"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."
Paul stared at the scarred former cutthroat. This menacing fellow, who'd surviv
ed and thrived in the London underworld, was talking about love?
Looking not in the least bit discomfited, Hunt said, "I like being the kind of cove a woman like Percy could love. Like that I'm about to be a father, too. Respectability ain't all fun and games, but it beats the cutthroat business any day of the week."
Heart pounding, Paul thought of the qualities that had always drawn him to Charity: her sweetness, steadfast loyalty, the way she'd believed in him from the start. In her presence, he didn't feel like a failure ... he felt like the man he wanted to be.
A man of honor and worth.
A man worthy of a wife like Charity.
He blurted, "I love her."
God. He did. So bloody much. Why hadn't he realized it sooner?
"We men can be sods about love," Hunt said, not without sympathy. "Or so Percy says."
"What if Charity doesn't love me back?" Paul said suddenly.
He'd given her so many reasons not to love him. Self-loathing swirled like acid in his gut. He'd made her an object of ridicule and gossip—not once, but twice. He'd left her, wasn't with her now when she needed him the most. His throat closed as he thought about how much she must be grieving, how alone she must feel.
"You do whatever it takes to win her love and devil take the rest."
Paul's shoulders bunched. His plan exactly.
He slanted a look at his brother-in-law. "I was under the impression that we weren't on the best of terms. Why are you helping me—for Percy's sake?"
"Aye, I want Percy happy." Hunt crossed his burly arms. "But I've also come to see that you ain't a bad sort. Not every man can pick himself up from the gutter and keep on fighting."
Paul's brows shot up. "Do I detect a hint of respect?"
"More like self-interest." A grin chased across Hunt's harsh features. "Been following your fights, Fines, and you've won me a pretty penny."
"You bet on me to win?" Paul said in disbelief.
"Aye."
The notion that Hunt saw him as a winner astonished him. "But why?"
"A Fines is a Fines." Hunt's lips twitched. "Being married to one, I know you're a stubborn lot who don't like to lose."
*****
By seven o'clock, Charity cleared the shop of its last customer and sent the clerks home. Percy and Mr. McLeod remained to help with the last of the tasks.
"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Percy said. "For heaven's sake, you've been working since dawn, Charity."
"I'm not tired."
She wasn't. Despite little sleep and low appetite, a strange energy buzzed through her veins. 'Twas as if she was peering through a tunnel and all she could see was the goal at the end: saving her father's shop. Seeing Percy hide a yawn and rub at her lower back, however, filled Charity with remorse.
"Oh Percy, you've done far too much for a lady in your condition," she said. "You're going home right this instant."
"I'm not leaving you here alone," her friend protested.
"I'm not alone. Mr. McLeod is here, and he'll help me close up, won't he?"
Charity tipped her head at the stoic ex-soldier. His blunt features and brawny build made his an intimidating presence, but she'd come to know him as a gentle giant. He didn't speak much, and in his silence she sensed a certain kinship. As if he, too, had his reasons for remaining solely focused on the tasks at hand.
He gave a grave nod of his dark, shaggy head. "I'll see you home safe, Mrs. Fines."
"But—"
"No fussing, Percy. Go home." Charity steered her friend outside to the waiting carriage. "What would Mr. Hunt say if you didn't take care of yourself and the babe?"
Percy lingered even as the groom unfolded the steps. "Promise me you shan't stay much longer."
"Go, mother hen. I'll be perfectly fine."
After seeing Percy off, Charity returned inside and locked the door behind her. "Let's start with restocking," she said decisively. "There are boxes of merchandise yet to sort through, and I want everything we have out on the floor."
McLeod followed her, his habitual limp barely slowing his stride. They entered the cramped back room which served as an office and a storage space. Boxes lined the shelves, which covered two walls from floor to ceiling. McLeod fetched a ladder, propping it against the highest shelf. When he placed a large boot on the bottom rung, the rickety contraption gave a protesting creak.
"Wait," Charity said. "I had better go up."
McLeod shook his head. "It isn't safe."
"Safer for me than you." She tested the first step with her entire weight; no creaking. Being slight had its advantages. "I'll hand the boxes down to you."
Climbing onto the fourth rung, she was able to reach the top shelf. She removed a box and carefully handed it down to McLeod's outstretched hands.
"Do you have it, Mr. McLeod?"
"Will," he said as he took the box.
She passed him another. "Pardon?"
His gaze—a velvety brown—met hers. "You can call me Will. Most everyone does."
