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“Indeed,” he intoned, and she ignored the innuendo. Instead of rising to the bait or even blushing shyly, she was direct to the point of bluntness.
“You see,” she continued, ‘If I am to stroll across the way, I shall be in need of a worthy companion.”
“Am I not a worthy choice?” Neville asked with a grin.
“What other choice might a lady have?” she asked. Again, her words were vague and enticing, yet demure at the same time.
“But surely an heiress such as yourself, must have a long list to choose from,” he teased.
“The last of my list, to be sure,” Lady Charity lifted her chin and sniffed.
She was indeed a daughter of an earl, he thought, but what a countess she would make.
“Still, you shall do, however, in lieu of a better sort,” She intoned. Neville found himself smiling alongside her. She left no pretense as to her opinion of his character, yet she would not be put off from her own tasks. She took his arm and they put some distance between them and Reginald and Patience. He was curious now. What was she about? Surely all this was not simply for a shopping escort.
Wentwell glanced back to his friend and his sister. Reginald and Lady Beresford still stood in their argument with the seller of some bolt of fabric that had caught the lady’s interest. To barter the price was to be expected, yet Lady Beresford seemed offended by whatever it was that the shopkeeper refused to negotiate.
“I feel a bit faint,” Lady Charity breathed
Neville, immediately tightened his grip on her to keep her from falling, but she did not swoon. She only looked up at him, and said in a breathy voice, “The heat is stifling”
Her words were to draw his attention, he was sure, as was the movement of her fan. Yet it was the faraway, dreaming look in her eyes that captivated his soul. Beads of perspiration had indeed appeared on the lady’s skin. A single drop made its wayward journey from the hollow of her throat down…down to the cleft of her breasts. It was all that Neville could do not to stare as she fluttered her fan over the sight. He looked back to her face, wanting nothing more than to taste the sweetness of her lips.
Lady Charity had the form of a goddess and the mind of a minx. Neville was certain that she could take whatever she wanted from whatever man she chose, if she set her mind to it, but most of the time, she seemed oblivious to her charms.
Lady Charity’s blue eyes lifted to meet his own and she seemed little more than bemused. She pressed the pads of her fingers to her neck as if she might pat away the heat with her bare hand.
Neville cleared his throat and released her unsure of what he should do.
Then in a stroke of sheer brilliance, for his brain was clearly addled, he recalled that he was in possession of a handkerchief which might provide the Lady some relief.
With the offer of the napkin, Lady Charity graced him with a benevolent smile.
“I am most grateful, Lord Wentwell,” she said in a tone that was at once soft and endearing and held a husky edge of sin. Though he did not often consider himself tempted by women of theTon, he could not deny that Lady Charity seemed to be a cut of a different silk. She was no slip of a girl. No. Lady Charity was all feminine. Her curves and stature were nothing less than those dictated for the angels by the Lord Himself. She did not immediately use the handkerchief to mop her face as a man would have done, but instead snapped her fan shut and waved the aforementioned handkerchief above her bosom and then delicately dabbed at the damp trail along her neck and chest. The motion only served to draw his attention to her flushed skin.
Neville had never wished that his hands could replace those of another, but this time, he did. She was both soft and steady, calm and cool, and most disconcerting of all, seemingly completely unaware of her appeal.
Lord Wentwell felt as if he needed a General to force his thoughts into line. It was a novel feeling, one which he had little practice when it came to management of such issues. Neville had faced the most precocious and sensual women of the Ton and emerged unscathed. He began to fear that Lady Charity’s lush body combined with her innocence would be his undoing.
“My Lord,” she whispered, catching his arm. “I have a… particular request.”
“Yes?” he asked.Anything, he thought.He could not be sure as to her thought, distracted as he was by his own wandering mind. He shook his head to clear it of immoral images.
Get ahold of yourself Wentwell, he thought. Ladies were not easily capable of causing Neville to lose track of his aim. The truth was that he had one focus in mind, whilst among the ladies of theTon,whether they were aware of it or not, and it was not what most ladies might guess. It was not licentiousness. It was avoidance. He would not be led to matrimony. He had trod that path nearly to his own detriment. He was now wary.
Yet, Lady Charity Abernathy was such a strange combination of contradictions. She was both in need of his care, and firm against his ways. She was strong and soft, hot and cold, captivating and standoffish, but above all, she was a lady of theTon,a lady to be wed, and not bedded until that holy blessing.
“I should like nothing more than to collect a potion for my father,” she admitted with a slight blush. “You see, he is often much improved by the waters here in Bath, and I would like to give him a gift to relieve his spirits. Something, perhaps, that he might sip at night when he is weary. He is alas, unwell.”
Of anything he expected the lady to say, Neville did not expect her to speak of her father. It should have been a douse of cold water on his passion, but it was not. He was genuinely concerned that her father was ill. He understood, more than most, how disconcerting it was when a loved one was out of sorts.
A portion of his heart broke at her words. She was so sincere and honest in her approach. Neville understood the desire to soothe the pain of a loved one. And how disconcerting it was when a family member was out of sorts.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said.
Lady Charity’s commitment to her father caused him a level of unease that he had not expected. It seemed such a noble request. Such a selfless request, it threatened Neville’s cool posture.
“Will you help me to find some seller of the waters?”
