Her Prodigal Passion (11 page)

He made his decision.

He would speak to Charity, try to fix the animosity between them.

"Lead the way," he said.

ELEVEN

Charity followed the trail of guests to the Ivy Room, a high-ceilinged chamber with a leafy trellis stenciled over the mint green walls. The rows of chairs had filled up quickly, leaving only a few empty seats near the back. Charity considered abandoning the enterprise, yet she had promised to attend and wasn't one to go back on her word. Neither was she a coward. She refused to flee to her chamber and give into an unprecedented bout of tears.

She was
done
crying over Paul Fines.

"Please take your seats everyone."

Lady Helena's clear tones came from the front of the room. Beside the marchioness stood a gentleman with silver spectacles and a stern, schoolmasterish bearing that made Charity hastily slide into one of the remaining seats.

"I have the great pleasure of introducing our speaker for this evening," Lady Helena said. "Dr. Ernst Frankel is renowned for his work in the science of cranioscopy, and tonight he will be lecturing on the diagnosis of temperaments from the shape of the human skull. Please join me in welcoming our distinguished guest."

Excited murmurs and applause swirled through the room.

"Thank you," the doctor said in a heavy German accent. "To begin, I draw your attention to the map of the human brain."

His pointing stick whipped against the poster on the stand behind him, so sharply that several members of the audience gasped and twitched in their seats.

Dr. Frankel's lecture proved a welcome distraction. Charity found herself fascinated by the notion that one's personality could be derived from the profile of one's skull. She followed along as Dr. Frankel mapped out the locations of various faculties:
acquisitiveness
(the tendency to amass and hoard riches, located at the lower temple),
secretiveness
(the capacity for cunning, seated near the top of the head), and
ideality
(the pursuit of perfection, which could be read from the width of the temples).

"You don't really believe this claptrap, do you?" With nonchalant grace, Paul Fines took the seat beside her. "The bumps on a skull no more determine one's disposition and future than a gypsy's cards."

Charity's hands balled in her lap. Why did he persist in interfering with her peace? Clearly he had no shortage of females to go bother—why was he pestering her?

She kept her eyes forward, saying repressively, "You're interrupting the lecture, sir."

"Didn't know you were a bluestocking."

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Each time we meet, I'm discovering that more." She made the mistake of glancing over; his slow smile made her heart flip-flop as haplessly as a fish washed ashore. "You surprise me at every turn, and never more so than at our last encounter."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"But I do. If only to apologize."

"Fine, you've apologized. Now will you leave me be?" she said curtly. "I'm sure you have many friends to get back to."

"Why, Miss Sparkler, I didn't know that you noticed or cared about the company I keep."

"I
don't.
" Feeling the heat of censorious glances, Charity tamped her voice down. "What you do and whom you do it with is none of my business, Mr. Fines."

For an instant, she thought she'd quieted him.

Then he murmured, "You're wrong, you know."

Hearing the annoyed grumbling around them, she kept her eyes fixed on Dr. Frankel as he pointed out areas of the brain. The scholar could have been speaking Greek for all she knew. Mr. Fines, blast him, had hooked her attention.

Unable to help herself, she muttered, "Wrong? About what?"

"I don't have many friends." This startling assertion made her turn her head. His smile was crooked and boyish, devoid of its usual urbanity. The effect battered at her defenses. "Not many with whom I could share a heartfelt conversation, at any rate. And not any I could talk to ... the way I find myself talking to you."

Don't give in. He regrets kissing you. He called it a mistake.

She swallowed. "I'm not interested in being your friend."

"Maybe that's not what I want from you either."

He looked as surprised by his words as she was.

Her pulse raced.
Don't get fooled again by his charm.

"I don't care what you want," she said.

His brow furrowed. "For a slip of a thing, you're remarkably stubborn."

The reference to her insignificance made her patience snap. "First I'm a mouse, now I'm a
slip
? Well, I may be small, but
you
have an overly large head," she said in a furious undertone. "Especially when it comes to your own countenance."

Mr. Fines' lips pressed together. Before she could savor the triumph of putting him in his place, a muscle twitched alongside his mouth. His eyes danced. He was silently
laughing
at her!

