Free Gentleman of Her Dreams by Jen Turano

usual. She had no time to dwell on that, however, because Mrs. Watson practically shoved her aside as her expression turned crafty and she set her sights on Henry.
    “Mr. St. James, you have no idea how wonderful it is for me to see you,” Mrs. Watson gushed. “I was thrilled—thrilled I tell you—to speak with your mother and learn you wanted to come to my humble gathering. Why I . . .”
    Charlotte tuned out the rest of Mrs. Watson’s speech as her sadness turned to temper. She’d been furious when, after going home to change out of his wet clothing, Henry had arrived at her house yesterday only to present her with a coveted invitation to the Watson’s dinner party. She couldn’t believe he was so oblivious to her true feelings. He obviously was, though, considering he’d been so thrilled to admit that he’d gotten them invited to the dinner so she could continue with her plans regarding Mr. Beckett.
    Maybe he’d been so keen to come this evening not to help her with her plan, but because he’d heard that Agatha, a truly beautiful and delightful lady, was in the market for a husband.
    Mrs. Watson was certainly doing her best to make him aware of that fact.
    “And I do apologize, Mr. St. James, but . . .” Mrs. Watson’s voice lowered to a mere whisper, “I’m afraid to admit that my darling Agatha is indisposed this evening and won’t be in attendance.”
    Charlotte’s temper went from simmering to seething when, for some odd reason, Henry sent her a wink, as if he thought she’d be completely delighted by the fact Miss Agatha Watson was indisposed.
    Did he think that information would please her? That she’d relish the idea her friend was obviously suffering from some type of illness? That her competition was suddenly out of the running?
    She lifted her chin and stalked away, shaking off Henry’s arm when he caught up with her.
    “What is wrong with you?” he asked.
    Oh, there was a barrage of answers she’d love to throw at him, but her pride made her keep her words to herself.
    “I’m going to check my hair,” she said, spinning on her heel and striding away from him, only to release a frustrated huff when he captured her arm once again.
    “Your hair looks lovely.”
    “Wonderful,” she said between gritted teeth, “then I’ll check my dress. I wouldn’t want Mr. Beckett to see me looking anything other than my best.”
    Charlotte twisted her arm out of his grasp, ignored the confusion now evident in his eyes, and set her sights on the far side of the room, hoping she’d find somewhere to be alone with her thoughts if only for a brief moment. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and her temper flared even hotter.
    Henry was already surrounded by a group of young ladies who seemed to be attempting to outdo each other as they tried to capture his attention.
    She narrowed her eyes and couldn’t help but notice that he still seemed to have a tiny touch of confusion on his face.
    Good. She was happy he was confused, because she certainly was and had been ever since he’d pulled her from a horrible death.
    He’d called her “love.” She’d heard him. Granted, she’d almost been unconscious, but he’d said the word, and, she thought, meant it too. But then . . . he’d gotten strange.
    He hadn’t even come to check on her welfare after she’d almost been knocked out of the boat again by that dreadful sail. He seemed perfectly content to let Mr. Beckett hover over her, and while Mr. Beckett was certainly a considerate and comforting gentleman, Charlotte hadn’t wanted his comfort; she’d wanted Henry’s.
    She’d been so sure his feelings for her had changed, but apparently she’d been wrong.
    She’d misread his shortness with her regarding her plan, his soothing of her when she’d first almost drowned, and . . . the times she’d caught his lingering gaze on her.
    He’d refused to allow her to travel to the Watsons’ dinner garbed in her bicycle gown.
    She’d