Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Mrs Wilkinson was merely doing her Christian duty,’ Kit’s lazy voice said from the doorway before Hattie could think up a coherent answer. ‘Surely no one would stoop so low as to accuse a woman who is doing her Christian duty of untoward behaviour?’

  Stephanie gave a little panicked cry and ducked her head. Hattie saw him, standing in the doorway, dressed in his clothes with an intricately tied neckcloth. He carried his body stiffly as if badly bruised. Her heart gave a little skip and she was pleased that she’d changed into her dimity with the tiny blue flowers embroidered on it. Portia always declared that it was her favourite dress as it made Hattie look sparkly.

  From Kit’s grim expression as he bent down to greet Moth, she had to wonder how long he’d been standing there and how much he’d heard.

  Stephanie cleared her throat several times, obviously having the same concerns as Hattie. Hattie fought the temptation to laugh.

  ‘Sir Christopher, you are up... That is to say—this is a most unexpected development. But welcome. A welcome development. Dear Hattie is such a good nurse. Quite devoted to it.’

  ‘Then you will agree I was in good hands.’

  ‘Very good hands.’ Stephanie turned several deeper shades of plum. ‘You are dressed, Sir Christopher.’

  ‘He could hardly come down in a borrowed nightshirt,’ Hattie said crossly. Stephanie had no right to be quizzing Kit in this manner. And Kit had no right to be up. Her carefully arranged plans of going up to see him after breakfast when she looked fresh and lovely were in smithereens. ‘Really, Stephanie, you do spout some nonsense.’

  ‘My valet arrived very early this morning with my clothes. I believe the ride over from Southview did him good. Cleared his thick head. He spent rather too much time in the ale tent yesterday.’ His smile failed to reach his eyes. ‘He wished to make amends and brought fresh clothes.’

  ‘You are able to move about?’ Stephanie gasped.

  ‘The doctor advised strict bed rest.’ Hattie put her hand on her stomach and wished she hadn’t eaten that square of toast. Kit was dressed as if he was preparing to depart. Did he regret their late-night conversation? Had she dreamt it?

  ‘I don’t care a fig for the doctor’s advice.’ His deep-grey gaze met hers. ‘I do, however, care about your reputation. I came to the same conclusion as Mrs Parteger. It is commendable but unwise to have me as a guest when Johnson is more than capable of looking after me.’

  ‘And your plans?’ Hattie tapped a finger on the table top. Everyone had neglected to consult her. Surely, at twenty-seven, she was more than capable of making the correct choices?

  ‘I shall journey slowly and sedately back to the Lodge in my carriage.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘You may direct all well-wishers there, but you must under pain of death retain any strengthening concoctions such as calves’-foot jelly. The very thought turns my stomach.’

  ‘Allow me to be concerned about my reputation,’ Hattie said between gritted teeth.

  ‘Nevertheless, my mind is made up. Johnson should be returning with the carriage within the hour.’ He inclined his head. ‘I do hope there is some chocolate. I would hate to leave without partaking of breakfast. I trust that meets with your approval, Mrs Parteger?’

  Without waiting for an invitation, he came in and took a seat opposite Hattie. She carefully poured him a cup of chocolate. He took it, but made sure their fingers briefly touched.

  ‘Did you pass a comfortable night?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Mrs Parteger, the doctor gave me laudanum to make me sleep. I remember little, except I woke completely refreshed and a new man. One might say that the fight did a powerful amount of good.’ He saluted Hattie with his cup of chocolate. ‘Improved my mood no end.’

  Hattie took a hasty sip of her coffee and burnt the roof of her mouth. He couldn’t have forgotten their kiss? She had made a positive declaration and now he’d forgotten it. How like her luck. She tried to think about how to best approach the matter, but her brain seemed to move at the speed of congealed porridge.

  Voices were heard in the hall and Moth gave a series of sharp barks before racing to the dining-room door and then back to Hattie.

