Her Prodigal Passion (16 page)

Her heart ached at the thought. Yet it was the only way to survive a marriage of convenience to the man she loved.

The cushions beside her sank. The subtle scent of spice and masculine musk made her heart hammer, as did Mr. Fines' sudden close proximity.

"Your cup's half empty," he said.

He didn't know the half of it.

"I've had enough tea, thank you," she said.

"You haven't eaten anything," he remarked.

He'd noticed her lack of appetite?

"Here, try this." To her further astonishment, he tore a piece off the bun on his plate and offered it to her. "Lisbett's rolls will tempt anyone's appetite."

Heat climbed in her cheeks. "No, really. Thank you. I'm ... I'm not hungry."

"Go on, eat it. By now, you should know better than to argue with a Fines." His teasing smile made it difficult to think, let alone come up with a response. "It's best just to give in and let us have our way."

"No one can have their way all the time," she said.

His smile deepened. He waggled the piece of roll at her. Not wishing to attract the others' notice, she sighed and held her palm out for the morsel.

"Alright, but I'm truly not hungry—" Her eyes widened as buttery, apricot-studded pastry muffled the rest of her sentence.

"Not eating, not sleeping—you have to take better care of yourself," he murmured.

She focused on chewing and not choking with surprise.

In his regular drawl, he said, "Mama, if you're quite done with Miss Sparkler, I'd like to take her for a tour of the roses."

Charity's hands went clammy at the notion of being alone with him. Which was ridiculous given that they would be man and wife at week's end. But here, in the comfort of his family's presence, she could almost pretend that theirs would be a union based on something other than necessity. Alone, just the two of them, reality would have to be addressed. She knew that he was too much of a gentleman to go back on his word, but he was also too much of a gentleman not to be honest with her. Surely he wished to spell out the terms of their arrangement.

Gulping, she made a last ditch effort to forestall the inevitable—which wasn't like her at all. She was a sensible girl, one who looked reality in the eye and did not falter. Until now.

"I must stay and help," she said. "You've all taken on such a burden—"

"Nonsense, dear girl. 'Tis my
pleasure
to plan my child's wedding." Behind her spectacles, Mrs. Fines' eyes grew misty, and her lace cap trembled upon her salt and pepper curls. "If your mama were here, I'm certain she'd feel the same way. But as she isn't ... I hope you don't mind my saying that I already consider you a part of my family, which doubles my joy in the preparations."

Charity's throat thickened. "You are too good to me."

Mrs. Fines smiled. "Now the bride-to-be's job is to remain calm and collected, and a turn through my roses would accomplish that nicely. So go on, enjoy yourself."

"Don't worry about a thing. We've got everything well in hand," Percy added.

"You heard them." Mr. Fines stood and offered his hand. "No more stalling, sweeting. The roses await."

SIXTEEN

Although not large, the garden was his mama's pride and joy, especially now when her prized roses were in bloom. But, for him, the showy flowers were eclipsed by the quiet charm of the girl who walked next to the hedges. Charity had left her bonnet off, and whilst her hair was in its habitual knot, the sun picked out fiery strands and made them glimmer. Her fingers trailed over the lush, velvety heads as she strolled; recalling the delicate sensuality of her touch, he envied the blossoms.

Time for that later, he told himself. What he needed to do first was clear the air and forge an understanding with his fiancée. They had much to discuss.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he said, "I'm glad to have a minute alone."

"Yes."

He couldn't read her expression; her moss-green eyes gave so little away. Aware of the building tension, he plunged on. "The thing of it is ... I should begin by apologizing."

Her brows lifted; she looked surprised. "For what?"

Where should he
begin
?

"For dragging you into this fiasco. Exposing you to the condemnation of others. And then," he said grimly, "there's the way I botched my offer to you."

She looked at him as if he had bats in the belfry. Perhaps he wasn't making himself clear?

"I haven't yet thanked you for intervening with Parkington, though I wish you hadn't." Devil take it, he sounded awkward to his own ears. "I mean to say, I'm sorry that you've had to suffer for it. That is my biggest regret: that harm has come to you because of my actions."

