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She was just starting to enjoy herself, and became engaged in an animated conversation about Commander’s Beresford’s and Amelia Atherton’s upcoming nuptials, when she had the uncanny feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced behind to see none other than Neville Collington, The Earl of Wentwell studying her. For a moment, she was flustered and had to ask the colonel to repeat himself, but she rallied. Neville Collington had disconcerted her last summer, but she was better prepared now. She would not let him unbalance her again. He was just a flirt and a pretty face. She was a lady of theTon. She would remain cool and aloof.
Colonel Ranier was telling a particularly funny story about Commander Beresford and Captain Jack Hartfield. Luckily she heard the story earlier from Lavinia, the new Mrs. Hartfield, and could nod and smile in all the right places without paying the colonel much mind. All the while she covertly watched Lord Wentwell from behind her fan.
~.~
Neville Collington was used to being the center of attention. As an unmarried member of the peerage he attracted more than his fair share of female notice. It was no surprise that the Earl found himself engaged in conversation with several young ladies. He often found such diversion entertaining, but none present were enough to hold his attention today. He wondered how he might manage to extricate himself from their company including that of the grasping Miss Macrum. The woman was tolerable when accompanied by Miss Danbury, but no longer. He sighed and scanned the room, wondering if he should just take his leave. His brother Edmund had been unwell all week, and Neville could not enjoy himself when his thoughts were with his sibling. He hoped that his mother did not have issue with his brother this evening while he was away. Danvers was ill-equipped to handle the situation. Wentwell had just finished his drink and was searching for the hostess to give his regrets when he spotted the lovely and curvaceous Lady Charity Abernathy speaking with a woman who, from the similarity of form, could be none other than Lady Charity’s mother The Countess of Shalace. The Lady Shalace was equally curvaceous, but certainly not as lovely in deportment or in disposition as her daughter.
Lord Wentwell knew his own mother disliked Lady Shalace for exactly the sort of maneuvering that Miss Macrum attempted with him. It was well known, according to his mother that The Lady Shalace, the former Miss Lovell had caught herself an earl using less than proper methods. Trapped was more like. Well, the lady’s daughter was certainly not going to manage the same with him, Lord Wentwell thought, no matter how beautiful she was. He was wise to the feminine maneuverings. Still he did find Lady Charity intriguing. Watching her, she seemed nearly as frustrated with the evening as himself, or perhaps that was just her mother’s hovering.
Last summer Lady Charity had all but thrown herself in front of him when she thought he might ask her shy friend for a dance. Contrary to her expectation, Lord Wentwell had not been about to ask the reticent lady to dance. Timidity did not interest him. One had to admire the bravery of throwing one’s self into the proverbial line of fire for the sake of a friend, and yet once dancing Lady Charity seemed to lose her nerve. At least she seemed a bit more subdued as he brought her blushing into the conversation and the flush on her pale skin had been most alluring.
Once she found her voice, Lord Wentwell realized the Lady Charity had a rapier wit and a fresh perspective on the pomp of theTon. His quips were met with such stark honesty. He found the Lady amusing and laughed aloud not once but several times at her candor. It had been a long while since he had felt such joy. Lady Charity had provided a refreshing outlook, and in the paucity of lively attendants at this particular soiree, she was the brightest among them.
Lady Charity turned abruptly from her mother. If possible, her eyes were brighter than he has imagined. She blinked rapidly, and with a quick glance around the room, chucked the entirety of her drink into the decorative fern that graced the archway. With her cup still in hand, she turned and joined in conversation with the Colonel Ranier.
Wentwell paused. He knew Colonel Ranier from the short time he was engaged in His Majesty’s Service. It would be easy to insinuate himself into the conversation if he wished to reacquaint himself with Lady Charity. He decided he did. She snapped her fan open bearing it before her as if it were a weapon. In fact he decided, she was perhaps the most enticing woman he had seen for quite some time. He would be remiss if he did not renew their acquaintance.
~.~
Chapter Three
Lady Charity glanced again at Lord Wentwell and realized he was moving in her direction. She felt dizzy, like a small bird about to be pushed from the highest branch. Charity ground her teeth. Her palms had begun to sweat beneath her gloves in a most unladylike way, and she felt as if she could not get a full breath around her stays, which were not in any way too tight.
