Hattie Glover’s Millinery

the two facets of her nature. Her intensity had been almost frightening, even as it awoke a powerful response in him. Given a few more seconds of those ravening kisses, he would have swept the worktable bare and laid her on it. To utterly lose control like that was not good, especially not with a woman such as Hattie.
Although he’d claimed her unmarried status didn’t matter to him, it did. Becoming intimate with her would mean breaking his code: affairs only with mature and accomplished women with both parties well-aware the arrangement was temporary. Neither party came to emotional harm that way. But a single young woman might hope for a more permanent arrangement, so he’d never, ever dallied with one. Marriage was not in Guy’s hand of cards. He wouldn’t play it, so Hattie had best understand that from the start. When he’d said he would woo her, he hadn’t meant with marriage in mind.
Then why did you phrase it that way, stupid brother? Bettina seemed to be losing patience with him.
Guy gave a growl of annoyance and hurried to the nearest cab stand. On the ride home, he replayed every moment of his evening with Hattie, the conversations, the long looks pregnant with desire, the intimate atmosphere followed by an unexpected explosion of lust.
Later, after he had shed his clothes and crawled into bed with only his hand under the covers to keep him company, he fantasized about Hattie Glover all night long.
The following day, Guy had an appointment with Will on the tennis court at the Carmody family’s country home, only a short drive outside the city. His tall, generally awkward friend became a graceful gazelle on the court, finding an ease and rhythm outside of his normal demeanor. While tennis was not Guy’s favorite sport, running back and forth and walloping the ball as hard as he could felt damn good that day. He scored few points but worked off tension until his shirt was drenched, his shoulder ached, and he panted for breath.
“Something on your mind today?” Will asked as he dropped onto one of the sideline chairs.
Guy toweled his hair dry and draped the sweat-damp cloth around his shoulders. “Nothing of consequence.”
Carmody removed his spectacles, wiped them clear of steam and settled them on his nose again. “You played like you were exorcising demons.”
Guy leaned back in his chair to gaze at the mowed grass tennis court and the trees beyond its fence. His pretense of nonchalance couldn’t last long, since he wanted to spill everything to his friend. Will’s quiet, patient manner always got him talking—or maybe it was Guy’s own utter inability to harbor secrets for long. “There’s a woman.”
“There usually is.”
“This is different. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”
“I believe I’ve heard that before.” Will placed his racquet in its bag and pushed a hank of sandy hair out of his eyes. “Different how?
“Well, she’s clever, witty, and sharp.”
“So is Lady Cromwell.”
“Not sharp in a cutting way.” Although, Hattie often was to him. “I mean, she isn’t keen on gossip and doesn’t mock people for sport. She thinks deeply, cares for those she allows close to her, and is altogether sensible. She’s made a great success of her business.”
“A working woman? Not another actress! Do you recall all the drama last time?” Will frowned. “Besides, I thought you were taking time off from romance.”
“She is not on the stage, nor is she of a dramatic bent. Also, please stop talking as if I’m Georgie Porgie trying every pie on the table. I am not that profligate. My new friend is a milliner.” Guy paused. “And she is a friend, that’s the thing. The more we talk the more I like simply being with her. It’s not about lust.”
The sensations of last night rushed through him; the weight and warmth of Hattie’s body pressed against his, her lips softly yielding to his at first then taking command as she kissed him hungrily. His shiver wasn’t from the breeze blowing across his perspiring skin.
“That is, it’s not only about desire,” he amended. “The point is I like her even more than I want her.”
“Mm-hm.” Will nodded. “I think I have a diagnosis for you. From everything I’ve heard or read about love, although I haven’t experienced it myself, you are falling into it, my friend.”
Guy glared at him. “You shut your mouth, Will Carmody, or I’ll shut it for you.”
“I can meet you for boxing tomorrow,” Will retorted. “But it won’t change the truth. I believe you’re honestly smitten maybe for the first time and you don’t know how to manage it.” Will snickered then laughed as full-bodied as Hattie had last night. “I prayed I would live to see this day and now it is here. Guy Hardy hoisted with his own petard.”
“What is that supposed to mean, you bookish wanker?”
“The expression comes from Hamlet and means a bomb maker has been blasted by his own device. It seems the Grim Reaper has come for you, may as well submit to her scythe.”
Guy dragged himself to his sore feet, surprisingly annoyed by Will’s teasing. Normally he would take it in stride and return in kind. “I’m not unread. I understand the expression, but it doesn’t apply to me. Anyway, you aren’t half as amusing as you believe you are.”
The smug smile disappeared as Will rose. “You really are upset. I’m sorry I took your news lightly. Feel free to say anything you want. No more joking.”
Guy exhaled and released his annoyance. “Nothing more to say, except I think I’m in over my depth with this woman. How does one control love, if that is what this is? And what does one do with a woman one might possibly be in love with?”
“Marry her, I suppose.” Will quickly shifted sideways before Guy could punch him in the shoulder. Then he added, “Or leave her alone if you don’t plan to become serious. I don’t think there is a middle ground