Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Relax,’ he breathed into her ear.

  ‘I’m trying not to move,’ she cried in desperation. ‘It is the correct way to behave.’

  He gave a husky laugh. ‘I want you to move. I want you to enjoy this. Stop thinking. Listen to your body. Touch me. Here.’

  She reached out her hand and ran it down the planes of his chest, following the line of hair until she encountered his arousal. Hot. Velvet smooth, but hard. Her hand closed around it as his fingers slid in a figure eight in her folds. Wave after wave of heat washed over her.

  ‘Lie back. Enjoy.’ His rich voice rippled through her.

  Her hands grasped his shoulders, tugging, hoping he’d understand her wordless plea.

  Slowly, slowly he wedged her thighs wide. The tip of him nudged her inner core. At her nod he drove himself forwards, impaling her willing flesh.

  Her body opened and swallowed the entire length of him.

  He lay there, joined and unmoving. He looked down at her and smoothed a tendril of hair from her forehead. He lowered his mouth to hers. His tongue penetrated, demanding a response as it teased and provoked. Her hips began to move, seeking relief from the increasing need that welled up in her. He responded, withdrawing and then driving deeper.

  Then the world burst around her and he caught her cries in his mouth.

  As she floated back down to earth, she stroked his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  She moved her hips slightly and felt him respond deep within her. No one had told her that being wicked could feel this good. She wanted it to continue. She wanted to make a memory and keep it with her for ever.

  ‘Shall we try it again?’ she whispered, ignoring the faint prickle of worry that this could not last.

  Chapter Ten

  A cold wet nose snuffled into Kit’s shoulder, waking him from a sound sleep. He started, turned his head and saw Moth’s brown eyes peering at him and

  Hattie. The summer house had sunk deep into twilight’s shadow. Hattie’s bottom curved into him and her hair spilled out across the both of them. Kit found it difficult to remember the last time he had felt this contented or relaxed.

  Normally after a spot of bed-sport, he was full of energy and found the first excuse he could to leave. This time, he’d stayed, fallen asleep and now they had to face the possibility of discovery. And it was his responsibility.

  ‘Harriet,’ Kit murmured, his breath caressing her ear. The last thing he wanted was her to be startled and scream. ‘Moth’s here.’

  Hattie mumbled slightly in her sleep, pushing him away. They had made love twice more after the first time. Her passion and inventiveness had surprised and delighted him. One time was not nearly enough. He wanted to explore her hidden depths. He wanted to catch her cry in his throat as she trembled on the brink of passion. And now she slept.

  Moth sat down and gave a sharp bark before licking Kit’s shoulder. There was an urgency to the little dog’s movements.

  ‘I understand, Moth. We have to move. Your mistress needs the veil of propriety.’

  He shook Hattie’s shoulder. Harder. ‘Hattie. Time to wake up.’

  Her eyes blinked open. He smiled down at her and she jumped. Startled. Kit clasped his hand over her mouth, stifling the cry.

  ‘Quiet now.’

  She gave a brief nod and he removed his hand.

  ‘It wasn’t a dream?’

  ‘No dream. A much-desired reality.’

  She sat up, moving away from the safety of his arms. Her blonde hair fell wildly about her shoulders, providing a soft veil over her chest. She wrapped her arms about her waist and turned her back towards him.

  ‘It was wrong of me to fall asleep.’

  ‘It happened.’

  Moth immediately went to her and rubbed her head against Hattie. ‘I didn’t mean to sleep. I only intended to close my eyes for a moment.’

  ‘Now Moth is here. Will anyone else be looking for you?’ Kit pulled his trousers on and reached for his shirt, trying not to think about the consequences if they were caught. He would have to do the decent thing, but right now he prayed to anyone who might be listening that it would not happen.

  ‘She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not for a long while. Mrs Hampstead was going to stay at Stephanie’s for a couple of hours.’ Hattie scooped the little dog up and held her against her chest. Moth endured it with a scrunched-up face before wriggling to escape. ‘I only meant to close my eyes for a moment. I must have drifted off. Goodness, how long were we there?’

