The Earl and the Reluctant Lady

by Robyn DeHart

  Agnes’s eyes rounded. “I have heard the name. He is persuasive in Parliament.”

  “He is a tyrant,” Fletcher said simply. “Obsessed with bloodlines and other such nonsense.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  “I want to ensure that had you heard anything about him that it didn’t affect your thoughts on my person. One should never be judged based on the members of his or her family.”

  Chapter Two

  Agnes wasn’t certain how to feel about Lord Wakefield and his obvious flirtations. She was flattered. He was dashing, and he seemed impervious to her mother’s charms. His admission about his grandfather, whom her father had plenty of vicious things to say about, was obviously said to ease her worries about her mother’s flirtatious behavior.

  “Miss Watkins, I must admit I am rather enchanted with you.” Lord Wakefield’s deep voice fluttered over her skin.

  She smiled. “You are friendly, my lord.” She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if his opinion of her would change were he to know what her mother could provide for him.

  He chuckled.

  “What is funny?” She glanced up at him. His tall frame and impossibly broad shoulders could create an imposing figure, but the softness around his eyes revealed his true character. His eyes—she hadn’t decided if they were green or blue—were riveting.

  “Is it not customary for one compliment to be exchanged for another?”

  She opened her mouth, uncertain what to say.

  “Do not misread me, my lady. I am not criticizing. Quite the contrary. I find you refreshing, different in the very best of ways.” He reached his hand out and traced a finger down her cheek. “You are not bothering to inflate my vanity.”

  Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “Admittedly, I’m not good in these situations, my lord.”

  “That cannot be the truth. A woman of your incomparable beauty must have her selection of suitors.”

  “This is only my second Season, my lord. I’m afraid I am completely unequipped to impress you with my coquettish skills.”

  He laughed, a true and genuine laugh that rumbled through her own person. It was a most unusual sensation.

  “I think you’re doing rather well.” He led them to a bench between some shrubberies; the overhanging limbs of a great tree likely provided excellent shade in the daylight. “Look there.” He pointed above them. “Do you know what that is hanging in the tree?”

  “Some sort of parasite, I would imagine. Though it is difficult to make out the details in this poor lighting,” Agnes said.

  “I do believe it is mistletoe,” he whispered.

  “This is the wrong time of year, and I think it does not bloom in this part of Britain.”

  “Miss Watkins.”

  She looked back at his face.

  “Do you know what they say about mistletoe?” He tilted her chin up and bent to kiss her. At the last minute, he barely brushed his warm lips across her cheek. Then he placed a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips. It was so light she might have imagined the entire ordeal. But when he stood back to his full height, and she saw his pleased expression, she knew she had not.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “I like you,” he said simply, as if those three words explained everything. “My apologies if I offended you.”

  Was she offended? No, she wasn’t. She was, good heavens, could it be she was aroused? She came to her feet. “You do know that isn’t truly mistletoe.”

  His only answer was a devilish grin. “I hope to call upon you, Miss Watkins. Would that meet with your approval?”

  She should tell him no. A true lady would turn her back on a man who would dare take such liberties with her person. Not only that, but she wasn’t looking for suitors any longer. Still she found herself unable to do anything but agree. “I suppose.” Her heart thundered.

  He held his arm out to her. “Shall I escort you back to the ballroom?”

  “Miss Watkins,” a woman’s voice called. She came closer. “I thought that was you.”

  Agnes turned and found Lady Somersby smiling. She was a diminutive woman with flaming red curls that were somewhat tamed into a coiffure. She bore a striking resemblance to Queen Victoria, but people rarely mentioned it as it was not Lady Somersby’s favorite topic of conversation.

  “Lady Somersby?” Agnes asked. She spared a glance up at Lord Wakefield.

  “Lord Wakefield,” Lady Somersby said. “I hope you are doing well. I’d like a moment alone with Miss Watkins, if you do not mind.”

  He nodded. “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of the lady’s time for one evening.” He bowed and walked off, his broad shoulders impossible to ignore even in the dim lighting.

  “He is a handsome man,” Lady Somersby said.

  “Indeed.” Agnes shook herself when she heard the dreamy tone in her voice. When had she become such a ninny? “How are you this evening?”

  “I’m wonderful, my dear girl. I was hoping you would walk with me. I should like to discuss something with you, but it is of upmost secrecy.”

  Agnes’s heart jumped in her chest. More than likely her mother would chide her for being absent from the ballroom for this long, but she didn’t care. Tonight, was shaping up to be a most interesting evening. “You’ll have my complete discretion.”

  “Splendid.” They walked through the gardens and the crisp evening breeze smelled of freesia. “Are you familiar with the Ladies of Virtue?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of them,” Agnes said. “A charity group that provide funding for orphanages and the like?”

  “Yes, we do that. There is more, however, to our group. I’m not certain if you’ve ever heard any rumors about me, but I was put into a rather dangerous position several years ago where I had to learn how to protect myself, physically. Essentially, I learned different fighting skills as well as some other abilities. Three years ago, it occurred to me that there’s a benefit for ladies, such as ourselves, to have such skills. Not only to protect themselves, but to also be of service.”

