“Fletcher,” she said his name softly, softer than she’d intended. She cleared her throat and called him again.
He looked up, set his book aside, and came to his feet. “Agnes, what are you doing?”
She mentally counted to three, then she pulled the tie on her dressing gown and let it slide off her shoulders to pool at her feet.
“I want to know what it feels like to lose control. Just once.” She walked toward him. “You told me I couldn’t ignore my feelings forever. With you, I can let myself go.”
He swallowed visibly. His eyes traveled the length of her, as the warm hazel depths darkened. “I’m not enough of a gentleman to say no to you, Bluebell.”
“I’m counting on that.” She closed the distance between them. Feeling emboldened, she placed a hand on his chest. “Help me lose control, Fletcher. Help me have one night where I only feel. I’m so damned tired of always doing the right thing. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not.”
His eyes darkened, but still he made no move to touch her. But he seemed to let his gaze drink her in. “Damnation, you’re perfect.”
“Touch me, Fletcher.”
He slid his hands to her waist, his fingers splayed down, nearly reaching her bottom.
“I know there are ways to prevent me from getting with child.”
He nodded.
She leaned up on her tiptoes, pressing her body to his and then kissed him. “I know marriage isn’t in my future, so I have no expectations from you. Please, just give me this one night.”
He cupped her cheek, then his thumb slid across her bottom lip.
…
He kissed her back, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Her lush body pressed against his was heaven. He’d never been this hard, this overcome with desire. He gripped her bottom and lifted her so that she wrapped her legs around him. Still they kissed; her tongue meeting every swipe of his.
He growled as he carried her over to the bed.
“Agnes,” he breathed. “I’ve wanted you for so damn long.”
She leaned back and met his gaze. “How long?”
“Since that very first dance. Before that. Since I first laid eyes on you.” He dropped her gently on the bed and she fell back. Her rounded breasts, peaked with hard pink tips, beckoned him. He lay down beside her and ran a finger lightly along the outer curve of the globes, tracing them.
Her mouth fell open and she closed her eyes. “I’ve wanted you, too,” she whispered.
“I’ll give you tonight, all the pleasure you want. You need only let go.” Then he kissed her. “Just don’t be so loud that people come running to save you.” He leaned forward and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and she arched into him.
“You’re so responsive, Agnes.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a perfect thing.” He moved his mouth back to her breast and teased her, alternating his attention from one to the other. Then he trailed hot kisses down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel. She made sweet and sexy noises as he moved down her body. He was so hard, he wondered if he’d poke a hold straight through the mattress.
“I’m going to taste you, Bluebell.” But he didn’t give her time to register his words before he’d lowered his mouth to her center.
She bucked against him, trying to pull her legs together.
“Shhhh, love. Trust me.”
She met his gaze and her breasts moved with each of her breaths. Then she nodded and laid her head back.
He’d done this to her so many times in his mind, but now here she was in this flesh. He wanted to drive her mindless with pleasure. He parted her legs a little farther, then licked from her opening to the hidden bundle of nerves.
She hissed in pleasure. Normally, he’d go slow, take his time by kissing all over her legs and teasing her. But she was nervous, and he knew he needed to take control of her desire before she became too tense to enjoy herself.
He settled himself between her thighs, noting that not too many nights before, he’d been in a similar position thinking about her while finding his release against his mattress. He licked her again, straight up her center. Then he settled in on that tight little bud, giving it all of his attention.
Her breathing hitched, her hips shifted. He kissed and sucked at her until she was writhing beneath him. Then he slid one finger inside her, crooked it and found his rhythm with both his hand and his mouth. She was the sweetest of honey, dripping against his tongue and her sounds were the most erotic he’d ever heard.
She’d begun chanting, in a quiet voice, but still her “oh, oh, oh!” echoed around him. He shifted himself once, pressing his erection into the bed to alleviate some pressure. He knew he could climax simply from his mouth on her like this, but this wasn’t about him.
Then her fingers threaded through his hair and she gripped him tight, holding him in place.
“Yes, yes! Oh, Fletcher!” She moaned, then her breathing tightened and she pressed herself to his mouth. “I can’t…” And then her climax hit, her inner walls tightening on his fingers. He let her ride it out, keeping his movements gentle.
He held her legs, smoothed his hands over her rounded bottom and kissed her at the top of the triangle of curls. Then he ran his hands up her thighs as he stood. “So very sweet.”
“Wicked,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “But you lost control, yes?”
Her lips were parted, and pink stained her cheeks and chest. Her eyes glazed with desire. “I never knew. Is it always like that?”
“Well, that is only part of the act.”
“Yes, of course.” Then her eyes lowered to the front of his trousers where his erection begged for release. “But you didn’t…” She swept her hand up his bulge, then gripped him through the fabric. “Tell me how to please you. I can do to you what you did to me, correct?”
“Agnes.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. She was obviously trying to kill him. “You don’t need to do anything for me. I got immense pleasure from loving your body, seeing you fall apart at my touch.”
