by Robyn DeHart
This was one of those moments she’d told him about. Lord Brindell, a youngish and very married man, who stood in Parliament and pled for the rights of the downtrodden and less fortunate. And here he was whispering lewd suggestions into a virtuous woman’s ear. Anger surged through Fletcher’s entire body, filling all of his limbs with restless energy. He pushed himself off the wall, where he’d been perusing the ballroom, and he made his way to Agnes’s side.
“Miss Watkins,” he said loudly as he approached. “I forgot to ask you something earlier when we spoke.”
The relief washing over her face told him everything he needed to know. Still he wanted to hear it from her lips.
Lord Brindell disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance.
Fletcher put his hand on Agnes’s arm, lifted her dance card as if to examine it, but instead pressed his fingers to the pulse above her gloves. “Agnes, what did he say to you?”
She swallowed visibly and then closed her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, her startling blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. But she physically steeled herself, tilting her chin up ever so slightly.
“He said that he wanted to be the first man in London to have both a mother and a daughter warm his bed.” Her tone was even, though she kept her voice down so she would not be overheard.
Fletcher clenched his left fist, but with his right hand, he smoothed his fingertips across her skin. “I shall take care of this situation. You can rest assured that Lord Brindell will not bother you in the future.”
“Fletcher.” She shook her head. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”
“You let me worry about that.” He swore. “I wish I could gather you in my arms right now.” He met her gaze and stared intently at her, wanting to promise that he’d always take care of her. That he’d keep her safe and protected. That she would be his and only his. But he could make no such guarantees. So instead he merely nodded, then walked away.
It took him less than half an hour to find Lord Brindell. He cornered the man in the billiards room and dismissed everyone else so they could talk in private. Though Brindell was shorter than Fletcher, he had a similar athletic build.
“What is this about, Wakefield?” Brindell asked with a growl. “I had a wager going on that game.”
Fletcher ignored the question and instead reached over, grabbed the man, and slammed him facedown onto the billiard table. He picked up one of the balls and tapped it loudly on the tabletop next to Brindell’s head.
“If you ever approach Miss Watkins again, I will kill you. I don’t want you to look at her. I don’t want you to speak to her. I don’t want you to even breathe the same air as her. Am I understood?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words came out tight as his face pressed against the tabletop.
“Do not test me, Brindell. I could kill you in six different ways with just my right hand.” That might have been a slight exaggeration, but he did know at least three. “I know you propositioned her. I know you’re not the only one. You are a poor excuse for a gentleman, who erroneously assumes that the dalliances of an older, married woman has given you permission to solicit favors from her virginal daughter. You are despicable. I’m certain that were Lady Brindell to hear of your offer she would have plenty to say about it.” He pulled the man’s arm back in an angle that wouldn’t break it but would cause plenty of pain.
Brindell moaned in agony. “You’re right, I did. I’m sorry, I won’t speak to her again.”
Anger surged through Fletcher and he pressed the man’s face harder into the felt of the table. “You be certain of that. And I’d appreciate it if you’d pass this along to your friends who have made similar offers to Miss Watkins. She is not interested. From now on, I’ll be the one handling the situation. Are you understanding me?”
Brindell nodded as best he could with his face held captive between Fletcher’s hand and the hard wood.
“Excellent.” Fletcher released him. “Have a wonderful rest of your evening.” As Fletcher exited the room, he nodded to the other men waiting outside. “Enjoy your games, gentlemen.”
He had no sooner found his way back into the corridor that he ran directly into a soft female form.
“My apologies, my lady,” he said. Then he realized whom he’d run into. “Celeste.” Inwardly he swore. “You are looking well.”
She gave him a predatory grin. “You look positively edible tonight, Fletcher. Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?”
“With that new husband of yours, certainly you’re not missing any of your old lovers.”
“Not any of them but you. You are the best.” Her voice practically purred as she scraped her nails down the front of his chest. She grabbed the waistband of his trousers.
He stilled her hand. “Celeste,” he said flavoring his tone with warning. “You know I do not dally with married ladies.”
She pouted her lip out. “Yes, and you also told me you were not interested in finding your own wife, yet I see you falling all over yourself with that spinster tonight. If you wanted a wife, Fletcher, you could have had me. I was available for three years after Wallace died.”
“Yes, and we had our fun. Now you are married to someone else. Go home and let him pleasure you.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” She frowned and raised her arms in exasperation.
Fletcher lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll write a manual to help all the husbands in England satisfy their wives.”
Her eyes flashed. “It would sell hundreds of copies. You’d be a sensation.” She moved her body closer to his. “Come now, love, one more time.”
…
Agnes could not believe what she was seeing. Well, that wasn’t entirely the truth. Fletcher had a reputation as a philanderer after all. She supposed she shouldn’t be that surprised to find him in the arms of a woman. No, what surprised her was her own reaction to seeing him like this. The sight of another woman in his arms sent disgust spiraling through her. It twisted her insides until she felt she might be ill.
