Page 10 of The Earl and the Reluctant Lady
He brought a hand to his chest. “Do not tell me you have forgotten we always dance at the Winthrop ball?”
“Oh, I suppose we do, don’t we? I hadn’t even considered it.”
…
The musicians began the waltz and Fletcher held his hand out to her. She took his hand and he immediately swept her into his arms where he held her far too close. But he allowed himself only this one night a year to touch her, so propriety be damned.
“It is scandalous that you refuse to wear gloves, my lord,” she said, her voice taking on a breathless quality.
He wore no gloves, because he found them irritating. Frankly, he felt the same about his cravat and his boots, but going without those in public would be far too scandalizing for the gentle sentiments of London’s elite.
“If I wore gloves, then I wouldn’t be able to feel the warmth of your body when I hold you this close,” he said, leaning next to her ear.
She sucked in a breath. “You are a cad.”
“I know I’m not the first to say, but you look stunning tonight, Agnes.”
She bristled some, her body stiffening and her cheeks turning red. “Thank you.”
He knew that she hated that compliment or any that sounded similar. Still, he couldn’t not comment on it. She was lovely. Exceedingly so. Distractingly so. And he liked to compliment her because he found it so unusual that she hated it. What woman didn’t appreciate being told she was pretty? It made no sense.
“Are you not going to return the compliment and tell me how dashing I look?” he teased, trying to lighten her mood.
Her startling blue eyes scanned his face, lingering on his eyes, then his mouth. Desire flitted through his body, but he’d long been in control of such reactions, so he easily swallowed the groan her bold perusal ignited.
“Come now, Bluebell, you’re taking far too long to answer that question. Either you disagree with me and don’t find me dashing at all, or you’re mentally cataloging all of my finer features. Which is it?”
She stared into his eyes, arching a brow.
He chuckled. “The latter, I see.” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “I catalog your finer features all the time. While I lie in bed.”
Her cheeks flamed and desire heated her gaze. “Fletcher, it isn’t proper to say such things.”
“I never once claimed to be proper.” Nor had he said what usually happened when he lay in bed thinking of her. How his body grew hot and his cock heavy and hard. How he had to touch himself while imaging her sweet innocent mouth wrapped around him, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. Damnation. He needed to rein in his thoughts.
“Are you still determined to not marry?” he asked.
“This again? Why do you always ask me that?”
“Should there come a day when you decide to marry, I should like to be the first to know. So are you still dead set against it?”
She glanced at him, her eyes widening slightly. “I am. It is not different from you being a confirmed bachelor.”
“Aside from the fact that I can earn my own money and buy my own property?”
“I have my own funds. I do not need a man to take care of me.”
“Perhaps, but I am not so stubborn as to refuse to acknowledge that I would marry if the right woman came along.” He paused a moment and looked her directly in the eyes. “I would marry you, Bluebell. You need only say the word.”
She snorted. “London’s most notorious lover settling down for marriage, no one would believe that.”
He turned her on the dance floor to hide his disappointment at her mockery. “Tell me what you have been doing so far this Season.”
“No.” She shook her head, her brow furrowed with a frown. “I actually wanted to speak with you about something first.”
“Indeed. Were you intending to seek me out this evening had I not come to collect my dance?”
“If I had to, yes.”
