Noble Destiny (25 page)

“Wife—” he warned through gritted teeth, but it did no good. Nothing much did with Charlotte.

“My lips are silent on the subject, husband. You may take red-hot tongs to me, but I shan't divulge even the smallest morsel of information, and it's no good looking at Crouch in that manner, for his lips are just as silent as mine.”

Dare handed his wife up into the carriage. He looked back at the pirate butler, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, one hip leaning against the door frame. “Do I assume that my wife speaks correctly on your behalf?”

“Aye, sir. I've given 'er m'word.”

“I see. In that case, just as soon as I have seen my lady home, I will return to…
discuss
…the matter with you in greater detail.”

If Dare didn't know better, he'd swear a look of amusement flashed in the butler's eyes. “I 'ad a feelin' ye would be, sir. I'll 'ave the cook lay in a supply of ice.”

Dare nodded and climbed into the coach after Charlotte. Life suddenly looked very good. He gave his wife a small smile, amused by the worried looks she was casting over at him as he cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers. For once he was grateful for her stubborn streak; rather than forcing him to press her until she told him what she was up to, he would find out the same information from Crouch—with the added satisfaction of settling the score between them. His smile deepened into a grin as she started to wring her hands.

This revenge was going to be sweet, very sweet indeed.

***

“I appreciate the fact that you wish to attend the opera tonight, husband, but how are we to explain
that
?” Charlotte pointed, standing at what she considered a safe distance from where Dare lounged on the chaise in his bedchamber.

Her husband removed the thick piece of beefsteak from his face and flexed his jaw, grimacing in pain with the slight movement. “I don't see that we have to explain anything. It's no one's concern what I do with my face.”

Men! As if no one would notice the swelling on his jaw. “People will want to know, nonetheless. I just hope Crouch is all right. I have need of him tomorrow—you did say you left him with nothing broken? Even so, I hope you didn't injure him so greatly that he is unable to attend to my project.”

Dare had the audacity to look peeved. “You might at least pretend you are concerned about me. He did manage to get in one blow before I knocked him off his feet. And as for this mysterious project—”

“Nonsense,” she said, bending over to examine his jaw. She gently felt around the swelling, then stood back to consider the overall effect. Perhaps if she were to put a little rice powder on the wound, its redness and accompanying swelling wouldn't be quite so noticeable. “I had no fear that you were in any danger with regards to Crouch. Not only are you an earl, but I have seen you unclothed. It's quite obvious it would take more than one man to render harm to you.”

Dare looked pleased by her words, although heaven knew she hadn't meant them as a compliment. Would she ever understand how men's minds worked? She shook her head in silent answer to her own question. Men were far too illogical to even begin to reason with.

“Your project, Charlotte?”

She sighed. Illogical, and with minds that held tight to only one thought. “Are we back to that?”

“We are.”

“Then we shan't make the opera because you will be too busy demanding that I tell you about my plan, and I shall be too busy detailing the many good reasons I have to not worry you. Shall I tell Batsfoam to have the carriage sent back?”

“No, you will tell me what it is you have planned. Then we will go to the opera.”

Charlotte sighed again and sat next to him, discarding her gloves and fan. They would not be going to the opera. “Very well, we shall have it your way. We will stay here and argue the evening away when we might be having a perfectly lovely time at the opera. As for what you said, Dare, I would have thought that by now you had learned enough about me to know that when I intend to do my wifely duty and keep life's many little unpleasantnesses from you, nothing short of Judgment Day will keep me from the righteous and selfless path of marital devotion.”

Dare rolled his eyes, discarding the beefsteak as he stood up and handed Charlotte back her gloves and fan. “Come along, selfless and devoted one. You can tell me what it is that you are planning on the way to the opera.”

