Her Prodigal Passion (13 page)

"What do you want?" he said to the earl.

Stocky to begin with, Parkington was breathing so heavily that the gold buttons of his waistcoat threatened to pop off. His sideburns bristled as he jabbed a meaty finger at Paul. "You were with my wife, you scoundrel! I'll not be cuckolded—"

"He wasn't with your wife, my lord," Charity said from behind him.

Her assertion was calm, quiet, and yet it set off a cataclysm in Paul's chest. Made it expand with ... hope. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, she believed him at his word, believed in his honor, in
him
. Though he kept his gaze trained on the irate earl, he could feel the support of her presence—like an angel at his shoulder—and it infused him with strength.

"Of course he was! She was in his bedchamber," Parkington spat, "and though he might have run off like a coward before I arrived, he'll still answer for the insult, sirrah!"

"How is it my fault if your wife wandered into my room with me not present?" Paul said through gritted teeth. "As her husband, it's your job to keep tabs on her, not mine."

"Why you insolent cad! I know you were there—"

"He wasn't." Charity poked her head from behind him.

Paul tried to keep her back.

"Keep your mouth shut in front of your betters. Common chit," Parkington sneered, "what do you know about anything?"

"
That's enough.
" Paul's fists balled. "Apologize to Miss Sparkler this instant or name your second."

"There's no need." Before he knew what she intended, Charity darted forward, inserting herself between him and the earl. At the same instant, Paul glimpsed the audience gathered just beyond the door. Bloodthirsty onlookers angling to get a better view of the kill.

Seemingly oblivious to the danger, Charity continued, "No duel is necessary over my honor or Lady Parkington's. My lord, this has all been a simple misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" Parkington barked.

Paul took hold of her arm, intending to pull her out of the line of fire, but she resisted with unexpected strength, saying, "I have proof that Mr. Fines was not with your wife this evening."

"Proof?" the earl spat. "What proof?"

"Me." Charity's calm declaration detonated like a grenade in the sudden silence. "I can vouch for Mr. Fines. You see, I was with him this entire time."

THIRTEEN

"No need to fret, dear. Everything will turn out fine." Sitting next to Charity in the luxurious carriage, Mrs. Fines issued a smile that didn't quite disguise the worry in her eyes. "In my heart, I know there is nothing to worry about."

Charity managed a weak smile.

Mrs. Fines had been making such predictions since the debacle of two nights ago. Charity thought the other lady's optimism was remarkable, considering the fact that all hell had broken loose the moment she'd stepped between Mr. Fines and the maddened earl.

What was I thinking?
For the umpteenth time, Charity berated herself for her recklessness. The truth was that she hadn't been thinking—had acted instead on pure, ungoverned instinct. Her first impulse had been to defend Mr. Fines from the danger of a duel, and she hadn't thought through the consequences of her actions.

Those consequences, however, now had her on a jostling carriage ride back to London. Thwarted from his role as the righteous husband, Parkington had wasted no time in finding another outlet: like a volcano, he'd spewed vile tales of ruination—hers, to be precise—to all and sundry at the house party. The lies included lurid details of her and Mr. Fines being caught
in flagrante
. The gossip had spread like wildfire and with such ferocity that not even the Hartefords could put a stop to it.

By breakfast, everyone from the duke down to the scullery maids had heard about her so-called debauchery with Mr. Fines. Charity had gone from being the party's most invisible guest to its pariah. She had kept her chin high, outwardly ignoring the smirks and cut directs, while inside she'd curled into a numb, quivering ball. And the humiliation was not going to stop there. Yesterday, the Parkingtons had packed up and left for town before dawn—which meant that news of her shame would soon be circulating in London.

Disaster awaited her return.

Her hands clenched in her lap as she revisited yesterday's meeting in Lady Helena's drawing room. The Hartefords, Hunts, and Kents had sat around the coffee table, discussing the situation from every angle, debating various means of silencing Parkington. Mr. Fines, who'd been pacing before the fire, suddenly stalked over to her. His eyes captured hers, and the regret and rage in those blue depths stormed through her.

