Nothing to Commend Her (17 page)

"Um, er, yes.” Clarkson blinked several times, and took a long deep breath. “This is all very—unusual."

"Quite,” Agatha replied.

"Do you, perchance, have any enemies, Lady Leighton?"

"Not that I am aware of. I was not a sociable sort before I married. I rather preferred to stay in my—” she glanced at Magnus then back to Clarkson, “I have other more studious interests that keep me from such things."

"I see,” he said, but clearly did not.

Magnus gave him credit. His wife had to come as quite a shock to the man's system. She was rare, unique—and all his.

Clarkson turned his furrowed brow to Magnus. “I don't wish to sound,” he glanced at Agatha, then looked back to Magnus, “distasteful in polite company, but is there perhaps a, um—"

"It's quite all right, Mr. Clarkson. I can see that you wish to talk man-to-man. I shall leave you gentlemen to continue the discussion. I must see to a few things regarding our guests. My husband has my thoughts on the matter and you now have my description of the assailant."

She rose to leave, although Magnus knew she didn't wish to. The simple act of wanting to save Clarkson the discomfort of her presence, a crotchety old man who barely held in his disdain for women in general, endeared her even more to him.

She paused at the door and looked at Magnus. “I shall be in the small parlor if you need me."

He smiled warmly at her and she smiled in return before leaving the room.

His feelings for her grew with every passing hour. She may never be able to love him, nor would he ever forgive himself for sentencing her to half a marriage, but God help anyone who tried to take her away from him.

Clarkson cleared his throat. “As I was saying. Do you, perchance, have a mistress, my lord?"

"I know that cost you,” Magnus said, strolling into the parlor several minutes later.

Agatha lifted her head from her writing and swiped a stray tendril from her cheek. “I don't know what you mean."

Chuckling, he said, “Coy? That isn't like you."

She set aside the day's menu, having made not a single change in Cook's suggestions, and rose. “No, it isn't. But as I'm sure you've noticed, I've difficulty in holding my tongue, and thought it best if I were to retreat for the time being."

He turned her to him, and she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I like that you speak your mind. But you are right. Clarkson isn't someone we wish to alienate at the moment."

"You do?” She blinked, clearing away the ridiculous expression she knew she was wearing. “I mean, do you really like that I'm so plain speaking?"

He chuckled again, and she so loved the sound. Gently, he tucked the stray tendril behind her ear, and pulled her against his broad chest. “I do. Very much."

She smiled, but the sweet feeling lasted only a moment. Absently studying his attire, she smoothed the already smooth lapels of his coat. “Mr. Clarkson doesn't hold me in very high regard."

"He is a fair man, for the most part."

"Is it because of—never mind.” She forced a smile and looked up at him.

His brow furrowed as he gazed into her eyes. “Is it because of what?"

"Nothing, it's not important. Just a silly thought,” she said, backing out of his arms, although there was no place she'd rather be.

"Agatha, you don't have silly thoughts.” He pulled her back against him. “What is it?"

"I—I thought it was—I though it was because of your first wife. She was...I'm nothing like her.” She looked away, unable to bear the pain that would cloud his features.

He cupped her cool cheeks in his hands and looked into her eyes. “You are Lady Leighton, my wife, and my choice. And I am glad you are nothing like her.” He kissed her so tenderly tears sprang to her eyes.

"Do you two ever stop?” Crittenden said with a loud chuckle.

"You keep interrupting us and I'll be the one to find you a wife,” he growled.

Agatha giggled and buried her face in Magnus’ coat, hiding her happy tears, before putting a respectable distance between them. Her marriage, her life was turning out to be far different than she'd ever imagined.

"And here I come with good news,” Crittenden chuckled.

"So you've succeeded then?” Magnus asked.

"Yes, I've convinced the throng, or rather their ring leader, my mother, to leave your house. It will take a few hours before they've all risen and gathered themselves to leave, but Mother assures me it will be done."

"I take it you've sacrificed yourself?” she asked, relishing the feel of Magnus arm slipping around her waist.

George grinned. “Only that I shall join them, but not
before
or
on
the altar."

She smiled. “I shall miss you."

