by Robyn DeHart
He stilled his movements to try and gather his wits about him. He braced his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and held her. Then slowly he shifted her off of his lap and straightened her dress.
Pink flush stained her neck, chest, and cheeks. A telltale sign of the orgasm he’d given her. He shifted but knew nothing would alleviate the pressure in his cock until he could get home and take a hand to himself. It would solve the problem for tonight, but it never lasted very long.
It was then that he realized the carriage had stopped. He peeked out the small curtained window and saw her townhome outside. “You should get inside,” he said, his voice coming out harsher than he’d intended.
“Fletcher, are you angry with me?”
“No, Bluebell.” He cupped her cheek. “Having you come apart like that in my arms…it was everything. But I can’t trust myself with you anymore this evening.”
She nodded.
He sat quietly in the rig until she was safely in her family’s townhome. Then he withdrew himself and decided to walk the rest of the way. He hoped the brisk night air would cool his desire and the fire in his loins. But by the time he arrived home, his trousers were only slightly less tight.
He took the stairs two at a time until he reached his bedchamber, then he quickly disposed of his clothes. Her surprised cries of pleasure still rang in his ears. He lay back on his bed and gripped his cock tightly in his hand and jerked it up once. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take hold.
This wasn’t the first time he’d taken a hand to himself with a vision of Agnes in his mind. And it likely wouldn’t be the last.
In his head, she lay beneath him on his bed, with her hair spread out across his pillow, her legs parted. Her body was perfection, all luscious curves and pretty pink parts. His hand moved quicker imagining entering her tight warm center. He flipped himself over to press himself into his mattress.
Then he rutted against it while in his mind he plunged into Agnes. Again and again. Her breath caught, her lips parted, she called his name, and her core clenched around him…and he spilled himself onto his sheets and his own stomach.
Chapter Fifteen
He hadn’t slept.
After the encounter with Agnes in the carriage, and what she’d told him about her secret suitor, he’d been unable to sleep. Instead he’d formulated a plan for how to identify the man and put a stop to his attentions.
He’d sent a message to Agnes at first light with instructions on what to do, and she’d followed through perfectly. She hadn’t even asked him how he’d known about her affiliation with the Ladies of Virtue. She’d merely indicated in her return message that she had scheduled a meeting with her friends.
But, evidently, she hadn’t read his message to mean that he was attending the meeting as well, which was why she was currently looking at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I thought I’d made it abundantly clear in my message. I’m here to speak to your friends so we can figure out who this bastard is.”
She shook her head. “You never said you would be involved. And we don’t need you. I don’t know how you found out about my involvement in the Ladies of Virtue and I don’t even need to know. Suffice it to say we are trained for this very thing.”
He should have known she’d fight him on this. “I realize that, but having a set of fresh eyes on a situation always helps.”
“Of course you think we need your help because we’re women and we certainly can’t do anything on our own.” She rolled her eyes heavenward.
“Not true. You pulled a dagger on me last night and could have filleted my throat before I’d even realized what had happened. I recognize that you’re skilled. But I also know that my being a man means that I have access to parts of Society that none of you can reach.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it with a frown.
“Agnes, I need for you to let me help. I need to be a part of this because I need for you to be safe.” Again she opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a raise of his hand. “Not because your brother asked me to look after you, so don’t even say that.”
“Then why? Why is it so important to you?”
“Because you’re important to me, Bluebell. Certainly, you know that after all these years.”
Which was how it came to be that he stood at the front of a parlor with a handful of women peering back at him.
“Is this the lot of you?” His brow furrowed in a frown. “I had envisioned the Ladies of Virtue being a rather larger group.”
“No, of course not. But we’re also in the midst of a discord in our group and these are the members I trust the most,” Agnes said. “And those I’ve already told about this particular issue. Though we are missing Harriet, since she is preparing for the Brookhaven party.”
Lady Matilda eyed him speculatively. “How do you know about our organization?”
“Agnes did not betray your confidences, if that is what concerns you,” he said. He wasn’t about to let Agnes know that Chris had told him about their penchant for hunting street criminals.
“That is all you will tell us?” Agnes asked.
He nodded.
“Very well. For what reason did you want us gathered?” she asked.
Fletcher forked his fingers through his hair. He moved his gaze between the three women sitting in a clump on the settee. “I know that Agnes has spoken to you regarding her new admirer.”
The two women flanking Agnes both nodded.
“It seems that she upset him recently when she declined a dance. He has made his displeasure known in no uncertain terms,” Fletcher said.
“What can we do to help?” Matilda asked.
“I’d like to know what you’ve seen when you’re with her. Do you know anyone she declined to dance with?”
“There’s an entire list of men that she declines at nearly every ball,” Justine said.
His gaze turned to Agnes.
She lifted a delicate shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t particularly care for dancing.”
Though he knew that wasn’t the entire story. She didn’t enjoy being wrapped in a man’s embrace, especially the men who tended to gravitate toward her. For not the first time, Fletcher cursed her brother for being a blind arse and not protecting his sister.