"Whatever you prefer." She continued unloading the shelf until there was one last carton remaining. It dangled like the farthest apple on a branch. Holding onto the ladder with one hand, she stretched her other hand toward it. Almost there ...
"Have a care, Mrs. Fines—"
Will's warning came too late. Just as her fingers grasped the corner of the box, she lost her balance and her grip on the ladder. Crying out, she tumbled backward through the air.
*****
Paul unlocked the door to Sparkler's—and heard a piercing scream.
"Charity!" he shouted.
He raced toward the back, shoved aside the curtain. Heart hammering, his gaze locked on Charity ... lying in the arms of a stranger. A tall, dark-haired man was cradling her against his chest, murmuring her name. Two facts struck like lightning.
First, Charity was unharmed.
Second, whoever that stranger was, he was a dead man.
Paul's vision darkened at the edges, and he heard himself roar, "Unhand my wife" the instant before he charged.
THIRTY-NINE
One moment, Charity was falling to her doom ... the next she landed safely. As she tried to catch her breath to thank Will, Paul tore into the room. Before her equilibrium could recover, he snatched her up, set her in a chair, and went charging back at Will.
She jumped to her feet. "What are you doing?"
Neither man heard her. They were too busy exchanging blows. Despite Will's bulkier build, Paul had the clear advantage, his fists striking with lethal speed and force, backing the other into a wall.
"Stop it!" Charity dashed toward them. "Paul, stop hitting Will!"
"Will?" Paul's head jerked back as if he'd been punched.
Wrong thing to say, apparently. Paul glowered at her, and her breath caught at the blue flames leaping in his eyes. His momentary distraction cost him, however, and Will plowed his fist directly into Paul's gut. She cried out, but Paul only grunted and gave as good as he got, landing a cross that snapped Will's head back.
Enough was enough.
Charity grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on—a teapot—and sent it flying against a wall. The resounding smash filled the room.
"Bloody hell, stop!" she shouted. "Or I'll summon the damned magistrates!"
Paul stopped mid-punch. Will likewise. They both stared at her.
"Did you just curse?" Paul said.
"Twice," Will said.
"I'll do more than that if you don't stop acting like two idiots," Charity said through her teeth. "What in heaven's name are you doing here, Paul? And why are you attacking Will?"
Paul scowled. He didn't release his hold on the other's lapel.
"He had his hands on you. On my bloody wife," he snarled in Will's face.
Paul was ... jealous? Over her?
Despite her irritation, Charity felt a betraying thrill. She quickly shoved away the feeling.
"He caught me when I fell off the ladder," she said coldly.
<
br /> "Someone had to be around to do the job," Will added in hostile tones.
His face reddening, Paul gave the man another shake. "Who the devil are you, anyway?"
"Mrs. Hunt hired me to guard Sparkler's."
"Percy hired you?" Paul's gaze shot to Charity.
She dipped her chin in assent.
"In case Garrity's men came back. Mrs. Fines is a lone female, vulnerable,"—Will aimed another dirty look at Paul—"and Mrs. Hunt wanted me to keep an eye on her and the shop."
Paul released his grip on Will's jacket. The two stood, toe to toe, glaring at each other. They were a hair's breadth from another brawl: two males raring to scrap over their perceived territory.
Which was ridiculous.
Restraining the urge to roll her eyes, Charity said, "Thank you for your help, Will, and in particular for saving me from a fall just now." She smiled at him. "But I'm fine and it's getting late, so I think it's best you go."
Will didn't break his eye contact with Paul. "Are you certain that's a good idea?"
Paul growled, "She's my wife. I'll take care of her."
"Like you were doing the past few weeks?" Will said.
For heaven's sake. She could see the ominous twitching of Paul's jaw.
"Please go, Will," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Moments passed. The guard inclined his dark head. "You can count on that, Mrs. Fines."
Will left, the tension he took with him replaced by another, far stronger, that pulsed in the air as her gaze locked with Paul's. Her throat cinched. She didn't know what to say. Since her father's death, a mantle of numbness had shrouded her, and she had gotten used to its protection.
Now Paul was here. After all these weeks. He and she remained a few feet apart, and he looked as uncertain as she felt.
"I ... how are you?" he said.
She didn't know how to respond to the mundane opening. Settled for, "Fine."
"You look different," he said. "Your hair ... it suits you. Lovely and unique."
At his tentative smile, a droplet of sensation trickled down her spine.
"It was time for a change," she said.
His eyes widened slightly, and he blurted, "I came as quickly as I could. Once I heard ... I'm sorry about your father. I know how much you loved him."
Her Prodigal Passion Page 25