"I, for one, shall be glad to be rid of the lot of you,” Magnus said.

Crittenden laughed. “No doubt.” He sobered and glanced over his shoulder. “As soon they are settled into whatever dreary pursuits they engage in at Haverton House I shall return as quickly as possible."

Agatha glanced up at her husband then looked to George. “But why—” He had disappeared before she could receive an explanation. “He's not returning because of his mother, I take it."

"No,” Magnus said. “We'd thought it best to remove as many possibilities from the immediate premises as possible, but Crittenden will return to help keep watch."

"Watch over me, you mean.” She turned in his arms to face him. “Has it occurred to either of you, that by removing the guests, you've forced the assailant back into hiding? I'd hoped to see if I could determine which lady is in the habit of wearing that odd scent. Now, I'll not have the opportunity."

"Without having to play host, it will be easier to keep you safe.” He tapped the tip of her nose.

"I want it duly noted that I disagree with your plan."

He grinned. “Only noted? No argument?"

"Well, it would've been more prudent to eliminate the ladies in attendance first, although I doubt any of them are the one, but I also know you to be a stubborn man. No doubt Lord Crittenden is as well, leaving me quite outnumbered."

He chuckled. “Duly noted on all counts. Now,” he said, pulling her tight against him. “Where were we?"

Determined to push out the unpleasantness of their current dilemma, she linked her hands behind his head. “Somewhere about here, I think."

He lowered his lips to hers and she sighed in absolute pleasure. She hoped the rest of the women in the world were lucky enough to experience such bliss, if only in one kiss. A long dizzying kiss.

He touched her breast, and she leaned wantonly into his hand. Oh, the feel of his long tapered fingers caressing her, warming her, filling her head with all sorts of tantalizing thoughts. Could they do more, have more together?

"Begging your pardon, my lord,” Barstoke said.

With a growl, Magnus dropped his hand, and set her away. “Yes?"

"You've a visitor."

"Good lord,” he muttered. “More guests?"

"A Miss Reynolds, my lord."

"Miss?” Agatha looked to Magnus.

He shrugged. “Perhaps your friend has a sister or wife."

He looked to Barstoke. “Show her into the library.” The old gent left, closing the door behind him. “As much as I would prefer to pick up, yet again, where we left off, you've a visitor to meet and I should see to our other guests."

"Yes, of course,” she said, her gaze focused on nothing in particular, confusion over this new visitor and the events of the last few days crowding her thoughts.

"All will be well,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then disappeared.

She left the parlor, hoping her galloping heart would slow down before she faced her visitor. Did she know what she'd done? Had Mr. Reynolds sent her in his stead because he was horribly angry with her?

Wringing her hands, she cast a silent prayer to heaven along with an apology for her lie, and made her way down the hall.

She swallowed hard then entered the room.

With eyes of bright blue, hair of spun gold, a delightful laugh echoed across the space. “I knew it,” the woman said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're A. Trumwell, are you not?"

Agatha nodded at the beautiful woman standing before her in a smart traveling gown. “Yes, but who exactly are you? I mean, what is your acquaintance with Mr. Reynolds?"

She laughed heartily. “I
am
K. Reynolds. Not what you expected, I imagine. I'd begun to suspect you some time ago and was dying to find out for sure. You can't imagine my disappointment when I met your father and assumed he was you.” She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head with a smile. “But I was right. I usually am,” she said with a nod.

Agatha moved her leaden feet across the floor. “You—are—"

"That I am."

"You wrote
The Modern Man's Guide to Farming
?"

"Yes, I did. A nice bit of work, if I do say so myself."

"But how—why—I think I need to sit down.” She eased herself onto the settee, her gaze still on the lovely woman standing before her.

"If I'd known this would be such a shock, I would've written and told you instead of springing it on you like this. I'm so sorry,” she said, taking a seat beside Agatha.

"No, I'm quite all right, it's just been a bit of a day.” She looked at the woman again, and a smile spread across her face followed by a hearty laugh. Miss Reynolds joined in, and they both laughed until their sides ached, and that is how Magnus found them.

The laughter pulled him into the library. Bridley Hall had been silent and solemn for far too long. But he'd not expected to find his wife laughing.