  Kit put down his cup. ‘Ah, here is Johnson, and Rupert as well. Their timing is impeccable. My stay was short, but most enjoyable, Mrs Wilkinson. Mrs Parteger, you will understand that I wish to get home as soon as possible. I do hope you will be at pains to point out that Mrs Wilkinson has behaved correctly in all circumstances.’

  ‘Shall I see you out?’

  ‘It is not necessary. I have everything in hand. Pray stay seated and visit with your sister. I can see my own way out.’ He gave an approximation of his smile. ‘Until next time, Mrs Wilkinson. Mrs Parteger.’

  Hattie sat completely still until the voices had receded. He had gone just like that. No searing look or even a promise to call when he was better.

  ‘I declare Sir Christopher is a gentleman—putting your reputation above his own comfort and consideration.’ Stephanie reached for the coffee pot, a sure sign that she intended to stay a while. ‘At last someone in this sorry affair thinks about reputations and the impact their actions may have on others. I declare you have no more sense than a gnat, Hattie. Livvy is due to make her début next season. The last thing you want is for your exploits to become common fodder for the gossips.’

  ‘He certainly did that.’ Hattie hated the way the butterflies in her stomach started. Surely he could not have forgotten about last night so quickly? They spoke at such length. It was impossible and if he had, how could she face him knowing that she had once divulged those secrets to him?

  Stephanie dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘Here I was a bit concerned about Mr Hook, but with an example such as his guardian, I know that he will behave with the upmost propriety.’

  ‘You are resigned to Mr Hook now? Or do you think Livvy will do better in London?’

  ‘Mr Hook’s relations with Livvy are not something I entirely want to discuss. Rather I want to speak about your gloves.’

  ‘Which gloves this time?’ Hattie rapidly considered all her pairs of gloves. She knew where they were.

  ‘It was so kind of you to buy Livvy that pair of butter-yellow gloves. They are far too expensive.’

  ‘I bought Livvy a pair of gloves?’

  ‘She tried to tell me that they were yours, but you never buy frivolous things like that. You are always so practical, Hattie. Charles always said that it was one of your more admirable qualities. I will confess that I failed to see it until after his death, but there you go. A sister is always the last to notice.’

  ‘I am pleased she likes them.’ Hattie made a mental note to speak to both Mr Hook and Livvy about lying. It was entirely possible that Stephanie had become muddled, but Livvy had to understand the consequences. A tiny prickle went down her back. Unless... ‘Did you say they were butter-yellow?’

  ‘They must have been tremendously expensive.’

  ‘They were.’ Hattie pressed her lips together, remembering Kit’s gesture to the stall keeper at the Hexham Tans stall. She should have intervened then. No matter what happened, she did not intend to accept gifts from him. It would make the relationship less equal.

  ‘Is there any other news? Surely something else happened beside Livvy’s mysterious pair of gloves?’

  ‘Beyond Sir Christopher’s injury?’ Stephanie frowned. ‘Mr Hook has agreed to give his lecture on newts. Apparently Mr Hook has decided that it would be best if they stay in the neighbourhood while Sir Christopher recuperates. That young man has a sound head on his shoulders. After you became separated from Livvy, he made certain that she was escorted back to me. I just pray he finds some confidence from somewhere or otherwise poor Livvy will be dreadfully disappointed.’

  Hattie hid her smile behind her hand. It appeared that Livvy and Mr Hook were enjoying a romance, despite Stephanie’s interference and she found that she wasn’t inclined to stop it. It was no one’s business and she h
ad to trust that Livvy would be sensible. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘He is far too diffident. I doubt he has any idea about women.’

  Hattie moved the conversation on to much safer topics. When she next saw Kit, she’d tackle him about the gloves. But whatever he had intended, the gloves now belonged to Livvy. Hattie quite looked forward to quizzing him about it.

  * * *

  The sickroom was immaculate. No sign beyond the tidily folded laundry that Kit had ever slept here. Hattie regarded it with distaste. She had come up immediately after Stephanie left, hoping for a little clue or perhaps a forgotten article which would enable her to visit him.

  Hattie caught sight of her stricken reflection in the little mirror over the chest of drawers.