“We need a list,” Fletcher said. “I want to know who this bastard is.” Then he frowned. “My apologies, ladies, I should not use such coarse language.”
“Sometimes a situation calls for it,” Justine said.
The women volleyed some names back and forth.
“We know it’s not Sullivan, as much as I loathe the man. You dance with him at nearly every function,” Matilda said.
Fletcher raised one brow in question.
Matilda waved a hand dismissively. “The feeling is mutual, I can promise you that. My sister is married to his brother.” She visibly shuddered. “He makes her miserable.”
Fletcher blew out a breath. He hadn’t meant to get involved in any family ordeals.
“Do you think this admirer is dangerous?” Justine asked, her tone guarded.
Agnes met his gaze, and he knew that no matter what, he’d protect her with his last breath. She was too important to him not to. “I think he’s potentially dangerous. I’m not willing to take the risk with Agnes’s safety.”
“Perhaps I should retire from public life,” Agnes said. “That would solve everything.” The defeat in her tone was a punch to Fletcher’s gut. Why had he been such a bloody coward and not fought for her when he’d had the chance? He could have prevented all of this.
Not for the first time, he scoured his mind for a worthy man to marry and protect her. But every name that came to him proved wrong in some way or another.
“It certainly wouldn’t solve him scaling the wall into your garden,” Matilda said.
Agnes hung her head.
“What? Who scaled your wall
?” Fletcher asked.
Agnes met his gaze. “It’s nothing. He sent me flowers last week. They had all been cut from my own garden.”
“How is that nothing?” he asked.
“That’s what we told her,” Justine said.
“I know it isn’t nothing, but it doesn’t change anything we’re discussing tonight,” Agnes said.
“Except that he knows where you live and how to get onto your property without being invited,” Fletcher said. He swore, but this time didn’t bother apologizing to the women. “This was the wrong bloody time for your brother to leave town.” He was ready for Chris to get back to London if no for other reason than Fletcher wanted to pound him in the face.
“My mother is there with me.” Agnes took a deep breath. “And in three days we are all going to Brookhaven for Lord Davenport’s country house party.”
“Then I suppose I shall attend as well.” He eyed the other women. “I need you to be vigilant in watching every encounter she has with any man.”
They both nodded.
…
“He is in love with you,” Justine said.
“It certainly doesn’t feel like love.” Not that she believed in love. That emotion was fleeting and induced by lust, but then it disappeared as swiftly as a rainbow. “He is threatening me,” Agnes said.
“Not your admirer,” Justine said.
“She means Lord Wakefield,” Matilda said.
“Fletcher? That is ridiculous,” Agnes said. “He is feeling protective because my brother asked him to look after me. That is all.” You’re important to me, Bluebell. She ignored the steadily increasing speed of her heartbeat as she remembered his words. Romantic love was only an illusion. But as firmly as she believed that, she also recognized that with Fletcher, she could fall into that illusion so easily. There was nothing imaginary about a broken heart.
Her friends nodded knowingly but made no further arguments.
“Matilda, why do you hate Sullivan?” Agnes asked.
“He is a cad. And his brother has made my sister miserable. He has been unfaithful. She desperately wants a child.”
“Is her husband withholding his affections so that she cannot get pregnant?” Agnes asked.
“I don’t know precisely,” Matilda said.
“Still, what does any of that have to do with Sullivan?”
Matilda sighed. “I realize that you and he are friends and that he is kind to you. But I have only ever known him to be an arrogant, lazy man with no regards for anyone’s feelings but his own.”
Agnes had no reason to defend him. Though she’d never experienced anything of the kind with Sullivan, Tilly knew him better and had known him longer.
“In fact, I have decided that as much as I do not wish to converse with him, his slothfulness must be addressed.”
Agnes hid a smile. “You intend to reform Sullivan of his laziness?”
Tilly nodded once. “I very well do.”
Chapter Sixteen
The following day, Agnes sat in her favorite chair in the library sketching a new design. She’d already sold out of all the fans she’d made and wanted to improve the weapon with the next batch she created. And she wanted something to occupy her hands and mind in hopes of forgetting everything that occurred between her and Fletcher two nights before.
One might think that with a secret suitor out there and a myriad of other goings on in her life that she’d have plenty to occupy her mind. Instead, all she could think about was the time she’d spent in Fletcher’s arms in the carriage. She could still feel his lips on hers, his warm palm on her flesh. Her skin burned at just the thought. The sensations he’d wrought from her. The climax of pleasure he’d given her. Her cheeks heated with the memory and blood rushed to various delicate parts of her body.
“You will never believe what has happened,” Harriet said bursting into the room.
Agnes looked up, hoping that none of the thoughts she’d just been having were apparent on her face. She smiled at her friend.
Harriet’s normal cheery-self seemed to be missing, so Agnes set down her pencil. Without saying anything else, she closed her book, rang for a servant, and ordered tea to be sent directly to her bedchamber. Then she hooked her arm with Harriet’s and led her up the staircase.
