Heart's Desire

Chapter Eight

It was decided, in her mind at least, that Charity would give Lord Wrotham a taste of what it felt like to be unwanted by one's spouse. As Wilcott put the finishing touches into her coiffure, she thought back to the events of that morning. Had she detected jealousy when she spoke of Lady Blakemoor's cousin?

Although Charity imagined Georgiana when the subject of her lover came up, the viscount's mind conjured a man. She was willing to let the mistaken identity stand uncorrected. It had to do with far more than the hoped-for annulment. If Lord Wrotham did feel a bit of jealousy, then his assumption afforded her an unexpected chance to exact a kind of revenge before their marriage was dissolved.

"All finished," Wilcott announced after patting the back of her mistress' up-swept hair.

For tonight, Charity opted to wear the sprigged muslin gown again. The morning gown had sustained some stains and a slight tear in the shoulder from her earlier misadventure. The primrose yellow was too eye-catching, and Charity was unused to being the center of attention. Although she wished to nurture his jealousy, she didn't wish to draw any more of Lord Wrotham's awareness than was necessary.

"Thank you, Wilcott. I plan to retire early, after dinner," Charity informed her lady's maid as she turned her head this way and that. The young woman had a real gift with hair.

"Yes, my lady." Charity's maid bobbed a curtsey and went about straightening up the room as she slipped away.

Upon entering the dining room, Charity was disappointed - yet not surprised - to find that the object of all her woes already seated at the head of the table. Lord Wrotham rose as she came toward her chair. With but a jerk of the chin, he excused the footman to pull it out for her himself.

The unexpected move made Charity question his lordship's motives. Was it a belated display of chivalry? Affection? No, she finally decided, most likely it was a show of dominance.

As their dinner progressed, Lord Wrotham tried to engage Charity in conversation. She was unwilling to participate, still too wounded by his parting words from that morning. During their shared tender moment, he'd reverted to the irrational and angry man she'd known since their ill-fated wedding. That man was one with whom she'd grown familiar. That man was the one she wanted to leave. That he accused her of being a coquette was a blessing in disguise.

Upon their return, according to Rogers, Lord Wrotham had all but booted Ant from the house. Charity hadn't witnessed the scene for herself. Instead, she'd fled to her room so her friend wouldn't know she'd cried. Whether her butler embellished the tale or not, she did hear stern, raised male voices as she hurried upstairs. A short time later, the front door was shut none-too-gently.

After the shooting, Charity was lulled into believing his lordship had changed. He'd become more...caring. Her resolve toward that Lord Wrotham began to soften. This one made her determination for an annulment harden.

It galled knowing that Lord Wrotham proved Charity foolish for believing the better of him. And now, ever the chameleon, he changed yet again. Tonight, he portrayed the attentive and honorable suitor. Stiffening her shoulders, she vowed not to be caught in his trap again.

Charity sensed that her curt, one-worded replies were not all the viscount hoped for in his dinner companion. In the stretched silences that followed his attempts at conversation, she caught the unreadable looks he sent her way out of the corner of her eye. Those unnerved her as she wasn't all too certain what they could mean.

Their awkward dinner was short. Before the last course was served, Charity excused herself. It had been a long day, and she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Lord Wrotham bid her goodnight and rose when she did. That unreadable gaze was felt on her back as she left the room.