But her visceral reaction was completely illogical. She knew he was a philanderer. Knew he had a reputation with women. For goodness’ sake, it was the very thing she was supposed to be fixing in him.
That must be it. She wasn’t upset that he was kissing another woman. She was upset that he was making no effort at all to act like a reformed man. Nor was he keeping to his word that he’d stay away from other women as long as he was “courting” her.
She stood at the entrance of the corridor, where anyone could come upon them. This had been a mistake. She should never have agreed to his assistance. Quickly she turned and walked in the other direction.
“Agnes! Agnes, wait,” he called.
But she didn’t stop.
His hand gripped her elbow, pulling her to a stop. “Agnes, stop, that was not what it looked like.”
“Honestly, Fletcher? Because it certainly looked as if after you agreed to pretend to court me, yet you couldn’t even make it through one ball without finding a new lover.”
“Celeste is not a new lover.”
“An old lover then,” Agnes spat. She welcomed the anger that pulsed through her. It was infinitely preferable to tears. She would not cry over this or over Fletcher.
He sighed, obviously resigned to tell her the truth. “Yes, she was once a lover, but not anymore. Not for many years. I ran into her in the corridor. We spoke and that was all.”
“Does she always speak so thoroughly with her hands?”
Fletcher’s brows rose. “Agnes, I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman, but I am not a liar.” His voice was firm, bordering on angry. “Yes, she put her hands on me, but I did not encourage her attentions, nor did I want them.”
She folded her arms over her chest.
He eyed her silently for a minute, then a smile slowly slid into place. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
>
“Then why are you so angry?”
Why was she so angry? She had no claim on Fletcher, no legitimate reason to be mad. Except that he was pretending to be her suitor and therefore, if he was seen in the embrace of another woman, it would only serve in making her look like a fool.
“I care not what you do, or whom you spend your time with, but under our current agreement, I should prefer if you keep your affairs a bit more discreet. If you can’t avoid them. I’d rather everyone in London not believe me to be an utter idiot.” And with that she turned on her heel and left.
She walked away, still fuming.
He believed her to be jealous? The idea was preposterous. She certainly was not jealous of the attention he was paying to that other woman. It was merely that his actions were in very bad form given that he was supposed to be courting her.
If anything, she was jealous of the apparent success the other Ladies of Virtue seemed to be having reforming their lords. She was not used to failing. She was far too pragmatic to feel an emotion as unsettling as jealousy.
Chapter Eleven
The following afternoon Fletcher stood in the gardens of the Darby townhome waiting for Agnes to make her appearance. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. This entire scenario of him pretending to court Agnes was a disaster in the making. What had he been thinking? Having to be so close to her, holding her in his arms while they danced, smelling her lovely scent: rose water and lavender.
Then he recalled her expression when Lord Brindell had whispered into her ear. Fletcher would be a liar if he said it wasn’t partly self-serving. He wanted the excuse to spend time with her. The excuse to hold her in his arms. He knew that he could never have her, but if even for a little while, he could pretend. He could imagine what it would be like if Agnes were his. Then when he was abroad working on his new assignment, he’d look upon her with fondness, but nothing more.
When she’d asked him if he were offering to marry her himself, he’d wanted to tell her yes. Hell, what he’d really wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms and drive straight to Scotland and elope with her. Then what would her brother have to say about things? But then Agnes herself had acknowledged that he’d be a terrible husband. He refused to put her in a marriage that would make her miserable.
Last night at the ball when she’d found him with Celeste, he’d had to fight every urge that demanded he pull her close to him and soothe her worries. She’d been jealous. Agnes didn’t even recognize that in herself, but he knew that was the truth.
He sure as hell felt it. Envy ate at him every time he saw her in the presence of another man. Sullivan, whom she’d disappeared into the gardens with for a time, and any of the others she’d danced with.
So, while he had no notion of what he planned to tell her today, he knew he needed to see her, try and reconcile whatever had happened between them the night before.
She stepped out into the gardens and gave a tentative smile as she approached, or perhaps that was closer to a grimace. Yes, that was most assuredly a grimace. She was still angry with him.
“Lord Brindell found me again,” she said, her tone tart.
Anger surged through Fletcher. “I’ll kill him.”
“No need for that. He actually apologized. Said he didn’t know what had come over him and he should never have tarnished my lovely ears with his crude words.” She gave him a curt nod. “Thank you for speaking to him.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists as they rested on his knees. “I know you’re still angry with me, Agnes, but trust me when I say there is nothing between Celeste and me.”
She watched him for a moment, her cerulean eyes peering into his very soul. “But she would like there to be?”
“Yes, she would. She has been trying to get me back in her bed for years.” He longed to tell her that Celeste had been an assignment and nothing more, but he could not divulge such things. “I gave you my word that I would not dally with any women while I’m courting you. I meant it.”
