frame. ‘Not so fast. We have an altogether different agreement.’
She tugged slightly, but he failed to release her.
‘Have you gone mad? What in the name of everything holy are you doing?’ she said in a furious undertone. ‘All I wanted to do was to rescue Livvy from your godson. Nothing more.’
‘You promised me the next dance, Mrs Wilkinson. A German waltz is the next dance.’ He tightened his grip, sliding it down her arm until her hand was captured. He raised it to his lips. ‘I hope you are the sort of woman who keeps her promises.’
Hattie hated the way his velvet voice slid over her skin, tempting her to flirt with him. Her traitorous body wanted to be held in his arms. But that would lead to heartbreak. She’d sworn off such men for ever. She concentrated on all the gossip about him—the women, the duels and the gaming—but her body stubbornly remained aware of him and the way his fingers held her wrist.
‘I implied, rather than specifically promised. There is a difference,’ she said, looking him directly in the eyes. ‘You of all people should know the difference.’
‘An implied promise remains a promise.’ His full lips turned upwards. ‘Consider what might have been, Mrs Wilkinson, before you reject me entirely.’
Hattie studied the wooden floor, scuffed with the marks of a hundred dancing slippers, and concentrated on breathing steadily. Her entire being longed to say yes. Charm, that’s all it was, just as it had been with Charles. Once she allowed herself to be swayed, she’d lose everything.
‘I suspect you say that to everyone.’ She gave a light laugh and her pulse started beating normally again. ‘You’ve never seen me waltz.’
‘Ah, you don’t know how to waltz. You should have said rather than stooping to subterfuge.’
‘Waltzing reached Northumberland several years ago.’ Hattie put her hand on her hip. Talk about assumptions. Did she really look like a frumpy wallflower? When had that happened? ‘I can and do waltz when the occasion demands. I simply prefer not to waltz right now.’
‘Unfortunately, we can’t always get what we want, Mrs Wilkinson. Here all I had intended to do was to dance with you. However, if you insist, we shall have a flirtation in the garden. My late uncle always said that northern women were bold, but until I met you, I had no idea.’
‘Do such remarks cause the ladies in London to swoon at your feet? Up here, you are more likely to get a slapped face.’
‘It is one of my more endearing traits. Impossible, but with a modicum of wit,’ he said, giving her a hooded look. ‘But will the lady waltz? Or is she a coward with two left feet?’
‘I’ll waltz with you, if only to prove you wrong about my dancing ability,’ Hattie ground out.
‘Hand on my shoulder now and we shall begin.’ His tone became rich velvet which slid over her skin. ‘I promise you a dance to remember.’
‘Are you a dancing master now? Is there no end to your many talents?’
‘I endeavour to give satisfaction, particularly to the ladies.’
‘Proprieties will be observed, Sir Christopher.’
‘Did I suggest otherwise?’ Kit stopped. The instant his hand had encountered hers, he’d felt an unexpected and searing tug of attraction. For over a year, he hadn’t felt any attraction and suddenly this. Why her? Why this widow with an over-developed sense of propriety and hideous hairstyle? He had made it a policy not to be attracted to respectable women ever since Brighton.
‘I’m pleased we hold the same view.’
‘What can I ever have done to result in your censure?’ he murmured, slightly adjusting his hand so it fit more snugly on her slender waist. Kit gave an inward smile as they circled the room. Mrs Wilkinson’s lesson was proving more enjoyable than he first considered. He inched his hand lower. She gave him a freezing look and he returned to the proper hold.
‘Your reputation preceded you, Sir Christopher.’
Kit could easily imagine what the village gossips were saying about him and his wicked past. There had been a time when he hadn’t cared or appreciated what life could offer. He had gambled and whored with the best of them. He fought bad men with his bare hands. All that had ended a year ago when his best friend gave up his life for him and he’d become one of the walking dead.
‘You have been listening to common tittle-tattle. That should be beneath you,’ he said.
She tilted her head to one side and gave an unrepentant smile. ‘When someone as notorious as you comes from London, his antecedents are discussed. It is the way of the world. Mr Hook is your protégé. He follows your methods, but fortunately for my niece, I happened along rather than one of the Tyne Valley gossips. Olivia will not suffer the fate of so many of your women.’
A blaze of anger went through Kit. She’d judged not only him, but also Rupert, on the basis of a few pieces of tittle-tattle. He renewed his determination to ensure that a full and complete flirtation happened. ‘I’m no saint, Mrs Wilkinson, but neither am I a black-hearted villain. I have never ruined a débutante or indeed participated in the ruining of a débutante. Neither have I ever seduced a woman from her children or her husband. It is against my creed.’
‘But they said … I’m sure … the stories …’
‘Yes, I know the stories, but more importantly I know the truth. Do you? Have you ever been misjudged?’
She dipped her head, showing her intricately braided hair. Only the smallest curl dared escape. ‘Perhaps I have been over-hasty in my judgement. I will accept your word that you would have said something if I had failed to come into the card room. And I’m wrong to punish you for another’s actions.’
‘Apology accepted. Shall we start again and endeavour to enjoy the dance?’
He pulled her waist closer to his body so that her skirt brushed his legs. Her hand tightened about his. His breath caressed the delicate curve of her shell-like ear. Her shoulder trembled under his fingers. He smiled inwardly. A little romance always brightened everyone’s life. He looked forward to discovering Mrs Wilkinson’s hidden depths.
‘Will you give me a chance to prove the gossips wrong?’ Kit asked quietly. ‘Will you dance with me again or, better still, take a turn about the garden where I can plead my case?’
He waited for her breathless agreement.
‘This is where the dance ends,’ she said in a voice that left no room for dissent. She gave a small curtsy. ‘We would hardly wish to cause a scandal. We are only strangers after all.’
‘I must become a friend and discover what sort of scandal you have in mind,’ Kit murmured. ‘Be reckless. Further our acquaintance. You intrigue me.’
‘One dance will have to satisfy you, Sir Christopher.’ She stepped out of his arms. ‘I bid you goodnight.’
She strode away, her hips agreeably swaying and her back twitching. Kit frowned. He had nearly begged for her favour. He never begged. His skills were rusty.
He patted his pocket where
