He eyed Lady Perfect’s with a grim stare. “You promise there is nothing nefarious in that concoction of yours?”
She moved toward him, nettled that he believed her a candidate for such a childish prank. “Do you truly suppose I would dye your face?”
He met her halfway, until they were standing in the center of the library together, near enough to touch and yet enough distance between them to remain respectable lest they suffer an interruption.
Wilton gave her an assessing glance, his green gaze remarkably vivid even in the shadows of the cavernous space. “I cannot be certain when it comes to you, Lady Charity.”
That made two of them. She was not certain what she was doing here and now, in this room, alone with him.
“I promise I have no intention of harming your face.” She unscrewed the lid on the pot of cold cream and extended it for his perusal. “Would you care to examine it before I apply it?”
He leaned forward, giving it a sniff. “It smells innocuous enough.”
She would have laughed at the silliness of the moment had an intense, searing need not bolted through her. A yearning to feel that wicked mouth of his on hers once more. What was the matter with her? Surely there was nothing irresistible about one proper viscount. Nothing at all.
“I have already assured you it is perfectly safe,” she bit out, her irritation with herself making the words emerge sharper than she had intended.
His poor chin—an excellent chin, she grudgingly acknowledged, with a divot in the center and a strong jaw—was quite irritated. Perhaps it had been exacerbated by the shave his valet had presumably given him that morning. Charity found herself struck by the odd and unwanted urge to run her fingertips along his face. Would she feel the prickle of golden whiskers, or would his skin be smooth from the razor’s edge?
“I shall try it, I suppose,” he said, sounding reluctant, his smile wry. “The rash does rather itch.”
Her gaze went to his upper lip, the well-defined philtrum marred by redness as well. She had to admit, she preferred him without his Shakespearean mustache. Then her eyes traveled to his mouth. Inevitably, she thought once more about those sinful kisses.
I must cease thinking about his lips.
She dipped her fingers into the cream to distract herself. Silky coolness greeted her as she scooped out a small amount. “Here you are, then.”
Another step forward. She smoothed the cream over his chin. The slightest prick of his whiskers met her touch, answering her question. And something else happened too when she rubbed the cream gently over the affected area, working it into his skin. Heat skipped from her fingers past her wrist, up her elbow. An answering warmth pooled in her belly. The air turned heavy.
Their gazes met and held.
“Why did the corset-maker never go anywhere?” he asked.
Strangely, his sudden query did nothing to vanquish the headiness of the moment.
“I do not know,” she admitted.
“She preferred tostayat home.”
A bubble of laughter escaped her. “That was rather clever.”
“Allmy jokes are clever.” His teasing tone belied the bombastic nature of his words.
Curse him, why was he so handsome?
“How does that feel?” she forced herself to ask, hating the sudden husky quality of her voice.
“Quite…pleasant.”
Did he not feel what she felt, this wild magnetism drawing her to him? She moved to his upper lip next, trying to tamp down the rising tide of need. Every part of her was aflame, but she had no wish to allow him to know the effect he had upon her. Still, as she applied a bit more Lady Perfect’s to the rash where his mustache had been, she found herself tracing the upper line of his lips. It was quite fine.
He surprised her by taking her wrist in a gentle hold and pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand.
They both froze. He seemed as taken aback by his action as she.
Hastily, he guided her hand away from his mouth and released her, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Lady Charity.”
Did he truly mean to pretend that kiss had not just happened? Her palm felt as if it had received a brand. She had felt the subtle brush of his lips over her bare skin between her thighs. And there it remained in a pulsing ache.
