Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match
Michelle Styles

WHEN OPPOSITES ATTRACT…! In the eyes of the ton Hattie Wilkinson is a respectable widow, content with her safe, if somewhat modest life. On the other hand Sir Christopher Foxton prides himself on being regarded as one of London’s most notorious rakes, with a particularly mischievous streak!Upon their first meeting Kit threatens to shatter Hattie’s well-ordered peace – and her reputation! – if only she’ll allow herself to succumb to his playful advances. This time they’ve both finally met their match…

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‘You want to be kissed again. Immediately and more thoroughly.’

‘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.’

‘But you do want to be kissed.’ Kit cupped her cheek with firm fingers.

She fought against the impulse to turn her face into his palm.

‘It is in your eyes.’ His thumb traced the outline of her mouth. ‘And your lips.’

He lowered his head. This time his kiss was slow and coaxing.

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.

She allowed herself one more heartbeat of pleasure. She felt ridiculously feminine and pretty—someone to be cherished.

AUTHOR NOTE

On a cold and windswept day in March 2011, I travelled to the University of Birmingham with my daughter. We were early for her visitors’ day, so we went to the Barber Institute of Fine Arts. There in the foyer was a portrait of one of its main benefactors, Martha Constance Hattie Barber, with her dogs.

Instantly and most inconveniently—because I was trying to finish another manuscript—the heroine of this novel, Harriet Wilkinson, popped into my brain and refused to leave. Her appearance was swiftly followed by the hero, who took to whispering in my mind that I really needed to write their story rather than writing the other one. Luckily I have dealt with such characters before, and I promised—as long as I finished the other manuscript first.

They agreed, and I kept my promise. However, immediately I started to turn my attention to them they became coy and refused to tell me their story. I saw the days start to tick by towards my deadline. Was I going to have to abandon them?

Luckily the Hexham Courant happened to run a story about a long-ago incident at the Stagshaw Bank Fair, and I was intrigued to learn that the fair was once the largest one-day fair in Britain and took place every year on 4th July. The fair has since been replaced by the Northumberland County Show, and now takes place on the late May Bank Holiday. But once I had read about the fair I knew I had my story, and thankfully my hero and heroine agreed.

I do hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it—once my two stubborn and self-willed characters began speaking to me!

As ever, I love hearing from readers. You can contact me either by post to Harlequin Mills & Boon, via my website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, or my blog: www.michellestyles.blogspot.com. I am also on Twitter @michelleLstyles, and maintain a Facebook page.

About the Author

Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives.

An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape.

Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.

Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, and a blog: www.michellestyles.blogspot.com. She would be delighted to hear from you.

Previous novels by the same author: THE GLADIATOR’S HONOUR A NOBLE CAPTIVE SOLD AND SEDUCED THE ROMAN’S VIRGIN MISTRESS TAKEN BY THE VIKING A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER (part of Christmas By Candlelight) VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE COMPROMISING MISS MILTON* (#ulink_99a1bfe0-631e-5ec1-bb28-7975023fa648) THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE PRINCESS BREAKING THE GOVERNESS’S RULES* (#ulink_99a1bfe0-631e-5ec1-bb28-7975023fa648) TO MARRY A MATCHMAKER HIS UNSUITABLE VISCOUNTESS

* (#ulink_1cff6c69-73c6-5bdb-b9fa-6ca26e0983b1)linked by character

And in Mills & Boon

Historical Undone!eBooks:

THE PERFECT CONCUBINE

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Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

Michelle Styles

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For Victoria Parker, whose support and enthusiasm

for this story helped so much.

Chapter One

End of June 1816—the Tyne Valley,

Northumberland

A stifled noise, halfway between a giggle and an excited gasp, caused the Honourable Harriet Wilkinson to halt in her march back to the ballroom. Her entire being tensed. She knew what that sound signalled—in Summerfield’s small card room, someone flirted with ruin.

‘None of your business, Hattie Wilkinson,’ she muttered. When had she become a censorious busybody poking her nose into other people’s lives, rather than someone who understood a ball held the possibility of romance? Today was no time to start, and particularly not at a ball to celebrate the first anniversary of Waterloo.

Another trill of laughter sounded. ‘That is highly amusing. Why should I ever feel in danger with you?’

Hattie sighed. Turning her back on an unknown couple was one thing. Turning her back on her high-spirited niece during her first foray into polite society was quite another. Far too much was at stake. Livvy with her clear blonde looks, graceful manner and more than adequate dowry had the potential to be a huge success in the London marriage market … if she was allowed to make it that far.

Hattie leant forwards and rattled the door handle.

‘I wonder,’ Hattie declared in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, ‘where on earth have my gloves gone? I suspect I left them in the card room earlier. I had better check.’

She placed her lace gloves in her reticule, counted to ten slowly and flung open the door. The snug room with its artfully arranged tables, high-backed sofa and small fire in the marble fireplace was the sort of room that could offer privacy, especially as there was an unseasonable chill in the June air. In the centre of the room, her sixteen-year-old niece stood closer than strictly proper to a gentleman in evening dress.

Hattie pointedly cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me, but I have mislaid my gloves.’

The couple sprang apart. Hattie noted Livvy’s bright pink cheeks and mussed lace. Silently she thanked her guardian angel that it was she who had happened on the couple rather than one of the old cats who prowled the corridors searching for the latest tittle-tattle.

‘This is Mr Hook, Aunt Harriet. He and I …’ Livvy flushed scarlet. ‘That is—he’s a visitor to Northumberland and …’

‘I’m looking for my gloves. Have you seen them, Livvy dear?’ she asked brightly, ignoring the way Livvy quickly attempted to straighten her bodice and how young but dangerous Mr Hook appeared with his London-cut frock-coat and tousled Corinthian-styled hair. The time for a lecture on propriety, the necessity of maintaining one’s spotless reputation and not settling for the first man who pays you a bit of attention was due later after Hattie had extracted Livvy from this tangle.

‘You must know the ones I mean, Olivia,’ she continued. ‘The lace ones which your dear mama gave me for my birthday.’