Regency Bride: Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match / An Ideal Husband?

‘There are some Roman remains just to the north of the inn. We could walk there.’ Her long lashes fluttered down, hiding her expressive eyes. ‘It is possible they had a fair. I’ve never really considered it.’

The tension went out of Kit’s shoulders. Virtue radiated from every pore. He could end the flirtation there. Something simple and it would be over. It was better to be done now, than to risk liking Mrs Wilkinson. They had no future. She’d never agree to an affair and he had no wish to become respectable.

The thought sent a pang of unaccustomed melancholy through him.

‘The perfect destination for an afternoon stroll.’ He made a bow. ‘If you are up for exploration and exercise …’

Mrs Wilkinson stood up and shook her skirts. Her carefully arranged crown of braids slipped to one side. With a laugh she brushed the grass stains from her skirt.

He considered his last three mistresses, all high-stepping courtesans, and if they would have reacted so favourably to a picnic or to eating strawberries or, worse, having any of their immaculate clothes soiled. The thought of the hysteria, shrieks and sulks which would have ensued made him shudder.

‘Shall we all go and explore? Mrs Hampstead and I will take the rearguard while you and Rupert …’

‘I do believe Mr Hook can stay with me,’ Mrs Hampstead said, looking up from her knitting.

‘But why?’ Hattie tapped her fingers together. ‘I can remember you always proclaiming about the virtues of a walk.’

‘I wish to find out about newts and I have seen enough stone to last me a lifetime. Why a bunch of old stones provides such amusement I’ll never know. But I know all about you and your walking, Miss Hattie. You were never able to sit still as a girl and you’ve never changed,’ Mrs Hampstead said with a placid smile. ‘Walk off your energy with Sir Christopher. You are a grown woman, not an impetuous girl of sixteen. I trust your judgement, even if you don’t.’

Rupert turned a dull purple and swallowed rapidly. ‘I’m sure you will find the subject quite dull, Mrs Hampstead. That is to say—a walk will do everyone some good.’

‘Not at all. It will do my bones no good to go clambering over rocks and stones.’ Mrs Hampstead patted a place beside her. It amused Kit that so many people in Mrs Wilkinson’s life seemed to think a bit of romance would do her good. ‘I have an enquiring mind and Miss Parteger came over yesterday to specifically ask about the subject. She assures me that you are a great authority. You are going to give a lecture in Corbridge and she plans to sit in the front row listening.’

‘Miss Parteger said that? She plans to?’ Rupert dropped the book and the page flopped open to lesser spotted newts and their habits. He hurriedly shut it and his face grew even redder. ‘Of course the lecture was pure speculation on her mother’s part … I mean, if called upon, I will be delighted to lecture. I believe I can give a convincing lecture … on newts.’

‘It is good to see that you are willing to rise to the challenge, Rupert,’ Kit said, looking at his protégé. Rupert was learning to honour his commitments and hopefully to think carefully before laying claim to any prowess again. He would repay his debt to Rupert’s father.

Rupert ducked his head. ‘I would endeavour to do my best.’

‘Practice always makes perfect.’ Mrs Hampstead fluffed out her skirts. ‘Mr Hook, I’ve waited a long time to hear about such things and I trust you will oblige me.’

‘You will have to imagine the illustrations.’

‘I have an adequate imagination.’ Mrs Hampstead reached for another ball of wool. ‘I told Dr Hornby that last year when he did his lecture on battles in the Bible. My imagination is more than adequate for the task required. What are you two waiting for? Go and enjoy yourselves.’

Kit exchanged an amused glance with Mrs Wilkinson. She gave a little shrug as if to say she knew about the stratagem.

‘Shall we leave Mrs Hampstead and Rupert to their discussion? I fear I don’t find newts as fascinating as Rupert currently does.’

‘I’m sure Moth would enjoy the exercise,’ Mrs Wilkinson said, snapping her fingers towards where Moth lounged in the sun.

‘I believe Moth would like to stay as well. The summer sun is a bit hot for her.’ Mrs Hampstead gave Hattie a significant glance. ‘You can tell us all about the ruins when you return. Take your time, my dear. We will be here when you return.’

Hattie concentrated on smiling sweetly rather than screaming. The disease of matchmaking appeared to be highly contagious. First her sister, and now Mrs Hampstead felt she should be encouraging Kit with a view towards matrimony. She shook her head. The man had dodged more marriage traps than most. Besides, he was a person to be enjoyed, rather than to lose one’s heart to.

A walk alone with Kit—the very prospect was enough to set her nerves jangling like some young débutante’s.