In a firm voice, he said, "Despite what our friends may think, Miss Sparkler, the truth is you have no option save one. Unfortunately for you, that option involves being married to me. I regret to say that that is the only way to salvage your reputation."

His words hammered at her temples. All she could think was that this second attempt at a proposal was even worse than the first.
Regret to say? Unfortunately?
In all the years she'd spent pining over Paul Fines, in all the countless stupid fantasies she'd woven about him, never
ever
had she imagined that it would come to this: a half-baked offer issued with keen reluctance.

"Thank you, but I decline," she said with admirable restraint.

His brow knit ... as if he was
confused
. Why, because she was not falling over with gratitude at his offer? Or, perhaps, performing somersaults of joy?

"I don't think you understand," he said in terse tones. "I've ruined you. There's no other choice but for us to tie the knot. Now I know you've hinted at other plans for your future—and frankly, I wasn't exactly expecting this disaster myself—but that's done with now. We have to make the best of a bad situation."

Wisely, Charity did not reply. If she opened her mouth, there was no telling what might come out. One possibility being, "
Do you actually think I'll say yes to that daft proposal, you giant lummox?
"

"Really, Paul," Mrs. Fines interjected from an adjacent wingchair, "is that any way to make an offer? After all, poor Charity is in this muddle because of you. What she did—"

"I am perfectly aware of what Miss Sparkler did and why, Mama."

The quiet vehemence of his words sliced through the room. Then Charity noticed that his hands were balled at his sides, the knuckles white. The muscle alongside his jaw ticked like a clock. It struck her: he was furious.

At
her
?

An answering swell rose in her breast. Did he have the gall to blame
her
for this situation? If he dared to—

"She was trying to save my hide," he said, "and now I am attempting to return the favor. It would help if I didn't have to do so in front of a cursed audience."

Lady Helena spoke up from the divan she shared with the marquess. "I'm afraid that's not possible," she said. "I blame myself for allowing this to happen,"—at that, her husband's arm tightened protectively around her shoulders—"and I will do my utmost to ensure no further harm comes to Charity's reputation. She will remain under my watch for the remainder of her visit."

"No use shutting the stable now. Horses have long bolted," Mr. Hunt muttered.

Percy chewed on her lip.

Mr. Fines raked his hair in frustration. "All I require is a few moments of privacy ..."

"It isn't necessary." Charity was surprised at how calm she sounded, given the tempest roiling inside her. Once again, her father had been proven right: a girl like her had to get by on good sense—it was all that she could rely on.

Thus, she continued in brisk tones, "None of this is, although I do appreciate all of your efforts on my behalf. The truth is nothing happened last night. I know it, Mr. Fines knows it ... even the Earl of Parkington knows it, though for some reason he persists in saying otherwise. The fact is that I've done nothing wrong, and, thus, I have nothing to be ashamed of. I cannot control, nor do I care, what others think."

"A noble sentiment, Miss Sparkler," Mr. Kent said. "Quite sensible."

"Quite stupid, more like." Mr. Fines had the temerity to glare at her. "You have no idea what it's like to be ruined, and, upon my honor, I'll not allow you the experience. I landed you in this mess, and I'm getting you out of it. End of story."

The pressure at her temples intensified. Her self-restraint slipped a notch. "You do not have a right to tell me what to do, sir."

"Since we're to be married, I believe the law disagrees with you."

"We're
not
getting married."

"We are." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his chin jutting at an implacable angle. "The sooner you get used to the idea, the better."

Breathe in, breathe out. Do not lose control.

Percy intervened. "Charity, may I say something?"

Charity took another calming breath. "Yes, of course."

"I know this must all be very shocking," her chum said earnestly. "But once you have time to think it over, you'll see that my brother is right."

Mr. Fines gave a righteous nod. Charity narrowed her eyes at her bosom friend; it was the look Caesar gave Brutus just as the blade struck home.

