Page 29 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
He chuckled. “I don’t believe I claimed to be.”
“That’s certainly what my mother thinks by you making this ridiculous visit. Now I will have to endure questions for the rest of the evening and explain to her why I once again have no suitors.” Agnes held her hand up. “Not that I’m wishing you were a suitor. That is not what I said.” She dropped her head into her hands.
“I find it difficult to believe that despite your decision to not marry that you have no suitors.”
“Well, I do have one. Though he is most assuredly not wanted.” She didn’t want to tell him about the flowers. The Ladies of Virtue were on the case, as it were, and they’d uncover the identity. In the meantime, though, perhaps there was something to deter the man’s attentions.
“I’m certain you can have any suitor you wanted were you to express an interest.”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps.”
“Agnes, I am not blind, nor am I daft. I’ve seen the way men look at you.” He paused, eyed her thoughtfully, then frowned. “Are you holding out for someone specific? Someone you’ve given your heart to?”
“Heavens no. There is no one special.” She said the words while looking directly into his hypnotic caramel-colored eyes and felt every bit of the lie. He was special, her heart seemed to whisper.
“You’re hiding something from me.” He rubbed his palms against his thighs. “You can trust me. Tell me.”
She inhaled slowly, then exhaled. “You are partially right about that. I do attract a certain type of man. It started the first year I was out, but it has only gotten worse as time progresses.” Was she honestly going to tell him this? She’d never told anyone. The burden of the secret ate at her and in that moment, she needed to tell him, needed him to know. But she turned her gaze away from him as she spoke, because she would die if he looked at her with pity. “Initially, men would clamber for my dances, but now they find excuses to be near me, brush against me. They stand too close, then they lean over and whisper all the filthy things they want to do to me. I learned rather quickly that men would never see past my physical attributes.”
Fletcher drew in a sharp breath, then swore. “Agnes, does Christopher know about any of this?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never told anyone.”
He stood and paced the length of the room several times. “You should tell him. He needs to know to be able to protect you. Or your father.”
“My father is too busy with his travels and collections.” Though she’d wondered what he’d say if she told him. He’d likely accuse her of being no different from her mother. She knew her parents hadn’t shared a room or any affection in years. They were married in name only, standing aside and allowing each other to live their lives separately, as countless other marriages seemed to do. What a miserable way to do things.
“Men can be disgusting animals,” Fletcher said. He stopped pacing as if considering something, then he knelt at her feet. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with being beautiful. You do realize that, don’t you?”
She stared at him and willed herself not to cry. Crying was futile and foolish. “In truth? No, I do not. Looking this way has brought me nothing but grief. I’m certain that sounds shallow. ‘Oh, the poor girl who’s too pretty,’” she mocked.
“Agnes,” he said, his voice heavy with tenderness. He reached up and cupped her cheek.
No crying. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. “I don’t hate the way I look.” Finally, she was confident enough that no tears would escape and she looked at him. “I do, however, hate that it seems to be the only thing people see when they look at me. The fact that I’m intelligent, thoughtful, and have opinions and ideas, none of that matters.”
“I recognize those attributes in you,” Fletcher said, his tone low, deep, and devoid of any of its normal flirtatious nature. He stood, putting distance between them.
She was quiet for several moments.
“I know how I can help you,” he said.
She leveled her gaze him. “I know that my stupid brother asked you to watch over me while he is off doing God knows what, but you should not feel obligated.”
“It is not obligation,” he said. “Consider for a moment that if you had a suitor, one that by all appearances Society would deem a serious contender for your hand, that his presence might put a stop to these unwanted advances.”
“What are you suggesting?” she asked.
“That I pretend to court you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Quite. You said you had a new suitor who had become a nuisance. This would likely keep him away as well. It would only have to be until your brother returns, then you can tell him about these men and their lewd propositions and allow him to handle things for you.”
She saw no reason to tell Fletcher about the flowers or the unsettling love note the secret suitor had left her. But she did, in fact, want the man to go away, move his attentions to some other woman who might appreciate his unorthodox ways.
Fletcher’s brows shot up, then a slow grin slid into place. “You want to use me to make some other bloke jealous?”
“You would do this for me? I mean I realize it won’t be difficult, considering flirting is as natural as breathing for you. But devoting your time to me in that kind of scenario would mean you couldn’t be with any other women.”
