Nothing to Commend Her (11 page)

"I would like to hear what other pursuits you engage yourself in,” Crittenden said, a distinct twinkle in his eye. “I sense you are not the type to sit about doing stitchery and such."

She laughed softly. “Hardly. I rather prefer my work."

"Work?"

"Oh, well, I enjoy gardening—of a sort."

"Of a sort?” Crittenden chuckled. “What
sort
do you find enjoyable?"

Magnus covered a smile with his napkin at Agatha's blind gaze. Crittenden's easy banter had caught her unaware, and she didn't know how to get herself out of it. Then he realized, for the first time in a very long while, he'd actually allowed the smile, several in fact, and all because of her and his friend. In what other ways was his life going to change?

"I-I enjoy roses quite a bit,” she sputtered.

"As most ladies do,” Crittenden said. “But I detect a difference in the hobby where you are concerned, Lady Leighton."

"I suppose I am rather particular about how I like to grow things.” She flushed beautifully.

"About your
gardening
,” Magnus said, deciding to help her in this odd discussion. “You're not to use the potting shed any longer.” He cleared his throat and concentrated on his food. “It will be too cold come winter. So I've instructed Roberts to have all of your things moved to the orangery."

He spared her a glance and found her mouth agape, while Crittenden looked between them with curious humor in his eyes.

"With your direction of course,” Magnus added. “I wouldn't wish for any of your experiments to be damaged in the move."

Her spoon clattered against her dish. “You know?"

"Of course,” he said with a shrug.

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “And you don't mind that I experiment with—” she cast a glance at Crittenden then looked back to him.

"I don't mind.” He looked to Crittenden, still unable to keep his attention on her, a greater coward he'd never known. “Agatha is attempting to create a fertilizer that will increase crop production."

Crittenden chuckled with a shake of his head. “Ah, the
unusual
occupation.” He looked to Agatha. “You'll have to share your secrets, my lady. I can't have Magnus out do my estate."

She leapt from her chair and rushed to Magnus’ side and took his face in her hands. Her eyes overly bright, she pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Magnus. Thank you."

She hurried to the door and came to a jerky stop. “Oh!” She spun around, her face a flame of color. “If you'll pardon me, Lord Crittenden, I'm sure you'd much rather spend your time with my husband, than with me,” she said in a rush, then disappeared down the hall.

Magnus sat stunned, his gaze transfixed on where she'd stood beaming with joy. She'd cradled his face and kissed his scarred cheek without so much as a flinch of repugnance.

"My word, what a transformation,” Crittenden said.

He tore his gaze from where she'd disappeared. “What?"

"Your wife, she's quite lovely when she smiles. Especially when she smiles at you,” he said with a broad grin.

He frowned at his friend then looked to his plate, although had no appetite whatsoever. “You're daft."

"And you're blind."

His fork stilled in midair. Was he? Did she smile differently at him than she did others?

"Rather amazing, really.” Crittenden lifted his drink to his lips. “You were saddled with a woman who, well let us say, is not what I expected."

Magnus blinked at his friend. “Nor I."

Later that afternoon Magnus found Agatha bustling about in the orangery rearranging various pots and plants to make way for her work area. He'd told Barstoke to assign a few lads the chore, but had the feeling his wife would be the one to manage the move. He wasn't sure his company was wanted, but felt compelled to seek her out.

A plant toppled over, spilling soil across the floor. “Blast it to perdition,” she cursed.

He chuckled at her outburst. “Is there a problem?"

"Oh! You startled me,” she said, pressing a hand to her breast.

"I apologize. I had not meant to."

"No, that's quite all right."

"You should have one of the servants move these things."

She turned back to the small plant. “I'm perfectly capable of moving a few plants."

Reaching for the spilled pot, their fingers brushed.

She jumped back as if stung. “Where is Lord Crittenden? I expected the two of you to be solving all the world's problems over a glass of port."

He forced a chuckle, lost as to how to handle her unease in his presence. Was it due to the way he'd kissed her, or merely his scars that caused her to pull away in such a manner? “He's taking a stroll about the gardens. He'll be off to his own estate in a few days."