They argued all the way to the opera (or, as Charlotte noted to herself, he argued, and she merely remained steadfast in her determination to save him untold mental anguish), they argued on the steps of the opera, they argued their way into Dare's box, and they argued right through the first two acts of the opera itself, albeit in hushed tones so as not to disturb anyone else. Charlotte had to give her husband credit. He had tried every means possible to extract the information from her, everything from threats of dire, but unspecified, acts that Charlotte knew he couldn't possibly carry out against her, to pleas begging her to just set his mind at ease so he could concentrate on the pleasure to be found at the opera. Since only a week earlier Charlotte had heard him express in terms not for the faint-of-heart just what he thought of opera in general, she dismissed his pitiful plea as insincere, and warmed herself with the knowledge that she was doing the right thing by putting the need to keep his mental state calm and untroubled against her own desire for recognition of her unselfish acts.

Intermission arrived at last and with it came the end of Dare's patience. Charlotte was frankly surprised it had lasted as long as it had.

“Since you insist on refusing to answer a simple question when I ask it, I will assume you desire my absence. As I am behind in the adjustments to the steam valve on my engine, I will take this opportunity to satisfy your wish to be rid of me.”

Indecision warred within her. If he left her by herself at the opera, not only would everyone see that they'd had an argument, but she would also be forced to face that which she'd been successfully keeping at bay all evening—the fact that no one, not one single person, had called upon them in their box. They were being cut, and if Dare didn't care to recognize that fact, she would be forced by his absence to acknowledge it. Should she give in and tell him what he wanted to know, soothing his ruffled feathers and keeping him by her side so she could pretend they were on their honeymoon and did not wish to be disturbed by anyone, or should she selflessly put his well-being ahead of hers? She was tempted by the former since he did not seem to appreciate the sacrifices she was making on his behalf. It certainly was hard being noble when Dare didn't seem to realize he was being protected.

It was the last thought that decided her. He needed her, if for no other reason than to protect his reputation in Society. Since Fate had been so good as to give her what she'd wanted—to be vitally important to her husband—she would fulfill her destiny and serve him as best she could. On his behalf she'd tackle the
ton
head on and not concede failure until there was no breath left in her body.

She lifted her chin and met her husband's furious gaze with tranquillity and serenity. “Very well. If you would prefer to work on your engine for the rest of the evening, then go home. Caro and Lord Beverly are here—I shall sit with them for the remainder of the opera.”

Dare looked surprised for a moment that she had called his bluff, then bowed stiffly and held out his arm. He was very angry at her, that she knew, so she didn't try to jolly him out of it with dimples and sultry looks from under her lashes. Instead she allowed him to deliver her to Caro's box, giving the Beverlys only the briefest of pleasantries before curtly nodding to her and leaving. Dare might be angry now, she told herself as she settled herself in a gold and ebony chair next to Caro's, but she was confident that one day he would appreciate just how much she had sacrificed on his behalf.

“Lord Car…your husband seems very angry this evening,” Caro whispered over her fan as Algernon greeted a new arrival to their box. “Is it because you both are being cut?”

Charlotte shrugged and looked out over the edge of the box to the floor where the dandies and ladies of dubious reputation milled about. “To tell you the truth, I doubt if he's noticed it. No, that's not fair. Alasdair is a very astute man; I'm sure he noticed that no one had so much as bowed our way—he just doesn't care.”

Caroline raised her eyebrows in scandalized semaphore. “He doesn't care? What people think of him? He doesn't
care
?”

“'Tis most unnatural, I admit, but alas sweet Caro, that is my lot in life—wife to a man who is indifferent to people's opinions.”

“But
you
care,” Caroline protested.

“Of course I do…to some extent.” Charlotte hurried on when Caroline's eyebrows, newly returned to their normal position, threatened to return to the top of her forehead. “That is, I care what people say—reputation is everything—but I shall never be a slave to etiquette as Society demands. I have ever gone my own way, and it's too late for me now to learn how to abide by rules. Besides, you know as well as I do that the
ton
loves an Original. They may fuss and gossip like cats about little scandals, such as my eloping with Antonio, but in the end, they love the very people they claim to censure.”