  ‘What did you expect, my girl? You knew he had suffered from a concussion. He probably doesn’t even remember.’

  The irony did not escape her. How could she go to him and ask? What did one say—when you were suffering from a concussion, you promised to make love to me? Will you do so now? The mere thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

  A great wave of tiredness came over her and she stumbled to her bedroom. Everything would be clearer after a sleep.

  She put her hand to her head as a wave of dizziness passed through her. Whatever happened, she was not going to humiliate herself again. She was going to retreat and lie down.

  There, propped up on the middle of her bed, was a single red rose and a note. Hattie’s tiredness melted away.

  With trembling fingers, Hattie undid the sealing wax and opened to the note.

  Summer house in your garden. Four p.m. Tomorrow. If you are still willing. Kit.

  Hattie sank down on the soft bed. He’d left her a note where only she would find it.

  She pressed the note to her lips, trying to think. He’d given her an option and had preserved her reputation in case she changed her mind.

  Hattie tightened her grip on the paper. Retreating was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She’d be naïve if she thought she was anything but a distraction. She knew the boundaries going in. This was not about love or finer feelings. She’d had all those words from Charles and had believed them. This was about proving her independence.

  She could stop living the life that Charles had chosen for her now. She had a choice and she intended to take it.

  She gulped twice. What did one wear to a seduction?

  * * *

  The garden was bathed in warm golden sun the next afternoon. Hattie had sent Mrs Hampstead to Highfield on the pretext of helping Livvy get ready for the dinner party the Dents were giving. She claimed tiredness and the wish to have some peace after the turmoil of the last few days. Mrs Hampstead had taken Moth with her so that Hattie could sleep properly and undisturbed.

  A life of half-truths had begun, Hattie thought with a wry smile. Perhaps it said something about her that they sprang so easily to her lips. She had been certain that Mrs Hampstead guessed, but she accepted

  Hattie’s rather garbled explanation.

  At first, Hattie considered that no one was there, but then she saw movement in the shadows.

  ‘Kit?’ she called softly, wondering precisely how one went about this new life of sin.

  When she had gone to the summer house with Charles, he had led the way, insisting that she could see the fireworks better from there. She had been far too young and in love with love to question him. It had seemed a dream that someone so handsome and at ease with society, not to mention brave, should be interested in her. She had never thought about it until far too late. Then, looking back with the benefit of hindsight, she had seen the signs—the unexplained absences, the moodiness, the perfunctory love-making. It was not going to happen again. This time, she wasn’t going to give her heart.

  He appeared in the doorway. He was simply dressed and bareheaded. The bruising on his face was starting to come out and gave him a decidedly roguish appearance.

  ‘You made your decision.’

  ‘It was painfully easy.’ She held out her hands. ‘I’m not certain about what happens next.’

  He crossed the short distance between them. His fingers touched her jaw. ‘We go slowly. It happens at the pace you want it to happen.’

  ‘I sent Mrs Hampstead to Highfield. We have about two hours before she returns, I imagine.’

  He cocked his head to one side. ‘And that will be long enough?’

  ‘More than ample. I want to do everything in my power to prevent Mrs Hampstead from guessing.’

  ‘Mrs Hampstead is no fool.’ His face sobered. ‘You will need her as an ally rather than as an enemy. On another note, while we are together in public, we must not take chances.’

  She refused to think about his words—while we are together. He had played this sort of game before, but she was a novice. The future was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. She had stopped believing in for ever a long time ago.

  ‘I know.’ She moved closer to him. Her hand touched the broad cloth of his coat. ‘But...’ she stood on her tiptoes and brushed his lips ‘...I understand the rules, perfectly.’

  He put his hands on her upper arms and held her from him. He searched her face. ‘Why are you doing this? Is it because you want me or because you want to get back at some man who has been dead for seven years?’

  ‘It is because I want you. What I might have felt for Charles vanished years ago. I am tired of living in fear. I want my life back.’