She slid him a glance as they strolled along. "That's what you're sorry for?"

"Well, it's not the only thing. I'm sure I could add to the afore-mentioned list of wrongs."

Her cheeks turned pink, and he wondered if she was thinking about the kiss he'd stolen at the gazebo. Or maybe she was recalling his rakish reputation. Or his stupid entanglement with Louisa, which had led to this mess. He wanted to smack himself in the head.

Way to get your future wife to cogitate about what a bastard you are.

"I'm not usually so maladroit. You seem to bring it out in me," he muttered.

"I make you ... clumsy?"

Inspiration hit him. "Your beauty unravels me, I'm afraid."

Thank God for
that
recovery. That was the direction to head in.

"Hmm," she said. "Your tongue, at least, doesn't suffer from knots."

Her sly witticism startled a laugh from him. Some of the tightness in his chest eased.

"Minx," he said appreciatively. "So despite my bumbling apology, will you accept it? Knowing that it is heartfelt and offered sincerely?"

She hesitated, then said, "Yes."

The relief was exhilarating. He had the urge to seize her in his arms and thank her with a kiss ... but he told himself to hold the reins, stay in control for once. So he took out a pocket knife and clipped off a brilliant pink bloom. Shaving off the thorns, he offered her the flower.

She rewarded him with a tremulous smile. "Thank you."

"Thank
you
, sweeting," he said huskily. "Now that the slate is clean, perhaps we should discuss the future." He liked how mature and rational he sounded; he was definitely turning a new page. "Though this marriage has come as a surprise, we should approach it with our eyes open, I think."

Some of the softness fled her eyes. "I agree that clarity is important."

"Exactly. You're a sensible sort and—let's face it—far more sensible than I could ever hope to be," he said ruefully. "'Tis one of the qualities I most admire about you."

He'd meant that as a compliment, yet her shoulders tensed.

"I mean to say, we're different, you and I," he said quickly.

She said nothing.

"Given our differences, I think it's important we discuss our expectations of marriage," he went on uneasily. "Have you given thought to what you wish from our union?"

In truth, he wanted to know what she wanted. The kind of husband she imagined for herself. Lord knew he could use a few pointers.

The path had taken them to the majestic willow at the back corner of the garden. Beneath the shade of the trailing branches, Charity drew herself up the way one did when something unpleasant had to be said.

"You needn't worry about my expectations, sir." Her gaze remained on the pink rose in her hands. "I am grateful for the protection of your name, and I will endeavor to make our marriage as convenient as possible for you."

"Convenient?" He frowned, not understanding.

Still not looking at him, she dipped her chin. "I won't get in your way. You must carry on as before."

"Carry on ... doing what, exactly?"

"Whatever you choose to do and with,"—her voice hitched—"whomever."

Comprehension struck him. "With
whomever
 ... are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I understand your wish for a marriage of convenience," she whispered to the ground.

He stared at her bent head, anger rising inside him. "Well, that's utter bollocks, isn't it?"

Finally, her gaze flew to his. "P-pardon?"

"Has the word convenient ever passed my lips in conjunction with our marriage?"

"W-well ..." she stammered, "no."

"There's good reason for it. Frankly, no marriage is ever convenient and never more so than bachelorhood. I do, however, recall proposing to you and you accepting. Which means in five days we will be vowing—before no less than God, mind you—our fidelity to each other." He could actually feel his temperature escalating. "And you're telling me you
expect
me to have extramarital affairs? What kind of man do you take me for?"

She stared at him.

"If you believe me so lacking in honor, I wonder that you'd consent to marry me in the first place." His hands balled as a thought punched him in the gut. "Or perhaps it is
you
who wishes for ... freedom in marriage?"

That would happen over his dead body. Or, more accurately, the other man's—because he would murder anyone who dared to touch Charity. She was
his
.

"That's not it." She sounded appalled. "Not it at all."

"What about that fellow who kissed you?" he demanded.

Her brow furrowed. "Um, what fellow?"

"At the gazebo, you implied that you'd had previous, more memorable
incidents
."

"Oh, that." She bit her lip. "I believe I said that because I was angry."

