“Where Lord Fangfoss keeps his naughty tapestries, you mean?” Lady Charity was saying, her voice enthused.
He was flushing. Cheeks and ears hot, as if he were the same nervous lad who had spent years hiding from society and burying himself in books. It had been his father’s passing several years ago which had prompted Neville to seek the company of others. And thank heavens he had done so, for attempting to win a lady’s hand if he were still the same shy, pun-spouting man he had once been would have proven impossible.
No indeed, he had come a long way since then. Why, he had not offered a dreadful pun in mixed company in recent memory.
And justhowdid Lady Charity Manners know there were naughty tapestries hidden within this curtain alcove? His eyes narrowed. But his disapproval had to halt, because Miss Pennypacker and Lady Charity had also stopped, just beyond the drawn draperies.
“Naughty tapestries? Whatever do you mean, Charity?” asked Miss Pennypacker, sounding intrigued.
Intrigued? No! It could not be. Clearly, she was suffering from aligning herself in friendship with Lady Charity Mannerless.
He bit his lip to suppress an unacceptable chortle of laughter. But it was an excellent play on Lady Charity’s name. Pity he had not thought of it sooner, and pity there was no one else about with whom he might share it. But then, he was accustomed to solitude and entertaining himself. It was what he preferred.
Truly, the fates must have been having a laugh at her expense when she had been christened Lady CharityManners.
“There is a tapestry with a woman on her knees with a… Well, she is investigating an appendage with her… Oh, never mind. I think I have found the source of your noise! Look there, it is little Ewan.”
“Ewan? Oh dear.” Miss Pennypacker sounded stern. “What is he thieving now?”
In a louder voice Lady Charity called, “Ewan, lad, you must not take the portrait of the fourth Earl of Fangfoss. Do put it down. Ewan! Oh dear, Mel. He is racing away with it. I did not think him strong enough to carry the thing.”
“His mother will not be pleased,” Miss Pennypacker observed. “I had better rush after him and see if I can catch him before he absconds with it entirely.”
“Oh yes, do. I will likely only trip on my hems, and if I fall, I shall start a scandal.”
“Never say you are not wearing drawers,” Miss Pennypacker hissed.
No drawers?Egad.He was horrified.
But another portion of his anatomy was intrigued.
Despicably so. For a moment, his mind was filled with terrible, wonderful imagery. Creamy thighs, perfectly formed calves, voluptuous breasts. Neville was not fond of society, but the rumor that Lady Charity had posed for a painting depicting a partially nude Venus at her bath had reached even him. He had seen the picture on display at the Grosvenor Gallery, and now that he had made the lady’s acquaintance directly, he could admit the resemblance was strong.
“You know I do not prefer to wear them during the summer months,” Lady Charity was blithely informing her friend. “But never mind that, Mel. If you do not go now, you shall never catch young Ewan. Make haste!”
“Very well.” Miss Pennypacker sighed, the sound long-suffering. “But next time the little scamp is caught thieving something in our midst, it will be your turn to give chase!”
The rustling of fabric and the unmistakable flurry of footsteps followed her pronouncement.
Neville waited, still as a kitchen mouse attempting to evade the scullery maid. Unfortunately, there was nothing mouse-like in his reaction to Miss Pennypacker’ssotto vocepronouncement about Lady Charity’s lack of drawers. His trousers remained snug. Horribly snug. The ancient tapestry before him depicting a womaninvestigating an appendage, as Lady Charity had called it, did not aid him one whit.
All was quiet on the other side of the curtains.
Thank heavens they had gone.
The heavy velvet fabric drew back suddenly.
There stood none other than Lady Charity Manners beneath the alcove’s archway.
And she was smiling, sky-blue eyes sparkling with merriment.
“There you are, Lord Wilty!” she declared, sounding victorious. “I knew you were hiding here.”
Something within him seized, and the old nervousness he had thought himself long cured of inexplicably returned.
* * *
Charity knewshe should not be having so much fun at Lord Wilton’s expense. The viscount’s shoulders went as stiff as if they had been hewn of marble, and his forbidding jawline tightened. His gaze, a vibrant green she could not help but to find intriguing, settled on a point over her shoulder. And his high cheekbones were darkened by what appeared to be a flush.
