Page 55 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
Chapter Seventeen
Fletcher dropped himself into a chair at Benedict’s and ordered a drink. He didn’t come here often, but every now and then it was the perfect place. It wasn’t as if he could go home and drink in the comfort of his own study. Nothing in that townhome actually belonged to him. At least not legally. Not for the first time he considered renting a townhome of his own, but anytime he’d mentioned it, his grandfather had insisted that he needed him at the family address.
His father was dead now, which meant he was now the Marquess of Longley. In addition to the new title, he also inherited all of his father’s holdings. He didn’t want any of that. Perhaps he’d merely give it all to Jefferson. His brother preferred life in the country as their father had.
He hadn’t meant to turn to Agnes when he’d gotten word of his father’s death, but he’d immediately gone to her. A moth to the proverbial flame. A compass to true north.
Fletcher swore. All of this was his own damned fault. He should have known that agreeing to this foolish plan would bring him nothing but misery. Still he’d been unable to deny her request. He’d always wanted her. But he’d been content to want her from afar. Now he’d tasted her, felt her come apart in his arms. He wasn’t so certain he could walk away, even if it was the right thing to do.
Fletcher swore again.
Benedict Farrow stopped by Fletcher’s table and lowered himself into a chair.
“To what do I owe the honor of sharing a table with this fine establishment’s proprietor?” Fletcher asked.
“You’re scaring off my regular customers with all your cursing and glowering.”
Fletcher glanced around the room, which was elbow-to-elbow filled with people. “Evidently.”
“I think the more appropriate question is what do I owe the honor of your presence tonight? As well as three other nights this week. While I appreciate the business, you’re not actually doing anything here, save glaring at people from this back corner table.” Benedict leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. When Fletcher made no move to speak, Benedict merely nodded. “I should give you a key to my offices. At least you and Davenport could commiserate on your misery together. Should I assume your foul mood is also due to a woman?”
Fletcher’s brows rose, then glanced around the room. “Davenport is here?”
“Not at the moment, but he was.” Benedict shook his head.
“There is a woman,” Fletcher finally said.
Benedict chuckled. “There is always a woman. In fact, it seems to be an epidemic as of late.”
“I want her, but I cannot have her.”
“She is already married then?” Benedict asked.
“No. Her brother made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that I am not worthy of her attention. And he’s not wrong. I don’t deserve her. But he also threatened to end my job if I so much as touched her.” He took another swallow of his drink. “Still, there is more at play than even her brother knows, and she’s in danger without the protection of a husband.”
“You require her brother’s blessing?”
“No, of course not. But he holds my future position with our organization in his hands. And I am supposed to be protecting her, ensuring her safety while he is away. Instead, I have taken liberties.” God, he was a bastard.
Again, Benedict nodded. “If being married to you would protect her, then it seems her brother has no legitimate argument.”
“She could marry someone else, though she insists she has no want of a husband.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. All chits want to get married. They’re taught that from when they’re in short dresses.” Benedict scraped his hand over his whiskers. “Perhaps she only told you that because she wants someone else. Consider that?”
She wants me. God, he hated that his heart seemed to grow beneath that thought. “Another man is likely a better choice. I have nothing to offer her.”
“That did not answer my question.”
“It matters not. Marriage in this town doesn’t work as such, you must know that.”
Benedict nodded. “Doesn’t mean it can’t.” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to start charging a fee for all the relationship advice I’ve given as of late.”
Fletcher withdrew a handful of bank notes and slammed them on the table.
“If you are so unworthy, tell me, who does deserve this lady of yours?” Benedict asked.
Who deserved Agnes? With her incomparable beauty and clever mind and generous spirit? No one did. Fletcher shook his head. “No one deserves her.”