All pretense of listening to the lecture fled.

She spun in her chair to face him. "I fail to see what is so amusing."

He shook his head, his wide shoulders shaking.

"
Ahem.
Am I interrupting anything?"

The heavily accented words directed Charity's gaze toward the stage. Dr. Frankel's grey brows formed a stern line, his wooden stick directed at them like an accusing finger. "The gentleman and lady at the back. Do you have something you'd care to share with the rest of the audience?"

"N-no," Charity stammered. She felt like an errant miss caught in a prank, a sensation as novel as it was mortifying. Her cheeks pulsed as every pair of eyes turned in her direction. "B-beg pardon, sir. We were just—"

The doctor gestured impatiently with his stick. "Since you have captured the audience's attention, I will use the pair of you for my demonstration."

"No, really, I—"

"Glad to lend a hand, Dr. Frankel. Fascinating stuff, your lecture." Mr. Fines' insouciant tones cut her off. He pulled her to her feet, murmuring, "Come on, this will be fun."

"No, it won't." She tried to pull her arm free.

But his grip didn't budge from her elbow, and he steered her down the aisle. "When one is called to the carpet," he said under his breath, "resisting is futile. Doing so will result in satisfaction for him and rug burn for you. Best to play along—trust me on this."

"
You
would know," she said through her teeth.

He flashed an unrepentant grin. "Getting into hot water is a Fines trait, I'm afraid. If you think Percy has a talent for it, wait until you see her older brother at work."

It was too late to argue further; they'd arrived at the stage.

"Take a seat facing one another," Dr. Frankel instructed.

Fuming, she took the chair on the right. Mr. Fines took the opposite one, which was placed so close to hers that their knees touched. She pulled away as if burned.

"Who will conduct the examination first?" the doctor asked.

Charity's hands grew clammy. All her life, she'd followed rules and done what was expected of her. Yet thanks to Mr. Fines, she had no clue how to proceed.

The cad had the gall to offer her a bland smile. "Shall I have a go first, Miss Sparkler?"

Torn between relief and annoyance, she gave a curt nod. He reached over, and her pulse leapt at his nearness. As he ran his hands gently over her hair, his subtle cologne teased her senses. The masculine combination of cedar and musk warmed her insides, made them quiver.

In desperation, she tried to concentrate on something else. She counted the grey stripes on his waistcoat. One stripe, two, three … when he moved, the fabric stretched over his chest, molding perfectly to the rigid musculature. Perspiration bloomed on her skin as she recalled the sensation of that virile form crushing her body, her breasts pressing against unyielding sinew—

"Well?" Dr. Frankel's voice jolted her.

To her mortification, she realized her nipples were puckered and stiff beneath her bodice. Gulping, she slanted a glance downward: thank goodness nothing showed through the layers of her unmentionables! But she'd been so distracted that once again she'd lost track of what the doctor was asking.

Mr. Fines spoke up. "Can't feel a thing, I'm afraid. Too much hair. Beg pardon, Miss Sparkler," he said, "but know that your sacrifice is in the interest of science."

Before she could register the meaning of his words, a brown lock fell into her eyes. Then another. Mr. Fines was
plucking out
her pins! Her hands flew to her head in panic, but it was too late: her topknot toppled, waves tumbling madly over her shoulders.

She heard a collective titter rise from the crowd and wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment … and
anger
. How could the bounder humiliate her so? What had she ever done to him? As heat prickled her eyes, she aimed her gaze at the ground.

Hold it together. Don't let him see you cry.

"So that's what you've been hiding. But … why?"

The note of wonder in his voice permeated her disgrace. She peered up through her lashes. What she saw lodged her breath in her throat. His vivid gaze was admiring, his expression impossibly sincere.

Dazed, she heard him murmur, "How fetching you are, sweeting. Quite the prettiest little thing I've ever laid eyes on. That disguise of yours is criminal."

Disguise? Criminal? Her head spun at the implication of his words—
Thwack.
She jerked as Dr. Frankel's pointer connected with the podium.