"Is it far?"

"Not very. Rather lucky the two of us met up in school."

He lifted the plant and placed it aside where she'd moved several others. He'd hoped with her kiss earlier that she'd overcome any misgivings about his appearance, but it looked to be as if things had not changed after all. However unfortunate, he had an answer to her trembling.

Her kiss at luncheon had been one of thanks, nothing more. She was likely afraid he'd grab her like a barbarian again. And he wanted to, desperately, but if she were to turn away...no he refused to dwell on such things. He would keep a respectable distance, as he had in the past, regardless of the things she'd said in the study.

He moved a few other plants, widening the space where her new worktable would go, unable to take his leave of her.

"I suspect Barstoke shall locate a suitable table before the day is over,” he said, attempting to make casual conversation.

"I'm sure he will. Although the potting table height was ideal, it was a bit ragged.” She moved beside him, her hands filled with more plants. “The cupboard he located, however, is perfect for storage."

He took the plants and placed them alongside the others, making sure not to touch her.

Straightening, he brushed off his hands. “Are you going to continue working on the wheat and corn you've planted behind the shed, or do you intend to cultivate new specimens here?"

"I'd considered indoor cultivations before in London, but any results won't be very useful for crop production.” She bent to retrieve a few items from one of the crates containing some of her supplies. “So I dismissed the idea."

He crouched down beside her and lifted a pair of containers filled with a powdery substance. “Not necessarily. Although you will have provided an ideal climate, you could calculate the effects of your fertilizer more quickly."

She nodded, a small smile on her lips, as she placed the items in the cupboard. “True. And I would be able to set aside my failures more quickly as well."

He chuckled. “An experiment that doesn't bring about the results you expect isn't necessarily a failure. Simply one way in which not to combine the various ingredients.” He reached around her and placed the containers alongside the others.

She turned her head, her lips scant inches from his. Her sweet scent seeped beneath his skin, his hand stilled where it held the last jar.

"I never looked at it that way before,” she said, her voice soft and inviting.

"Well.” He stepped back and cleared his throat. His intention of maintaining his distance was not going to be an easy one. “I'm sure you would have eventually."

"Perhaps.” She retrieved another vessel of powder from the crate.

Curious he eased closer to attempt to read the labels. “What are these substances you're working with?"

"I've calcium, nitrophosphate, and potassium. A proper combination of these to meet each plant's requirements will undoubtedly create the desired results. It's a matter of balance."

She placed the last jar on the shelf, brushing his coat with her arm. He jumped back out of the way.

"You really ought to put on an apron of some sort, you're liable to get quite dirty in here,” she said with a soft laugh.

"You mean you'd wish I'd go away and leave you to your work.” He'd voiced the truth before thinking and wished to take it back.

She spun from the cupboard to face him. “Oh no. I rather like your company.” Her lashes lowered for a moment as her face warmed. “Although I'd accused you of just the opposite but a few hours ago."

"And rightly so.” Perhaps distance on all fronts was not what she wanted after all.

"I was no better,” she said.

"I beg to differ,” he said.

She looked to her apron and brushed at a smudge of dirt. “I-I want to apologize for my manners at luncheon. I shouldn't have—well I should've behaved better. I hope I didn't cause you too much embarrassment."

His heart fell. She regretted her actions, kissing him, to be exact, but he would endure the slice of pain. “You don't need to apologize. I understand. You were—surprised."

Her lips turned up ever so slightly in the corners. “Yes, I was.” She lifted her head and gazed up at him, her deep brown eyes filled with hope. “And you don't mind my being a scientist?"

"I find your work fascinating.”
Almost as fascinating as you.
He swallowed hard against the desire to pull her into his arms and taste her sweetness.

Her face lit up. “Truly?"

"Yes.” Reaching out, he brushed the back of his fingers across her warm cheeks, then jerked them away. He had to try harder, much harder.

"Well then,” he said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “If you're certain I wouldn't be a nuisance, perhaps I could open the other crate or assist you in another way. Move more plants, for instance."