  ‘It happens after vigorous activity.’

  ‘That is one explanation. How...how long did we sleep?’

  He gestured towards the garden where the shadows were deep, but the darkness had not really begun. The last rays of the sun remained red-orange. ‘It remains twilight. Barely any time.’

  ‘Twilight comes much later in Northumberland. At this time of year, it never gets properly dark.’ She stuffed her fist into her mouth. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘It is up to you. Your house. Your rules. Panic never solves anything. Keep a cool head.’

  He reached down and retrieved the crumpled gown from where he’d tossed it earlier and handed it to her. She wrinkled her nose as she examined the now highly creased gown.

  ‘It looks precisely like what has happened to it.’

  ‘It could be worse. It isn’t grass-stained or torn,’ he said, trying to be encouraging. ‘Will Mrs Hampstead come out into the garden, looking for you?’

  She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I hadn’t considered it. I told Mrs Hampstead that I might take a turn about the garden before bed. It will have to do as an excuse. Do you think she will accept the excuse?’

  ‘It happened.’ Kit caught Hattie’s elbow and turned her towards him. Her eyes were wide with fright and panic. He gently lifted her chin so he was looking directly at her. ‘I’m glad it did. It was delightful to wake up in your arms.’

  She turned rosy in the dying sun. It pleased Kit that even after everything they had done, she remained innocent.

  Her frantic hands tried to twist up her hair and singularly failed. ‘Thankfully it was only Moth. I suspect Mrs Hampstead would have fainted. And it doesn’t bear thinking about if it was Portia or Stephanie. I meant what I said, Kit. I have no plans to marry again. This must be a summer romance.’

  Kit experienced an unexpected pang of regret that it was not either of them. It would have solved a problem. He knew with Hattie that he would do the honourable thing, if it came to it. It surprised and slightly unnerved him. He had never experienced regret like that before.

  Kit pushed the thought away immediately.

  He had no need of a wife, even one like Hattie. He had to keep perspective. Like him, she had no desire to stick her head in the parson’s noose. Their affair would last for the summer, no longer.

  He was in no hurry for autumn, but some day Hattie would get possessive and throw a tantrum as so many of his mistresses had done before he’d learnt. Time limits at the start saved heartache at the end.

  Far better to cause a little hurt than to experience the great searing pain of one’s heart breaking or having her discover that he was actually like his father—cruel and unlovable.

  ‘Until the summer’s end, then,’ he remarked when he was certain he had his feelings under control. ‘Unless you have regrets?’

  ‘It is far too late for regrets. Far too late.’

  He released his breath. ‘You can only regret things you haven’t done.’

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, her hands pausing in their task. It was all Kit could do to keep from hauling her back into his arms. Instead he bent and picked up several of the scattered hairpins and held them out to her. She smiled her thanks.

  ‘And I enjoyed myself far too much,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever happens, thank you for that. I thought it was me, but it wasn’t. I know now why people are so fond of the act.’

  ‘The person matters
more than the act.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that.’

  He reached out and straightened the folds of her gown. Once again she appeared prim and proper, reminding him of the night they had first encountered each other. He had what he wanted from her then, but it did not matter. This was not about teaching her a lesson in love. He desired her and her alone.

  ‘You look well kissed,’ he said, lightly touching her cheek.

  She dipped her head. ‘I shall take that as a compliment. But Mrs Hampstead will refrain from enquiring. I will tell her that I was gathering late roses and dropped off in the summer house.’

  ‘Second thoughts? I thought you were determined to carve a new life for yourself.’

  She worried her bottom lip. ‘Because it is far too new and I have no wish for speculation. I’ve no wish to force you to do something you might regret.’

  ‘Allow me to look after myself.’

  ‘I knew I could count on you.’ She gave a few final twists to her hair and patted the side of her gown, signalling to Moth to follow. ‘Until the next time, Kit.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ Kit knew that any further meeting had to come from her. If he pursued, it would look like he cared. And he wasn’t ready for that. ‘And, Harriet...?’

