kiss held true, but he knew he’d have to go slowly, coax her and discover why the physical frightened her. He wanted to see what would happen when she fully gave in to the passion that simmered under the surface.

  ‘There, no one will guess. Your armour is back on.’

  ‘Armour?’

  ‘To keep you safe from the world’s scrutiny. No one will remark if that is what you are afraid of.’

  ‘Nothing. I am not afraid of anything.’ Her words were barely audible as she half-turned from him. ‘It has to be this way for both our sakes.’

  Kit allowed his hand to drop to his side. Not only did her body have to crave his touch, but her mind as well. He wanted her to want him as he wanted her. He’d felt the passion in her kiss. He wasn’t ready for the flirtation to end. He wanted it to continue and for them to explore this white-hot spark that flickered between them. He’d be a poor person if he gave up at the first hurdle. ‘I’ll respect your wishes, but will allow you the luxury of changing your mind.’

  A long sigh escaped her mouth before she straightened her back. ‘I can’t. I won’t. It ends here. It has to. Things like this don’t happen
to me.’

  ‘Denying your passion won’t bring your husband back.’

  ‘You seek to discomfort me. Never mention Charles Wilkinson again. He has nothing to do with this. He died seven years ago.’ She wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘That...that demonstration of your prowess was totally unnecessary.’

  Kit clung on to her response as a dying man might cling to a wooden spar. She didn’t say unwelcome. He hated that it mattered and that he wanted her to want him. Silently he cursed her husband and what they must have shared. He’d never had to compete with a ghost before.

  He could just imagine the upright Army hero who had won her. Someone who had more to offer than he ever could. A sudden irrational hatred of the man filled him.

  ‘Why did you do it, Kit?’

  ‘If we intend on falling out of civility, I wanted it to be for something real,’ he said lightly, pushing the unaccustomed jealousy to one side. He never examined the past. ‘The truth is far easier than a lie. The mealy-mouthed kiss earlier was nothing, but this, this will make the falling out worthwhile.’

  The colour rose in her cheeks, rivalling the dusky pink of her lips. ‘Just so you understand, there can be no future.’

  ‘I try never to look to the future,’ Kit said stiffly. ‘And I never regret the past where women are concerned. It helps.’

  She clasped her hands together so tightly he could see the knuckles through her gloves. ‘Just know that I have no intention of becoming somebody’s mistress. Anyone’s mistress. I wouldn’t want to soil...to soil my spotless reputation.’

  ‘We are friends.’ Kit bit back the words that he didn’t want her to become just anyone’s mistress—he wanted her to be his.

  It would be laying claim to her. He’d never laid claim to anyone. To claim someone meant that you cared. And if you cared, you got hurt.

  ‘We should go back to the picnic.’ She turned away from the ruins. ‘Mrs Hampstead may need rescuing from Mr Hook’s lecture.’

  ‘We should indeed.’ Kit put his hand in the small of her back. ‘Careful. The path is unsteady.’

  ‘I can walk on my own.’ She made no attempt to move away.

  ‘Sometimes everyone needs help.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘You appear far more serious than I intended,’ Kit remarked when they neared the picnic area. Rupert’s voice declaiming loudly about the sleeping habits of the great crested newts punctuated the air. ‘What have I done to cause the frown besides kissing you?’

  ‘I was considering how to break the news to my sister of our incompatibility so I can prevent further meddling.’

  ‘Surely the kiss is excuse enough?’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘There is no need for anyone to know about the kiss. I have no plans to tell.’

  ‘Honesty is always best.’ Kit stifled a smile. The kiss had caused her to go off balance by a bit, but she hadn’t fully capitulated. A wise man knew when to retreat and when to advance. He’d pursue her slowly and see what happened, but first he’d give her the protection she craved. ‘We quarrelled and you see no way to mend the quarrel. You are far too distraught to talk about the quarrel because it was over a trifling matter.’

  ‘That excuse might do.’ She gave a heart-stopping smile. ‘It will do very well indeed.’

  Kit raised two fingers to his hat. They said that there was a first time for everything, but he had never considered that he’d be involved in this—pursuing a woman by giving her advice on how to break up with him. Quarrels were made to be mended. He would see this one was. ‘Until the next time.’

  ‘Will there be a next time?’

  He leant forwards and brushed her cheek with his forefinger. ‘You can count on it.’

  * * *

  Reasons why she was not interested in Kit Foxton...

  Hattie read down the list of reasons, starting with his notoriety and his lack of reliability and ending with the taste of his kisses making her unsettled. She frowned. The taste of his kisses was not something she wanted to consider. With a furious stroke of her pen, she crossed it out.

  ‘There you are, my dear,’ Mrs Reynaud said, bustling into the drawing room of the Dower House. Unlike the day before, which had been bathed in brilliant sunshine, a steady rain fell, adding to the general air of gloom.

  Hattie nearly dropped her pen in surprise. She was hard pressed to remember when Mrs Reynaud had last come calling. Hattie slid a piece of paper over the list.

  ‘Is something the matter, Mrs Reynaud?’

  ‘I feared something had happened to you,’ Mrs Reynaud explained in a rush as she removed her veil, depositing it on an armchair. ‘You failed to stop by this morning. There were things I wished to discuss with you. The picnic you had yesterday with Sir Christopher...did everything go as you would wish?’

