Noble Destiny (32 page)

“Lady Charlotte, please, if you would just step back, I have seen many wounds. Perhaps I can help your husband.”

Charlotte looked over her shoulder and glared at Lord Beverly for a moment before transferring her watery gaze to that of her brother. “He's gone, he's gone, that horrible man has murdered my beloved husband. Oh, woe is me!”

“Truly, my lady, I feel certain I can help him, if you will just move aside—”

“Go away,” she hissed under her breath before loudly claiming she would die without her Alasdair.

“Here, you,” Lord Beverly said. “Attend to your mistress. She is temporarily deranged and knows not what she says. If you will take Lady Charlotte to her carriage, I will see how badly you've wounded McGregor, although what the world is coming to when one's man shoots one's rival for one…”

“He's dead!” Batsfoam, to whom this last was addressed, shrieked as he knelt by Geoffrey's body. “I've killed Lord Carlisle! He's dead, dead, dead! Oh, that it would bring my beloved master back!”

“Dead? Both of them?” Lord Beverly wrung his hands.

Charlotte sighed. Clearly Lord Beverly wasn't privy to whatever plan Dare and, she suspected, McGregor—no doubt his wound was of the same type as Dare's—had enacted. Thus, it was up to her to save the situation. With a heartbreaking sob, she threw herself upon Algernon, sobbing into his collar and clutching his shoulders in her attempt to keep him from examining Dare or Geoffrey.

“Listen carefully,” she whispered in his ear while Crouch and Batsfoam quickly arranged a blanket over Dare's body, then did likewise for the other fallen man. “If you do not stop trying to see Dare's body, I will harm you in ways you cannot even begin to understand. Do I make myself clear?”

Lord Beverly stammered something as Charlotte peeled herself off him, turning to face her brother. She had no idea what Dare intended with his plan—she, after all, was only his wife, and thus not allowed the privilege of being made cognizant of his plans, a fact that she would punish him for later—but she knew enough to guess how to act.

“He's dead,” she told the two men, her lower lip quivering of its own volition as she stood slowly. The words were so chilling, she had the strongest urge to peek under the blanket to make sure he was quite all right before continuing, but Charlotte was nothing if not determined. She fought that need down and trusted that Dare hadn't lied when he told her he wouldn't leave her. “They're both dead. You killed them. You killed my Dare.”

“Killed them?” Lord Collins squeaked. “My dear, you are unhinged! I was standing with you when Carlisle shot McGregor, and your husband's gimp-legged man shot poor Carlisle.”

“You might not have pulled the trigger, but you are responsible for Dare's death,” Charlotte accused. “And for McGregor's, for that matter, for if he hadn't killed Dare, Batsfoam would have never retaliated. It's all your fault, Matthew, all of it!”

Of that, she honestly believed. Matthew was up to something. He looked far too pleased at the two men's deaths, and there was the curious matter of his attempt to bribe her into betraying Dare.

“You don't know what you're saying,” Collins said dismissively, turning to Lord Beverly. “Best get hold of that fellow, Beverly. He'll hang for McGregor's death, of course, nothing for it. Tragedy that he killed an innocent man, but justice must be done.”

“Justice? You speak of justice?” Charlotte interrupted. She had no idea of Geoffrey the Pretender's role in things, but she was becoming more and more suspicious of her brother. No matter where she turned in this mess, he seemed to pop up. Perhaps, just perhaps, his involvement went back further than she had thought. “I know exactly what I'm saying, brother. For instance, I know that you were the one to befriend Geoffrey McGregor when he returned to England.”

That was safe enough, she'd had that bit of information from Crouch.

Her brother sputtered something about helping out a fellow peer.

“But you couldn't know he was the
real
Geoffrey McGregor,” Charlotte said slowly, puzzle pieces suddenly falling into place as she spoke. “You couldn't know his claim was valid…unless you knew him before he was kidnapped?”

“Nonsense. Never met the man before.”

A small glint of warning in her brother's eyes told her she'd guessed correctly. Charlotte ignored his protest. “How did you know each other?”