“All right. I believe you.”
“I saw you leave the ballroom with Glenbrook.” In truth, watching her leave the ballroom on that man’s arm had been one of the most difficult things Fletcher had ever seen. She might not believe that Glenbrook was interested in her, but his actions certainly said otherwise. Fletcher hated that. But his own desires were inconsequential when compared to Agnes’s safety. It seemed, though, that their plan to catch another man’s attention was working.
Again, the thought to grab her and take her to Scotland hit him. They could be married by the following night.
Then she could be in his bed. Desire, thick and heavy surged through him. He shifted on the bench to alleviate some pressure building in his trousers.
“I suppose everything went as it normally does. We walked in the gardens and talked.” She bit down on her lip and stared at the ground.
Something was wrong. “What happened?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, of course not.” She visibly swallowed. “I kissed him.”
He fought the urge to stand, grab her by the arms, and shake some sense into her. “What?” he asked carefully. He had no reason to be angry or jealous. Knowing that, though, and preventing the emotions from flooding through him were two very different things.
“It was foolish, I know.” She stood and paced the small stone path in front of the bench. “I needed to know.” She stopped and stared at him. “After our dance, I was feeling flushed and…” Her voice trailed off.
He nodded but said nothing. He didn’t trust himself yet.
“Then I was outside with Sullivan in this perfectly romantic spot and the moment presented itself. And you had said that scientists test their theories more than once.”
What he wanted to do was leave here and go find Sullivan and throttle the man. “So you kissed him, not the other way around?”
“Correct. It was so different,” she said.
She sat back down next to him, then turned her body to face him. In the process, her skirts brushed against his leg. None of this was aiding in him pretending to not be aroused.
“Kissing one person is always different from kissing another,” he said. “I don’t suppose it’s something that women often learn since it is considered inappropriate to go around kissing different men.”
“Indeed. I thought to try your theory on him since we are dear friends. We share affection toward each other, so if my original theory had been correct, then my kiss with Sullivan would have been…better.” Her cheeks brightened with a blush. “What is it that makes one kiss feel differently from another?”
He scraped his fingers through his hair, then swore. Was this his penance for all of his sins? To be tempted by the one woman he knew he could not have? The one woman he wanted above all others? “Agnes, this is not a discussion we should be having.”
“On the contrary, you’re precisely who I should talk about this with. Do not forget it was I who called you out about your lustful behavior. I might be a virgin, but I am not that naive. Besides, I can’t very well ask Sullivan. And I can guarantee that none of my friends would know the answer to the question.”
“Excellent points.” He wasn’t going to encourage her to talk about kissing with another man. If he knew anything about Agnes, it was that she was tenacious and wouldn’t let this go. “What felt different?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a fair comparison because so much time has spread between the two kisses.”
“We only kissed a couple of days ago.”
“Long enough.” She leaned in closer. “Would you be so kind as to refresh my memory?”
“You want me to kiss you?”
“Yes, please.”
He wiped his palms on his pants. “Agnes,” he warned. “Trust me when I say I want nothing more than to pull you across my lap and kiss you senseless. But kissing tends to lead to other activities. Ones you are not prepared for.”
“I am only asking for a kis
s. One. Little. Kiss.” She grabbed his jacked and pulled him to her and pressed her lips to his. She kissed at the corner of his mouth and, damned, he tried to not respond. But there was only so much temptation a man could take. In that moment, she surrounded him. The press of her warm, soft body against his. The fragrant feminine scent of her that rivaled any flower blooming in this garden. Her sweet willing lips on his. She was everywhere. He could no longer deny her.
He tilted his head and kissed her back. There was no subtle seduction. No, he poured every ounce of his desire into the kiss. If good sense couldn’t rule her, perhaps he could frighten her away. Damned if he’d be able to be the one to make the right choice. He needed Agnes to have her wits about her so she could walk away from him.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. It took very little coaxing to part her lips and explore the inside of her mouth. He swept his tongue inside, stroking hers. She released a contented sigh and gripped his shirt tighter. Her warm breath mingled with his.
Damnation, but she tasted so sweet. He slid his hands up her torso until his thumbs rested beneath her breasts. She moaned and leaned into him. He deepened the kiss and felt her fingers lace through his hair. Her tongue tentatively moved against his. Her lack of experience was evident, but her inelegance only fueled his arousal. Damn, but he wanted her. Right here, right now on this bench in her family gardens.
Desire flooded his body, thick and heavy. He groaned but forced himself to end the kiss.
Her eyes remained closed, and her breath came in shallow puffs. Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“And?” he asked, unable to help himself.
“It wasn’t as I remembered it.”
“No?”
She shook her head, then her startling blue eyes met his and he could have sworn his heart stuttered. “It was better. As I told you before, my response to you, merely being near you…” She shook her head again. “It is frightening. I feel no such things when I am near Sullivan.”