Page 4 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
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.”
