Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match. Michelle Styles

suitable pastime?’

      ‘None better.’ He shifted so his legs were stretched and struggled to remember the last time he had felt so content. There again, he found it difficult to remember the last time he had taken a woman on a picnic. The women in his life were far more inclined towards intimate late-night suppers, silken sheets and expensive presents. He had rarely wanted to talk to any of them about matters beyond the bedroom.

      With Hattie Wilkinson, he wanted to hear her views. He enjoyed debating with her and disconcerting her in order to win.

      A tiny frown appeared between her brows. ‘I would have thought a man with your sort of reputation …’

      ‘Simple pleasures are the best ones.’ He reached across and popped the last strawberry into her mouth.

      She half-closed her eyes and a look of supreme pleasure crossed her face. ‘Those are exceptionally good strawberries. Don’t you agree, Mr Hook?’

      Full of more than his fair share of cold game pie, watercress sandwiches, fruit cake and elderflower cordial, Rupert sat with his head in a book about newts, mumbling about amphibians and their feeding habits and ignoring Hattie’s attempts to bring him into the conversation. Mrs Hampstead, Hattie’s housekeeper, likewise ignored the conversation and knitted.

      It would be easy to do this every day.

      Kit inwardly smiled at the thought—the great bon vivant Sir Christopher Foxton indulging in rustic pleasures. He could imagine the caustic remarks. He should end the flirtation now, before he was tempted to enjoy it or, worse still, repeat it and start to count on it. Counting on women for anything beyond the basics was a bad idea. He’d learnt that bitter lesson long ago. His mother had turned her elegant back on him and never attempted to make contact with him after she left.