"Proceed," the doctor said sternly. "No time for shilly-shallying."

"Right-o." Mr. Fines gave her a tender—tender!—smile. "Shall we, Miss Sparkler?"

Before she could reply, his hands slid into the loose mass of her hair. His touch sent shocks over her scalp, down her neck and arms. She pressed her lips together for fear that she might moan aloud with pleasure. With each fettered breath, the taut tips of her breasts chafed against her corset; petals of heat unfurled in her belly. All too aware of observing eyes, she squirmed, praying her stimulated state did not show.

"Describe for us the general landscape of her skull," Dr. Frankel instructed. "Note any asymmetry or imbalances between the left and right sides."

Mr. Fines brushed the curve of her ear, and that sensation amplified the illicit tingling at her breasts, the dampening between her legs. Shivering, she restrained herself from nudging against his hand like an eager kitten.

"I can detect no imbalances. Her head is exceptionally smooth … and lovely," he said in a husky tone, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the audience.

"
Lovely
is not a term employed in craniology, sir. Focus." The doctor aimed an austere gaze over his spectacles. "How would you describe the subject's orbital-parietal region?"

"Perfectly formed."

Pleasure suffused her as Mr. Fines gently massaged her scalp. Her neck muscles grew so warm and lax that she could scarcely keep her head up.

"And the shape of the protuberances? Rounded or flat?" Dr. Frankel inquired.

"Rounded."

"Size—full or scant?"

"Somewhere in between, I'd say." Mr. Fines' gaze dipped to her bodice, wicked heat flaring in those blue depths. "The perfect size."

"With that information, I shall now interpret the subject's profile," Dr. Frankel announced to the audience in peremptory tones. "Taken together, this is the profile of a cautious individual. The lady is apt to think before she acts and is given more to reason than impulse."

Charity blinked at the accuracy of his assessment.

"In addition, she forms lasting attachments and shows unwavering loyalty to her loved ones."

Right again
, Charity mused.
What a fascinating science.

"And last, but not least, the prominence of the anterior skull demonstrates a prideful bent. Despite her modest demeanor, this is a lady of strong will. I would think twice before crossing swords with her," Dr. Frankel concluded.

Charity's cheeks heated as laughter erupted.

"I take back what I said earlier," Mr. Fines said in an undertone. "There may be more to this craniology business than I believed."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Time to switch roles," Dr. Frankel said.

With no means of escape, Charity reached reluctantly for Mr. Fines' head. His hair had a naturally windswept quality, springing up between her fingers like gilded wheat. The thick, silky friction sent a sensual hum through her. Trying to ignore it, she explored his scalp with tentative strokes. He watched her all the while, the rim of his pupils darkening. His neck arched slightly to her touch, and an answering tremor travelled up her arms.

"Describe what you feel," Dr. Frankel said.

She wet her dry lips. "The front of the skull seems, um, prominent and equally developed on both sides. And the section above the ears is, perhaps, more pronounced than the surrounding areas?"

She had no idea was she was saying, but the doctor gave a vigorous nod. "And the posterior of the skull?"

She could not reach the back of Mr. Fines' head whilst sitting. Rising, she leaned over him, running her fingers behind his ears, then sweeping them up and down the back of his head. She became aware of the hot, quick beat of his breath against her bosom, and her own blood seemed to pulse in rhythm.

"The area behind the ears," she said in a husky voice she hardly recognized, "is, um, well developed." She tried to remember the terminology used earlier. "His protuberance is large and rather hard."

For some reason, her observation led to tittering and muffled laughter from the crowd. Mr. Fines tilted his head back, and she lost track of the world around her, his blazing eyes engulfing her entirely. Her heartbeat skittered; her blood turned to honey. In that liquid moment, no others existed but the two of them. Her lips parted, and she swayed closer—

"Based on that reading, I will now decipher the gentleman's character." The doctor's words brought Charity back to reality. She yanked her hands from Mr. Fines' hair and stumbled back into her seat. "His center of
mirthfulness
is well developed. He has a propensity toward wit and irreverence: style over substance, as you English say."