He seated himself at her side and turned toward her. “I spoke with your aunt earlier.”
Her eyebrows rose beneath the brim of her hat. “Auntie Louise? Why? Surely you did nottellher…”
“Of course not,” he hastened to reassure her. “I may have been rash and impetuous yesterday, but I am ordinarily a gentleman of honor.”
How stiff his voice sounded, even to his own ears.
He was going about this all wrong.
Charity’s gaze searched his. “Why did you speak with my aunt, if not to inform her of what happened?”
Damnation, she was beautiful. Those full, lush lips were calling to him. This was no moonlit garden, and neither was it the solitude of her chamber, but he was tempted to kiss her all the same.
“What is the best way of making a coat last?” he asked to distract himself from the desire heating his blood.
Her nose crinkled in the most adorable fashion as she considered his query. “I do not know, Neville. What is it?”
“Make the trousers and waistcoat first.”
She bit her lip, as if attempting to subdue a smile. “I suppose that is not as dreadful as some of your sallies have been, but you still have yet to answer my question.”
“Because I want to marry you,” he blurted, then gathered his wits and attempted to elaborate. “After what happened yesterday, it is necessary.”
Curse it.That was not right either. He knew it the moment Charity’s shoulders drew back and her spine went rigid.
“Of course it is not,” she denied.
“It is.”
Her chin went up. “Necessary is a strong word, my lord. You need not fear I shall hold your feet to the fire. I have plans to travel the Continent with Auntie Louise following this house party, and I have no intention of abandoning them.”
Travel? The Continent? He had known nothing of this.
Neville frowned at her. “Your plans must change. You could be carrying my child.”
Her lips parted, and her golden lashes fluttered over her eyes for a moment, the only sign his words had affected her. “I shall send you a letter if I am.”
“A letter?” He would have laughed, but there was precious little humor in this moment. “You will do nothing of the sort, Charity. You will marry me, and if you should prove to be carrying my child, you will not need to send me a letter because you are my wife. You can tell me directly.”
“You cannot order me about, Neville.”
This was not going well.
“I am not ordering you. I am telling you that there are consequences for what passed between us yesterday. As a gentleman, my only recourse is to marry you.” He paused, considering what he had just said.
Not terribly romantic, was it?
In all the instances he had imagined when he had set about on the selection of a bride, he had never supposed he would be facing his future viscountess the day after he had taken her innocence. He was not a scoundrel, and he was most certainly not a rakehell. Nor had he ever been particularly carried away by his passions.
Not until Charity.
“Your only recourse,” Charity repeated, ice in her voice. “How wrong you are. You have many recourses, one of which is not marrying me. I absolve you of your duty. What happened between us yesterday was lovely, but it will not happen again. You are free to go about wooing the rest of the ladies at the house party with your puns.”
Devil take it, this was going from bad to worse.
“When is a man like a green gooseberry?” he blurted.
Her shoulders drooped. “Neville.”