“I say, Wentwell,” Ranier said jovially. “You have met the Lady Charity Abernathy, have you not? Her father is The Earl of Shalace. Marvelous chap.”
Charity held out a hand, but narrowed her eyes. She expected the gentleman to fail to recall their dance last summer. Surrounded by ladies as he often was, it would be a surprise to Charity if he could recall more than one pretty face in the myriads with whom he danced and flirted.
“Of course,” he offered, a slight bow in Charity’s direction. “I was honored to partner the fair lady this summer past. Though I am afraid we have not had the occasion to renew our acquaintance since.
Charity smiled, flattered that he remembered her. “It is lovely to see you again, Lord Wentwell,” she replied inanely while her muddled brain tried to think of something more worthwhile to say. She could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her mind, even though Lady Shalace was well outside of speaking distance, the coaching gave Charity something to latch onto. She obeyed the instruction that she knew would be given.
Charity straightened her shoulders, sand took a breath. The action thrust her bosom forward and she held her empty glass in both hands, just below the sightline of her breast. One glance by the gentleman would give ample view of both. As predicted, Wentwell’s gaze took in the sight, and in fact lingered there until his gaze bordered on scandalous. Luckily the neckline of the dress was fairly sedate by her mother’s usual standards. Mother wanted to save the truly titillating dresses until the opening ball. Thank heavens Charity had managed to have the most revealing of the garments altered before arriving in Bath.
Lord Wentwell, face broke into a grin showing perfectly even teeth and a dark glint in his eye, but instead of offering to fill her cup, he simply commented upon it saying, “I see that you are without refreshment, Lady Charity.”
“So I am,” she said, raising the glass slightly and Colonel Ranier hastened to say that he would oblige her. Taking her cup, he made haste to see it refilled.
Charity could nearly feel her mother’s triumphant grin behind her. Rather than bask in her success, Charity felt soiled with the ease of manipulation as the colonel hurried away. She was of the opinion that Lord Wentwell had also manipulated the situation to be alone with her.
She disliked the façade and Lord Wentwell was certainly in the thick of such things. It would not do to tempt him, or herself considering his rakish reputation. Still, as far as Charity was aware, no official scandal had taken place around the gentleman, only whispers of impropriety, but nothing proved. Besides, he was good friends with Lord Barton, Patience’s older brother, and no one was more upright than Reginald.
A little flirtation would not cause harm so long as scandal did not ensue. She took up the fan at her wrist, waving it artfully in front of her breast, both drawing Wentwell’s attention and hiding herself from view. His gaze followed the path of her fan and burned across her skin like a physical touch. He was absolutely solid beside her in that moment. She could smell the scent of him and feel his heat even in the summer evening. She was quite sure that Neville Collington was capable of ruining a woman. In fact, she was sure he could manage it without even applying much effort and that was the issue. One look and a woman could find herself lost in those penetrating green eyes.
~.~
Lord Wentwell brought his eyes firmly back to Lady Charity’s face. Hers was quite a beautiful face, with full lips and eyes as blue as the sea. He smiled down at her. “Are you terribly parched, my lady?” Wentwell asked expecting to catch her in a falsehood, and apply his charm.
“A drink would indeed be pleasant,” she replied smoothly. Not exactly a lie, he realized, as she tossed a look over her shoulder to her mother. “It is uncommonly warm, and Colonel Ranier is kind to fetch me a drink,” she said as she fanned herself.
“Implying that I am not kind?” Wentwell replied, one eyebrow raised.
“A lady would not say so.” She fluttered her fan artfully, or perhaps she was just a bit nervous, her eyes passed over the other guests, perhaps looking for Ranier. An unaccustomed stab of jealousy flashed through him. He wanted her eyes on him.
“And yet you think it, do you not?” He said drawing her deep blue eyes back to his face. “Oh, Lady Charity, you wound me.”
“By my thoughts? I think not.” She laughed lightly, falsely, with just the right amount of levity for a lady. “In fact,” she continued. “I think it would take more than my mere words to do you harm. I believe you are well protected by hubris.”
“I would not wish you any ill, even an ill thought, Lady Charity. An inspiring thought I would hope to stimulate. An amusing word I would cherish, but I would never wish you ill.” He took a beat as he twisted his signet ring on his hand. “Nor would I get you a drink,” he said, raising his eyes to hers.
