Curse the man, why was he handsome from the side? It was positively diabolical.
His gaze flicked up, meeting hers for a moment, as he continued playing the introductory notes. Heat flared through her as those green orbs burned into hers. Heat and something else.
She almost missed her cue to begin singing.
But then, forcing herself to look away from him and the company both—for Charity disliked watching the expressions of others whilst she sang, though she knew she possessed a pleasant enough voice—she began to sing. The song was, ironically enough, one of her favorites, from the Balfe operaThe Bohemian Girl.
“I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs at my side. And of all who assembled within those walls, that I was the hope and the pride…” The song went on, and for a reason she could not define, when she rose to the crescendo, her gaze found its way back to his. “That you loved me, you loved me still the same…”
He gave her a smile then. A small smile. A very Wilton smile. A smile she felt directly in her heart.
What was happening to her?
Charity forced her attention back to the song, eyes snapping to the window and the rain once more as she sang of a noble suitor coming forth to claim her hand. Still, there was something changing, shifting inside her. The song and the lyrics and the haunting melody twisted around her heart like ivy vines. The warm regard of Viscount Wilton seared her like a brand.
His playing and her singing worked undeniably well together. He kept the time and his proficiency had her soaring to the final notes. “But I also dreamt which charmed me most, that you loved me still the same…”
Inevitably, their gazes met as she sang the last verses.
The room was silent for a moment following the completion of their song. Silent and heavy. Still, Charity could not seem to wrest her gaze from Wilton’s. And then, their audience applauded. Charity hoped no one else had sensed the current running between herself and the viscount. Foolish current. Ridiculous current.
And what would she do about it, anyway? The man was excellent at kissing, but aside from that, he was dreadful. Was he not?
Lady Fangfoss stepped in, announcing the next pairing, Dorset and Clementine. Charity attempted to shake herself from the sudden spell the viscount had cast upon her and returned to her seat. Thankfully, Wilton’s chair was on the opposite end of the music room. But that did not stop her from being occasionally tempted to sneak a glance in his direction as the remainder of the pairings entertained the company.
By the time the musical entertainments were at an end, Charity was nearly out of her skin with the need to escape and find some time alone. She excused herself from Auntie Louise with the weak excuse that she intended to nap before dinner. Whilst the day was dreary enough to require a nap, there was no chance of slumber.
Charity did not bother to return to her chamber. Auntie Louise, bless her, did not accompany her on the trip, and her trust enabled Charity to disappear as she wished. Nothing extraordinary about the arrangement. Auntie Louise allowed Charity her freedom whenever she played chaperone, and Charity had always taken great advantage of it.
She had no notion of where she was going. All she did know was that her feet were taking her far from Lord Wilton and his unwanted temptation. Charity clearly needed some time to be alone, calm herself, and forget all about her inconvenient attraction to the viscount.
“Charity, there you are,” Melanie called to her as she passed through the great hall.
“Do wait,” Raina called.
Drat!She ought to have known her friends would see through her ploy and catch her. Auntie Louise never did.
On a sigh, Charity stopped and turned back to find her two friends hastening after her. “Why are you following me?”
“Ye said ye had an aching head,” Raina answered first. “We were concerned.”
But Melanie’s look was knowing, her grin smug. “Also, we know the expression on your face before you run.”
Running? Was that what they thought she was doing?
Well, to be fair, I suppose I was running. Running from Wilton and those unexpected feelings.
She frowned. “I do not run.”
“What would ye call it then?” Raina asked. “Fleeing? Retreating? As I always say, Olive is our wordsmith. I dinnae ken a better way to describe it.”
“Skedaddling,” Melanie offered proudly.
Charity blinked. “Your American heritage is making itself known again, dear. What in heaven’s name does that word mean?”
“Running,” Melanie and Raina offered in unison.
“Friends,” Charity muttered before noting the rest of her finishing school chums approaching as well, Clementine in their lead.
