by Robyn DeHart
She nodded.
“Excellent.” He smiled warmly. “If you are ready, then, I have a carriage waiting.”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
She couldn’t imagine what he wanted to discuss with her that would demand such privacy. Perhaps he’d come because she’d offended him with her kiss. Oh no.
She waited for a few moments after they were seated in the carriage before she spoke. “Sullivan, I do hate to be rude, but you’ve made me rather nervous. Could you tell me what it is you wish to discuss?”
“Agnes, may I be blunt?” he asked.
“Of course,” Agnes said. Suddenly, her mouth went dry and she felt as if she were about to get a lecture on something inappropriate that she’d done. He was going to call her out on the kiss. How humiliating.
“I know what you’re doing. Though I admire your creativity, and resourcefulness, your plan is not going to work.”
Agnes frowned. “I’m not certain I know what you’re talking about.”
“Using Wakefield to make me jealous.”
Agnes’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. “But that is not truly—”
“Agnes, it is not that I am immune to your charms. You’re an exceptionally beautiful woman, and I—any man would be lucky to have you on his arm.”
“But you are not jealous?”
“No, I can’t say that I’m jealous. As I’ve mentioned before, I have no intention of marrying. You or anyone else.”
“While we are being blunt with each other, allow me to admit that I have not been trying to make you jealous. I know you don’t want to marry me,” she said.
He frowned. “But the kiss?”
There it was. Her head tilted. “An experiment of sorts.”
“Care to explain?” he asked with a chuckle.
She took a deep breath and did just that. Telling him briefly about her discussion with Fletcher and about their differing theories about lust. She watched his chiseled jaw relax into a grin.
“You are an extraordinary woman, Agnes.”
“I don’t see why, but thank you.”
“You are resourceful. It is a trait many women do not seem to possess. I must admit, though, that I find it odd Wakefield claims to be courting you only to protect you while your brother is out of town. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him. It seems quite obvious to me that the two of you belong together.”
A nervous giggle bubbled up out of Agnes. “Fletcher and I do not belong together.”
Sullivan waved his hand dismissively. “If you insist. But I thought to propose a counterproposal. We continue as we have been going. Wakefield works diligently pretending to court you, and I will continue as I’ve been so that my mother believes I am also courting you.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Eventually, Wakefield will realize he wants you for himself. Then when you are betrothed to him, my mother will believe me to be brokenhearted about losing you and give me a reprieve from the marriage mart. And everyone lives happily ever after.”
She couldn’t help but be amused. “Well, you certainly have it all figured out.” Her heart beat faster at the mere thought of being engaged to Fletcher. That would never work. Would it? No. As much as the idea made her heart pound with glee, her mind knew it would never work between the two of them. He’d never be faithful. He’d admitted as much himself.
“This would be a lot easier if we were a good match. You and I. We have a friendship, which is more than I can hope for in a marriage.”
“Agnes, you are likely the most beautiful woman in all of England. It seems ridiculous to think you cannot even hope for friendship when selecting a husband.”
“I know the two of us are merely friends. But you have done nothing to prevent people from believing that you have intentions of courting me. Why go to all that trouble?”
“Two reasons. The first being my mother. She has made it her life’s ambition to marry her children off, and despite being the eldest, I am the remaining unclaimed child. Which means all of her attention gets poured onto me. But I have no wish to marry. Anyone. Ever, if I can help it. There’s no pressure for me to produce an heir. I have three younger brothers, one of whom already had a son.”
She nodded. She certainly knew about parental pressure. Her mother badgered her often about securing a man. “And the second reason?”
“Miss Watkins, I truly mean you no offense. Were I interested at all in marrying, you would certainly be my first choice.” Again, he squeezed her hand. “In truth, I selected you specifically because you are a fascinating woman whom many of the men in this town find cold and unapproachable.”
“But you do not?”
“No. It was obvious to me that part of what some might deem as coldness is nothing more than you being rather shy.”
She’d never considered herself shy before, but she had to acknowledge that his observation made sense.
“But also, because your brother is slightly overprotective, and therefore I knew he wouldn’t force my hand. The minimal attention I gave you seemed to appease my mother. But I never meant you any harm. I figured since you weren’t particularly attracted to me, none of this would matter.”
That shocked her. “How do you know I’m not attracted to you? How can you tell?”
He chuckled. “A man knows if a woman finds him attractive, at least he does if he’s paying attention. For starters, you never look at me the way you do Wakefield.”
Her breath caught. Good heavens. Could other people see that? Had Fletcher, himself, noticed it?
“Also, the other evening when you kissed me,” Sullivan said.
“You’re going to have to be more specific. Are you saying you could tell from my kiss? Because you should take into consideration the fact that I am vastly inexperienced.”
“It was a perfectly pleasant kiss. Despite the fire I saw burning in your eyes, there was no passion in our embrace. I can only assume that your heated gaze had been put there during your dance with Wakefield.”
“So, you are not attracted to me, either?”
