"Afraid?" she ventured.
Beneath her skirts, his muscular thighs grew rigid, his arms tightening around her. "I have failed at so many things. I've been irresponsible, aimless, and lacking in good sense. Everything good in my life I've somehow managed to destroy or put at risk." His jaw clenched. "Deep down, I believed the same would happen to the
best
thing in my life: you."
Now she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. Emotion clogged her throat.
"Charity, that week in Chudleigh Crest—it was magical for me," he said hoarsely. "I've never been that happy, that purely content. Yet I was still battling that secret fear: something was going to go wrong.
I
would make a mistake, and you would see me for who I am. My flaws, my failures."
"You're
not
a failure." The jammed words burst from her. "I've never thought that about you. My father was wrong, and I'm sorry I didn't defend you as I ought to have. Those terrible things I said—I was angry because of Rosalind. Fearful that you'd chosen her over me again—"
"
Never
, sweetheart." His hands were so strong, and yet they trembled as they cupped her face. "You are my
wife
. I love you."
A tear escaped her. A tear of joy.
He tenderly thumbed it away. "I was an idiot not to realize it sooner. Because of my past, I thought of love as a storm, tumultuous, unpredictable, a wild happenstance over which I had little control. I never thought that love could be simple and good. Like sunshine, you've quietly lit my every day. Your mere presence makes everything brighter, more beautiful. Sweetheart, you've brought me a peace that I didn't even know was possible."
Tears were falling now in earnest. She couldn't stop them. Grief, sorrow, happiness ... all that she'd held back these past weeks was washing through her.
"Love, I can't keep up," he said huskily as he wiped her cheeks with a handkerchief. "Did I say something wrong? I'm rambling like a nervous schoolboy."
She managed to say, "Y-you won't tire of something as o-ordinary as sunshine?"
"
Ordinary?
I'm making a hash of this if that's what you think. Charity, my angel, my love," he said on a note of desperation, "without you, I am
lost
. A shipwreck of a man. You're my guiding star."
His eyes finally convinced her. In all the years she'd studied his gaze, she'd never seen it so clear and intense, kindling with the depth of his emotion. She saw herself reflected in his eyes ... and the image was beautiful.
"That's a lot of metaphors," she said, sniffling.
"I can come up with more. Dozens," he said earnestly. "I'll write odes to your jewel-bright eyes, your sylph-like form, your honey-sweet kisses—"
"Stop, please," she said, between tears and laughter. "I never wanted a poet for a husband."
Paul's eyes searched hers, his gorgeous face etched with determination. "Whatever you want, I can be that man. I can earn your love. I'll take care of you and won't run away again. If you give me another chance, I swear I'll be the husband you deserve."
Her heart swelled. She placed her hand on his taut jaw.
"You are," she said. "And I am as much to blame for our separation as you are."
"Charity," he said hoarsely.
"I love you—I always have." The truth popped like a cork, releasing a feeling of heady liberation. "I just never thought that you would love me back."
"I do. More than life itself. I'll do whatever it takes to convince you of it," he said with such passionate fervor that she gave a watery laugh.
"You don't need to move mountains," she whispered. "There is, however, one thing you could do ..."
"Anything. Name it."
"Perhaps after you finish talking, you could ... kiss me?"
His eyes blazed brighter than the heavens. Then his lips claimed hers, and it was a kiss sweeter, more passionate than all her dreams combined.
When he lifted his head, they were both breathless.
"I've got so much to make up to you, and I want to start tonight." With a trace of vulnerability that made her love him even more, he cleared his throat and said, "May I come home with you, Mrs. Fines?"
She gave him a tremulous smile and the answer that lived in her heart.
"Always," she said.
FORTY
They returned to the Sparkler residence. Against Charity's blushing protests, Paul swept her into his arms and carried her up to her room, stopping only to ask the astonished housekeeper to send up a bath and food. He'd meant what he said: he was determined to take care of Charity, his precious wife who somehow loved him despite his mistakes and foolish actions.
