Page 73 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
She was so damned tired of hearing that. What had her pretty face ever done for her? It had caused her nothing but trouble. Maybe if she played along, he’d untie her and then she’d have an opportunity to escape.
“And you’re very handsome,” she said. That wasn’t even untrue. Though he was becoming increasingly uglier with every passing moment. “Why didn’t you ever make your intentions toward me known, Michael?”
“I did. I just prefer to be subtler than how gentlemen normally approach women. It is why I sent you gifts. I was wooing you, the way a woman of your beauty deserves to be wooed.”
She nodded in an effort to disguise her shudder. “You mentioned my mother.”
He flinched again, shoved his fingers through his hair and then turned away from her.
Once his attentions were diverted again she continued tugging on her hands. The tie cut into her flesh, not enough to make them bleed, but enough to irritate.
“Yes, I’m ashamed to admit that I allowed her to seduce me. But you must understand, it only happened once and, after that, I realized the error of my ways and finally understood that it was you who I’m destined to be with.”
Finally, her hand jerked free from the confines and she was able to slip it beneath her skirts and withdraw her dagger. She hid it in the folds of her skirts and waited for him to come close again.
He turned to face her. “Can you forgive me as I have forgiven your indiscretions with Wakefield?”
“Will you promise not to hurt him in any way?” she asked.
He said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded as he walked toward her. “Very well.”
When he reached her, she wasted no time in getting to her feet and holding the dagger to his chest. But he was fast, and he managed to maneuver her so that he was pressed against her back. His arm wrapped around her front, holding her wrist so that she could not move the dagger.
“There is a mirror, Agnes. I saw you get the knife.” He nodded to the mirror across the room.
She hadn’t even noticed it. Foolish mistake.
He gripped her wrist tighter, pulling her hand up so that her own knife came up dangerously close to her throat. “It doesn’t have to be this way with us, Agnes.”
“Why me, Michael?” she asked, her voice coming out in barely a whisper.
“My mother always said I deserved the best, and you are the most beautiful woman in all of London, perhaps all of England.”
“Not anymore!” She leaned down and slid her cheek against the blade, the knife slicing into her flesh, and she cried out in pain.
…
Agnes’s scream seemed to reach out and grab Fletcher by the throat. He sent a prayer up that he wasn’t too late, that that bastard hadn’t done anything to irreparably hurt her.
“What did you do?” Michael rasped. “You stupid bitch!”
Fletcher burst into the room, leveling a pistol out in front of him. “Let her go!” he bellowed. Then his eyes fell to Agnes and saw the blood dripping off her face. Oh God!
“Fletcher,” she cried.
“Drop the knife and move away from her,” Fletcher ground out, closing the distance between them.
“She’s ruined now. You can have her!” Michael shoved Agnes away from him.
Fletcher caught her and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against him.
The Somersbys entered the room and took Michael. Fletcher didn’t even care what they were planning to do with the man. He only wanted to get Agnes away from here.
He cradled her the entire ride to her townhome, then upstairs to her room. Her maid fetched him clothes and a salve for her face. Once he cleaned off the blood, he could clearly see that the cut wasn’t that deep. It would likely leave a small scar, but it wouldn’t even require stitches.
“Did he do anything else to you? To hurt you?” Fletcher asked. He smoothed the salve onto the cut and apologized when she winced.
“No. He tied me up, but I was able to get a hand free to grab my dagger.”
