What a confusing man he was.
She had to jerk her gaze from his, for the connection of their stares was performing strange feats upon her, sending warmth and a heaviness sliding low in her belly. Down her wandering eyes went, traveling over the crisp whiteness of his shirt, taking in the pleasant breadth of his chest, the muted gray of his waistcoat, the country tweed trousers, the cut of which was surprisingly snug. She had not supposed the viscount to be the sort of man who would concern himself with his tailor…
And then her gaze settled upon another portion of him entirely. The distinct ridge of his manhood. She had pilfered enough bawdy books and pictures, had befriended enough wicked men to know what that impressive protrusion signified. Viscount Wilton wasrandy. There had also been the books dear Auntie Louise had been kind enough to loan her…
Charity had seen any number of depictions of the male organ, but she had most certainly never seen any—either in engraving, painting, sketch, or sculpture—which could compare to Lord Wilton.
It was more than apparent that Lord Wilty was a misnomer. There was nothing at all wilted about that portion of his anatomy.
She would tell her friends, but she was quite certain they would be scandalized. A bubble of laughter threatened to burst forth. She stifled it with a great deal of effort.
He cleared his throat, shifting his stance. “Lady Charity.”
Heavens.He had caught her staring at his…anatomy.
She blinked, wresting her gaze from his trousers back to his eyes. “Yes, Wilty?”
His frown was ferocious. “Wilton.”
Did he truly imagine she was going to ever refer to him as Wilton again? There was no need to, when calling him Wilty elicited such grim disapproval from him. Oh, why had she not thought of the diminutive earlier in the house party? She had missed a number of excellent opportunities.
“Yes, my lord?” She sent him a smile.
“What is a horse’s favorite interjection?” His voice sounded strained.
Not another joke.
Very well, she supposed she could play along. Charity turned his query about in her mind but could think of nothing that suited. “I am afraid I do not know.”
“Hey.” His flush deepened. “I beg your pardon for eavesdropping, Lady Charity. In truth, I am interested in courting Miss Pennypacker, and I did not wish for my future betrothed to find me enclosed in an alcove with indecorous tapestries.”
Indecorous.
How proper he was. The devilish urge to increase his discomposure rose. Mayhap he would deliver another awful sally.
“Do you mean the tapestry in which—”
“That is quite enough, Lady Charity,” he interrupted, sounding as grim as he looked.
It did not escape her that he had revealed an interest in Melanie. And while Mel was one of her five dearest finishing school friends, the poor man had no inkling that all Mel wished to do was find a partner for her business venture rather than a husband.
Well, who was Charity to tell him? Let him find out on his own when Melanie delivered a resounding refusal to his proposal of marriage. She had a feeling the viscount would run into rather a great deal of trouble attempting to persuade any lady to marry him. His physical beauty could not sufficiently diminish his sanctimonious personality. But again, let that be his problem.
“I see no need to act so prudish in nature,” she told him with a feigned huff. “After all, you were the one examining it.”
And apparently, he hadlikedit.
“I was not looking at the tapestry,” he denied. “I was seeking a moment of solitude.”
“At a country house party?” Heavens, he was worse than she had previously thought. “You do realize the purpose of such an affair is to surround one’s self with others, do you not?”
“I understood the purpose of this affair was to find a wife,” he said stiffly. “That is why I have come, Lady Charity.”
“Of course you have.” She sent him a commiserating smile. The man was so deadly dull to converse with. She had lost interest in baiting him. She could have a better conversation with a rock in the gardens, she was sure. “Well, I most certainly wish you the best in your endeavors, Wilty. A word of advice, if I may? Do refrain from eavesdropping upon the ladies in attendance in future.”
“Wilton,” he corrected.
Charity waggled her fingers at him. “Au revoir, Wilty.”
