Noble Destiny (24 page)

Caroline slumped onto a convenient bench as Charlotte waved cheerfully before hurrying toward a gray-haired older woman and her maid. There were times—such as when she went up against Char's indomitable will—that she felt as effective as a soap bubble against a herd of Charlotte's elephants…no matter what their color.

“You, sir, are a liar. You lied to your wife. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Dare glared at the face before him, then threw his towel at the mirror and bent to splash water over his heated brow. Perhaps liar was too strong a word—he
was
behind schedule, and he
did
anticipate working around the clock on the engine so as to have it ready for trial by the week's end. Those hadn't been lies. Still, he could have easily carved a few hours out of his day to go riding with Charlotte in the park.

He glanced out the window. The sun was low in the sky, long shadows reaching across the street in an elongated parody of the house's shape. It wasn't too late; he could still take her to the opera. He had that box Patricia had pleaded with him to take for the Season…it would take little time to send a footman to the theater. A slow smile curled his lips as he thought about spending the evening in the company of his wife. True, he'd rather spend that time in a less public place, one conducive to the activities that had, the evening before, left him wrung out like a well-used rag, but a visit to the opera would please Charlotte. Spending a few hours listening to a bunch of singers screeching in Italian was a small price to pay for giving her pleasure.

He paused for a moment before the bureau drawer, a fresh neck cloth dangling from his fingers, his body quivering with the thought of giving his wife pleasure. Just imagining her response to him was enough to leave him hard and aching. With a leer that would have a harlot blushing, he quickly changed out of his oil-splattered work things and into garments more suited to a gentleman.

“Ah, Batsfoam,” he said when that worthy wandered in a few minutes later. “I hadn't expected to see you abovestairs so early.”

Batsfoam retrieved Dare's recently discarded boots, now coated with coal dust, oil, and assorted grime, and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Regardless of my other responsibilities—many and varied as they are—I am still your valet, and as such, it is my duty, nay extreme pleasure, to be on hand when you undertake that most onerous of tasks: clothing yourself. Thus you see me here, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement at the thought of making myself useful to you.”

Dare smiled fondly at the man. Not even Batsfoam's usual dour countenance could ruin the happy anticipation that filled him when he thought of spending the evening with Charlotte…particularly the last part of the evening, the part when they would be alone, naked, his hands skimming all her lovely curves, making her eyes burn hot with that erotic mixture of love and passion that made him feel like a god among mere mortal men. This, he thought smugly to himself as he allowed Batsfoam to help him into a midnight-blue coat that fitted him as closely as a sausage casing, was what he'd wanted from a wife all along—not just the sharp bite of lust, but the soul-deep satisfying warmth of a companion, a friend, someone he wanted to be with simply because he delighted in her company.

Someone who loved him.

“Do you know the whereabouts of my wife, Batsfoam?” He tweaked the neck cloth slightly until the simple arrangement met with his satisfaction.

“Lady Charlotte has been gracious enough to gift me with that information, sir.”

Dare waited a moment, but when Batsfoam gathered up the boots and used linen in preparation to leaving the room, he cocked an inquiring brow. “Would you be so generous as to share that information with me, or is it some state secret that I'm not to be privy to?”

For the first time since Dare had met him, Batsfoam hesitated to speak. “Lady Charlotte is at Britton House, sir.”

Britton House? Weston's house? Although Dare no longer held Noble accountable for his mistress's death—indeed, his eyes had been sadly opened to the truth behind the late Lady Weston and her cruelties, not the least of which was using him to cast blame onto Noble—he had as little to do with Weston and his charming, if eccentric, wife as was possible. “Why is she at Weston's house? What did she tell you she was doing there?”

Batsfoam didn't flinch at the bellow, although he was willing to wager a sovereign that he'd be slightly deaf for a week because of it. “I was given to understand that Lady Charlotte sought recourse to the Earl of Weston's staff for an unspecified undertaking, the staff here being, as the Lady Charlotte herself said, a bit overburdened.”