“None of your business. Beverly, I trust you'll stay here with the bodies, and hold that man. I will fetch the magistrate—”

“Oh, but I think it
is
my business,” Charlotte interrupted her brother again. The Pretender, now, she was fairly certain, was the true Earl of Carlisle. “It is, after all, because of
you
that my husband and another man have died. What was it, Matthew? Women? Gambling? Probably the latter. I seem to recall you begging Papa to help you out with a particularly steep debt about five years ago. Papa refused, saying it would teach you to gamble over your head if you had to sell off everything you owned to cover your gaming debts. I don't recall you selling anything, though. Just exactly how did you pay off the debts?”

“I…they…that's none of your business. You don't seem too terribly cut up over your husband's death now, do you, sister?” Collins sneered. “Mayhap you think my offer still stands, but it doesn't. You've made your bed, now you can—”

“Oh, for mercy's sake, get a new homily, will you? Crouch, when you were investigating Geoffrey McGregor, did you happen to run into a mention of my brother in connection with him?”

“Aye, that I did. Been meanin' to tell ye, but ye've been busy with yer 'usband. Both McGregor and Lord Collins went to the same gamin' 'ells. Lord Collins lost a goodly sum o' money to 'is lordship just afore 'e left for 'Olland. 'Ere, milord, ye'd best sit down, ye're lookin' right green what with all the blood splashed around everywhere.” Crouch grabbed Lord Beverly's arm and helped him (despite the latter's protests) over to a distant rock.

Charlotte turned her attention back to her brother, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. She knew there must be a reason why both Batsfoam and Crouch were leaving her alone with her brother—clearly she was expected to worm an admission out of him. Thank heavens she had read so many gothic novels—she knew all about how one went about getting a villain to admit his guilt, and if there was anyone who fit the villainous character role, it was her brother. “Which brings up the question again, Matthew: How did you pay off your debt five years ago?”

“That, my dear, you will never know.”

Charlotte cast a glance down at her husband's still form, then lifted her head to smile her most winsome smile. “Come, Matthew, we are alone here. Dare and McGregor cannot hear us, and I cannot testify against you. Satisfy my curiosity. Tell me how you settled that debt. Tell me what your role is with Geoffrey McGregor.”

Lord Collins laughed and slid a sly glance over to where Batsfoam knelt some twenty paces away, ostensibly examining McGregor's body. Collins leaned toward his sister, his voice low and cold. “As you have asked so nicely, my dear, I will answer your question. There's nothing either of them can do to me now, and I certainly will stand in no jeopardy even should you tell the truth, for no one will believe the deranged ravings of my mentally distraught sister.”

Charlotte tightened her lips, but held her tongue. Villains, she knew, simply could not resist gloating about their supposed cleverness. Thus far, Matthew was acting exactly as she expected.

“The debt you mention was owed to Geoffrey McGregor, who was, in fact, the real Lord Carlisle, but when Father refused to make good the debt, I did the only thing I could—I paid off a captain to make sure Carlisle wouldn't see England again, thus eliminating my unfortunate obligation to him. I hadn't expected the bastard to return.”

“Why not?” she asked, wondering how she could be related to such a coldhearted, monstrous man.

“Few men survive being pressed into the merchant ship Carlisle ended up on; the captain is known for his particularly harsh methods of instruction.”

The words came from behind Charlotte. She smiled as her brother's eyes opened wide, his wet lips sputtering objections as Dare took his place at her side, sliding his arm around her waist in a gesture that was both affectionate and protective.

“That is an understatement if I ever heard one,” Geoffrey McGregor, Lord Carlisle, said with a wry twist to his lips, as he, too, cast aside the blanket covering him and stood up.

Lord Collins stared in horror first at Geoffrey, then at Dare. “But…but…he shot you! I saw the blood!”

Dare looked down to his chest. “Oh that? Just a bladder of red ink. Geoffrey fired over my head. I expect if you look, you'll find the ball in the tree behind where I stood.”

Collins looked from Geoffrey to Dare, his eyes wild. “I don't…I don't…how…”

“Oh, honestly Matthew, are you dense? It was a trap, set to catch you out. Even I could see that, once I realized Dare wasn't dead.” She turned to him and gave him a good glare. “And don't think I won't have a few words to say to you about letting me believe you were going to your death without even saying good-bye to me.”

He frowned his sternest frown at her. “Just as I will have a few things to say to you about following me to a morning appointment, madam.”

Charlotte rewarded his frown with her dimples. “You can't intimidate me; you love me too much.”

“I do, eh?”

“Good God, they're both alive!” Lord Beverly yelled, having just caught sight of the men. He raced over, Crouch at his heels. “I'm confused. You're not injured, either of you?”

