“I am not in love with Lord Killjoy!” she defended hotly.
But as she made the declaration, some unwanted emotion crept along, making her feel guilty for deriding the viscount. He was not as terrible as she had originally supposed, it was true. Strange how preconceived notions could be dispelled by merely spending time in the presence of the man she had judged. And sharing kisses with him. That, too.
“You are not in love with him in the same way you were not running from the music room just now?” Melanie asked.
“The same way you never avoided anything that troubled you or made you uncomfortable?” Angeline added.
“The same way ye arenae fleeing to the Continent to avoid all those nasty rumors about ye and the Venus painting?”
Charity rose from her window seat perch, filled with a swelling storm of emotion. To say nothing of the realizations she was making about herself. About Lord Wilton. About the way she felt for him.
Abouteverything, it seemed.
In a daze, Charity’s feet began moving toward the door to the salon. Her friends could call it what they wished. Yes, perhaps she was running. But she needed time to herself more than ever now. Time to think about these new revelations.
“Charity?” Clementine’s worried voice followed her.
“Where are ye going?” Raina asked.
“I need some time for reflection,” she said, turning back to see five pairs of eyes watching her, five sets of beloved faces marked with concern. “I am not running. I promise I am not. But you have all given me a great deal to think about, and I believe it would be best if I thought about those things. Alone.”
Angeline frowned. “Have we hurt your feelings? I do so hope not.”
“We were only trying to help,” Melanie offered.
“You have not,” she reassured sweet Angeline. “And Melanie, of course I know you are trying to help. You are. Helping me, that is. But I need to figure this out on my own, I think.”
“Do not forget what you told me,” Olive called just before Charity slipped over the threshold. “Love is worth fighting for.”
Love? Ha!
She was notin lovewith Viscount Wilton!
But another troubling feeling within her persisted as she escaped to her chamber.
What if she was?
There was no hope for it. She was going to have to spend the next few days keeping her distance from Wilton. Charity had a suspicion she was going to be feigning a great deal of headaches…
Chapter 6
Neville stared out the window over the Fangfoss Manor park. From his guest chamber, he had an excellent view of the gardens below, along with a good portion of the manmade pond in which he had fished. Beyond all, the River Derwent. But this afternoon, of all afternoons since he had first been in residence at this country house party, was different.
Different because something had changed.
Neville could not define the moment it had occurred.
It may have begun the day he had eavesdropped on Lady Charity’s conversation with Miss Pennypacker in the portrait gallery. It may have started that moon-gilded night in the gardens when a Roman goddess had charmed him and returned his kisses with such tempting ardor. Or it may have been, like the sudden bloom of a rose, the instant in the music room when their gazes had met and held whilst she had been singing. His scandalous Flora had the voice of an angel.
Regardless, it had happened.
Neville found himself preparing to court Lady Charity Manners.
All he had to do waslocateher first.
She had been absent at dinner the night before. Nowhere to be found at breakfast. He had gone riding with the Marquess of Dorset in a desperate attempt to distract himself and seek advice.
Dorset was a rake, newly reformed by his betrothal to the lovely Lady Clementine Hammond. If anyone should know how to properly pursue a lady, it was the marquess. And Neville had determined he needed help in his quest. He had returned to luncheon and Dorset’s singularly terrible advice sounding in his head like the memorable refrain of a song.