Caroline didn't look convinced. “They don't seem to love you now, Charlotte.” She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure her husband wasn't within hearing. “In fact, dearest Algernon told me that the betting books are filled with wagers about you and Mr. McGregor.”

“Oh, yes, I know all about that—that was Lady Brindley's doing. They were taking wagers on when Alasdair would consummate our marriage. As you well know, the wager is now moot. Didn't your Algernon tell people that?”

Caroline's eyes grew wider. “Yes, he did…oh, Char, should he not have? I didn't tell him not to mention it, and you know what gossips men are.”

“No, no, I was counting on you both to spread that particular tidbit, not, I hasten to point out, that it's anyone's business. Still, it was the only way to have those ridiculous wagers off the books.”

“But, Char—” The words dribbled to a stop.

Charlotte transferred her attention to her friend. Caroline seemed to be at a loss for words, a condition unfamiliar to Charlotte. “Are you ill? Do you need my vinaigrette?”

“No, no, it's not that…I…I…” Caroline's mouth bobbed open and shut like a fish pulled from the water.

“You what? Honestly, Caro, if you're going to sit and stare at me in that google-eyed way, the least you can do is close your mouth. Only ninnies sit at the opera with their mouths in fly-catching position.”

Caroline seemed to gather her wits. “The phrase is
goggle-eyed
, and don't start that ninny business again. I was simply trying to think how best to break the news to you.”

“What news?” Caroline had all of her attention now. Lord Beverly leaned toward his wife and muttered something about calling on an acquaintance's box for a few minutes. Charlotte waited as patiently as she could for him to finish, then pounced on her friend as soon as the man had left. “Caro, so help me, if you're keeping something important from me, I shall tell everyone you stuff your zona with stockings—”

“Charlotte!”

Half of the house looked over as Caroline's outraged shriek pierced the din of conversation.

Charlotte snapped open her fan and proceeded to languidly stir the heated air before her. “You're just never happy unless you can cause a scene, are you?”

“I…you…Charlotte…” Caroline sputtered.

“Yes, now that you have the question of pronouns and proper nouns settled, perhaps you would care to tell me what news you have?”

Caroline glared at her with a regrettably mutinous look in her eye. Charlotte was just about to point out that ladies who wore mulish expressions ran the risk of their faces freezing in that manner, but was kept from that opinion by Caroline's furious whisper. “I shouldn't, I truly shouldn't tell you, you don't deserve to know at all after threatening me with such a blatant untruth—”

Charlotte leveled a critical glance on her friend's bosom. “You can't possibly expect me to believe that's all you.”

“My bosom is neither here nor there,” Caroline said with dignity as she opened her fan in a manner that hid the bodice of her dress.

“My point exactly—it's nonexistent.”

“But I shall tell you,” Caroline continued, albeit somewhat snappishly, “because your husband doesn't deserve to suffer. Dearest Algernon told me tonight that the wagers on the betting books are to do with Mr. McGregor, specifically, whether or not he is…he can…if he has the ability to…”

“What?”

“If he is impotent,” Caroline whispered with a fiery blush.

“Impotent?” Charlotte asked, at a loss for what was making Caroline act in such a goose-ish manner. Perhaps she was carrying. Everyone knew women who were breeding were exceptionally goose-ish about things.

“Shhh!”

“Lord, Caro, Algernon must be quizzing you. Why on earth would anyone care if Alasdair was impotent with me? If you want to know the truth, I'm probably just as impotent as he is, more so in fact. Mama always did say I was shameless.”

Caroline stared at her with googled eyes—or goggled, Charlotte couldn't remember which was the correct word—her mouth once again hanging slightly ajar. Suddenly Caro choked and fanned herself quickly, her gaze on the tips of her slippers as she leaned toward Char and hissed, “Impotent, not impudent. Impotent means physically unable to do your manly duty.”

Charlotte felt her own jaw sag at the implication. She thought for a moment she might actually swoon as a result of the burst of fury that roared to life within her, and it was all she could do to moderate her voice so the word she spoke came out as a quiet demand, rather than a howl of wrath. “Who?”