She swallowed. “Fletcher, I want to. Please. We just have tonight.”
He cursed and ran his hand through his hair. He’d never had a woman ask him for permission to do that before, and it was sexy as hell. Especially because it was Agnes. He’d thought of this very thing, with her supple lips wrapped around his cock, on many occasions. Used the thought of it to bring himself to pleasure. And now here she was willing.
She fiddled with the fastenings on the front of his trousers and he hissed a breath through his teeth. He helped her then, removing his pants and underthings, then he yanked off his shirt and stood completely nude.
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his chest, then swirled her tongue across his nipple. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Her hands explored his chest and shoulders, tracing the lines of his body.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he said.
“It is as if you’re carved from stone. Your skin is smooth, but you’re so hard.”
And she hadn’t even reached the hardest part of him.
She lowered herself to her knees and continued her exploration with her hands. When she wrapped her hand around his length, pleasure surged through him.
He cursed again.
“Is that not good?” she asked, her spectacular blue eyes looking up at him.
“No, it’s perfect.” He cupped her cheek and she smiled up at him.
Then she lowered her mouth and kissed the head of his cock. Her tongue tentatively swept across him, then she closed her mouth over him and slid down.
“Agnes. Damn, that’s so good, sweetheart.” She dragged her tongue against him as she moved out and then back again. Christ, he wasn’t going to last long. “Yes, just like that.” He moved his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp as she worked him. Her own hands gripped onto his backside.
She pulled back. “Am I d
oing it right?”
“Definitely.” He was surprised she was so accomplished at this, having never done it, but then it wouldn’t matter what she did to him. One touch and he was hers. He tried to pull her up to her feet, but she shook her head.
“I’m going to bring you to pleasure.”
“Are you sure, sweetheart? You know what will happen, don’t you?”
“Yes, and I do want it.”
He nodded. “Hum.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“When I’m in your mouth again, hum against me.”
She grinned and kept her eyes on him as she leaned forward and licked down his shaft. Christ, she was sexy as hell. Then she wrapped her mouth around him again and took his entire length. She hummed and the vibrations were enough to drive him to madness.
He hissed. “Agnes. Oh God. It’s so damn good.” He cursed and then came. He pumped himself into her mouth, unable to stand still. When he’d spilled all of himself into her hot, wet mouth, he swiftly lifted her to her feet. He pulled her against him, holding her naked curves against his own.
“That was incredible,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”
She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. “Yes, I’m better than all right.”
Chapter Nineteen
Fletcher had managed to get Agnes back to her room, unseen, as well as get himself out surreptitiously when he exited her room. And he’d done so without waking her up. He had to leave. Not merely her bed, but her presence completely. He wanted her too much and now that’d he’d had a taste, he wouldn’t be able to deny himself. Especially knowing that her desire for him was as intense.
The time had come for him to find her brother and have a talk. As for her not wanting to be married, he suspected that had more to do with her mother than what Agnes actually desired.
Chris needed to understand that men had been making untoward advances to Agnes for years. That had to stop. And the only way to ensure it stopped was for her to be protected by a husband. Surely, once her brother understood that, he would give Fletcher his blessing to marry Agnes.
He knew she’d be safe at Brookhaven and then she’d return to London with the Duchess of Lockwood.
Fletcher was going to marry her. But he wanted to do things the right way. He didn’t want to compromise her and force her hand. He wanted to talk to Chris, explain the truth of the situation and then properly court her. They could be married by the end of the Season.
…
Agnes stretched and realized with alarming clarity that she was naked. She never slept in the nude. Then the memories of the night before played through her mind. She sat upright. This was her bedchamber and Fletcher was decidedly not in it with her. How had she gotten in here without even realizing it?
She quickly dressed and stepped into the corridor. She desperately wanted to go to Fletcher’s room, assure him that last night hadn’t changed anything. Though she wished it had. But she turned the other way and made herself go downstairs to the breakfast room.
Two hours later she had confirmation that Fletcher had left to return to London. He was well and truly gone. Agnes couldn’t believe it. She’d gone to him, bared herself, literally, and he’d left her. She couldn’t fault him completely as she’d told him upfront that she wasn’t trying to trap him. She’d meant that.
Still, she couldn’t deny her disappointment. She’d thought that the night they’d spent together had meant something to him as well as her. That perhaps he’d suggest they become lovers. She’d never known Fletcher to be a coward and run from something, yet she had to face the truth that that was precisely what he had done. It seemed rather obvious that their fake courtship was over. Thankfully she’d found a moment to sneak away from the partygoers and walk along the banks of the pond. She needed time to think, to plan what was next.
Not only that, but she needed to lick her wounds away from her friends as they already had their hands full. Harriet had been compromised earlier that day, and she and her mother had locked themselves in her bedchamber to decide on how to proceed. Obviously, there would be a wedding.
The bench under the tree provided the perfect spot for Agnes to consider her next steps. Half an hour later, though, she’d come to no conclusions.