  ‘Yes, Kit?’

  He smiled at her, enjoying the way her gown accentuated her curves. ‘Make it soon.’

  ‘I will try my level best.’

  She clicked her fingers and Moth trotted along behind her. Kit watched until she had gone into the house and lit a lamp in the drawing room. He saw her speaking to Mrs Hampstead and laughing. She was safely back in her world without a stain on her character. He’d kept his word.

  Kit leant against the doorway and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  ‘I wish you had come to dinner at the Dents. Doctor Hornby was there and everyone wanted to hear about your exploits. You are quite the heroine,’ Stephanie said when Hattie stopped by Highfield the next morning.

  In the depth of the night, Hattie had resolved to continue about her routine as if nothing had happened. She had determined that today would be making jam and doing things about the still room. She found making the preserves, flavoured vinegars and chutneys ultimately satisfying. She had discovered a real talent for the enterprise when she came up to Northumberland. Her elderflower cordial might be prone to exploding, but she knew her damson gin was some of the best in the county.

  Above all, she wanted to avoid visiting, in particular seeing Mrs Reynaud. If anyone was going to guess about the affair, Mrs Reynaud was the most likely candidate. Her eyes were so sharp. She’d even guessed about the kiss at the Roman ruins. And everything was far too new and precious. Hattie needed to decide if she wanted anyone else to know, but for now she wanted to hug the news to her chest like some glorious secret.

  ‘I take it that Sir Christopher and Mr Hook were absent?’

  ‘Obviously.’ Stephanie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘A fight like that is not something you simply get up and walk away from. Mrs Dent agrees that you were reckless, but did what you did out of pure Christian spirit. If your reputation wasn’t so spotless, questions might be asked, but you have been on the shelf for so long, there is little danger of anything untoward happening.’

  ‘I don’t very much care what Mrs Dent thinks.’ Hattie

  crossed her arms. On the shelf, indeed! ‘She has a mouth like the Tyne and speaks before she thinks.’

  ‘Hattie, what has got into you today?’ Stephanie frowned. ‘You are not usually rude. Of course you care about what Mrs Dent thinks. She is our close neighbour and a powerful force in Tyne Valley society.’

  ‘She is looking to marry off her eldest daughter.’

  ‘Livvy is more than a match for her.’ Stephanie tapped a forefinger against her mouth. ‘Come to think of it, Mrs Dent was awfully curious about Mr Hook and his habits. She has heard about the proposed lecture.’

  ‘I thought you were not interested in Mr Hook for Livvy. Livvy must have a title and all that.’

  ‘Mr Hook has asked Mr Parteger if he will help with the final preparation. Mr Parteger is reluctant. There is no good encouraging him, Mr Parteger says, as there is no title.’

  Hattie leant forwards. She had been racking her brain all morning as she picked strawberries about how she could go about contacting Kit and the answer lay before her—the lecture preparations. ‘But it was your scheme.’

  Stephanie heaved a long drawn-out sigh. ‘I swear my husband does not appreciate any of my schemes. I have had to ask the Colonel.’

  Hattie glanced over to the firmly closed library door. ‘I believe he likes a bit of peace, Stephanie. He doesn’t see the same urgency as you and he has never been terribly social.’

  ‘You know I was pregnant with Livvy when I was just a bit older than her. It scarcely seems possible.’ Stephanie put her hand on her stomach. Her face crumpled. A single tear ran down her cheek.

  ‘What is wrong, Stephanie? You are practically in tears.’ Hattie covered Stephanie’s hand with hers. ‘Was Harold cruel? He doesn’t mean to be cutting. He does want the best for Livvy.’

  ‘I fear it might be happening again. I have been ill every morning for the last week. If it had not been for the fair, I’d have stayed in bed, but someone had to support dear Mr Parteger. He expects me to be there for him on that day of all days. Then you went and recklessly endangered your reputation with rescuing Sir Christopher after that dreadful fight where you needlessly exposed yourself. No one cares about my nerves.’

