Her Prodigal Passion (32 page)

"The final round is in ten days," Traymore said. "You ought to be training, keeping your focus. Any business can wait."

"It's waited long enough."
Too long.
Paul's throat constricted, and he had to clear it to say, "Don't concern yourself. I'll see you at Banstead."

"But the championship is too important to ..."

Paul lost track of the other's words, his attention caught by the tawny head ducking to fit through the tavern doorway. Even from this distance, he could see the jagged slash on the man's face. What the hell was
Hunt
doing here?

A sudden premonition made him push through the crowd, meeting the other halfway.

"Why are you here? Is something wrong?" Paul said tersely.

"You're a bloody difficult sod to find, you know that?" was his brother-in-law's reply.

"Is it Charity—is she alright?"

At Hunt's stark expression, dread paralyzed Paul.

"She's fine for now," the other man said. "Let's talk in private."

THIRTY-SEVEN

Five days later, Percy stood in a corner of Sparkler's with Marianne and Helena, the three of them observing the afternoon crowd milling in the shop.

"Look at all those patrons," Percy said. "The merchandise is flying off the shelves. Business has never looked better."

Marianne arched a brow. "The same could be said of the proprietress herself. She should have taken shears to her hair years ago."

"She makes a lovely gamine," Helena agreed.

All three of them regarded Charity, who was standing by a case of gentlemen's accoutrements. Charity's hair was now a shiny, tousled crop as short as a boy's. With all that excess hair gone, her elfin face took on a bold, unforgettable focus. Her eyes shone with the same mysterious fire as her opal ring, her only adornment. She wore a smart black gown with a white lace collar, and the severity of the dress displayed her slender, vulnerable femininity to perfection.

Percy thought her friend made the perfect gothic heroine.

Apparently, so did the circle of bucks who were vying for Charity's attention. As soon as Charity set a toothpick case or a snuff box on the display cloth, one of them eagerly snatched it up. Seemingly oblivious to the attention, she kept her focus solely on the task of the sale. She completed transactions with a polite, inscrutable expression which seemed to drive her customers into a purchasing frenzy.

"Dearest, our little Charity makes Caro Lamb look
matronly
," Marianne drawled. "At this rate, the shop won't be able to keep its shelves stocked."

Percy knew her friend's transformation wasn't just due to the outward changes: something essential had altered in
Charity
herself. 'Twas as if Charity had been a powder keg, and her fuse had finally been lit. Those shears had removed more than a topknot: they'd blasted away years of fear and self-denial, and the true Charity had emerged from the ashes.

Percy's heart ached as she thought of her friend's suffering, of the pain of being abandoned by one's own mama. She didn't blame Charity one bit for sending Mrs. Stone away.

"I almost fainted when Charity picked up those scissors," Percy said with a shudder, "and I'm ever so relieved she only meant to cut her hair. But do you think she is truly, well ... alright?"

"She lost her father, inherited a thirty thousand pound debt, and discovered her mama is not only alive, but an actress," Marianne said. "Given all that, I think she's doing fine."

"Poor thing," Helena murmured, "and so brave as well. I can't believe she's kept working through all of this."

After Charity had cut off her hair and dispensed with Mrs. Stone, she'd declared with a fierce light in her eyes that she was
not
losing Sparkler's to Garrity or anyone else. The shop was hers and she was going to see to its survival, no matter what. She'd worked tirelessly ever since.

Percy bit her lip. "Yes, but thirty thousand pounds ..."

She didn't have to finish because she knew the others were thinking the same thing. It was a nigh impossible task to raise such an amount, even with sales being as brisk as they were. Yet Charity remained hell-bent on the task, and none of them had the heart to dissuade her.

"Well, we must help her any way we can," Helena said.

"Your social connections have helped already," Percy said. For the past week, the Hartefords had attended
ton
events sporting Sparkler's merchandise. "There's no better advertisement than word of mouth."

Helena touched the fine cameo brooch pinned to her maroon riding jacket. "The goods speak for themselves—they only lacked discoverability. And Harteford helped as much as I." With a sly smile, she said, "I never thought to see him carrying a snuff box."