He'd come once he'd seen to the final preparations for his guests departure, not quite sure if he would need to play her champion or not, knowing nothing of this Reynolds woman or the gentleman his wife had corresponded with. But finding Agatha laughing heartily was not what he expected.

Swiping a happy tear from her eye, she rose and took his hand. “Miss Reynolds, may I present my husband, Lord Leighton, the Earl of Pensby.” Agatha looked up at him, her smile still bright. “This is Katherine Reynolds, my friend from America. Apparently, he was a she all along."

With a bow he took the lady's hand. “A pleasure, Miss Reynolds. You'll forgive my shock."

The woman laughed. “That's all right, my lord. I'd not given quite the number of hints in my writing as Miss Trumwell—I mean, Lady Leighton had in her letters."

"I'd not done so intentionally, I assure you,” Agatha said.

"Well, this is rather remarkable,” Magnus said with a grin. “Until recently, I'd never met a lady scientist, and now I stand in the presence of two."

"There aren't very many of us—yet,” Miss Reynolds replied with a half wink. “But I've intruded on you while you're entertaining. So I really must go."

"Not at all. The others are preparing to leave today, but whether they remained or not, we wouldn't dream of allowing you to leave,” Magnus said, although he didn't mean it in the least. He wanted to be alone with his wife, but this woman was an obvious kindred spirit, and he wouldn't dream of letting her leave unless that is what Agatha wished. “You and my wife have much to discuss, I'm sure."

"Well, I don't wish to impose."

"I insist,” he said. “I'll leave you to get re-acquainted."

"Thank you, Magnus,” Agatha whispered.

He chucked her under the chin and disappeared out into the hall to alert the staff of their new guest. Once he'd passed on his instructions, he escaped for a few minutes into his study to regain his composure.

The look on Agatha's lovely face, the bright glow in her eyes, could he keep her that happy? Or would their marriage dissolve over the years with his determination to not bed her? She was receptive to his touch, but how far would she allow him to go? Did he dare risk the painful crush of his heart if she turned away in revulsion from his scars?

Crush of my heart?

Could he possibly be in love with his wife? After Elizabeth he'd dare not hope to ever feel anything other than passing kindness or perhaps lust for a woman again. And he had plenty of lust where his current wife was concerned, but love?

Everything he knew of her, her mannerisms, her scent, her voice, the way she carried herself, her kindness, her intelligence, all of the tiny details ran rampant through his thoughts, and he knew.

"Good Lord,” Magnus muttered. “I
am
in love with her."

He sighed and rubbed the ache climbing up his chest. Pondering his marital situation at present would do him no good. But his wife's face, the memory of her kiss-swollen lips haunted his thoughts. Even if he could never go to her bed, there were plenty of other pleasures they might share in,
if
her reactions to his touch were any indication. Yet, he still could not shake the sense that she might be forcing herself to accept them.

"The lot is arguing with her,” Crittenden said, strolling through the door. “I've no doubt she'll win, but you've been too congenial, and too damn reclusive. They wish to hang about and stick their noses in your life...and mine,” he groused.

Magnus continued his absent perusal of the grounds outside his window. He had to make up for his selfishness to Agatha in some way and know the truth—all of it.

"Leighton?"

He turned, his hands clasped behind his back. “Sorry, just thinking."

"Something's happened. Is Agatha all right? Has there been another attempt?"

"No, she is quite well. But she has an unexpected visitor. A friend from America."

"More guests.” Crittenden let out a weary sigh. “I cannot apologize enough for my mother's and my intrusion on you both. I swear I shall get her to leave. Her and her nosy compatriots."

He forced a grin. “No need for that. Agatha and her friend will be visiting for a time, I'll wager. Let us see if we can help ease our other guests’ curiosity, then perhaps they'll depart of their own accord."

He ushered Crittenden into the hall where they both stopped and looked up at the sound of voices. Agatha and Miss Reynolds were coming down the stairs, arm in arm chatting happily.

"My word,” Crittenden muttered.

Magnus moved to greet the ladies as they stepped off the last stair. “Miss Reynolds, may I present Lord Crittenden."