When the bath arrived, he helped her to undress. The sight of her lithe, naked body instantly made him harder than granite, but he tended to her with gentle hands, his intent to soothe rather than arouse. He'd left her for nearly six weeks, hadn't been there for her when she needed him most. He wasn't going to compound his errors by pouncing on her like a lout.
Even if his cock was nudging against his smalls.
He ought to be grateful—and he was, he
so
was—for the fact that she let him touch her at all. His chest warmed at how trustingly she gave herself over to his care. He was damned fortunate to have a forgiving wife, one who didn't hold a grudge. Her sweetness made him want to protect her, to know every single thing about her, to be one with her body and soul.
He wanted her so much and in so many ways, he didn't even know where to begin. Bundling her into her robe, he set her on the narrow bed. He stood, gently toweling off her curls—her adorably
cropped
curls—and decided to start there.
"Your hair is entirely enchanting," he said, "but may I ask what prompted this change?"
Her bosom rose on a breath, and she told him. From Hunt, he'd already known about Garrity and the astronomical debt. But this was the first he'd heard of Mrs. Stone being Charity's
mother
.
"She had the gall to come into my father's house, the earth still fresh on his grave, and ask for
forgiveness
? After she abandoned us ... she expected me to take her calling card, welcome her with open arms?" Charity's voice shook. "I
never
want to see her again."
"And you shan't have to," he said. "My poor darling, how have you borne this all?"
"I don't think I have, really," Charity said in halting tones. "'Tis as if I've just been going through the motions these weeks past. I didn't even know what I was doing when I cut my hair. All of it—Father's death, the debt, Mrs. Stone—hit me at once, and suddenly my life just seemed like a ... a
sham
. I'd lived under the weight of pretenses for so long that I couldn't bear it a moment longer and
had
to be rid of it." She bit her lip. "Sounds mad, doesn't it?"
"No, love," he said. "You've survived a test of fire and risen like a phoenix from the flames. I'm so proud of you—of your strength and courage. My only regret is that I wasn't by your side." The mattress creaked as he sat next to her, linking his fight-toughened fingers with her infinitely daintier ones. "But I vow that I will be here for you from now on. I'll set up a meeting with Garrity and negotiate terms. Trust me in this?"
"I trust you," she said softly.
Joy lifted his heart. He placed a fervent kiss on her tender palm. "Thank you for believing in me, sweeting. For making
me
believe that I can be a better man."
"You are perfect as you are," she said.
"Perfect ... despite my flaws?" he said hoarsely.
"Perfectly imperfect." Her mouth tipped up at the corners. "We are a pair, it seems."
He brushed his knuckles against her downy jaw. "Not in this. You, my sweet, are goodness itself. Your only flaw is in your judgment—mainly when it comes to your choice of husband."
"That's not true." She exhaled. "I've been a coward. I, too, have a confession to make."
The seriousness of her tone gave him pause. "Go on."
"I've been in love with you since the day we first met."
"But our first meeting was years ago." He frowned, thinking back. "When you and Percy were in finishing school together."
"The exact date was the 29th of September, 1813," came Charity's startling reply. "You were home from Eton for Michaelmas. You wore a new checkered waistcoat of which you were inordinately proud. Until you got a spot of goose grease on it, that is."
He couldn't summon more than a fuzzy recollection. "You remember all that?" he said in surprise.
"I remember every time we met. Every time Percy made you ask me to dance, every passing conversation," she said quietly. "Once, when I had those terrible spots and was standing alone at a ball, you came up and quoted Wordsworth to me."
A sudden memory unfurled of Charity, a shy violet in a field of wallflowers.
"
She Walks in Beauty
," he said with dawning recognition.
She gave him a tremulous smile. "I memorized the entire collection."
He couldn't believe what she was saying. "I had no idea. You said
nothing
..."
"How could I? You were so beyond my reach." She gazed at their linked hands. "In truth, I idolized you, placed you on a pedestal worthy of your namesake."
Bewilderment made him bereft of words. All this time ... he'd been so stupidly blind ...
