Page 61 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
Chapter Nineteen
Fletcher had managed to get Agnes back to her room, unseen, as well as get himself out surreptitiously when he exited her room. And he’d done so without waking her up. He had to leave. Not merely her bed, but her presence completely. He wanted her too much and now that’d he’d had a taste, he wouldn’t be able to deny himself. Especially knowing that her desire for him was as intense.
The time had come for him to find her brother and have a talk. As for her not wanting to be married, he suspected that had more to do with her mother than what Agnes actually desired.
Chris needed to understand that men had been making untoward advances to Agnes for years. That had to stop. And the only way to ensure it stopped was for her to be protected by a husband. Surely, once her brother understood that, he would give Fletcher his blessing to marry Agnes.
He knew she’d be safe at Brookhaven and then she’d return to London with the Duchess of Lockwood.
Fletcher was going to marry her. But he wanted to do things the right way. He didn’t want to compromise her and force her hand. He wanted to talk to Chris, explain the truth of the situation and then properly court her. They could be married by the end of the Season.
…
Agnes stretched and realized with alarming clarity that she was naked. She never slept in the nude. Then the memories of the night before played through her mind. She sat upright. This was her bedchamber and Fletcher was decidedly not in it with her. How had she gotten in here without even realizing it?
She quickly dressed and stepped into the corridor. She desperately wanted to go to Fletcher’s room, assure him that last night hadn’t changed anything. Though she wished it had. But she turned the other way and made herself go downstairs to the breakfast room.
Two hours later she had confirmation that Fletcher had left to return to London. He was well and truly gone. Agnes couldn’t believe it. She’d gone to him, bared herself, literally, and he’d left her. She couldn’t fault him completely as she’d told him upfront that she wasn’t trying to trap him. She’d meant that.
Still, she couldn’t deny her disappointment. She’d thought that the night they’d spent together had meant something to him as well as her. That perhaps he’d suggest they become lovers. She’d never known Fletcher to be a coward and run from something, yet she had to face the truth that that was precisely what he had done. It seemed rather obvious that their fake courtship was over. Thankfully she’d found a moment to sneak away from the partygoers and walk along the banks of the pond. She needed time to think, to plan what was next.
Not only that, but she needed to lick her wounds away from her friends as they already had their hands full. Harriet had been compromised earlier that day, and she and her mother had locked themselves in her bedchamber to decide on how to proceed. Obviously, there would be a wedding.
The bench under the tree provided the perfect spot for Agnes to consider her next steps. Half an hour later, though, she’d come to no conclusions.
“Am I interrupting?”
She glanced up from the grass she’d been staring mindlessly at and found Sullivan at the edge of the pond.
“Of course not. I was ruminating.”
“I’d offer to sit, but after what has already occurred on that particular bench, I’d prefer to keep my distance.”
She chuckled. “That is understandable.” Considering this was where Harriet’s compromise had occurred.
“I suspect that, though Harriet is disappointed at being compromised, marrying Lord Davenport is not only what she needs, but also what she truly wants,” Sullivan said. “You cannot help but see the love between them.”
“I was thinking the opposite,” Agnes said. “It seems that if Lord Davenport did, in fact, love Harriet, he wouldn’t have manipulated their marriage.”
Sullivan released a low whistle. “I suppose you could look at it that way. I suspect time will tell a different story.”
He was a perceptive person, she’d noticed that about him, but she didn’t always agree with his observations. Here she’d nearly convinced herself she was in love with Fletcher, only to discover she’d become the latest victim to the lies that lust created. She was supposed to be reforming Fletcher, and instead, she’d jumped headfirst into lust herself. She sighed.
“Where is your Lord Wakefield?”
“That is a splendid question. I’m told he went back to London.”
Sullivan nodded, leaning against the tree. “You seem distressed, Agnes. Do you wish to discuss anything?”
“You’ve been a good friend to me, Sullivan.” They were quiet for several moments before she spoke. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Always,” he said.
“Considering we both deem marriage unacceptable for us, I was wondering what it is about marriage that you find so deplorable? I know my own reasons, but I’d like to hear yours.”
He picked a piece of bark off the tree and fiddled with it. “All of my siblings are married. Only two of them are happy in their unions. My parents weren’t a love match and frankly despised each other. And I haven’t seen too many of the ‘lucky ones’ out there to make the institution all that appealing.”
“But you do believe in love matches?”
