Page 19 of Too Wylde To Tame
Charity’s steps faltered. “I know I should be thinking about your brother and the threat he poses. But quite honestly, I’m much more overwhelmed at the prospect of a proposal.”
His lips quirked slightly. “Then I will delay asking until you tell me you do no longer feel overwhelmed by the notion.”
“And how would I do that? Just walk up to you, and say, ‘Frederick, I am ready for my proposal’?” The very notion was ridiculous.
He laughed, the sound low and muted. It was an attempt to keep their conversation discreet. “You just need remind me that I had a question to ask you. I will know precisely what that means and so will you.”
“I will keep that in mind. Now, we need to get you to the house so that your scrapes and bruises may be tended. That is a nasty cut on your forehead. And I am woefully cognizant of the fact that it might have been much, much worse.”
“As you wish,” he said. “Always. And in all things.”
Charity found herself blushing, not from what he said, but from the way he looked at her. She had never experienced attraction. Not really. She had certainly never experienced being on the receiving end of it. In Bath, all the gentlemen had been absolutely appalled by her apparent inability to refrain from speaking her mind or hiding her feelings behind a mask of cool politeness. They all looked at her and saw only the flaws. “You don’t think I talk too much? Or too loudly? Or that I speak my mind too freely?”
“There is nothing about you I would alter. Rather than minding any of those traits you listed, I admire them. There is an honesty about you—about your reactions to everything around you, that I find refreshing.”
“Oh.” It was the only response she could manage. She was so terribly flustered by him in that moment, it took everything in her not to run away. But she persevered through her own uncertainty, through the strange fluttering sensation inside her when she felt his gaze on her. How she wished Lady Agnes had not interrupted them that morning.
* * *
Walking backto the house with her, Frederick wanted nothing more than to pull her off the path and find a secluded spot where they would not be interrupted. Where he could kiss her as he’d so longed to do that morning.
“Meet me in the garden,” he said. It was an impetuous thing.
“Now?”
“In an hour. At the Roman folly. Say you will, Charity. I wanted so badly to kiss you earlier today and I believe, unless I misread the situation based on my own wishful thinking, that you very much wanted to be kissed. Am I wrong?”
The hot blush that flamed her cheeks was telling enough. “No, you are not wrong. I will try to get away. Aunt Marguerite is here and she might make things difficult. But not impossible.”
“Then go… go inside now before I do something that scandalizes all of us. And I will see you in the garden.”
She nodded and then walked ahead, her steps speeding up until she reached the doors and disappeared inside. He had much to do before he met her, including getting himself cleaned up. A bath and a change of clothes, and he’d be good as new.
“I don’t know what you’re planning,” Randford said, closing the distance he’d allowed while Charity was present. “But if it hastens you both to the altar, all the better. Charity’s parents have grown impatient. If she is not married by the end of Summer, she will be summoned home and likely never see London again.”
“At the very least, I think we will be betrothed by the end of the week. If I had my way, we’d be married by then,” Frederick admitted. “I’ve never met another woman in all my life that I felt so instantly and intimately connected to. Was it that way when you met your bride?”
Randford laughed. “Yes and no. But Felicity and I met underunusualcircumstances. But those circumstances smoothed the way for a short engagement and a hasty wedding. I regret none of it.”
Perhaps, Frederick thought, he was more like Jameson than he wished to believe. Because he immediately began considering all the ways he could create just such an unusual circumstance that might force her hand into a very short betrothal. Or perhaps no betrothal at all. He finally understood the allure of an elopement.
THIRTEEN
“Are you certain you are well?” Marguerite asked. “Your cheeks are very flushed, Charity!”
“I’m fine, Aunt Marguerite. Really. It’s just very warm. In fact, I think I’m going to take a book and go read in the garden. It’s very stuffy inside, even with the windows open,” Charity insisted. It was the fourth time her aunt had remarked on her flushed appearance. She couldn’t very well admit that she was nervous about her planned assignation with Lord Frederick Dartwell, Viscount Welbey could she? Marguerite would lock her in her room.
“Very well. You must wear your hat. Heaven forbid your father sees a single freckle on your face after you’ve been in my care,” her aunt said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
For her part, Cordelia had remained silent throughout it all. But her eyes sparkled with mischief when she asked, “What is it that you are reading, Charity? I’ve been looking for a good book.”
“It’s one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s,” Charity lied smoothly. “I have only just started it so I cannot attest to its quality just yet.”
“Fair enough. I will expect a full accounting,” Delia insisted.
“You could always join her,” Marguerite said.
Panic clawed at her as Charity mentally scrambled for some way to deny her aunt’s suggestion without arousing suspicion. Luckily, Delia, despite her good natured needling, had no wish to interfere in her budding romance with the viscount.
