Page 35 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
She shook her head unable to answer.
He nodded. “It would seem that Glenbrook has made his way over to your group of friends. I suspect he’s come to collect you for some purpose.”
She hadn’t yet spoken to Sullivan that evening and didn’t have any dances set aside for him. He’d never truly been much of a dancer. He often preferred walking and chatting, which suited her fine. She felt very much ready to be out of Fletcher’s arms where she could think straight. She looked up into his gaze and found his eyes searching her face. The sincerity in his expression was nearly overwhelming. She swallowed. “Are you certain you want to do this?”
“Do what?” he asked.
“The courtship charade. It must be a sacrifice for you to avoid female companionship merely to protect me.”
“Spending time with you is never a sacrifice.” He paused a moment. “You could simply make it known you were ready to marry. I have no doubt that suitors would clamor for your attentions. Being married would protect you indefinitely.”
“I don’t wish to marry. Unless, of course, you’re offering yourself up?” She sucked in a breath as the words left her mouth. Why had she said that? She held her breath while she waited for Fletcher to respond. She considered tossing out another comment to let him know she’d only said that in jest, but instead she remained silent. She wanted to know what he’d say. Good or bad.
“Oh, Bluebell, you know if I were to ever pick a wife, you’d be at the very top of my list. I’m not made for marriage. I would be a wretched husband, and you deserve so much more than I can offer.”
“Don’t be so serious, Fletcher, I was merely jesting. I, of course, recognize that you would make a terrible husband. Nor do I wish to have a husband, terrible or otherwise.”
His jaw clenched again, and she almost took it back, almost apologized. She’d said that only to cover up her own embarrassment, not to insult him.
“Indeed,” he said. Then he escorted her off the dance floor and back over to her friends. He bowed, gave her a false smile, then spoke briefly to the others before walking away.
She’d seen Fletcher charm women from afar. She’d seen him give that smile to countless of them. He’d never done anything but bestowed her with genuine smiles. Until tonight. Until she’d said something foolish and hurtful. But it seemed so unlikely that she had the power to wound him.
Sullivan smiled warmly at her, then held his arm out. “Care for a walk in the gardens?”
Relief washed over her. “That would be lovely.” The very best thing about Sullivan was the fact that she never felt unsettled or nervous in his presence.
They walked in silence from the ballroom out onto the balconies that led to the gardens.
“That dress does wonderful things for your eyes, Agnes,” he said.
She smiled. Fletcher had been right, about the dress and about his attentions potentially deterring other men. She hadn’t yet been approached tonight. “Thank you.”
But it was only the first night. She had to give this plan time to work. Provided her brother didn’t show up tomorrow and ruin everything. Perhaps she should have done what Fletcher suggested and told Chris as soon as the first man had propositioned her. But he had enough to worry about considering he managed most of the estate because of her father’s continued travel.
Shortly before her debut, Chris had been poised to marry someone, and though Agnes didn’t know the details, she knew enough to know that after things hadn’t gone as planned, her brother had never been the same. Gone was the gregarious man he’d been and in his place was an intense, suspicious, and angry man.
She and Sullivan walked in easy silence along the lantern-lit garden path. They passed a handful of people and nodded and smiled.
They ended up on a stone bench beneath an archway of climbing roses. It was obviously intended to be romantic, but Sullivan had never said anything inappropriate to her, and she knew their relationship was purely platonic. Though she’d certainly seen his gaze wander over her form, resting at times on her bosom, he’d always been the very epitome of respect.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder about Fletcher’s theory of lust and passion. He’d said tonight that scientists test their theories more than once. Perhaps she had more affection for Fletcher than she’d initially thought and that was why their kiss had been full of passion. If that was true, then the mutual affection she and Sullivan shared would mean that they, too, would find passion within each other’s arms. The notion made logical sense, yet she doubted that would be true in practice. Only one way to find out.
She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his. Sullivan made a noise of surprise, but after a few seconds, he warmed and slanted his mouth across hers. It was a perfectly pleasant kiss. But unlike the one she’d shared with Fletcher—where she’d felt the kiss ripple through every part of her body—with Sullivan, she felt it only on her lips.
She pulled herself back. “I do hope you’ll forgive my brazenness. I don’t know what came over me,” she said.
He smiled warmly. “I suspect I know.” His eyes sparkled in the lantern light. “Tell me, Agnes, how do my kisses compare to those of Lord Wakefield’s?”
A strange gurgling noise came from her throat at the same time as she sucked in a breath, resulting in a coughing fit.
Sullivan chuckled. “I did not mean to distress you.”
Once her coughing had subsided, she eyed her friend. “But how did you know?”
“I didn’t. It was merely a guess.” He came to his feet and held his hand out to her. “Shall we return to the ballroom?”
She nodded and took his elbow, thankful that he wasn’t going to require her to answer his question. She didn’t want to tell him that his kiss wasn’t as compelling as Fletcher’s. Unintentionally wounding a man’s pride would not be a theme for the evening. She’d already done so to Fletcher.
Sullivan smiled beside her but said nothing else. Always the gentleman. She should find that quality attractive, instead she found herself feeling mildly annoyed at his indifference to her. Furthermore, it seemed as if Fletcher’s theory about passion had been correct all along.
