Regency Bride. Michelle Styles

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