“Undertaking? What sort of an undertaking would she have for Weston's servants?” Dare knew shouting at Batsfoam wasn't justified, but the thought of Charlotte running to Weston—by means of his servants—when she wanted help made him see red. Dammit,
he
was her husband! If she wanted help, she could bloody well turn to him for it. Didn't she understand how the husband-wife relationship worked?

“As I do not have at hand a dictionary, I shall be forced to rely upon my own interpretation of the English language; in this case, the word
unspecified
is commonly given to mean…” The glare Dare turned on him caused the smart retort to wither on Batsfoam's lips. He cleared his throat and respectfully dropped his gaze to the boots in his hands. “She did not say.”

Dare's nostrils flared for a moment as if he smelled something foul. Then he snatched up his hat and stormed out of the bedchamber. “I see I'm going to have to inform my wife of a few definitions of my own—
marriage
,
loyalty
, and
help
being three of them. Have Jupiter brought around immediately, Batsfoam. Send one of the footman for him, it will be faster.”

Dare waited in the library, his riding crop beating out a tattoo on his leg as he tried to conceive of what would send Charlotte to Weston's servants. Ultimately, the realization that no matter how long he was married to her, he'd never understand the way her mind worked calmed him enough that he didn't take out his temper on Batsfoam when he announced that the horse was waiting.

Weston lived in a fashionable part of town, something Dare had never given a thought to until he rode the distance from his own modest leased abode in a rather overcrowded section of town to the wide streets and cream-marbled splendor of Britton House. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the differences between the circumstances of Charlotte's life before marrying him and the present. Regret flashed through him with the realization of how much she had given up, but it was easily pushed aside when he reminded himself that she loved him, not his title or money. That Charlotte had fallen in love with him despite living in a modest house with few servants and none of the trappings she was used to simply proved the depth of her feelings for him. He might not be able to worship her with riches, he thought grimly to himself, but he certainly could with his mind and body. Not to mention his help with whatever problems she found herself burdened with.

Such moody reflections ended in steely determination as he dismounted before the entrance to the large house. He tossed the reins to the footman who accompanied Charlotte's carriage in the role as coachman.

“Tie him to the back of the carriage.”

“Sir?” Jackson's eyes opened wide as Dare started up the steps to the front door.

“I'll be back in a minute. With my wife. Stay here.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Lady Charlotte?” Dare asked grimly to the slight, golden-haired footman who opened the door.

The footman looked surprised. “No, I'm Charles. Lady Charlotte is a female.”

Dare took a deep breath and unlocked his clenched fingers. “I'm looking for my wife, Lady Charlotte. Is she here?”

“Yes, sir.” The footman blinked at him, a pleasant, but slightly vacuous, expression on his face.

Dare fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Or throttling the man. Either action had its attraction. “Might I see her? Today?
Now?
”

Enlightenment dawned. “Oh! You want to
see
her. If you will come this way…”

Dare strode past the man into the oak-paneled hallway and summarily ignored the footman when he held open a door to what was obviously a small sitting room used by guests awaiting attention by the family. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, put his hands on his hips, and threw back his head to bellow, “CHARLOTTE!”

The noise echoed most effectively around the long hall, up the stairs, and through the length of the second floor. The footman danced around him as his keen ears picked up the sound of a door on the floor above opening. He stomped up the stairs, ignoring Charles's suggestion that he wait in the sitting room. “Charlotte? I know you're here. You cannot hide from me!”

“Why would I wish to hide from you?” his wife asked as he reached the top of the stairs. “Alasdair, what are you doing he—oof!”

Dare knew his wife well enough to recognize the stubborn set of her chin. That chin decided him in an instant. He would forgo explanations and get right to the point.

“I am collecting you,” he said as he scooped her up and over his shoulder, turning carefully and starting back down the stairs to where his carriage waited. “There's no sense in arguing, woman, you are coming with me. Save your tears and tantrums, my mind is made up. You are coming with me.”

“So I have gathered, Alasdair.” Dare's mood lightened. She didn't sound upset or hysterical. Still, with Charlotte, you never knew. Better safe than sorry.

