by Robyn DeHart
The duke snorted in derision. “I suspect he has you spread your—”
“Enough!” Fletcher’s voice bellowed into the room. “Sylvie, would you be so kind as to take Grandfather back to his room. I believe it is time for his afternoon rest.”
The maid followed him in, then grabbed onto the wheeled chair to push the old man from the room.
Fletcher’s eyes found hers, and there was so much raw emotion in them—humiliation, hurt, and anger—that her knees nearly buckled under the weight of his perusal.
She shook her head.
“W-w-what’s the m-m-matter, boy?” his grandfather said. “A-a-afraid she’ll learn the truth about you?”
But Fletcher did not take the bait. He merely closed his eyes. Thankfully, the maid was able to usher the duke out of the room.
Fletcher came to her and gripped his hands on her biceps. “I don’t even know what to say. Other than I’m sorry.” His thumbs rubbed circles on her skin.
“I’d heard rumors,” she said. “And you’d told me…”
“But he’s so much worse? Yes, I know.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen him be kind to anyone. He’s always had a special hatred for me, though.”
“Well, he can’t live forever.”
Fletcher chuckled. “That’s what the doctors keep telling me, but so far, he’s proving them wrong.” His hands continued to rub her arms. “In any case, I’m very sorry you had a run-in with him.”
She swallowed. “It isn’t your fault. I came here to see you. This is his home.”
“What you said about me…” He cupped her cheek. His hazel eyes searched hers.
“He should never speak of you in such a way. He is nothing more than a tyrant.”
“You stood up to him. For me,” he said.
She nodded.
They stood there in silence for a few moments, him holding her face, just gazing at each other. Then he frowned. “Agnes, why are you here?”
“You left,” she said, her voice coming out softer than she’d intended.
He nodded. “I knew if I stayed I would have taken your virtue.”
She winced. “That is what I was afraid of.” She blew out a breath. “You obviously didn’t believe me when I explained that I wasn’t trying to trap you into marriage,” she said. “My virtue is yours to have.” She felt her cheeks heat and knew a blush stained them.
He gave her a devastating smile. “You misunderstand, Agnes. I came back because I want to do things right. The thought of Sullivan or any other man putting his hands on you enrages me.”
Her heart pounded. She smiled.
“Agnes, it has only ever been you. You are it for me. Since that first moment I saw you.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment, Fletcher, but I am no fool, nor am I blind. I have seen you with more women than I can count. You have a reputation as the greatest lover in London, for heaven’s sake.”
“Would you believe they were all stand-ins for you? When you can’t have the one you want, you take what you can get.”
Her heart pounded in response. She willed those words to be true. Would that mean he’d be faithful to her? “That’s terrible.” Then she grinned. “For them. For me, it is a rather nice sentiment.”
His mouth lowered to hers again, his lips sweeping across hers. She parted for him and his tongue slid over hers. She moaned into his kiss. There was no hiding her wantonness from him. He was the one who set it free. Her hands slid around his neck, fingers digging into his hair.
He released an animalistic growl that flooded her with desire. He deepened the kiss and she molded her body to his.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” a voice came from behind them. “Get your bloody hands off my sister!” Then Christopher was there, shoving her aside and slamming his fist into Fletcher’s face.
“Christopher! No!” Agnes yelled.
“You promised, you son of a bitch,” Christopher said, paying her no attention. He hit Fletcher again. Then again. One to the stomach, another to the side. “I warned you.”
Fletcher stood there, arms at his side, no defense of himself as her brother pummeled him. Why wouldn’t he defend himself? Why wouldn’t he fight for her?
“Enough!” she yelled again, this time pulling on her brother’s coat.
Chapter Twenty
Fletcher released a shaky breath, but he would not give Chris the pleasure of seeing him wince in pain.
“Did you take her virtue?” Christopher asked after hitting him one more time. “Did you?”
“Christopher, enough,” Agnes whispered. Embarrassment heated her cheeks and she looked anywhere but at Fletcher.
Chris shifted his gaze to Agnes and glared at her. “I shall deal with you later.”
“Do not speak to her like that,” Fletcher said between his clenched teeth.
Chris’s brows rose slightly. “Don’t tell me how to speak to my sister.” The veins in his neck bulged and his face was red. “Answer my question. Now.”
“No,” Fletcher said.
“Then we are finished here. Agnes, get your things,” Chris said.
“I’m going to marry her,” Fletcher said. Damnation! That is not how this was supposed to go. He’d had the arguments all ready to give to Chris when he returned to London. And ones prepared to convince Agnes. He’d been prepared, but not for this kind of confrontation.
“You’re going to marry me?” Agnes asked.
At the same time her brother asked, “What do you mean you’re going to marry her?” Then Chris added, “The hell you are.”
Fletcher looked away from Agnes’s face. The emotion on her face beckoned to him—pure hope and adoration—or perhaps that latter part was merely wishful thinking on his part.