  He lowered his mouth and drank from her lips. The kiss teased her senses and increased in urgency. Hattie twined her arms about his neck and pulled him closer. Her body arched towards his.

  It was as if she had been encased in ice and his breath was setting her free. She mimicked his actions and slipped her tongue into his mouth, revelling in her new-found power.

  His hands roamed down her body, arms, shoulders, sides. The light touch sent a series of tremors coursing through her body. He stilled when his hand reached her bottom.

  ‘What are you wearing under that dress?’ he rasped.

  ‘Nothing. I came dressed for seduction.’

  He gave a husky laugh and pulled her closer, leaving her in no doubt of his approval. ‘Once you make up your mind, you are very determined.’

  ‘I like to think it is a good trait.’ She reached up and brought his head back down to her lips. ‘I hope you think so, too.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  They stood there, kissing until Kit gently eased her back into the shadows of the summer house. She saw he’d brought a blanket and pillows. In the corner sat a basket full of food and wine.

  ‘I also wanted to be prepared.’ His breath caressed her ear. ‘Food or passion first?’

  ‘What do you think?’ She brushed her lips against his. A liquid heat bubbled up within her. ‘But why the pillows?’

  ‘The hard ground does nothing except give one backache. This is about pleasure rather than discovering muscles you didn’t know you had.’

  She mutely nodded. A reminder, if she needed it, that he was used to trysts of this nature whereas she was a mere beginner. Above all things she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  ‘My ignorance is astonishing.’

  ‘You are doing fine.’ He kissed her temple. ‘More than fine. Go with your instincts.’

  ‘I feel awkward,’ she admitted.

  ‘May I?’ he asked and gently took the hairpins out of her hair, allowing the mass of unruly curls to fall down about her shoulders. ‘I have wanted to see it loose.’

  ‘I normally wear it in braids because otherwise it goes wild.’ Her voice sounded husky and thick.

  ‘It is very passionate hair. It has a mind of its own.’ He ran his hands through it, winding it about his hands. ‘So many different colours.’

  He pulled her to him and recaptured her mouth. His tongue played with hers, twisting and tangling. The fire in her belly grew more urgent. Her body moved against his, seeking his. She moaned in the back of
her throat. Give in to your instinct, he’d said, and her entire being screamed that she wanted to touch his skin. Her fingers worked his neckcloth, revealing the strong column of his throat. She touched her lips to the base of his throat and felt his heart thrumming.

  She pushed at his coat, wanting to see more and hoping that he’d understand. He gave a soft laugh and divested himself of his coat, waistcoat, shirt and trousers until he stood before her, naked. His skin gleamed golden in the afternoon light. A sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest with a line leading down to his erection. Firm. Rigid. Visible proof if she needed it that he wanted her. A primitive hunger surged through her.

  She reached out and touched his warm chest, felt the nipples pucker beneath her fingertips.

  ‘Can I see what lies underneath?’ he asked, and at her wordless nod, quickly removed her dress.

  She stood before him, dressed only in her stockings, garters and dancing slippers. She stepped out of the shoes and resisted the temptation to cover her nakedness. His appreciative gaze roamed over her. Slowly he reached forwards and undid one garter and then the other. With infinite patience he rolled the stockings down. She sank down to the blanket before her knees gave way. He removed the stockings, rubbing the base of her foot with his knuckle, sending ripples of pleasure cascading through her. Then he positioned himself between her legs, looming over.

  He reached out his forefinger and traced a circle around the dusky rose of her nipple. ‘Exquisite.’

  Where his finger went, his mouth swiftly followed. He captured one nipple, suckled, released and took the other one in his mouth. Her back arched upwards. She dug her hands into his thick crisp hair, holding him there.

  He moved his hands downwards, sliding them over her curves until they reached her nest of curls. There, he slipped a finger into her folds, seeking her innermost centre.

  She gasped as his finger found the hardened nub. No one had ever touched her that intimately before. Always she had stayed rigid, afraid to move, but the liquid heat which filled her made that idea impossible. Her back arched upwards, inviting his fingers to probe deeper.