"So no one has kissed you before me?" he persisted.

Her lashes flickered. With a sigh, she said, "No, you're the only one."

Relief poured through him. "I trust you'll keep it that way," he said sternly. "In the past when I was
carrying on
, as you so delicately put it, I wasn't married. When I am, I will stay true to my vows."

"You mean that? Truly?"

He gave a gruff nod.

A slow smile lit her face, made it as radiant as dawn. "That ... that would be lovely."

Unable to help himself, he cupped her cheek. Her tremor of awareness made the blood rush in his veins. "Now that that's settled, what else do you want from this marriage, sweet?"

"I don't know. You've already given me far more than I expected."

By Jove, she was sweet.

"And I want to thank you especially for offering to help my father. That means the world to me," she said earnestly.

Right. Time to clarify his schedule. He dropped his hand, bracing himself. "About that ..."

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "Do you recall that I have a tournament coming up?"

She nodded.

"I mentioned this in one of our earlier conversations, but given the recent brouhaha, it may have slipped your mind," he said with a nervous laugh.

Her head tipped to one side.

"The thing is, I have to leave for training soon. Straight after our wedding trip, I'm afraid. My patron Traymore has a place set up for me in the country. He thinks that practicing in seclusion for a month—focusing on nothing but boxing—will improve my chances of winning."

She seemed to digest his words. "That ... makes sense. And I can help my father while you're away."

His tension subsided. Yet another bonus to marrying a sensible girl: Charity wasn't prone to hysterics. She was rational, calm ... unlike Rosalind, who'd possessed a far more tempestuous nature. The latter had
expected
things to go her way, probably since there'd been so many suitors ready to leap at her slightest whim. She'd once refused to receive Paul when he arrived fifteen minutes late for their drive in the park ...

Why am I even thinking about Rosalind?
he chided himself. The past was done, and 'twas time to move on. Especially now, when he had the luck to be engaged to a woman as sweet and understanding as Charity.

"After the tournament, I'm all yours," he said with gratitude. "I'll devote my entire attention to Sparkler's."

She smiled. "Thank you. For that and for your honesty."

"Between honesty and commitment to our vows, we'll have more than most marriages," he said with satisfaction. "So called love matches included."

Her sudden stillness gave him pause.

His worries were justified when she drew in a breath and said, "On the topic, there is something I feel I should ask. It has to do with ... Lady Monteith."

Had he inadvertently signaled that he'd been thinking about his past love? Guilt and unease tightened his chest.

"What about her?" he said.

"Do you ... have feelings for her still?"

He wasn't surprised that Charity knew about him and Rosalind. After all, she was best friends with his sister, and she'd probably observed herself the way he'd trailed after Rosalind back then. Scanning Charity's face, he saw no judgment there. Only curiosity and acceptance, which made it possible to broach a painful subject. A topic that he'd never spoken of—to anyone.

"I was in love with Rosalind, and I was disappointed," he said. "As you know, she is married now. The mother of two, I believe."

Charity nodded.

"Love's a messy emotion, and I've learned my lesson," he said with feeling. "No more of that nonsense for me. You see, I'm the sort for whom sentiment ... lingers. Not prettily, I'm afraid. But the feelings I have for Rosalind are less than what they once were." As he said it aloud, he realized the truth of his assertion. "And I can assure you that those feelings will not interfere with our marriage. Do you believe me?"

"I believe you," she said.

Tenderness swelled within him. "God love you for it. I do think we have a fair shot at making a go of things, don't you?"

She gave a shy nod. She was so pretty, a nymph beneath the bower of a willow. He couldn't resist the temptation any longer.

"There is, of course, a marital topic we've yet to address," he said huskily. "Though, in this, I'd prefer a demonstration to a discussion. May I kiss you, my sweet?"

Above her fichu, her pulse fluttered. "Oh. Yes."

He meant for this to be a gentlemanly kiss. A sealing of the promises they'd made one another. Yet from the moment he touched his mouth to hers, fire sparked between them. Her lips molded to his, and she was even hotter and more delicious than he remembered. The sparks burst into a blaze, and when her knees weakened, he caught her against him.