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Mrs Reynaud tilted her head. Her sharp eyes assessed her. It seemed as if her gaze bore into her soul. Hattie toyed with her pen as her cheeks flamed.
‘He kissed you. More than once, I reckon,’ Mrs Reynaud said in solemn tones. ‘It is far from a crime and occasionally most enjoyable. You were discreet. Yes. Yes, that goes without saying. You are the sort of woman who would be discreet. It was always part of my trouble when I was young and foolish. I forgot to be discreet.’
Hattie put her hand to her throat. How had Mrs Reynaud guessed? Nearly twenty-four hours later, and there should be no mark on her. Hattie glanced down and saw the word kiss, underlined, rather than scratched out. She moved the piece of paper more firmly over the list.
‘We quarrelled. I doubt he will kiss me again. Nor would I wish him to.’ She tilted her chin upwards. ‘I sent him a note explaining the situation. It is impossible. He is impossible.’
‘Why did you do that if you wanted to end it?’
Hattie put her hand on her stomach and concentrated on keeping her shoulders straight. She could hardly explain that she saw herself becoming like the woman whom Charles had loved, living on the margins of society, and for the first time it had tempted her.
‘Because I have Livvy and Portia’s reputation to think about,’ she said firmly. ‘How could they make the matches they need if their aunt is pilloried for being wicked? Sir Christopher does not believe in marriage. His parents had a dreadful one, I believe.’
The colour drained from Mrs Reynaud’s face. ‘He spoke to you about his parents and their marriage?’
‘Only briefly to explain why he intends to remain unwed.’ Hattie resolutely did not look at her list.
‘People should not visit the sins of one generation on the next.’
‘It was a brief interlude and now it is over.’ Hattie walked over to the window and looked out over the garden with its gravel paths and roses. Off to her left, she could just make out Highfield’s chimneys and the great cedar of Lebanon. This was home and safe. She was not prepared to risk her heart again. Charles had seen to that. Life would have been much easier in ways if Kit had been the marrying kind, but he wasn’t. His honesty made her decision easy. ‘I love the girls like my own and I would hate anything I did to ruin their chances of a good marriage.’
Mrs Reynaud made an impatient noise. ‘Stop using them as shields to stop you from living. You are as bad as a foolish débutante who believes that a man’s promise in a summer house offers a life of undying romance.’
‘The heat of the moment overcame me, but I recovered before any real harm was done. He accepted my verdict.’ Hattie pressed her hand into her stomach. Even a day later, the intensity of the final kiss made her senses reel. She had been so close to giving in completely. And she knew the next time she kissed Kit, she’d lack the will-power to stop. A very large part of her had wanted to drown in that kiss and blot out any memory of Charles’s rough love-making. And she worried that it made her very wicked indeed, whatever Mrs Reynaud might say.
‘As you say, it is all over. Then no harm is done.’ Mrs Reynaud came over to her and put her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. ‘In my experience with men like Sir Christopher, they wish to be the one to end things. Formally. Informally is quite another matter.’
‘This time it will be different,’ Hattie said decisively as she gave Mrs Reynaud a copy of the letter. ‘I was very firm and unyielding.’
‘And you are prepared for the consequences, my dear?’ Mrs Reynaud handed the letter back to Hattie. ‘If Sir Christopher is half the man I have heard him to be, he will not give up at the first hurdle. He will see your letter as a challenge, an invitation to raise the stakes.’
‘A challenge?’ A pulse of warmth went through Hattie. ‘You’re wrong. He will see the logic of my argument. After all, it is not as if it were a serious flirtation.’
* * *
Kit tapped the note with his forefinger. The various scrawled words leapt out at him. Faint aromas of Hattie’s jasmine scent permeated the paper and forcibly reminded him of how her lips had yielded. How she had forgot herself and given in to the passion for a moment.
Hattie had put her case for breaking with him in flowery language which did not detail the situation. She regretted that they were incompatible and that the picnic had proved a great trial. From now, they would have to be distant friends.
‘Liar,’ he whispered. ‘All a quarrel means is a chance to become closer. You want this friendship. And I’m going to prove it to you. I do not quit over a simple misunderstanding. Or a baseless fear.’