“Am I interrupting?”
She glanced up from the grass she’d been staring mindlessly at and found Sullivan at the edge of the pond.
“Of course not. I was ruminating.”
“I’d offer to sit, but after what has already occurred on that particular bench, I’d prefer to keep my distance.”
She chuckled. “That is understandable.” Considering this was where Harriet’s compromise had occurred.
“I suspect that, though Harriet is disappointed at being compromised, marrying Lord Davenport is not only what she needs, but also what she truly wants,” Sullivan said. “You cannot help but see the love between them.”
“I was thinking the opposite,” Agnes said. “It seems that if Lord Davenport did, in fact, love Harriet, he wouldn’t have manipulated their marriage.”
Sullivan released a low whistle. “I suppose you could look at it that way. I suspect time will tell a different story.”
He was a perceptive person, she’d noticed that about him, but she didn’t always agree with his observations. Here she’d nearly convinced herself she was in love with Fletcher, only to discover she’d become the latest victim to the lies that lust created. She was supposed to be reforming Fletcher, and instead, she’d jumped headfirst into lust herself. She sighed.
“Where is your Lord Wakefield?”
“That is a splendid question. I’m told he went back to London.”
Sullivan nodded, leaning against the tree. “You seem distressed, Agnes. Do you wish to discuss anything?”
“You’ve been a good friend to me, Sullivan.” They were quiet for several moments before she spoke. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Always,” he said.
“Considering we both deem marriage unacceptable for us, I was wondering what it is about marriage that you find so deplorable? I know my own reasons, but I’d like to hear yours.”
He picked a piece of bark off the tree and fiddled with it. “All of my siblings are married. Only two of them are happy in their unions. My parents weren’t a love match and frankly despised each other. And I haven’t seen too many of the ‘lucky ones’ out there to make the institution all that appealing.”
“But you do believe in love matches?”
“Certainly. I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
She winced. Did that mean she was an idiot?
He shrugged. “Seems about as likely as getting struck by lightning, though. Statistically speaking, the fact that two of my siblings have found it likely means that my family has reached our quota. There is nothing out there for me. So, I shall make my own happiness.”
She nodded. There was a certain brilliance to his logic. Love matches—if they actually existed—did seem to be extraordinarily rare. “It does seem that more often than not, one partner loves while the other merely abides.”
He appeared as if he intended to say more, but then he didn’t.
“You are a kind man, Sullivan,” she said. “To everyone, except Matilda, whom you seem to loathe. What is it between the two of you?”
His jaw clenched. “She has not said?”
“Only that your brother makes her sister miserable.”
“Then that is all there is to say on the matter,” he said.
Though Agnes suspected there was much more to be said. For now, though, she was done taking pity on herself. It was time to go back to the house and support Harriet. Agnes knew she was good at being in the Ladies of Virtue and she was a good friend. Despite the fact that her heart disagreed, those two things would have to be enough for her.
Two days later, Harriet was married and Agnes had gone home to London.
She had decided before she had e
ven climbed into her return carriage that, upon arriving, she’d pay a call to Fletcher. No, she wasn’t expecting him to fall to his knees and confess his adoration and love for her.
Things had obviously changed between the two of them. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Regardless of what he thought that night had meant or not meant, she needed him to know she had no expectations of him. She also wanted to release him from any duties he felt at protecting her. She would simply stay home the remainder of the Season.
So it was she found herself standing in the study of his family’s townhome.
“What do we have here?” an old garbled voice asked from behind her.
Agnes turned at the sound of the scratchy voice, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Behind her she found an elderly man rolling himself into the room in a wheeled chair. A blanket covered his legs and an ear trumpet sat on his lap. Wrinkles lined his face, but not the pleasant kind that spoke of laughter and smiles, but rather the ones built upon scowls and anger.
“Your grace,” Agnes said with a slight curtsy. “I’ve got an appointment with your grandson.” Not the truth, but Agnes knew Fletcher and his grandfather were not close.
The old man barked out a cold laugh. “I’ll bet you do.” He rolled farther into the room. Then he coughed, hacking into a handkerchief.
She wanted to feel pity on the poor man because he was obviously in pain, but she’d heard tale of him and knew that the Duke of Harcourt was not a kind man, nor had he ever been.
“Who are you?”
“Miss Watkins. I am Viscount Darby’s daughter.”
“You’re wasting your time with my grandson. He’s a simpleton. Nothing but a lazy cad.”
Agnes felt anger bubble to life in her belly and she glared at the old man. On principle, she was nice to the elderly, but this man was trying her patience.
“Spends all his time doing nothing but tossing my money around.”
She’d heard enough.
“Ungrateful—”
“I beg your pardon, your grace,” she interrupted his tirade, “but I kindly disagree. Fletcher is intelligent, kind, and a champion to those who are weaker than him. He’s dedicated and strong.”
The Earl and the Reluctant Lady (Lords of Vice) Page 15