"Darling, your husband does whatever you ask him to," Marianne said dryly.

Helena's lashes lowered in a demure manner, yet a grin tucked into her cheeks.

"And you've helped as well, Marianne," Percy said. "You've given Charity dash."

"'Twas nothing." Marianne waved a hand. "Madame Rousseau and Signore Antonio merely allowed Charity's natural beauty to shine through. The truth is, Percy, you've done more than anyone."

"I couldn't let Charity do
everything
on her own," Percy said.

In an effort to lessen the weight on her friend's shoulders, Percy had brought on two new clerks, as well as an employee of Gavin's former club. William McLeod, an ex-soldier with a fierce demeanor and soft heart, had proven quite handy at preventing sticky fingers and providing general protection for the shop. After Garrity's brutes, Percy wasn't going to let her friend take any chances. At present, McLeod was posted at the door, watching the crowd like a hawk.

"I'm worried about Charity," Percy admitted. "Do you know I haven't seen her cry since Mr. Sparkler's passing?"

"Grief strikes everyone differently. Charity is obviously channeling hers through work; once the shock wears off, however, her emotions will undoubtedly catch up to her. She will need us then more than ever," Marianne said. "In the meanwhile, Percy, you must take care not to overdo. Truly, I don't know where you find the energy in your condition. I'm exhausted from the moment I wake up."

"Queasy in the morning?" Percy said with sympathy.

"'Tis absolute hell. I don't remember it being this bad with my first child."

"Don't pay Marianne any mind. She enjoys having Mr. Kent wait on her hand and foot," Helena teased.

"Ambrose spoils me whether I'm increasing or not," her friend said with a faint smile. "Just as a husband should. Speaking of which, what is the latest news on your brother, Percy?"

"A missive from Gavin arrived three days ago. He found Paul near Ripon, and they're headed back."

Gavin's note had been characteristically to the point:
Be home with Fines soon. Bed's cold without you, buttercup.

Percy felt a pang. Gavin had left directly after the funeral, and she missed him too.

"When do you think Mr. Hunt and Mr. Fines will arrive?" Helena asked.

"By tomorrow, I hope. I can't stand the thought of Charity going through this without Paul by her side." In an undertone, Percy added, "They seemed so
happy
after their wedding trip. I cannot for a second believe that my brother would be so idiotic as to lust after Rosalind now that he has Charity. And I know for a fact that he would never
ever
break his vows."

"I'm sure they just need to sort things out between them," Helena said. "Being married is an adjustment. Early on, Harteford and I had our share of ups and downs."

"Mostly up, on Harteford's part." Marianne's lips curved. "And, speaking of the devil, there he is."

Nicholas came toward them. He bowed before pressing a kiss to Helena's temple.

"Any new news from Hunt and Fines?" he asked.

Percy shook her head.

"Knowing Hunt, they'll arrive soon," he said in reassuring tones. He turned to his wife. "I left the warehouse early and thought I'd see if you were ready to go home."

"Yes, I think Charity's got everything in hand." Helena smiled up at him. "It's still light out. Perhaps we could take the boys to the park?"

"Hmm." Nicholas sounded noncommittal. "I had other plans, actually"

"What plans?"

"I'll explain them to you on the ride home."

Helena's cheeks turned rosy. "Oh. Well. Um, we'll see you both later then?" Though she was addressing Percy and Marianne, she had eyes only for her husband. After another quick bow, Nicholas steered her toward the door, his hand splayed possessively on the small of her back.

"Those two will never cease being newlyweds," Marianne said with affection in her voice. "Which reminds me: Ambrose will be arriving home at any moment so I must be off as well. Shall I drop you off, dear?"

Percy shook her head. "I'll stay. Charity might need me."

"She appears to have plenty of company." Marianne aimed a pointed glance over at Charity and the ever growing throng of male customers. McLeod had taken a protective stance, hovering behind her.

"Charity needs her husband," Percy said firmly.

And, dash it all, Paul, where are you?

THIRTY-EIGHT

"Tapping out a jig won't make the horses go any faster," Hunt commented. "Watching you is giving
me
the bleeding jitters."

