Regency Bride. Michelle Styles

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.

      ‘Mrs Parteger required urgent advice about Mr Hook and her eldest.’ Mrs Reynaud narrowed her eyes. ‘I believe you mentioned something about me knowing Sir Christopher …’

      ‘Only in passing.’

      ‘It was many years ago.’ The elderly woman fluttered her hands as two bright spots appeared on her pockmarked cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t want Sir Christopher to feel that I claimed an acquaintance. And I have no knowledge of Mr Hook’s antecedents in any case.’

      ‘Stephanie should never have bothered you with such a trivial matter. I fear she wanted to gossip about the picnic.’ Hattie leant forwards and lowered her voice. ‘No doubt she neglected to mention that Sir Christopher invited the entire family, but she declined, preferring to concentrate on arranging a series of lectures.’

      ‘No, your sister never mentioned that.’ Mrs Reynaud gave a merry trill of laughter. ‘I thought Colonel Cunningham had charge of the lectures this year because it was something your sister loathed. Indeed, we very nearly did not have any lectures last year because your sister forgot.’

      ‘Stephanie changed her mind. She thinks Colonel Cunningham needs some assistance now.’

      Mrs Reynaud’s eyes danced. ‘Fancy forgetting that piece of information about who was originally invited. It puts the invitation in a different