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Moth immediately went to her and rubbed her head against Hattie. ‘I didn’t mean to sleep. I only intended to close my eyes for a moment.’
‘Now Moth is here. Will anyone else be looking for you?’ Kit pulled his trousers on and reached for his shirt, trying not to think about the consequences if they were caught. He would have to do the decent thing, but right now he prayed to anyone who might be listening that it would not happen.
‘She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not for a long while. Mrs Hampstead was going to stay at Stephanie’s for a couple of hours.’ Hattie scooped the little dog up and held her against her chest. Moth endured it with a scrunched-up face before wriggling to escape. ‘I only meant to close my eyes for a moment. I must have drifted off. Goodness, how long were we there?’
‘It happens after vigorous activity.’
‘That is one explanation. How...how long did we sleep?’
He gestured towards the garden where the shadows were deep, but the darkness had not really begun. The last rays of the sun remained red-orange. ‘It remains twilight. Barely any time.’
‘Twilight comes much later in Northumberland. At this time of year, it never gets properly dark.’ She stuffed her fist into her mouth. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘It is up to you. Your house. Your rules. Panic never solves anything. Keep a cool head.’
He reached down and retrieved the crumpled gown from where he’d tossed it earlier and handed it to her. She wrinkled her nose as she examined the now highly creased gown.
‘It looks precisely like what has happened to it.’
‘It could be worse. It isn’t grass-stained or torn,’ he said, trying to be encouraging. ‘Will Mrs Hampstead come out into the garden, looking for you?’
She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I hadn’t considered it. I told Mrs Hampstead that I might take a turn about the garden before bed. It will have to do as an excuse. Do you think she will accept the excuse?’
‘It happened.’ Kit caught Hattie’s elbow and turned her towards him. Her eyes were wide with fright and panic. He gently lifted her chin so he was looking directly at her. ‘I’m glad it did. It was delightful to wake up in your arms.’
She turned rosy in the dying sun. It pleased Kit that even after everything they had done, she remained innocent.
Her frantic hands tried to twist up her hair and singularly failed. ‘Thankfully it was only Moth. I suspect Mrs Hampstead would have fainted. And it doesn’t bear thinking about if it was Portia or Stephanie. I meant what I said, Kit. I have no plans to marry again. This must be a summer romance.’
Kit experienced an unexpected pang of regret that it was not either of them. It would have solved a problem. He knew with Hattie that he would do the honourable thing, if it came to it. It surprised and slightly unnerved him. He had never experienced regret like that before.
Kit pushed the thought away immediately.
He had no need of a wife, even one like Hattie. He had to keep perspective. Like him, she had no desire to stick her head in the parson’s noose. Their affair would last for the summer, no longer.
He was in no hurry for autumn, but some day Hattie would get possessive and throw a tantrum as so many of his mistresses had done before he’d learnt. Time limits at the start saved heartache at the end.
Far better to cause a little hurt than to experience the great searing pain of one’s heart breaking or having her discover that he was actually like his father—cruel and unlovable.
‘Until the summer’s end, then,’ he remarked when he was certain he had his feelings under control. ‘Unless you have regrets?’
‘It is far too late for regrets. Far too late.’
He released his breath. ‘You can only regret things you haven’t done.’
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her hands pausing in their task. It was all Kit could do to keep from hauling her back into his arms. Instead he bent and picked up several of the scattered hairpins and held them out to her. She smiled her thanks.
‘And I enjoyed myself far too much,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever happens, thank you for that. I thought it was me, but it wasn’t. I know now why people are so fond of the act.’
‘The person matters more than the act.’
‘Thank you for saying that.’
He reached out and straightened the folds of her gown. Once again she appeared prim and proper, reminding him of the night they had first encountered each other. He had what he wanted from her then, but it did not matter. This was not about teaching her a lesson in love. He desired her and her alone.