Percy went on, "Although Paul is going about the business in the most ham-handed manner imaginable,"—at this, Mr. Fines' smug expression faded—"he is correct in that you do
not
deserve to suffer public disgrace. Think of it, Charity: you won't be welcomed in polite society any longer." Anxiety shone in her friend's eyes. "It will destroy your chances of future happiness."

Swallowing her own panic, Charity said, "My future is my own to decide—you said so yourself. And I will not trade one bad bargain for another." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Fines jerk at her words. She straightened her shoulders. "I'll find a way to manage."

"But your papa—" Percy began.

"Once I explain the situation, I'm certain he'll understand."

This, unfortunately, was a lie: Charity was quite certain her father was
not
going to understand. But she could only deal with one fiasco at a time, and the more pressing matter was to hang onto the last shreds of her pride.

"I spend my days in a shop, not the drawing rooms of the
ton
. I doubt that anything will change for me," she said.

"Doubt anything will
change
?" Mr. Fines stared at her as if she'd grown two heads. "Are you mad?"

"No," she said. "Are you?"

His eyes flashed. "You obstinate creature,
everything
will change. Parkington is going to spew his vitriol far and wide. The scandal sheets will feed off this for months. Everyone from the top ten thousand down to the lowliest chambermaid will know of this. There will be no safe place for you to hide: not in society, your shop, or even your own damned bedchamber!"

"Language, Paul," Mrs. Fines scolded. "That's no way to speak to Charity."

"She best get used to it, Mama," he said, his jaw clenched, "for she'll be getting far worse from the wagging tongues if she doesn't get it through her thick skull that she has to marry me. She has no choice."

Before Charity could argue that she did have a choice, that she would live a hermit's life before getting married out of pity, Marianne Kent spoke up.

"He's right, I'm afraid. Society is unforgiving, Charity," she said, "and never more so than toward middling class misses who haven't centuries of blue blood to justify their bad behavior."

"I don't care what Society thinks."

"But you do care about your father's business," Marianne said.

Chill seeped into Charity's blood. "What ... what do you mean?"

"Simply this: I am familiar with men like Parkington." The other's eyes turned icy, reminding Charity of the rumors that Marianne's first marriage had not been an easy one. Mr. Kent claimed his wife's hand, and her fingers clung to his as she said, "Bastards like him will trample anyone just for the satisfaction of doing so—and the more defenseless his victim, the better."

"But I didn't do anything to him!" Charity protested.

"You got in between him and Mr. Fines. I doubt Parkington truly wished to meet at dawn, and now he has a convenient—not to mention safer—alternative: he can vent his fury at
you
. In his mind, he can blame you for foiling his revenge, for humiliating him because you're an easy target," Marianne said bluntly. "Why do you think he's shredding your reputation? My guess is that he'll be onto Sparkler's next. When he's done, it'll be a den of moral inequity that polite society will not step foot inside."

The air squeezed from Charity's lungs, making her dizzy. "He wouldn't. Can't. My papa ... Sparkler's is everything to him!"

Dear God, had she unintentionally put her father's life's work at risk?

Marianne exchanged grim looks with the marchioness, and the latter said, "Parkington
is
a vile man, I'm afraid, and a powerful one. He's capable of anything."

"There must be a way to stop him," Charity said through dry lips.

"There is."

Her gaze went to Mr. Fines, who stood hands on hips, his features hard and set. He watched her with singular focus. Any trace of gentlemanly torpor had vanished; he was a fighter, fierce and unyielding, determined to win the match. In spite of the situation, a betraying thrill coursed up her spine.

"We're getting engaged," he told her in a tone that brooked no refusal. "We'll battle Parkington's muckraking with the story that he mistook an innocent moment between a betrothed, albeit unchaperoned, couple. It won't stop the damage entirely, but it will at least contain the fire."

No. Not this way.

Even as her mind rebelled at the idea, her throat cinched with panic. What if she had compromised the future of the shop? Papa would never forgive her.

"That is an excellent plan, Mr. Fines," Lady Helena said. "Harteford and I will back your story by saying that we allowed you such a moment to celebrate your engagement." She turned to her husband. "Darling, you'll spread the word at the clubs, won't you? No one gossips more than gentlemen."