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“Fun! Lighthearted flirtation?” Charity repeated with obvious disbelief. It struck her that he had willingly labeled himself a rake. Charity wondered what that meant. Was he shameless or might there be some level of awareness in what appeared to be a callous unfeeling man?
“Of course,” he teased. “But what harm is there in a hint of verbal intrigue?”
“I fear the problems arise when the intrigue veers off the verbal path,” Charity retorted.
“I shall follow where my lady wishes to go,” he said smugly.
“I assure you,My Lord, I donotintend to go anywhere with you.”
“So you are pious,” he repeated.
“I am neither pious nor party to your tricks. Rather, I myself lay somewhere in between. A pity that you have only met two sorts of female. Perhaps you might consider expanding your outreach.”
The sound of his laughter was the music of the angels, but she had no fear of his appeal for it would be lost upon her. She knew his tricks. She was raised as witness to the most skilled of falsehoods. She would not be made a fool by some gentleman at play.
“Ah,” he grinned.
Charity could see how many a Lady had felt a fluttering of the heart at such a sight. His teeth were so even; his lips so full. Oh, lud, why would she even be considering his lips?
“Then you are a secret member of the second group,” he continued.
“Which group?” She had lost the thread of the conversation, much to her chagrin.
“Those skilled with words and savvy enough to withhold you attentions in an attempt to increase appeal,” he said. “A difficult challenge, but not beyond my effort.”
Charity’s instinct was to roll her eyes and pommel the fellow for suggesting that she might be playing hard to get, but she would not do so. She told herself that his arrogance was getting on her nerves.
Neville Collington was an uncontrollable philanderer.
“I assure you that there is no artifice in my words,” she answered with a cool smile. “It is in all honesty that I call you a rogue.”
The slight lift of the corner of his mouth told Charity that Lord Wentwell was not offended. Far from it. In fact, he was enjoying their little spat, not because there was any sense of flirtation, but Charity assumed that it was not likely that the gentleman had ever been challenged so directly.
“But Lady Charity, there is always artifice when words are exchanged between men and women. Indeed, I do not believe that those of the Ton can converse without it. Mine is at least is an obvious pretense, and therefore, an honest one.”
The man spoke in riddles. How could a pretense be honest? The Earl of Wentwell was an enigma. Charity felt she must unpuzzle his perplexing behavior, but she could not see the way of it. He must find it amusing, she realized. Yes. Lord Wentwell was so bored that he played these word games as a form of entertainment. “You admit then, that you toy with ladies’ hearts for your own amusement?” Charity asked, proud that she had deduced his aim. “What a gentleman might call a light hearted flirtation often left a lady in tears, or worse, ruin. The gentleman is rarely the worse for it.”
“If a lady should choose to gamble her heart am I to blame if she would lose it?” Lord Wentwell retorted, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Lady Charity wanted nothing more than to spout her dissent. She controlled her reaction by applying pressure to the inside of her cheek. She felt her hackles rise as she faced the over-confident gentleman. She might not fully approve of the games this gentleman played, but she understood their execution. Her mother had seen to that. A lesson might be taught here.
Charity raised one shoulder and allowed it to drop in a show of nonchalance as she stared the gentleman dead in the eye. “You think yourself so skilled. Perhaps it is only you have yet to meet your match.”
Lord Wentwell had the gall to laugh. It was an open joyous sound, but it was clear the he thought no lady up to the challenge. He, so skilled in the art, could not possibly be susceptible to the charm of one so inexperienced as Lady Charity Abernathy. It was all she could to do suppress her grin. His assured nature would cause him to play right into her hand. Lady Charity had no tolerance for toying with people’s emotions and that was often why she found it difficult to aimlessly flirt as her mother wished. This, however, had nothing to do with emotion. Charity would prove to Lord Wentwell that he was not so in control. The gentleman had far too much certainty. It would do him well to be brought down a notch.
Charity glanced toward Patience and Reginald who were now bickering like two five-year-olds over whether their mother’s aged shawl had a pattern of flowers or fern and which she preferred, and indeed if either of them had the gall to pitch the thing out without their mother’s knowledge.
~.~
Chapter Seven
Lord Wentwell thought of the interaction with Lady Charity as he lingered about the booths. Of course, he was not truly offended. She was pretty enough to catch his eye, and he enjoyed the banter, but she the friend of his friend’s little sister. If anything he thought her ingénue rather endearing.
It was not long afterwards, when a slight dark-haired shop girl fluttered her eyelids coquettishly at him. Wentwell noticed that Charity was watching, and he smiled down at the shop girl who was all to open with her charms to ignore. She spread the fabric before the ladies with aplomb but her dark eyes were shuttered, and in a moment she glanced up, first at Lord Wentwell and then at Lord Barton. Her gaze settled on Wentwell, as he expected. He had a moment of pity. Poor Reg and that blasted red hair.
His eye strayed momentarily to the shop girl as she brushed her fingers over his, straightening the fabric, but his gaze went back to Lady Charity. Aside from her beauty, Lady Charity was witty and fun. Still, he was sure that Lady Charity was not so unlike all of the other dozens of ladies that he had come to know. She offered a challenge. He liked her quick wit and ready smile. She met him quip for quip without inane giggling, and that was refreshing. She did not seem to be enraptured by his charm, but he was sure that could be remedied if he wished it so. He was quite confident in his abilities.
She was lush and beautiful, but she was not a dalliance, and he was not for marriage. So what did he care what she thought of him? He knew his own worth. He was an earl in his own right, and he knew what that meant among the ladies of theTon.As far as Lady Charity was concerned, it did not matter. It was not as if they would be wed. In fact Neville would do all in his power to avoid such a trap for as long as possible. He intended to remain a bachelor until convention demanded marriage of him, and as an earl, he was allowed quite a bit of time.