She dropped her chin to her chest, averting her gaze. He wondered if it was his face she couldn't bear to look at or if something else was bothering her.

She removed her gloves and set them aside. “No, I have it under control, but I—I was wondering—that is—"

"What is it you wish me to do? You need only to ask."

She clenched her hands together and stepped closer, the tips of her slippers touching his boots. “Would you kiss me?"

He stood frozen, stunned by her request.

She focused on his weskit, her cheeks flaming. “Of course, I'll understand, and I shan't ask again if it's uncomfortable for you."

She wasn't repulsed by his touch—or his kiss? Hope roared to life in his chest.

"Or if you'd just rather not,” she murmured.

He reached for her with false ease and pulled her against him. “I'd rather,” he murmured, then pressed his lips to hers.

A quivering sigh gave him entrance to her mouth, and he explored her, tasted her, indulged in absolute paradise. Her hands trembled where they lay against his chest, as did his, but the kiss went on and on. To hold her, to know she wanted his kiss was a staggering, exhilarating thought, but he would be gentle with her. He would not frighten her, he would not be
The Monster.

Pressed against his chest, her heart pounded in rapid succession with his. He wanted to touch her, feel her soft smooth skin against his, but knew he could never risk losing her. And still, his hand rode up along her spine, across her back to her side. His thumb brushed the edge of her breast and she trembled, but did not pull away.

Perhaps with Agatha he could be a man once again. Perhaps with her, he could have the one thing that had eluded him his entire life.

A throat cleared, followed by a familiar chuckle. “I knew I'd come to call too soon,” Crittenden said.

With a low grumble, Magnus released her. “Your timing needs work, I'll grant you."

Agatha spun from his arms and fussed with her gloves. He watched her for a moment, concerned he'd gone too far, then grinned with the realization that she was mortified to be caught kissing. At least, that is what he told himself.

He rationalized it was only her second kiss. She was sheltered where sex was concerned, her father being widowed, and she had asked for his kiss. She'd softened in his arms and sighed with pleasure as he'd held her. He refused to allow his fears to tarnish the few moments they'd shared.

But at the back of his mind, he knew modesty would not be what turned her from him if he tried to make love to her.

"Would you like me to come back at another time?” Crittenden asked with a broad smile.

Magnus shook off the thought, and moved to stand beside her where she fussed over her pots and jars. “What do you think? Should we send him on his way?"

Her gaze shot to his. “Oh no! Of course not. I—oh, you're teasing me,” she said, her face a flame of color.

With a grin, he nodded.

Barstoke appeared. “My apologies, my lord, but you have guests arriving."

"Guests?"

"Yes, sir. Lady Crittenden, Lord and Lady Barrington, and their daughter. Lady Templeton, and her two daughters..."

The list rambled to approximately twenty or more people.

"Good Lord,” Crittenden sputtered. He looked at Magnus with the eyes of a cornered fox. “She found me."

"You mean,
they
found you,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It would seem your mother is no slouch in deciphering your intentions. I suspect they stopped here to collect you while on their way to Haverton House."

"Well, it's your bloody fault for telling her she was welcome here at any time,” Crittenden groused. “Oh, my apologies, Lady Leighton for my language."

"Th-that's quite all right, my lord.” Agatha turned to the butler. “See them to the large drawing room, Barstoke. We shall join them shortly."

Magnus watched her as the old gent went to inform their guests, not missing the telltale sign of her nervousness. Her fingers were turning white where they gripped her gloves.

Crittenden cupped his forehead, his eyes clamped closed as he sank to the edge of a planting wall. “I shall never have any peace. Now I've no choice but to survive a house party that I had no intention of having."

"That sounds rather disagreeable,” Agatha said, her face almost ashen. There was something more here than the shock of unexpected guests, Magnus wagered.

Crittenden snorted as he lifted his head. “You've no idea. My mother is quite adamant about finding me a wife. I had hoped I'd escaped her machinations this time, intending to remain here for a few days, thinking that her plans would die with my absence from Haverton House."