“That is not what I said.” He shook his head. “I’d have to be blind to not find you attractive. I do not wish to marry. And I would never suggest something so crude as an affair.” He shrugged, his smile affable. “I merely thought to propose an alternative to your current plan, something that would bring you happiness in the end. As you said, we are friends.”
She eyed him for a moment. “I do hope you realize I wasn’t trying to force your hand or manipulate you.”
“It would take a compromising position to force me into marriage, and I would never think you capable of such machinations.”
“I honestly hadn’t given any thought to you or how you would perceive Fletcher’s attentions. In truth, I have no desire to marry, either. This is my fifth Season, you know. I am hopefully weeks away from being put upon the shelf, as they say.”
He paused for a moment. “You want to be a spinster?”
“I have my reasons.” Though she hated the hope blooming in her chest, she couldn’t help but ask, “You truly believe Fletcher wants to be with me?”
“I have no doubt about that, my dear. I suspect the man is already halfway in love with you.”
She swallowed. In love with her? What did Fletcher believe about love? They’d only ever discussed her theories. She had only ever considered his desire. She knew he wanted her. But she’d never considered he’d have a depth of emotion for her. He’d mentioned he might attend the concert tonight. Suddenly, the thought of seeing him that night filled her with equal measures of trepidation and excitement.
The concert at the Crystal Palace was crammed packed with guests. It seemed everyone who was anyone was there. The crowd did nothing to calm her jangled nerves. Her entire body practically hummed with an excited energy that she didn’t quite understood.
She suspected it had something to do with Sullivan’s words on the way here and the fact that Fletcher had not stopped looki
ng at her since they’d arrived. She’d caught his eye a couple of times, but seeing as she was Sullivan’s companion for the evening, they hadn’t had any actual interaction.
She had also seen Harriet earlier, with Lord Davenport hot on her tail. Though the two of them had disappeared into an exhibit room farther into the palace. Harriet hadn’t appeared all that pleased, with her features pinched.
Agnes glanced over to the wall where Fletcher stood and once again found him watching her. Her heart tightened and her stomach fluttered. The fact that every time she’d looked over to him she’d found his heated gaze locked on her made her feel hot and flustered, despite the low-cut bodice of her gown and capped sleeves, which she’d ordinarily find chilling. Did Sullivan’s idea that Fletcher was half in love with her have any merit? Was he jealous at seeing her here with another man? He’d certainly commented on Sullivan often enough, and she had to admit that he generally sounded annoyed when he did.
Suddenly, Harriet rushed by with tears in her eyes.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment, Sullivan, I’m going to see to my friend Harriet. I’m afraid she’s distressed.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
She got up and went into the direction that Harriet had disappeared and called after her. Finally, she found her exiting the entrance to the palace. Agnes called to her to stop, but Harriet just shook her head and ran off. Agnes caught up to her down the darkened path that led away from the palace.
“Harriet, wait,” Agnes called as she jogged up to meet her friend.
Harriet turned, her face red and her eyes filled with tears. Agnes remembered all the times that Harriet had embraced people when they seemed sad, so she quickly pulled her into her arms. Her friend, normally soft and jovial, felt stiff and awkward. Perhaps Agnes wasn’t that skilled at hugging. She released Harriet.
“What happened?” she asked.
“It matters not. I am being a foolish goose and want to go home,” Harriet said. Her voice quivered with emotion.
Agnes’s stomach clenched. She hated to see her friends in pain. “You can talk to me, you know.” She put her hand on Harriet’s arm.
Harriet nodded. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Very well. I’ll walk you to your carriage. I’m assuming it’s waiting for you?”
“Yes, just down the drive.”
They walked in silence, arm in arm. “You know I think you’re spectacular, truly,” Agnes said.
Harriet’s voice hitched as she sucked in a breath. “Thank you, Agnes.”
She helped her friend up into her carriage.
“Would you like a ride?” Harriet asked.
“Oh no, I’m here with Lord Glenbrook. I suppose I should be getting back.” She squeezed Harriet’s hand. “I shall see you tomorrow then?”
“Yes.” Harriet gave her a watery smile.
Agnes stood and watched her friend’s carriage disappear down the drive. Whatever had occurred between Harriet and Lord Davenport had distressed poor Harriet. Agnes felt certain that the two of them would resolve their issues and likely be married, or at least engaged, by the end of the Season. Lord Davenport certainly seemed hell-bent on making that happen, though Harriet waved off his advances and continued to try to find him what she deemed to be an appropriate bride.
She turned to walk back to the palace and realized it was dark out. And she was alone, far from the palace and crowds. Not necessarily her most intelligent decision, but she couldn’t leave Harriet in her moment of need.
She needed to make haste and return to the building as quickly as possible. Crickets and frogs created an orchestra around her. Fear trickled through her, settling into her belly. Even her mother, as unhelpful as she was most of the time, had warned her about not putting herself into positions where she could come to harm.
She was trained, she reminded herself. And she had a weapon on her. She slowed her breathing. All was well.
Her secret suitor.