  Hattie closed her eyes. Stephanie pregnant. Again. She had half-hoped to suggest to Kit that they travel or arrange to meet abroad. And she’d even toyed with going down to London next spring for the entire Season...if their affair lasted that long. However, if Stephanie was pregnant, it would mean a baby in the late spring, and she knew how much Stephanie counted on her help.

  ‘We shall cross that bridge when it comes.’

  ‘But Livvy and her Season. It has been promised. Livvy is over the moon with excitement.’ Stephanie dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes and gave a rather pathetic sniff. ‘I will need you here. No one understands me and my babies like you do. But I dislike the thought of Livvy being without support and guidance.’

  ‘I could go.’

  ‘Of course you could go, Livvy respects your opinion, more than mine. But...how am I going to run the house? You are my sister and the only person that Harold truly tolerates.’

  Hattie sighed. She knew that she had to stay, if only to ensure her brother-in-law’s sanity. It did make things easier. If Kit asked, she’d explain. And if he didn’t, she was safe in the knowledge that she could not have gone anyway. She curled her fists.

  ‘Mrs Hampstead could stay with you. She is far more useful than I on such matters,’ Hattie said more in hope than expectation. The colour drained from Stephanie’s face. ‘But Joyce should be willing to sponsor Livvy. Livvy and Joyce’s eldest niece are close in age. It will give her someone to have as a friend. These affairs can be awfully daunting if you have to go alone.’

  Instantly Stephanie’s countenance cleared. ‘You are right of course. It is about time our sister-in-law did something for this family. It is not as if they are troubled by us much.’

  Hattie squeezed Stephanie’s hand. Remorse washed over her. Stephanie always dreadfully suffered in the first few months of a pregnancy. What she was asking was not too difficult. It was simply that for once she wanted a little time to live her own life. She pushed the thought away.

  ‘You must concentrate on the new life. I will make sure everything runs smoothly.’

  ‘You are so good to me, Hattie. I couldn’t ask for a better sister.’

  ‘I try.’ Hattie nodded towards where the baskets of strawberries stood. ‘I have an appointment in the still room. It is that time of the year. Jams, jellies, tinctures and a wide variety of gins await preparation. It gives me an outlet for my energy.’

  Stephanie pu
t her handkerchief to her face. ‘I can’t bear the thought of the jam bubbling, particularly not now.’

  ‘You always did prefer the eating of jam to the making of it.’

  Stephanie had the grace to blush.

  * * *

  Kit rode his new stallion, Onyx, hard. He enjoyed the freedom and excercise after weeks of inactivity.

  When he woke up this morning with the memory of Hattie’s mouth moving under his, he resolved that he’d stay away for a little while. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in her life or for her to start to depend on him. He knew what women could be like. The rules of engagement were strict and developed after years of practice.

  He reached the ridge above Pearl Cottage. He looked down at the little house with its curl of smoke. Something struck in the gut. His tenant, Mrs Reynaud,

  was down there in that cottage but her identity remained a mystery.

  He had spent the majority of the day going through his uncle’s papers while he tried not to think about Hattie and what she might be doing. As he suspected, the woman who had rented the cottage did not go by the name of Reynaud, but another name altogether: Smith. The tenancy agreement was odd to say the least and his uncle had ensured that Mrs Smith could never be thrown out of the cottage. According to his estate manager, the quarterly rent was always paid on time from a London bank. His Uncle John had overseen the details personally.

  Kit bent down and patted Onyx’s neck. The horse blew out his breath.

  ‘Who is she, Onyx? And why did my uncle let the house to her in that fashion? What was she to him? A mistress? A former love?’

  Onyx pawed the ground and tossed his head.

  It would be easy to turn the horse’s head towards the cottage and visit. He just couldn’t shake the suspicion that this woman might be his mother—hidden away from her shame by his kindly uncle for all these years. He wasn’t at all sure what he felt, but as he watched the door a bent figure came out. Nothing. She was too far away. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure his mother’s features. They were a blur, an impression