Free Gentleman of Her Dreams by Jen Turano Page A

thought he’d refused because he was testing her because he’d decided he wanted to keep her safe, even if only her reputation. Now, well, it seemed the more likely explanation was because he really didn’t care for her, wanted to pawn her off on Mr. Beckett, and truly had been concerned she would embarrass him.
    And wouldn’t that have put a damper on all the attention he was now receiving from entirely too many young ladies?
    “Henry’s not the idiot, you are,” she muttered under her breath as she reached the retiring room, stepped inside, and swallowed a groan. The room was fit to bursting with beautiful young ladies, young ladies who turned as one and set their sights on her.
    “Miss Wilson,” a lady by the name of Miss Sprockett exclaimed, “we were just talking about that divine Mr. St. James you brought with you.” Miss Sprockett advanced. “Tell me, darling, do the two of you have an understanding, or would it be permissible for some of us to seek out his company?”
    She felt her hands ball into fists, forced a smile, unclenched her fingers, and gave an airy wave. “Mr. St. James and I are strictly friends, Miss Sprockett. By all means, seek him out.”
    If nothing else, her words caused the room to clear in a split second. Taking the peace and quiet as an opportunity to collect her thoughts, she moved to the mirror, stuck her tongue out at her reflection, and plopped down in a delicate chair sitting off to the side of the room.
    She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, turning to God for answers.
    “I think I might have misunderstood, Lord,” she whispered. “Mr. Beckett, while a truly wonderful gentleman, is not for me, is he?”
    She opened her eyes, blinked, and then grinned.
    “Agatha, what are you doing here? I thought you were indisposed.”
    Miss Agatha Watson slipped out from behind a curtain and returned the grin. “I’ve developed spots.”
    Charlotte tilted her head even as her grin widened. “You’re perfectly fine, as you very well know, and there is not one spot to be found on your lovely face.”
    “Hmm, I must have experienced a miracle then,” Agatha muttered. “I swear I was covered in them just a few minutes ago.”
    “You were probably covered in guilt,” Charlotte said. “So, what’s the reasoning behind your refusal to attend your mother’s dinner party?”
    Agatha dropped down on the matching chair right next to Charlotte’s and looked around before she lowered her voice. “I don’t have much time to explain, but I wanted to check on Miss Sumner, the poor woman my mother forced to take my place.” She cleared her throat. “You see, Mother has decided I’m well suited for Mr. Hamilton Beckett, and I just couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear being paraded around yet again as if I’m some horse up for auction.” She tilted her head. “I heard your prayer, heard you mention Mr. Beckett, and I must tell you, I don’t think he’s your match.”
    “I know . . . he’s not.”
    “Why then, if you’ve come to this conclusion, do you look so glum?”
    “The gentleman I really desire doesn’t see me in the same light. At the moment, he’s outside this room, flirting with other ladies. In fact, his flirting has probably increased, seeing as how a good ten ladies darted out of here the moment I admitted that Mr. St. James and I are nothing more than friends.”
    Agatha eyed her for a long minute and then nodded. “I’ve always believed that if you want to learn the true measure of a gentleman’s feelings, you need to do something to attract his attention, engage his emotions if you will. For you, well, I think a bit of tit for tat is in order.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “He’s flirting, so give him a taste of his own medicine. You know how to flirt; I’ve seen you do it. Pick out a few gentlemen, smile, and see what happens.”
    “I bet he won’t even notice.”
    Charlotte blinked when Agatha suddenly