“We’ve talked about this, Wakefield,” Chris said. “Furthermore,” he continued but only loud enough for Fletcher to hear him, “I’ll make everything you ever wanted to happen with the Seven come to fruition. You’ll get your assignments abroad that you’ve been craving. In fact, I’ll send you abroad for the rest of your damned life. You’ll never see her. You’ll certainly never touch her. Do you understand me?”
The bastard would make him choose? Keep the position that would pay to keep Agnes in the lifestyle in which she was comfortable and afford a house away from his grandfather only to have to lose her in the end because he’d been shipped off? Fletcher grit his teeth. There was no reasoning with him now.
“You are not good enough for my sister.” Chris shook his head. “I trusted you, you son of a bitch.”
Agnes sucked in a breath. She hadn’t started crying, but judging by the look in her eyes, the tears weren’t far away. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he knew that now was not the time.
“There are things that you do not know,” Fletcher said.
“Unless you took her virtue, then I need know nothing else,” Chris said. “I will not stand by and watch you break her heart because you refuse to be faithful. This union will not happen.” He grabbed Agnes’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”
She ripped her arm away. “Do not touch me.” She took one last look over her shoulder at Fletcher, then turned and walked away.
He should fight for her, but he knew right now it wouldn’t work. Nothing he said would change Chris’s mind. And damned if the man wasn’t right. Fletcher knew he had nothing to offer her. He didn’t deserve her. He’d do everything he could to protect her, which meant that once Chris let his anger cool, Fletcher would have to tell him about the men and their ill-treatment of Agnes. Perhaps they could arrange for her to marry someone like Sullivan, and Fletcher would go back to…seducing a never-ending line of widows. None of that appealed to him in the least. He felt no desire for any other woman. But at the end of the day, being the greatest lover in London was the only thing he had to offer.
…
Fletcher wanted to marry her. Her heart soared. How had she gone so long not realizing that he was what she’d truly wanted?
She did want to marry, but only him.
She sat across the carriage from her brother, but neither of them spoke. She wanted to scream at him, but she hadn’t yet decided what to say. And all she could think about was that Fletcher had wanted to marry her. At least that’s what he’d said.
“He wants to marry me,” she said abruptly.
Christopher leveled a glare at her. “I heard him say those words, but did you see him fight for you? You deserve a man who will fight for you, Agnes. Fletcher is not that man.”
She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.
“I don’t know what all he told you,” Christopher began, “but you don’t know Fletcher like I do.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Good, then you can just listen. What you need to understand is that this is what he does. He seduces women. Lots and lots of women, Agnes. You’re not special to him.”
But he’d said she was special. He’d told her that all those other women had been because he’d wanted her and couldn’t have her. Doubt nagged at her mind. Perhaps that was what he told all of the others, too. “I’ve heard the rumors, Christopher.”
“They’re not rumors.” Her brother’s voice echoed in the confines of the carriage.
She’d heard women speak of him, had seen him flirt with countless women. He’d even admitted to her that he’d had affairs with widows, never virgins and never married women. At least he had his standards, she supposed. “He didn’t seduce me,” she said firmly. But had her brother not interrupted them, it was doubtful she’d still be a virgin.
“He likely told you what you wanted to hear. He is a master at manipulating women to get what he wants. But in the end, none of it will mean anything. He’ll never be faithful to you. He’s no different than she is.”
Agnes didn’t need for her brother to explain the “she” he meant was their mother. Chris’s words stabbed at her heart.
“Did he hurt you? Force you to do anything against your wishes?” Chris’s voice was quiet and gentle.
She shook her head. “No, of course not.” No, if there had been any seduction it had been on her part. In that moment she realized tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. She’d never been one to be overly emotional or sentimental. There hadn’t been room for that in their family. Their mother demanded that everyone meet all of her emotional needs, which left them bereft of feeling for one another.
At some point, she’d either have to tell her brother about the men who solicited her affection, or she’d have to take herself off to a nunnery.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been too overprotective of you, Agnes,” Chris said. “You said you didn’t want to marry and I respected that. Is that still true?”
“I don’t know.” What did it matter if she was open to marriage?
She had no suitors. She couldn’t even fall back on Sullivan. Now fully recognizing that she only wanted Fletcher, no one would ever win her heart. Granted, she would likely accept a proposal from a kindly gentleman if he could provide her with protection.
She supposed she should be glad that Chris had saved her before she ran off with Fletcher in the wake of passionate embraces. Fletcher had awoken in her something that resembled her mother too much for her liking. This was all for the best. And as soon as her heart stopped feeling as if it had been shattered into a million pieces on the floor of this carriage, she’d thank her brother for telling her the truth.
…
Fletcher knew without a doubt that he loved Agnes. Hell, he’d probably loved her since that night they first met. He’d certainly wanted her that long. It seemed unlikely that he’d stop wanting her anytime soon. No other woman had ever been able to quiet his desire for her, no matter how many he’d seduced.