  Agnes wasn’t certain where this conversation was going, but tonight had already become the best of her entire life. First with that kiss and now with this secretive conversation.

  “I put together a group and have slowly been recruiting, carefully selecting my girls and then training them.”

  Agnes nodded, then frowned. “Training them to do what precisely?”

  “We, genteel ladies, are often in positions that allow us to handle things without being noticed. Street theft is rampant, but with the proper skills, it can be all but extinguished. There is more, but right now, I need you to answer a question, Miss Watkins. Are you willing to push yourself to learn these skills and can you commit to being discreet and become a member of the Ladies of Virtue?”

  “Yes,” Agnes said without even giving it much thought. She wouldn’t have to ask her father to send her to live in the countryside or at a convent. She could stay right here in London and be useful.

  Lady Somersby chuckled. “You do not need to give me an answer tonight. You should consider this, as it could be quite life altering.”

  “There is no need to consider it. In truth, Lady Somersby, I feel as if this is precisely what I am meant to do with my life. Perhaps that’s presumptuous or naive of me.”

  “Not at all, and I know precisely what you mean.” Lady Somersby smiled warmly. “Those many years ago when I first started on this journey, I felt the same.” She withdrew a calling card from the reticule hanging from her wrist and handed it to Agnes. “Please come to this address on Wednesday at approximately two in the afternoon.”

  “I shall see you then.” Agnes watched Lady Somersby walk away, then brought her fingers to her lips. She knew, without a doubt, that tonight her life had irrevocably changed.

  …

  Fletcher had not completely unveiled everything they needed from Lady Fairbanks, but what he had discovered needed to be given to his direct superviso
r. Fletcher had already been led into the man’s study in his townhome and was waiting for an audience. The fact that Chris and he were only a few years apart had always irritated Fletcher, but Chris was high ranking in the Seven’s organization and Fletcher respected him. Were it not for Fletcher’s grandfather’s wretched reputation, perhaps he would have advanced faster. Now he was likely going to be starting over because of the disastrous outcome of his previous assignment. None of which he could do anything about at the moment.

  His mind wandered back to the night before and the kiss he’d stolen from the lovely Miss Watkins. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. More than that, though, she’d been clever, funny, and charming. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since he’d stepped away from her. For someone who rarely lacked in female companionship, it wasn’t often that a woman intrigued him.

  Even now when he closed his eyes, he could see her own, that startling shade of blue unlike any he’d seen before. Damnation, if he wasn’t careful he’d be reciting poetry soon. Fletcher Banks did not get affected by a pretty face. Even if it was attached to a body made for sin. Until now. Until Agnes. Lust hummed through his veins and his cock twitched.

  At that moment, Christopher stepped into the study. Impeccable timing.

  “Wakefield,” he said, his voice tight. He stepped around to his desk and sat. “Do you have news?”

  Fletcher shifted, glad his fantasy had not had time to completely form, else he would have embarrassed himself. “Lady Fairbanks doesn’t have the documents we’re looking for, but I believe she knows who does.”

  “That is promising news.” Chris steepled his hands beneath his chin and eyed Fletcher. The man didn’t like him, though Fletcher had never really understood why. He wasn’t a perfect man, but on the whole, people enjoyed his company. Yet plenty of people judged him based on his grandfather’s behavior. He’d been a force in Parliament and he’d made many enemies.

  “Indeed. I suspect I’ll need more time with her.”

  Chris’s features tightened. “I’m certain that won’t be too unpleasant for you,” he bit out.

  Lady Fairbanks was a stunning woman. A widow, who had made it expressly clear the night before that she would welcome him into her bed. Still, Fletcher hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He was tired of that being the sole skill he brought to his position with the Seven. Need information from a woman? Send in Fletcher to seduce it out of her. He blew out a breath.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate a willing woman to warm his bed, but the novelty had grown old as of late. Suddenly, he found himself wishing not only for a more challenging assignment, but that also someday he might be interested in pursuing a woman, one woman.

  “You seem distracted,” Christopher said.

  “Merely have things on my mind.”

  “Such as?”

  Fletcher considered whether or not to say anything. The men in his team often had jesting things to say about his romantic conquests and the tasks he was given in the name of duty to country. They complained that those tasks were always assigned to him, but in truth, he doubted they would trade places with him.

  “I am perceptive of other people. It is what makes me good at seducing women for information. But it is not my only skill.”

  Chris’s brows rose. “It is not merely your perception, but your reputation as a lothario that brings these types of assignments to you. It is the perfect cover. You hide in plain sight and seduce women normally, so when the time comes to do so for duty to your country, I should think you could do so without complaint.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “That being said, seduction is not the only means to gather information. It just seems to be your preferred method. And I don’t believe any of them have required you to toss a bag over their heads.”

  “I’m ready for something more challenging.” He shrugged. “What if I choose a bride? I can’t be spending my nights seducing other women, even in the name of my country.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?” Chris asked.

