Page 37 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” She frowned and raised her arms in exasperation.
Fletcher lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll write a manual to help all the husbands in England satisfy their wives.”
Her eyes flashed. “It would sell hundreds of copies. You’d be a sensation.” She moved her body closer to his. “Come now, love, one more time.”
…
Agnes could not believe what she was seeing. Well, that wasn’t entirely the truth. Fletcher had a reputation as a philanderer after all. She supposed she shouldn’t be that surprised to find him in the arms of a woman. No, what surprised her was her own reaction to seeing him like this. The sight of another woman in his arms sent disgust spiraling through her. It twisted her insides until she felt she might be ill.
But her visceral reaction was completely illogical. She knew he was a philanderer. Knew he had a reputation with women. For goodness’ sake, it was the very thing she was supposed to be fixing in him.
That must be it. She wasn’t upset that he was kissing another woman. She was upset that he was making no effort at all to act like a reformed man. Nor was he keeping to his word that he’d stay away from other women as long as he was “courting” her.
She stood at the entrance of the corridor, where anyone could come upon them. This had been a mistake. She should never have agreed to his assistance. Quickly she turned and walked in the other direction.
“Agnes! Agnes, wait,” he called.
But she didn’t stop.
His hand gripped her elbow, pulling her to a stop. “Agnes, stop, that was not what it looked like.”
“Honestly, Fletcher? Because it certainly looked as if after you agreed to pretend to court me, yet you couldn’t even make it through one ball without finding a new lover.”
“Celeste is not a new lover.”
“An old lover then,” Agnes spat. She welcomed the anger that pulsed through her. It was infinitely preferable to tears. She would not cry over this or over Fletcher.
He sighed, obviously resigned to tell her the truth. “Yes, she was once a lover, but not anymore. Not for many years. I ran into her in the corridor. We spoke and that was all.”
“Does she always speak so thoroughly with her hands?”
Fletcher’s brows rose. “Agnes, I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman, but I am not a liar.” His voice was firm, bordering on angry. “Yes, she put her hands on me, but I did not encourage her attentions, nor did I want them.”
She folded her arms over her chest.
He eyed her silently for a minute, then a smile slowly slid into place. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why are you so angry?”
Why was she so angry? She had no claim on Fletcher, no legitimate reason to be mad. Except that he was pretending to be her suitor and therefore, if he was seen in the embrace of another woman, it would only serve in making her look like a fool.
“I care not what you do, or whom you spend your time with, but under our current agreement, I should prefer if you keep your affairs a bit more discreet. If you can’t avoid them. I’d rather everyone in London not believe me to be an utter idiot.” And with that she turned on her heel and left.
She walked away, still fuming.
He believed her to be jealous? The idea was preposterous. She certainly was not jealous of the attention he was paying to that other woman. It was merely that his actions were in very bad form given that he was supposed to be courting her.
If anything, she was jealous of the apparent success the other Ladies of Virtue seemed to be having reforming their lords. She was not used to failing. She was far too pragmatic to feel an emotion as unsettling as jealousy.
