Page 52 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
Chapter Sixteen
The following day, Agnes sat in her favorite chair in the library sketching a new design. She’d already sold out of all the fans she’d made and wanted to improve the weapon with the next batch she created. And she wanted something to occupy her hands and mind in hopes of forgetting everything that occurred between her and Fletcher two nights before.
One might think that with a secret suitor out there and a myriad of other goings on in her life that she’d have plenty to occupy her mind. Instead, all she could think about was the time she’d spent in Fletcher’s arms in the carriage. She could still feel his lips on hers, his warm palm on her flesh. Her skin burned at just the thought. The sensations he’d wrought from her. The climax of pleasure he’d given her. Her cheeks heated with the memory and blood rushed to various delicate parts of her body.
“You will never believe what has happened,” Harriet said bursting into the room.
Agnes looked up, hoping that none of the thoughts she’d just been having were apparent on her face. She smiled at her friend.
Harriet’s normal cheery-self seemed to be missing, so Agnes set down her pencil. Without saying anything else, she closed her book, rang for a servant, and ordered tea to be sent directly to her bedchamber. Then she hooked her arm with Harriet’s and led her up the staircase.
“You look dreadful,” Agnes said.
“Thank you,” Harriet said drolly.
“So, tell me what this thing is that I am not going to believe.”
“It’s Lord Davenport.” Harriet stopped talking as soon as the maid entered the room with the tea tray. She set it down on the ottoman between their two chairs. Harriet inhaled slowly. “He proposed to me.”
Agnes waited for the rest of the story.
“He even went and spoke to Malcolm. What was he thinking?”
Agnes frowned, uncertain as to what her friend found so distressing. “That he wanted to marry you.”
“No, do you not see?” Harriet stirred her tea absently. “He is toying with me. Tormenting me. He told me all these wicked things he wants to do to me,” she whispered.
Agnes wanted to ask what he’d said, but that wasn’t appropriate. Damn Fletcher and his wicked ways, making her want things she shouldn’t want.
“Agnes, you are not helping. I came to speak to you because you are so pragmatic. Why would he do all of this? Why would he go to such lengths to tease me so mercilessly? Is he that cruel?” Harriet’s pretty eyes filled with tears.
Agnes reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Perhaps I am missing something. I can see that you are upset. Hurting. And I am certainly being pragmatic. I’m not convinced I know how to not be.” Except when it came to Fletcher. Then, it seemed all her pragmatism disappeared.
“He is laughing at me,” Harriet said.
“Did he?”
“What?”
“Did he actually laugh at you?”
“Well, no. Not in front of me.”
“Then the only logical conclusion is he proposed to you because he truly wants to marry you.”
Harriet rolled her eyes.
“Answer me this. Why has that option not even occurred to you?”
Harriet acted as if she didn’t even want his proposal. Though Agnes doubted very much that was true. She suspected, instead, that her friend wanted to marry Lord Davenport, but was afraid of that notion. Harriet wanted a love match. Agnes could afford no such luxury. She needed to be married to be protected.
“That’s preposterous,” Harriet said.
“I’m not so certain it is. You’re a beautiful woman, he’d be a fool not to want you.”
Harriet shook her head. “I will find him an appropriate bride at his country house party. You are coming along, aren’t you?”
In truth, she had nearly forgotten all about it. “Of course.”