His letter from earlier today had rattled her, that’s all this was. There was no reason to believe that her new admirer would ever try to harm her. He seemed rather enamored with her. But the fact that he insisted on keeping his identity a secret bothered her. Not to mention those flowers he’d obviously cut from within her garden walls. She shivered.
A rustling noise came from behind her. Quickly, she reached beneath the hem of her skirts and withdrew her blade.
Chapter Fourteen
Fletcher kept to the shadows behind Agnes, lest she discover him following her. It was no secret that he was watching out for her while her brother was out of town, still he knew Agnes well enough to know she’d not like him acting her guardian. A small stick crunched beneath his boot and he was thankful for the shrubbery between them. He stilled.
And then he felt something decidedly sharp and cold against his throat. He looked down to find a fierce Agnes holding a dagger. Her chest rose and fell quickly with her rapid breaths.
“Holy hell, Agnes, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Fletcher!” she hissed. “Why are you following me?”
“Could you kindly remove your blade?” He used one hand to push hers away from his neck. He swallowed, then swore as he saw the blade. The weapon was small, obviously designed for a woman’s hand, though it wasn’t ornamental. “Where the devil did you get a weapon like that?”
She propped one leg out and pulled her skirts up to her knee.
His mouth went dry and he knew he should turn away from her, but he couldn’t. She yanked up the leg of her pantaloons, revealing a shapely leg encased in creamy stockings. This entire scenario should not have aroused him, yet he felt the distinct sensation of blood rushing to his groin. Excellent timing.
“I’ve always preferred a dagger, and this is the most logical mode of carrying one.” With that she returned the delicate blade to the sheath where it rested between her skin and her garter.
“You’re killing me, Bluebell,” he said, trying to shift his focus from his ridiculous growing erection. But damned if her whipping out a weapon wasn’t ridiculously sexy.
“It is challenging for women to be able to carry anything on the off chance they need to protect themselves. I design some, most in fans and jewelry, but I do not have any on me this evening.” She scanned the darkness around them. “I wasn’t expecting to find myself in a dangerous situation.”
“Do you normally?”
She bit down on her lip and shook her head. “No. But one can never be too careful.”
“Agnes, what are you not telling me?”
She eyed him, but said nothing, then merely shook her head.
“I can see it in your eyes. You’re hiding something. And you’re frightened.”
“You startled me,” she said.
He reached forward and gripped both of her arms, squeezed them gently, then rubbed his thumbs against her. “Please talk to me.”
She inhaled a shaky breath.
“Here is what we’re going to do. You’re going to go back inside and tell Glenbrook that you’re not feeling well and then I am going to see you home.” He tilted her chin up to face him. “But you are going to talk to me.”
She nodded, then did what he said. Ten minutes later, she’d returned to the entrance and he led her to a rig he’d secured. Once they were safely ensconced in the interior of the carriage, he prodded her again. “What has you so afraid?”
Again, she bit down on her lip, then slowly nodded. “I told you recently that I had a suitor I wished to deter, but I didn’t tell you anything specific. Partly because I don’t know who he is.”
“Pardon?”
“He’s anonymous. At least so far. He’s probably harmless, but he’s sent a couple of messages to my home and some flowers.”
“Bloody hell, Agnes, why didn’t tell me this before?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think too much of it, and I hadn’t even thought to be frightened by the ordeal until tonight standing out in the darkness alone. I’m cert
ain it was merely my imagination.” She rubbed her thigh where he knew she’d hidden her dagger.
With one swift moment he pulled her to him, settling her onto his lap. He rubbed his hand up and down her back to soothe her. Slowly she relaxed against him and allowed him to comfort her.
He closed his eyes and recalled the sight of her shapely legs and that blade pressed against her thigh. He’d been so hard since then he feared he might spill himself in his trousers. And now he’d nestled her onto his lap.
He swore again, then crushed his lips to hers. His hungry kiss tore through her, pleading for everything she had to give. He continued kissing her, his mouth at times angry as he pressed into her. She clung to him as desire shook through her.
His mouth left hers and began raining kisses down her throat, across her collarbone and onto the gentle swell of her breasts. He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply, desperately trying to forge her scent into his memory.
“Fletcher,” she breathed.
He put his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her so that she’d wrap her legs around him. She reached between them, impatiently gathering her skirts to bunch them at her waist. He kissed her again and pressed himself to her hot center. There were still too many layers of material separating them, but he was close enough to feel her warmth, and he knew she would not mistake his hardness.
He kept one hand at her bottom to hold her in place as he pressed her against him. She bucked against him and still he kissed her, his tongue sliding against hers. His other hand scooped into her bodice and nudged her breast free, enough so he could suckle at her nipple.
At the first brush of his tongue, she arched against him and cried out. Again and again she rocked against him, while he teased her nipple with his mouth, then he moved back up and claimed her mouth for another fevered kiss. Christ, he wanted her. Wanted to rip off those damn pantaloons and plunge himself into her hot, wet center.
“Fletcher,” she whispered. “Oh God!” And then she came, her body shaking with waves of pleasure, her exquisite face tilted upward with an expression of sheer bliss. She cried out again and again, calling his name as her body shook with her release.