“You look dreadful,” Agnes said.
“Thank you,” Harriet said drolly.
“So, tell me what this thing is that I am not going to believe.”
“It’s Lord Davenport.” Harriet stopped talking as soon as the maid entered the room with the tea tray. She set it down on the ottoman between their two chairs. Harriet inhaled slowly. “He proposed to me.”
Agnes waited for the rest of the story.
“He even went and spoke to Malcolm. What was he thinking?”
Agnes frowned, uncertain as to what her friend found so distressing. “That he wanted to marry you.”
“No, do you not see?” Harriet stirred her tea absently. “He is toying with me. Tormenting me. He told me all these wicked things he wants to do to me,” she whispered.
Agnes wanted to ask what he’d said, but that wasn’t appropriate. Damn Fletcher and his wicked ways, making her want things she shouldn’t want.
“Agnes, you are not helping. I came to speak to you because you are so pragmatic. Why would he do all of this? Why would he go to such lengths to tease me so mercilessly? Is he that cruel?” Harriet’s pretty eyes filled with tears.
Agnes reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Perhaps I am missing something. I can see that you are upset. Hurting. And I am certainly being pragmatic. I’m not convinced I know how to not be.” Except when it came to Fletcher. Then, it seemed all her pragmatism disappeared.
“He is laughing at me,” Harriet said.
“Did he?”
“What?”
“Did he actually laugh at you?”
“Well, no. Not in front of me.”
“Then the only logical conclusion is he proposed to you because he truly wants to marry you.”
Harriet rolled her eyes.
“Answer me this. Why has that option not even occurred to you?”
Harriet acted as if she didn’t even want his proposal. Though Agnes doubted very much that was true. She suspected, instead, that her friend wanted to marry Lord Davenport, but was afraid of that notion. Harriet wanted a love match. Agnes could afford no such luxury. She needed to be married to be protected.
“That’s preposterous,” Harriet said.
“I’m not so certain it is. You’re a beautiful woman, he’d be a fool not to want you.”
Harriet shook her head. “I will find him an appropriate bride at his country house party. You are coming along, aren’t you?”
In truth, she had nearly forgotten all about it. “Of course.”
“Hopefully, in addition to marrying off Lord Davenport, we shall be able to shed some light on the mystery behind Lady X.”
Good heavens! She had forgotten about that! The mysterious Lady X was far more important than whomever her secret suitor turned out to be. Perhaps this jaunt into the countryside was precisely what she needed to put her mind back on what was important. Lady X, the Ladies of Virtue, and finding a way to reform Fletcher from his lust-filled life. She still hadn’t figured that one out considering he’d disproved her theory. But at least his behavior was currently on hiatus while courting her, so in a way she had accomplished her task.
“What has your mother said about Lord Davenport’s intentions? I know she is close with his mother,” Agnes said.
“She understands my wanting to marry for love. But I think she’s secretly hoping I’ll say yes to him.” Harriet rolled her eyes.
Not for the first time in their friendship, Agnes found herself wishing her mother was half the parent Harriet’s mother was. Agnes snorted.
“What?”
Agnes shook her head. “I find it amusing that your mother gives you heartfelt advice such as that, meanwhile mine rece
ntly told me I should feel free to marry Sullivan and have an affair with Fletcher on the side.”
Harriet’s mouth opened and closed several times. “She actually said those words to you?”
“Come now, Harriet, it’s not all that surprising. Everyone knows the truth about her. It is not as if she goes to any great lengths to hide the fact that she has lovers.”
“I know it’s embarrassing for you.”
Agnes nodded and was quiet for several moments. “What if I’m more like her than I care to admit?”
“Oh, Agnes, you know that’s not true.”
“I don’t know that. I know I’ve allowed Fletcher to take liberties with me I never would have imagined doing.”
Harriet’s eyes grew round.
“I know if given the chance, I’d likely allow him to do much more.” She dropped her head down. “He makes me feel. So much. When I’m with him, it is as if everything is funnier, everything is more intense. But I cannot afford to lose myself in him.”
She hadn’t seen or heard from Fletcher in two days. Nothing since he’d called her friends in to a meeting to help identify her secret suitor. At that meeting, they hadn’t gotten a chance to speak alone so they’d had no actual interaction since he’d introduced her body to pleasure. Her skin still tingled, but now her heart felt heavy. Had she done something wrong? It seemed she’d pushed Fletcher away with her wanton behavior. Perhaps he had lost interest in her for some reason she couldn’t fathom. There was much about the pleasures of the flesh she simply didn’t understand. How could she hope to please a man such as Fletcher until she did?
So again, she lay awake in her bed, unable to shut off her mind and get any legitimate or restful sleep. She flipped herself over to try to get more comfortable, but it didn’t work.
Something tapped on her window, which was odd because her bedchamber was on the second floor. There it was again. And again.
She tossed back the covers and padded her way to the window. Fletcher stood below tossing up pebbles. She opened the window and leaned out a bit.