Scowling, Paul stilled his foot. He'd eat his boot before admitting nerves to his brother-in-law. "I don't have jitters."

Hunt's raised brow was patently skeptical.

"I don't," Paul insisted.

"Looking forward to groveling then, are you?"

"I won't need to grovel."
Damnit, will I?
Sweat trickling beneath his collar, Paul said, "My wife is a reasonable woman. We merely need to talk matters through."

"Your wife might have changed since you saw her last," was the other's cryptic reply.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Grief alters a person. I know this from experience and so do you." Hunt shrugged. "All I'm saying is prepare yourself."

Paul narrowed his eyes. "I can't tell if you're trying to help or terrify me."

"Sometimes they're one and the same." Hunt's mouth twisted into what might have been a smile. "Let's just say I sympathize with your situation, Fines. Been there myself."

"You have?"

Hunt gave a brief jerk of his chin. "Almost lost Percy once. So I know what it's like to be buggered by one's own stupidity. Doesn't exactly put a fellow in a good frame of mind, does it?"

"I haven't bollixed up my marriage."
Please, God, let that be true.
"I don't know what Percy told you ..."

"Know about Lady Monteith," Hunt said smugly.

Jaw set, Paul said, "Then you know that
nothing happened
. I didn't do a damn thing, yet Charity wouldn't believe me. She wouldn't even listen."

Of everything, her lack of faith had hurt the most.

"Are you telling me that
you
wouldn't be up in the boughs if the tables were turned?" Hunt quirked an eyebrow. "If she'd been alone with some sod from her past and everyone was flapping their lips about it, what would you do?"

I'd rip the bloody sod's head off. Charity is mine. She belongs to me.

"Females got as much pride as males—they just show it differently," Hunt said. "Me, when I'm angry, I like to punch things."

"Me, too." Paul wouldn't mind starting with his brother-in-law's face.

"Percy, when she's annoyed, might ignore me instead, see? Give me the cold shoulder." With a gleam in his eye, Hunt added, "Not that the chit can resist me for long."

"Is there a point to this," Paul said, "other than your apparently irresistible charm?"

"My point is that tempers flare. Wives and husbands say things they don't mean. You learn to get over it."

"So I'm supposed to just
get over
the fact that Charity accused me of being unfaithful? When I didn't even touch Rosalind?"

Hunt gave him an assessing look. "Why didn't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Paul said indignantly.

"According to Percy, you've been carrying the torch for this high-kick trollop for years. And yet you turned down the chance to tumble her?"

"You really want to talk about this?" Paul said in disbelief.

Hunt leaned back, stretched out his long booted legs. "Ain't much else to do."

Lovely. A heart-to-heart with his former nemesis. But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to get things off his chest—to vent some of his lingering frustration before he saw Charity. Maybe if he got it out now, things would go more smoothly with her.

"When I met Rosalind again, things were, I don't know ... different," he muttered.

"Aged like a prune, did she?"

"No, she was still beautiful. I just didn't feel the same way about her. Didn't love her like I used to or maybe I ..." He found it hard to admit the truth aloud.

"Maybe you never loved her at all?"

"How pathetic is that?" he said grimly. "After I nearly destroyed myself and my family over losing her."

"You were just a lad. Lads tend to think with their bollocks," Hunt said.

Had it been a simple matter of lust?

"When she married another, I became so ... low." Paul dragged a hand through his hair. "And the oddest thing was, 'twas as if I'd known all along that it was going to happen. That I was going to lose her. That I would fail in this as I had ..." He swallowed.
Everything else in my life.

A moment passed.

"We find what we're looking for, Fines."

Paul frowned. "Pardon?"

"Let me put it this way. Once, I believed that I was a brute," Hunt said matter-of-factly. "So I associated with brutes. That led me to do brutish things, and in the end I became what I believed: a bloody cutthroat. See?"

Paul chewed on the possibility. "So because I thought I was a failure ... I was drawn to a failing proposition with Rosalind?"

"You tell me."

It made an odd, albeit twisted, kind of sense.

Paul released a breath, eyed his brother-in-law. "So you're not a brute after all?"

"Didn't say that. But I ain't half as bad as I believed," Hunt said. "Love changed me."