“Yes, you do,” Charlotte answered her husband. “Why else would you go to the extreme lengths of this polluted plan if it wasn't for me?”

“No, we're both fine. Neither of us is injured,” Geoffrey told Lord Beverly.

Dare tugged Charlotte toward him until her breasts were pressed into his chest. “You're so clever, you tell me why I would dream up such a convoluted plan?”

“But why did you both pretend to be dead?” Lord Beverly asked in confusion.

“Really?
Convoluted?
That doesn't sound right.” Charlotte's lips brushed Dare's as she spoke.

“It is, however, the correct word.”

“No!” Lord Collins shrieked, and would have run had not Crouch suddenly appeared behind him, his hook glinting in the sun as it twisted in the cloth against Collins's neck.

“It was all part of our plan, Beverly,” Geoffrey replied as he took a step closer to Matthew, ignoring the stream of snarled obscenities that came from the earl's mouth. “Dare and I talked it over yesterday. He pointed out how Collins here was manipulating me and suggested that the manipulation might go back further than either of us had realized. We agreed to trap him into admitting the truth by making him think we were both dead. Batsfoam was supposed to goad Collins into admitting that he was behind my abduction, since Collins was sure to feel that as a murderer, Batsfoam could pose him no threat, but when Lady Charlotte came along—” Geoffrey shrugged. “She served the purpose far better.”

“Very well, I'll believe you on the convoluted issue, but as for this other, you cannot make me believe you don't love me as much as you clearly do. No other man but one deeply in love would go to such lengths to protect his wife's reputation.”

“You'd lost everything else,” Dare murmured in between light little kisses. “I couldn't take away the last thing you had—the respect of Society. I know how much it means to you.”

“The
ton
means nothing to me, husband.” Charlotte looked up into her husband's eyes and smiled as she brushed a lock of his hair from his eye patch. He was wearing the one upon which she'd embroidered an open eye, the better, she had told him at the time she presented it to him, to intimidate those around him. “The only thing that matters is you. I would quite happily live at the very ends of the earth and never again step foot in a single ballroom or opera theater as long as it meant I had your love.”

“Oh. It was all a trick, then? The blood and the pistols and Lady Charlotte screaming like a banshee?” Lord Beverly asked.

“You can be assured you have that, Char,” Dare said just before his lips claimed hers. She burned with his heat, and pressed herself closer to him, forgetting for the moment everything but the joy she felt when she merged herself with him. He tore his mouth from hers with a shaky laugh and held her at arm's length. “You make me forget myself, wife. McGregor—or I should say, Carlisle—I assume you can handle Collins without any further assistance?”

Geoffrey smiled at them both. Charlotte suddenly noticed a resemblance in his and Dare's smile and decided to forgive Geoffrey for his unwitting role in Dare's loss.

“This won't affect your engine, will it?” she asked softly as she watched Geoffrey speak quietly to her brother.

“Losing the title? It won't make one peck of difference, love. I wasn't counting on the few men who were interested in investing in the engine. Only by selling it outright will we have enough to be able to return to Scotland and live our lives in peace.” Dare suddenly looked worried. “You won't mind living in Scotland, will you, Char? It's not very stylish, and there's not a lot of Society—”

“Then I shall love it even more,” she told him with a full-dimpled smile. “I think I've had enough of the
ton
for a while. I will be happy to simply be Mrs. McGregor. It will make a nice change, don't you think?”

“Yes,” said Dare as he bent to taste her lips just once more. “I think it will make a very nice change.”

Alasdair McGregor, former Earl of Carlisle, leaned against a stone pillar and watched his wife stroll toward him on the arm of his sister's uncle-by-marriage, accompanied by his brother-in-law.

“So, in the end everything turned out all right?”

Dare inclined his head in acknowledgment of the question.

“But what happened to Char's brother?” Patricia asked.

“He slipped away right after the duel and ran for the Continent. Not even his wife knows where he went, but it's of little matter. His financial affairs are in ruin, and his reputation is in tatters now that the truth about his actions have been made public.”

“And you and Char are the pets of Society?” Patricia teased. “How fitting that is!”