  ‘I went on a picnic. For the most part, it was highly pleasant. Mr Hook practised his proposed lecture and sent Mrs Hampstead to sleep. I ate my fill of strawberries for once as neither Livvy nor Portia were there.’ Hattie folded her hands in her lap and tried to keep from looking at the list. ‘There is little to discuss. A typical picnic. Nothing exciting. No handsome highwaymen or rescuing distressed maidens like you always seem to be encountering.’

  ‘No picnic is typical if it involves Sir Christopher.’ Mrs Reynaud lifted her chin. ‘Your sister quite bristled with importance when she called yesterday. You dined with Sir Christopher Foxton. Your sister has expectations, great expectations. Left to her own devices, I believe she would be calling for banns. Do you have expectations, my dear?’

  ‘My sister came to see you,’ Hattie said slowly. How many other people had Stephanie happened to tell? Expectations indeed! Silently she offered up thanks that she had already dispatched her note to Kit, severing any connection. It had come to her last night. After the kiss they enjoyed, sending a letter was her only course forwards, but it had to be carefully worded, coded without appearing to mention That Incident. She had retained a copy to show Stephanie when she appeared, but she didn’t want to appear too eager to share the news.

  ‘Mrs Parteger required urgent advice about Mr Hook and her eldest.’ Mrs Reynaud narrowed her eyes. ‘I believe you mentioned something about me knowing Sir Christopher...’

  ‘Only in passing.’

  ‘It was many years ago.’ The elderly woman fluttered her hands as two bright spots appeared on her pockmarked cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t want Sir Christopher to feel that I claimed an acquaintance. And I have no knowledge of Mr Hook’s antecedents in any case.’

  ‘Stephanie should never have bothered you with such a trivial matter. I fear she wanted to gossip about the picnic.’ Hattie leant forwards and lowered her voice. ‘No doubt she neglected to mention that Sir Christopher invited the entire family, but she declined, preferring to concentrate on arranging a series of lectures.’

  ‘No, your sister never mentioned that.’ Mrs

  Reynaud gave a merry trill of laughter. ‘I thought Colonel Cunningham had charge of the lectures this year because it was something your sister loathed. Indeed, we very nearly did not have any lectures last year because your sister forgot.’

  ‘Stephanie changed her mind. She thinks Colonel Cunningham needs some assistance now.’

  Mrs Reynaud’s eyes danced. ‘Fancy forgetting that piece of information about who was originally invited. It puts the invitation in a different light.’

  ‘My sister is rather inclined to make overmuch of the matter.’ Hattie stood up and faced Mrs Reynaud. The sooner she stopped the gossip, the better for all concerned. ‘The matter is now closed.’

  ‘The matter with Sir Christopher or Mr Hook?’

  ‘Both.’ Hattie remembered the uncomfortable way Mr Hook had shifted in the carriage and how Mrs Hampstead had confided that she doubted anyone, even Livvy, could sit through something that dull and tedious. It was better for all concerned if they drew a line under the entire episode. ‘Livvy might suffer for a few weeks, but London gentlem
en never stay. It is no good hoping they will. They never do. I will inform Stephanie and the lecture can be postponed before real harm is done. I would hate for anyone to be disappointed.’

  Mrs Reynaud tilted her head. Her sharp eyes assessed her. It seemed as if her gaze bore into her soul. Hattie toyed with her pen as her cheeks flamed.

  ‘He kissed you. More than once, I reckon,’ Mrs Reynaud said in solemn tones. ‘It is far from a crime and occasionally most enjoyable. You were discreet. Yes. Yes, that goes without saying. You are the sort of woman who would be discreet. It was always part of my trouble when I was young and foolish. I forgot to be discreet.’

  Hattie put her hand to her throat. How had Mrs Reynaud guessed? Nearly twenty-four hours later, and there should be no mark on her. Hattie glanced down and saw the word kiss, underlined, rather than scratched out. She moved the piece of paper more firmly over the list.

  ‘We quarrelled. I doubt he will kiss me again. Nor would I wish him to.’ She tilted her chin upwards. ‘I sent him a note explaining the situation. It is impossible. He is impossible.’

  ‘Why did you do that if you wanted to end it?’

  Hattie put her hand on her stomach and concentrated on keeping her shoulders straight. She could hardly explain that she saw herself becoming like the woman whom Charles had loved, living on the margins of society, and for the first time it had tempted her.

  ‘Because I have Livvy and Portia’s reputation to think about,’ she said firmly. ‘How could they make the matches they need if their aunt is pilloried for being wicked? Sir Christopher does not believe in marriage. His parents had a dreadful one, I believe.’

  The colour drained from Mrs Reynaud’s face. ‘He spoke to you about his parents and their marriage?’

  ‘Only briefly to explain why he intends to remain unwed.’ Hattie resolutely did not look at her list.

  ‘People should not visit the sins of one generation on the next.’

  ‘It was a brief interlude and now it is over.’ Hattie walked over to the window and looked out over the garden with its gravel paths and roses. Off to her left, she could just make out Highfield’s chimneys and the great cedar of Lebanon. This was home and safe. She was not prepared to risk her heart again. Charles had seen to that. Life would have been much easier in ways if Kit had been the marrying kind, but he wasn’t. His honesty made her decision easy. ‘I love the girls like my own and I would hate anything I did to ruin their chances of a good marriage.’