  Perhaps if Chris knew he was potentially serious about one woman he’d offer him some different types of duties. “I met someone last night.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “She was different. Special.”

  “If she has you pausing, considering something significant rather than a brief affair, she sounds special indeed.”

  “I know that a brief affair with her would never be enough. I can say that with certainty.” Whether or not he deserved someone of her caliber was an entirely different matter. His grandfather would certainly say that Fletcher was too stupid and incompetent to deserve a well-bred lady.

  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Chris chuckled. “Try to remember, Wakefield, that we are not friends, you and me. If you want to marry, feel free. As for your assignments, I shall consider changing some of them, but after the mess you left in Belgium, I don’t have many options.”

  “Christopher,” a woman’s voice called from outside of the study. “Are you in here?” Then the door opened and in walked Agnes.

  Fletcher came to his feet. “Miss Watkins.” Watkins. Christopher Watkins. How had he missed that connection?

  Her perfect bow-shaped lips parted and her eyes widened. She looked from Fletcher’s face to Christopher’s.

  “Lord Wakefield, what are you—”

  “Wakefield, I certainly hope this is not the lady you were just speaking of,” Chris said, his tone dark and deadly.

  Her eyes darted to Chris at his interruption. Her mouth opened, then closed, and a frown settled over her features.

  “This is my sister, Miss Watkins.” Chris leveled a glare at him.

  Damnation. It didn’t take any special training to decipher that Christopher wasn’t too keen on the notion of Fletcher and his sister having any sort of relationship. He wasn’t certain if he should be pleased that he’d stolen a kiss the night before, since it seemed he’d never get another, or distraught that now he’d know what he’d be missing. Because even though chaste, he’d felt a passion simmering under the surface with Agnes. As if she’d read his thoughts, her fingers went to her lips.

  Christopher’s shrewd eyes left Fletcher and trained on his sister. “Agnes, did you need something?”

  She released a slow breath. “Only to tell you that Mother has requested we accompany her to the theater this evening since Father is still traveling. My apologies for interrupting your”—she glanced back to Fletcher and he felt the impact of her crystalline eyes as if she’d struck him in the stomach—“meeting.”

  Christopher nodded. “It would appear that you met Lord Wakefield, I’m assuming at the Winthrop ball last evening?”

  “Yes. We danced,” she said.

  “He was a gentleman?” Chris asked.

  “He is right here,” Fletcher said, annoyed at being the subject of conversation while standing in the room. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he was curious as to whether or not Agnes would reveal him to be the cad that he was. Hell, had he known she was Chris’s sister, he never would have kissed her. Never would have even danced with her. As if Chris needed any additional reasons to hate him.

  Agnes’s eyes never left his own. “He was.” She smiled. “Lovely to you see you again, my lord.”

  “You as well,” Fletcher said.

  “Agnes, if there’s nothing else, Wakefield and I need to resume our discussion,” Christopher said.

  “Of course.” She hurriedly left the room.

  Christopher turned his body back to face Fletcher once they were alone again. “I know it should go without saying, but I want to make certain you understand my sister is completely off-limits for you.”

  Fletcher eyed him. “And if I decide to court her?”

  “I understand you recognized that Agnes is special. But she’s too damned good for the likes of you. She’s not like your revolving door of widows, there for you to seduce.”

  “I realize that, Chris. I’m not daft. I recognize enough to see t
hat Agnes is different. I said as much before you even knew who I was talking about.”

  Chris shook his head. “No. She’s an innocent and deserves to marry a proper man. Not a scoundrel like you.”

  “Even scoundrels can be reformed with the love of a good woman,” Fletcher said.

  Chris snorted. “Perhaps some scoundrels, but it’s unlikely with you. I’d wager you’ve bedded more woman than I’ve ever met. Regardless of you, Agnes has decided to remain unmarried. She is not looking for any suitors.”

  He’d be willing to endure Chris’s disapproval, but if the lady herself didn’t wish to be courted, then there wasn’t much Fletcher could do about that. “This is only her second Season. I realize I don’t have a sister, but do you feel it wise to allow her to give up on the prospects of marriage so soon?”

  “What you fail to comprehend is that no woman should be forced to marry if she doesn’t want to.” The vehemence with which those words came out struck Fletcher.

  “You feel very passionately about this,” Fletcher said.

  Chris’s jaw clenched. “It is enough to say that I knew someone once who was forced and it has resulted in nothing but misery for her. I will not see my sister put through the same experience.” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “Understand this, Wakefield. If you touch my sister, I will see to it that you are given the most menial of assignments for the duration of your career with the Seven.” He paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows. “Unless your situation has changed, and your grandfather has become more forthcoming with your allowance, perhaps you no longer need this position?”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  “Right. So, while I work this job because of duty to her majesty, you do it to keep yourself in fashionable frocks.”

  Fletcher barked out a laugh. Chris had no notion of what it was like to have to actually work for income. “How is it possible that we are the same age and you are such a bloody prude? Christ, Watkins, what you need is the warmth of a good woman to work some of that attitude right out of you.”