No, he didn’t deserve her, but hell, no one else did, either. Someone needed to marry her. Chris didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know about the men who’d whispered lewd things in her ears, or about the secret suitor who frightened her.
Marrying him would keep her safe. He’d protect her. He’d be devoted, he’d show Chris that Agnes would be safe as Fletcher’s wife. Eventually, the man would accept the union. And if he didn’t, he could go to the devil.
Convincing Agnes would be the difficult part. Telling her of his devotion wouldn’t persuade her. She didn’t believe in love, she’d told him as much. He’d have to speak her language, give her a practical argument, and let that convince her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Agnes was so weary of Society life.
She was tired of the balls and the soirees and the rules. She was tired of pretending as if she belonged here or even wanted to be here. Most of all she was tired of men leering at her and women glaring because of the assumptions they made about her. No one wanted to marry her, and she wanted everyone to simply leave her be.
But until such a time as her family agreed that she was no longer requited at these ordeals, she was here. Her fake courtship with Fletcher had ended, likely her entire relationship with him. The Ladies of Virtue had made no significant progress with identifying either her secret suitor or the mysterious Lady X. It had gotten so bad that she’d not even bothered to bring her specialized fan with her tonight. Though she still wore her dagger—one could never be too careful.
Perhaps that was what she needed. To spend a couple of days indulging in designing new weapons. She knew nothing so mundane would make her forget about Fletcher, his kisses, or the vacant look in his eyes when she’d walked away. When he’d let her walk away.
It had been a week and she hadn’t seen him even once. She’d tried a couple of times to inquire about his well-being from her brother, but Chris hadn’t wanted to speak of him.
“Don’t turn around. Go out onto the terrace and meet me,” Fletcher’s familiar voice came from behind her.
She sucked in a breath. Her heart sped. She should not be this thrilled at the mere sound of his voice, the thought of seeing his handsome face. She rolled her eyes and reminded herself that lust might be powerful, but it never lasted and it ultimately meant nothing. It wasn’t love. Love wasn’t real. This was only a biological manifestation of natural body urges. Without another thought she made her way out the french doors to the terrace.
It only took a couple of minutes before she saw his tall form step off into the gardens. He glanced briefly over his broad shoulders and met her gaze.
She waited a breath, then followed after him. She found him at the entrance to the hedge maze. These mazes weren’t uncommon in the country, but it was rare to find one within the city of London. But the Carrington’s, whose property bordered Hyde Park, sat on a larger piece of land and boasted glorious gardens and the maze.
Fletcher grabbed her gloved hand and pulled it into the crook of his elbow.
“Fletcher, what are you doing?” she asked.
“I needed to speak with you.”
“You could have simply asked me to dance.”
“No, we needed privacy for this discussion. Besides, I highly doubt your brother would have stood by and allowed me a dance.”
“My brother does not get to decide whom I dance with.” They walked in silence for several more minutes before he began. “Very well. Discuss.”
“We should get married,” he said, his tone as casual as if he’d suggested they purchase some turnips.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It is the best solution, Agnes. You have a potentially dangerous man out there who has decided he wants you. Not to mention all of the ‘gentlemen’ who see fit to proposition you on a regular basis.”
“That doesn’t happen all that often,” she said.
“It happens often enough, correct?”
She inclined her head. “Yes.”
“You have no other prospects,” he continued. “I believe I have proven that the intimate acts of marriage would be pleasurable for you.”
Her cheeks flamed. She did her
best to ignore the rapid beat of her heart. There was no declaration of love. Not that she needed one or even wanted one. She certainly wouldn’t believe the words even if he uttered them. Still there was that small part of her, she supposed the little girl in her, that wanted desperately to believe in fairy tales, who longed to hear them.
“I know you worry about becoming like your mother,” he said.
“But how did you…”
“You are not like her, Agnes. You are nothing like her. You are pure and good. And I am prepared to offer you a life where I will endeavor to make you happy.” He gripped her shoulders until she met his gaze. “I would be faithful, you have no need to ever wonder that.”
She was quiet for a few moments while she absorbed his words. “What of my brother?”
“I do not actually require his permission. I can send notice to your father.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be necessary. I have no way of knowing where my father is. Somewhere in Greece, but we never really know.”
“Or I could meet with your mother,” he offered. “Lady Darby seems rather fond of me.”
Agnes did nothing to hide her snort of derision. “You’re handsome, of course she’s fond of you. I’m surprised she hasn’t offered herself to you.” She glanced up at him and his expression tightened. “Oh God, has she?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. She has flirted, but I made it abundantly clear that I only had my sights set on one woman in her family.”
Being married would solve so many of her problems. But could she be Fletcher’s wife? She looked up into his face. He was so handsome it was annoying.
“You don’t have to decide tonight. You can let me know another day. I’m not in a rush.” He cupped her face. “I do want you protected, though.”
She nodded, but found she had no words.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. The other times he’d kissed her, they’d been full of passion and heat, this one, though, was softer, gentler. He ended the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I could be a good husband for you, Agnes.”