Dare shrugged, his eyes still on the graceful figure of his wife as she meandered down the length of the building toward him. “I gather that is so, although Charlotte seems to care little enough about it.” He shook his head briefly as he spoke the words. The truth was, he still couldn't believe that Charlotte would turn her back so wholly on everything that had been her dream for so long, and yet, that is just what she had done. She had gladly thrown herself into helping him work day and night to make sure the engine was ready in time for the exhibition. Even after it had been completed—three days ahead of schedule—she had not returned to her old routine of paying calls and attending social functions. Instead she spent the evenings at home with him. A smile flirted with the corners of his lips as he remembered just how many of Vyvyan La Blue's famed connubial calisthenics they had tried, the smile growing when he thought of how many remained as yet unexplored.

“You should have more faith in her,” Patricia said, apparently reading her brother's mind. “Charlotte is madly in love with you, just as I hoped she would be. As long as she's with you, she's happy.”

He looked away from Charlotte just long enough to smile down on his sister.

“I have every faith in my wife, little one. She once bragged that she would be of enormous assistance persuading your new uncle into buying my engine, and I'll be damned if she didn't do just that.”

Patricia laughed and pinched his arm as his eyes lifted once more to watch his Charlotte. “Your engine sold itself, brother mine, although I will admit that both David and Uncle Whitney looked very full of themselves. No doubt Char is filling their heads with the worst sort of flattery. Even so, I will forgive her, for she has done the one thing I had never thought to see.”

Dare cocked an eyebrow in question.

“She made you fall in love with her,” Patricia said with another squeeze of his arm. “And now I can sail around the world with David and not worry about either of you.”

Charlotte and Elias Whitney, owner of the famed Whitney Shipyards—and now proud owner of the McGregor Marine Engine—came to a halt in front of them, Charlotte transferring herself from Whitney's arm to Dare's with a flash of dimples at the former.

“We have seen everything there is to see,” she told Dare with a familiar glint of pride in her lovely clear blue eyes, a pride that he knew was for himself. He didn't know what he had done to deserve her, but every morning he woke profoundly grateful that she was his. “And Mr. Whitney agrees with me that your engine is by far the most superior of any to be found. I think you should have asked much more for it, Dare.”

“Charlotte,” Dare scolded her. Whitney only laughed and shook his head at her.

“Don't ‘Charlotte' me in that tone, husband. We're going to need every shilling we can get; after all, we will soon have extra mouths to feed.”

Dare's mouth dropped open as he goggled at his wife. “Char—you don't mean—”

She smiled, her dimples in their full glory as she modestly dropped her gaze, the fan of her dark brown lashes resting gently on the faintly pink-tinged cream of her cheeks. “Yes, it's true.” Her eyelashes swept up, exposing the merriment in her eyes. “I've invited Crouch and the rest of Gillian's servants to come up to Scotland with us to put that house of yours to rights. I hadn't wanted to tell you in so public a forum, but…well…the truth escaped me.”

“Crouch! I won't have it!”

“From what Dare has told me of the house,” she said to Patricia and David, “it's a veritable nare's messed.”

“This time you've gone too far, wife. Shooting me was one thing, but this is too much!”

She ignored him, just as he knew she would. “I very much look forward to making it a home so we can settle down and get to work on Dare's next engine.”

“You are not bringing that thug Crouch and his gang of miscreants to my home!”

“I'm my husband's assistant, you know. He couldn't do any of it without me. He tells me so every night.”

“I forbid it, I absolutely forbid it!”

“We work very well together. We're thinking of modifying the marine engine for river use next. Don't you think that is an excellent project? It should make us quite a tidy sum, too.”

“Charlotte—” Dare ground his teeth for a few moments at the thought of his mare's nest of a house put to rights with Weston's servants, then gave in and wrapped his arm around his wife.

“Whatever would I do without you, woman?” he growled into her ear as the others quite accurately read the intention in his eye and politely moved off to examine a new type of propeller.

“You'd be a lonely, pathetic man whom no one talked to, and who ended up living alone without servants in a house with seventeen cats all of which were named William. When you died, the cats would eat you. Therefore, it is only fitting that you thank me now for marrying you and saving you from such a terrible fate, thus helping you to fulfill your destiny as England's premiere engine maker.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McGregor, for saving me from being eaten by cats,” he dutifully said, then pulled her behind the pillar to kiss her properly. “Now, about this harebrained idea of yours to bring Crouch and all of the others with us to Scotland…”

Charlotte kissed the argument right off of his tongue.