Page 25 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
“Indeed.”
Plagued by thoughts of Fletcher, her eyes automatically sought him in the room. To her surprise, he was indeed watching her. Fletcher’s eyes followed her as she moved in Sullivan’s arms. She could feel his heated hazel gaze over every inch of her person. Good heavens. Even across the room, while she danced with another man, Fletcher brought out the very worst in her. She’d spent her entire life demanding more of herself, proving that she had so much more to offer than her pretty face and feminine curves. She knew what men wanted. She’d seen it again and again with her own mother. Their brazen flirting, the rumors, her father’s nearly continual travel. She would not be that woman. Passion had no place in her life because she would not lose herself to become nothing more than an ornamental vessel.
“Have you been to the Crystal Palace yet?” she asked. She would not allow her recent fascination with Fletcher to ruin her friendship with Sullivan. He was a handsome man, there was no denying it. But meeting Sullivan’s brown gaze held none of the heat or thrill that occurred when she looked at Fletcher, which brought her mind back to her experiment with the kiss. Did she have an emotional attachment to Fletcher and not realize it? Is that why their kiss had been so pleasurable?
“I haven’t made the time for a visit. Is it worth it, in your opinion?”
“Yes, very much so. Every exhibit has something worth exploring. It’s quite thrilling. Do you enjoy antiquities? I don’t believe we’ve ever discussed that before.”
His eyes met hers and he gave her a slight smile. “I suppose they can be of interest. I must confess, though, I’ve never been much of a student or scholar. I prefer the athletics and politics.”
“Then it is fortunate you were born into the House of Lords.”
He chuckled. “Indeed, it is.”
Their dance ended, and he walked her back to where her friends stood. Fletcher was waiting for her.
“Glenbrook,” Fletcher said with a nod.
Sullivan returned the greeting, then turned back to Agnes. “Thank you, Miss Watkins, for the dance. Perhaps I could call on you to attend the Crystal Palace with me. I should think I’d benefit from you as a guide.”
She eyed him cautiously, then curtsied. He wasn’t normally quite so formal with her. Then again, she’d been stilted with him tonight and he’d obviously noticed. “That would be lovely.”
Fletcher pulled up her dance card so he could read it, then quickly wrote his name down.
“Our waltz, Miss Watkins,” he said. He swept her into his arms without another word to anyone else.
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, my lord?” she asked once they were on the dance floor. Then she cringed. Why would she suggest such a thing? That implied too many things she wasn’t equipped to deal with.
“Jealous? Of Glenbrook?” He chuckled. “Don’t be silly, Bluebell.”
“Then what other reason could you possibly have for asking me to dance? You only ever dance with me one night the entire Season and we have already shared that this year,” she said.
“You look particularly fetching in that gown.” His eyes slid down to rest on her cleavage. The gold flecks warmed to a honey color.
Her skin heated under his gaze and she knew a blush was rapidly spreading across her chest and neck. She swallowed and focused her attention on his right ear. That seemed innocuous enough.
“Do I truly need a reason to want to dance with you?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
It was hot in here and the air had suddenly diminished. “I don’t suppose you do.” Still she was left with the feeling that there was more at hand than merely a dance. Were her friends correct, and he’d finally decided to pursue her as he once claimed he wanted to do? Her heart battered against her chest and she took a slow breath in an effort to calm her nerves.
“Are you giving anyone a guided tour of the Crystal Palace or just Glenbrook?”
She grinned up at him. “You are jealous.”
“Agnes, love, there is no comparison between the good viscount and myself. No competition.”
“So very arrogant.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “That quality does not make you attractive.”
“What qualities do?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again with a glare. “I am not playing this game with you, Fletcher.”
She could bring up his lustful nature again, and how he needed to change his behavior. She still believed that. The problem was that now that he had faulted her logic, she wasn’t quite sure how to go about persuading him that he was still wrong.
He was quiet for a few beats of the music, his arms holding her tightly to him. Her body hummed with awareness, the warmth of his hand at the small of her back. His other hand held her own. The smell of him, sandalwood and cedar and maleness, swirled around her. She tried to deny herself, to not breathe him in, but she failed; instead, she inhaled deeply. Though she did manage to not lean forward and press her nose to his throat. Good heavens, but this man made her a complete goose.
“He’s watching you,” Fletcher said.