There again, sitting in the blanket, gazing at his regular features and listening to his voice rumble over her had done nothing towards eliminating the attraction she felt for him. Familiarity was supposed to breed contempt … when in this case all it bred was the desire to be kissed. She clenched her fists.

She refused to start believing in romance again. It led straight to heartache.

Hattie picked up her parasol and hoped that Kit would not see her heightened colour and attribute it to the wrong reason. ‘A walk will be just the thing.’

‘You obviously haven’t informed your housekeeper about our arrangement,’ Kit observed when they reached the small pile of stones which marked the remains of Portgate.

Hattie stumbled over a stone. They had covered the ground between the picnic and the ruins in silence. She’d kept thinking up topics for conversation and rejecting them as unsuitable. She’d finally settled on the weather when, without warning, he mentioned the very topic she wished to avoid—the blatant attempts at matchmaking.

‘What sort of arrangement do you mean?’ she asked, attempting to stay upright.

‘Our friendship. Or is everyone chronically addicted to matchmaking in Northumberland?’

‘In my defence, I tried to warn you.’

‘Surely you confided in someone about this? Women always confide in their female friends.’

She glanced upwards to see how he felt about it, but the planes of his face gave no clue. Her heart sank. Of course, he could scent matchmaking wiles. Such men always could.

Her grip on the parasol tightened.

‘Mrs Hampstead used to be Stephanie’s nurse as well as mine. They remain close. If I want to fool my sister, I can hardly confess to Mrs Hampstead. You do understand my reasoning, don’t you?’

‘Perfectly.’

Hattie shook her head. Even the thought made her blood run cold—confiding in Mrs Hampstead. The fewer people who knew about her arrangement with Kit, the better.

‘All I can do is to apologise.’

His eyes widened. ‘Why apologise? None of it was your doing. And I do think I am old enough to see through a simple matchmaking stratagem. I’d have hardly remained single for this long if I didn’t. It amused me to see it happen. Do you think she will tell your sister?’

‘Yes, of course.’ The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Hattie pulled her bonnet forwards. She hadn’t asked for Livvy to list her shortcomings this morning—passable figure, too long of a nose and far too inclined towards sarcasm. And she failed to smile enough.

‘All we are doing is going for a walk, Hattie. Relax and enjoy the moment. Nothing untoward will happen. Nothing to cause adverse comment.’

Hattie hated the butterflies which had started beating in her stomach and the way her jaw hurt from trying to keep a smile. This going for a walk alone was a poor idea.

If anything it emphasised that she wanted to be with him as more than a friend. She liked thinking of herself as independent and not needing a man, but right now all she could think about was how alone she was and how his arms felt when they waltzed.

‘It was sweet of Livvy to ask Mrs Hampstead about newts,’ she said, attempting to keep the subject away from the matchmaking scheme.

‘Rupert is learning a valuable lesson in the folly of trying to please people.’

‘Please people?’ Hattie stopped beside a large pile of stones. ‘It certainly backfired on him. Livvy still likes his well-turned calf muscles, but if his object was to impress her mother, he singularly failed. He is about to endure a baptism of fire. They still speak about the great Hollingbrooke disaster from ‘98 when Mr Hollingbrooke tried to give a lecture on the history of lime kilns and people began to throw rotten fruit.’

He reached out and caught her elbow. ‘Hattie.’

‘We have exhausted the subject, yes, I know.’ Hattie gulped air. She babbled when she was nervous and today was no exception. ‘You have no interest in the great Hollingbrooke disaster and it was wrong of me to bring it up.’

‘Hattie,’ he said again. He stood looking at her with his top hat pushed back, giving him a rakish look. ‘I didn’t go on this picnic to discuss my godson or his prospects. I came because—’

‘We don’t need to discuss why,’ Hattie broke in before he could finish. The last thing she wanted to hear was his proposal for confounding the matchmakers. She needed to end this now, before she started to enjoy his company. She refused to go back to that naïve girl whom Charles had taken advantage of. ‘When we return to the picnic, it will appear that we had a quarrel. The nature of said quarrel will be highly trivial, but on an important point of principle. I will inform my sister that we will have fallen out of civility with each other. After that we become civil but distant acquaintances. The only thing I need from you is to decide how long we stay out here. I’m sorry if my words are blunt, but there you have it.’

She waited for him to agree. Or to at least comment on her rudeness. The solution had come to her in the middle of the night, when she had awoken from a dream about his mouth against hers.

‘Hattie.’ He took a step closer. She became aware of his elusive scent and the way his stock was intricately tied. It was one thing to make plans to counter a dream Kit and another to be confronted with the living and breathing man.

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.