Regency Bride: Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match / An Ideal Husband?. Michelle Styles
Читать онлайн книгу.
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!’
‘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?’