AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Now,” she stared up into his eyes with all the heartfelt care that her tone promised, yet her words and eyes were ice cold, “let us not dally any further in these games. I believe that I have made my point.”
He moved his hands to her shoulders, and set her aside, with finality, though not ungently. He took his hands from her as if he had been burnt. It had been a close thing, but he remembered. He felt his own cool mask descend and once again he was safe.
“Excellent,” she revealed a cool grin. “Now, the next time you are so certain that you are capable of winning any female heart, I only ask that you recall this moment. Women, of any status and fortune are no less capable of achieving their ends than a gentleman who is in search of temporary entertainment. Women are not toys for your amusements. We are people. Are we understood?”
Neville found himself nodding, much like he might if he had been schooled by his tutor at this ripe age of eight and twenty. A memory bubbled to the surface, one that left him feeling flushed and bothered. Lady Charity had nothing to do with the negative reaction that cooled his veins like ice. However, she had reminded him of the calculated ability of another determined female, one that had taught Neville how to guard his own heart against the supposedly gentle sex.
In his heart a rage burned for the woman who had left him nearly at the altar, and for this woman who so callously reminded him of his sin. He ground his teeth together.
Lady Charity strolled away with the confident gait of one who expected him to follow with no rebuttal, and he did follow, because it was custom, but he was wiser now. She rejoined her friend and continued her conversation with Lady Beresford as if nothing out of the usual had occurred.
Neville knew otherwise. He had to shake his head to process the matter. He had met women of high confidence; he had nearly married one of those calculating vipers. He had met those with pride in their form or position. He had never, until this moment, met another female so capable of duping him, save once, and both he had almost fallen to. He would not fall again. Lady Charity had played him like a fool. Her skill and charm was both appealing and devastating, leading him to believe she was honest. Only upon her exit had he learned that each calculated word was an act, and although he was filled with a cold rage, nothing could have made him want her more. The need to chastise her as she had done to him was almost a fever within him.
There was little that made Neville’s blood boil, but falsified encounters such as what he had just experienced were at the top of the list. Though he was expert in their exaction, he had only once before been the recipient of such gameplay. Until this very moment he had thought himself immune to such tricks. He had learned his lesson. He would not ever again be made the fool.
He had been young and naïve when Miss Katherine Dubois had toyed with his heart. He knew Katherine wanted to be a countess, but he also thought she had some tenderness for his person. She did not. She was beautiful, and buxom and entirely false, just like the lady before him.
It was Katherine who had kissed him, and it had been the first time he had kissed a woman. His mother had warned him: ladies did not allow such kisses unless they were bound for marriage, and he was willing to offer it for the sweet taste of her, but that taste turned bitter when he realized that he was only a means for her to catch another. She had used his young and tender heart as bait to catch another older, but Neville thought, perhaps not wiser peer, for that man now had a viper in his bed.
Neville had cried like a child when he lost her. The last time he cried so, he had been eight, when his father died. It was Reginald who had pulled him out of his doldrums. Reg told Neville, he had not lost her; for Katherine was never his in the first place. You are better off without the strumpet, Reginald had said.
Then the two of them had gone to a club and gotten roaring drunk. Neville had bedded a skinny dark-haired wench who was much more Reg’s type than his own. Before his friend dragged him home and practically poured him from the carriage at dawn. Neville remembered nothing more from that night except for the first time in his life, he had apparently rang a fine peal over his mother when she attempted to chastise his behavior: a fact that she reminded him of in subsequent days.
While Neville might wish never to see Katherine again, Lady Charity had caused him to dredge up the past. As he considered her calculated attack, he became aware that the truth of the pain came more from that long ago encounter than any action with the present lady. She thought she had taught him a lesson, yes, but she had also wounded him deeply without realizing it. She had caused him to recall a grievous injury that had not and could not be repaired. He had thought himself in control. He had thought himself well armored. Now he realized he was not. He remembered that the dangers of the female sex were far beyond the physical damage that might be done by a gentleman. He walked in silence as the ladies prattled and Reg joined their laughter until they found their way back to the Grand Pump Room where Lady Charity’s maid still waited for The Earl of Shalace.
A short wave and nod ended their encounter as Lady Charity rejoined her maid upon a bench outside the bath houses. She allowed fulsome farewells to her friends, while offering little else than a single raised eyebrow to Lord Wentwell.
He bit his tongue and refused to allow her willful approach to cause him anger. He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He would go and tomorrow, he whould never have to think of Lady Charity Abernathy again, unless he wished to…unless he wished to teach the little chit a lesson. He knew, it was best if the pair avoided one another as a whole, rather than continue this game of which might hold the relative power. But there was a part of him that would not let the game end here. He had been bested, but he would not take the defeat easily.
~.~
Chapter Eight
Charity returned to the house in the early hours of the afternoon. She was still shaking her head at the memory of her encounter with Lord Wentwell. It served him right that she had given him a dose of his own character. The gentleman needed to be reminded that his actions had consequences that would not be tolerated by all of the gentle sex, certainly it would not be tolerated by one, Lady Charity Abernathy. Still, she felt remorse for her action.
She liked Lord Wentwell more than she cared to admit, and regretted that she had, perhaps taken her lesson a little too far. He had seemed hurt by her revelation, more so than she had expected. Perhaps she had touched upon some sensitive issue. Charity had only meant to wound his pride a bit. Lord Wentwell was entirely too prideful. But she was not an intentionally cruel person, and it seemed that he had been genuinely hurt. She had not enjoyed how his lips tightened and the tic in his jaw jumped. She lamented how the light had gone out of his eyes, and he had looked at her with icy coldness.
Ah well,she thought. It mattered not now. Charity had no intention of interacting with Neville Collington again. In fact, she prayed that she might never cross the path of the charmer for the rest of her life, though that was likely impossible. All of the Ton knew one another, and as a daughter of an earl, she was unlikely to avoid Lord Wentwell entirely. She would meet the members of the peerage and their families on occasion.
~.~
On their way home from the Grand Pump Room, Charity’s father made a comment while they rode in the carriage that she had thought seemed out of sorts. “Do you feel better, Father?” she asked him, but he did not answer, and before they had driven a block, he was snoring. She hoped that the waters helped him. At least he seemed to rest easy.
Charity had not explained to her father the drama of the day. In fact, she thought it best that she not mention it. Though her father was less likely to ridicule her behavior, than her mother, he would not have expressed compliance with her interactions with such a gentleman. Charity also knew that he would have been right. She was playing with fire. Lord Wentwell was best avoided. The last thing that she needed was a rumor about her involvement with the ne'er-do-well. She resolved she would put him from her mind. His opinions did not matter in the least. Neither did his strong arms or his gentle touch or even the light in his very green eyes, green with darker flecks, like bits of fire.
~.~
That evening in Charity’s dressing room, while Jean brushed out her hair, Charity shared the encounter with her maid. “The gentleman shall get himself in a scrape if he continues to toss his affections around to land where they may,” she grumbled to Jean who was listening with half an ear as she set Charity’s curls for the evening. “I want no part of it.”
“Nonetheless, you seemed to have shed your melancholy, my lady. Did you enjoy your outing?”
“I did,” Charity agreed. “It was wonderful to share the afternoon with Patience.”
“Only Lady Beresford?” quipped the maid, and Charity launched into an explanation of the morning’s events, laughing aloud as she told of their antics, and soon the conversation centered on Lord Wentwell.
“Your mother would scold you for your boldness,” Jean surmised. Of course she was well aware that even her mother’s censure would do little to dissuade Charity once she had set her mind to the act.
“You cannot deny that Lord Wentwell was in need of a lesson,” Charity said.
