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