"There's more." Peering up at him through her lashes, she said, "It has to do with Spitalfields. I was there."
He jolted. "What?"
"Percy wanted to check in on you, but she was worried that Mr. Hunt would follow her there. So I offered to go instead."
"You were there?" His head spun, his gut churning with sudden shame. "Then you saw me. In that despicable state ..." Another memory exploded—sudden knowledge that made him jerk as if he'd been pummeled in the gut. "Did ... did something happen between us?"
She gave a small nod. "We kissed. And, um, a bit more."
"Holy hell, why didn't you
say
anything?"
"I was afraid. I knew you would regret what had happened and insist on doing the honorable thing. I didn't want you to have to marry me out of obligation."
Stunned, he stared at her, and then another thought occurred. "Does Percy know about this?" Because if his sister was in on this conspiracy, so help him God ...
Charity shook her head quickly. "Not that anything happened between us. And I made her swear not to tell a soul that I'd gone to you."
Paul rubbed his neck. He couldn't think clearly. Didn't know who he was more furious at—her or himself. "Devil take it, I ruined you and didn't even know it. Do you know what kind of bastard that makes me?"
"A blissfully ignorant one?"
He glared at her. "This is no laughing matter."
"I know." She gave him a little smile. "Now that we're married, we can let bygones be bygones, can't we?"
"Christ, Charity—"
She placed her fingers on his lips, silencing him. "Now it's your turn to listen, Paul. I
was
wrong to deceive you, and I do apologize, with all my heart. But I want you to understand why I did it."
He stilled.
"It's true that I didn't want you to feel obligated, but the greater truth is that I acted out of fear. I didn't feel worthy of you. I was certain you'd reject me."
Before he could argue, she said, "My father always told me I wasn't much to look at, that I was small and plain." Her voice cracked a little. "He told me to keep my head down and act sensibly, because that was all a girl like me could do."
"That's utter rubbish." Paul couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "Your father didn't know the first thing about you—"
"I understand now that he was trying to protect me because
he
had been hurt. By my mother. Grievously, I think, and because he never aired the wound, it festered all these years." Charity let out a breath. "And while I don't agree with my father's methods, I believe he was doing his best. The point is, knowing all this, can you see how I might believe myself too plain, too invisible to warrant your attention?"
He did see, though it pained him greatly. Worse yet was the fact that he might have added to her misperceptions. Cupping her small face, he said, "As long as you know that it's not true. That you are, in fact, precious and unique, every facet of you beautiful beyond compare."
"I feel that way," she whispered, "because of you."
"And I feel worthy ... because of you," he said in wonder.
Love
was
magic.
"I shan't hide myself any longer," she said.
"I wouldn't allow it. You, my sweet, were meant to shine." The last word came out rather breathless because of the adoration he saw in her eyes ... and the way her fingers were working nimbly at his cravat. Through the sudden haze of lust, he remembered he'd spent the day travelling. "Sweeting, I haven't yet bathed ..."
She tossed aside the neckcloth. Her eyes were as brilliant as her opal ring, and her mouth took on an undeniably erotic curve. And he knew this moment would blaze in his memory forever: the instant his wife fully transformed from a sweet, shyly passionate girl ... to a wanton nymph brimming with sensual power.
The woman she was meant to be.
"I don't give a damn," she said.
His breath stuttered, his cock turning harder than rock.
FORTY-ONE
She was loved, cherished, and it filled her with a heady sense of power.
Her husband, that godly creature, watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, and she didn't mistake the obvious bulge in his trousers. He desired her, thought her beautiful beyond compare. His love flowed through her, hot and emboldening, and she couldn't wait to show him how much she loved him back.
She was done with hiding.
Done.
She popped the buttons of his waistcoat one by one. "I've missed you, Paul." Even her voice sounded different, sultry and sparkling with passion.
"Not as much as I've missed you, my darling."
She loved the rasp in his voice, the way his throat worked when she tore off his waistcoat. She did the same to his shirt and cravat, tossing them to the floor.