“Since I am forbidden tears and tantrums, would you tolerate a simple question?”

Dare stopped at the bottom of the stairs and allowed his wife to regain her feet, although he kept a firm hand on her arm lest she suddenly try to break away. “Perhaps, if it's pertinent to this situation.”

“How very generous of you,” she replied, but he had to admit she didn't look at all grateful. If the thinned line of her lips and the fire in her eye were anything to go by, he judged he was about to be on the receiving end of her temper. “Might I then inquire what the devil you think you're—oh, Crouch, there you are. Would you please fetch my reticule and memorandum book?—doing here, and why have you suddenly been taken with the desire to sling me about as if I were a sack of—” Charlotte waved her hands around to express her inability to finish the simile.

“Flour?” Dare asked at the same time that Charles the footman helpfully offered, “Bulldogs?”

Charlotte transferred her glare to the hapless man for a moment before returning it to Dare. He glared right back at her. “The question, madam, is what are
you
doing here?”

“I needed to speak with Crouch about something.” Dare's lip curled in a snarl at her mention of the butler's name. She ignored his lip and continued. “Since you seem to have an abrasion to him, I thought it best to meet him here rather than at home.”

“I have an
aversion
to him, wife—”

“Whatever you wish to call it,” Charlotte interrupted, waving her hands again until Dare captured both of them in his. “It's a silly thing.”

“It is not silly, the blasted thug kidnapped me.”

“That was years ago!”

“He knocked me unconscious.” Dare still had a scar on the back of his head where Crouch had used a lead pipe to immobilize him.

“Five years ago.” Charlotte's hands twitched in his. He tightened his grasp on her fingers. “That's a very long time to be holding a grudge against Crouch.”

“The coward had two men hold me down while he beat me on the head.”

“Crouch is not a coward, Dare.”

“Thank you, m'lady,” a deep voice said behind him. Dare turned and narrowed his eyes at Weston's brute of a butler as the man marched down the stairs, a dainty bead-encrusted reticule dangling from his hook. “'As it 'appens, I needed the two other blokes to keep 'is nibs 'ere from killin' me. 'Eard enough about ye to know I'd be carryin' my 'ead 'ome in a basket if I'd tackled ye by my lonesome.”

“I'm not quite certain—I never am with Crouch; the way he mangles the King's tongue is utterly atoastious—but I do believe he's praising you,” Charlotte whispered in Dare's ear. He was distracted for a moment by the sweet sensation of her breath teasing his suddenly sensitive ear, but he quickly reminded himself he was outraged and angry, and outraged and angry husbands did not kiss their wives silly in the presence of their rival's servants, especially ones who made it a practice to kidnap him.

“Regardless, I would remind you that I have good reason to demand you not continue your acquaintance with Crouch or any other of Weston's servants. You have an entire house full of servants. If you need serving, ask them.”

“We are economizing,” Charlotte protested as Dare hustled her toward the door. She pulled one hand free long enough to snatch the reticule from Crouch's hook as they passed him. “I cannot ask our servants to take time from their employment to tend to my…er…little project.”

Dare stopped and frowned down at her. He'd completely forgotten to ask her what was so important she had to seek the help of a roughneck like Crouch. Where had his wits gone? One glance into her lovely blue eyes was the answer—he was so besotted with her, he'd couldn't think logically when she was near him. “What exactly is the nature of your
little
project
?”

“Oh.” Charlotte considered him for a moment, then flashed her dimples at him. “I think it's best if you don't know. You're bound to not like it, and as I have engaged Crouch's help, I'm sure that I will have no further need for assistance, so truly, it is best if you were to simply forget about it.”

He counted to ten, still felt like yelling, so repeated the process three more times before he managed to get out, “Statements like that are not the least bit likely to generate disinterest on my part. I insist you tell me what your project is and how Crouch is to help you.”

Charlotte patted his arm and turned toward the door. “I'm trying to be a good wife to you—I'm only thinking of your happiness, Dare. The plan would upset you, so you must trust me that on this, ignorance is better. Thus, I shall keep you in ignorance, and all will be well.”