Dare heard his name ring loud in his ears as she tightened around his fingers, her body shaking with the power of her orgasm. He pressed his face into her belly as she trembled, the need to plunge into her so strong he was nearly weeping. He hung on to his resolution by the merest thread, his body shuddering as it warred with his mind, his flesh crying out for the fulfillment it so desperately needed. He hadn’t intended on going so far, of giving her so much of himself, but he could not stop, not when she tasted so sweet. He lay there for long minutes, his breath ragged as tears seeped from eyes closed tight, damply spreading on Charlotte’s belly, his fingers holding firmly to her hips.
He left her where she lay, sleeping, warm and soft, her flesh beckoning and calling to him with a glow that crept into his heart and soul. He covered her, standing for a long time next to the bed, admiring the picture she made in the golden candlelight with her lips swollen from his kisses, and tears of joy still staining her cheeks. The tears were salty on his tongue; her skin was pure and sweet and tasted of something that was wholly Charlotte.
He left her, walking stiffly through the connecting door to her bedchamber, looking with abhorrence at the dark, cold bed. His body was tight and hard and hurting with a pain he didn’t know was possible without a physical wound.
“Hell,” he sighed, giving up the battle and climbing into the bed. He glared at his hand. It wasn’t what his body clamored for and it wouldn’t really satisfy him, but it might give him enough relief to allow him to sleep. He wrapped his long fingers around the aching length of his need, and prayed it wouldn’t take Charlotte long to fall in love with him.
“I just hope I don’t grow hair on my palms. I’d have a hell of a time explaining that.”
***
“Alasdair, you’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m not being unreasonable, I’m being practical, and my name is Dare. I know you can say it; you did last night.”
Charlotte opened her eyes very wide and sent him a scathing look. “That was a special circumstance.” The thought of just how special the circumstance was had her heart quickening and various parts of her body quivering in remembrance. She couldn’t believe how the mere touch of his hands and mouth had transported her, but transport her they did, to some place she had never visited but was determined to visit again. Frequently. That very night. She eyed Dare speculatively. Afternoon was a good time, too.
“Be that as it may, I would like to point out that I’ve spoken to you several times now regarding the necessity of economizing, and regretfully, purchasing a new wardrobe does not fall under that heading.”
“Dare, if you were to give Charlotte my dowry, she could buy—” Patricia started to say, but stopped when her brother glared across the sunny breakfast table at her. She busied herself with buttering a muffin.
Charlotte sent an appreciative smile to her sister-in-law, then turned the smile to a frown for her husband as she reached for the pot of chocolate. “Yes, you have mentioned that bit of ridiculousness frequently. You may rest assured you have made your point.”
“Good,” Dare said, turning his attention back to his plate of ham.
“Therefore, you may now give me what I want secure in the knowledge that you have done your part in protesting that you have no money with which to clothe my back, and authorize a visit to Mme. Terwilliger’s. She is the latest crack in modistes,” Charlotte told Patricia in a confidential tone.
Dare dropped his fork and stared openmouthed at his wife. “Charlotte, I am not playing a game with you.”
“Well, no, of course you’re not. It’s not quite a game, it’s more…” Charlotte waved a buttery knife. “…more a role. You protest you have no money, I pretend to believe you, then you give me what I want and everyone is happy.”
Dare was shaking his head even before she finished her sentence. “Charlotte, I am not playing a role. I am not lying to you. I am not misrepresenting the truth. I am being honest, completely and utterly honest when I say that I do not have the money to pay for a new gown, let alone a whole wardrobe. I’m sorry to be blunt, but it’s imperative you understand me once and for all. I…have…no…fortune.”
Charlotte looked from her husband’s tense jaw and glinting sapphire eyes to her sister-in-law. Patricia was nodding, her face twisted in sympathy. Charlotte felt a cold, clammy feeling in her midsection, as if someone had dropped a bowl of blancmange on her.
They couldn’t be serious, could they? No money? Dare had no money? But that was ridiculous. He was an earl, and everyone knew earls inherited fortunes with their titles.
“No fortune?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing?”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nothing.”
She looked down at her plate of ham and potatoes, then back up to her husband, her mind too benumbed to take it all in. Nothing? “How can that be? How can you inherit a title but not a fortune? I don’t understand! You’re not just pinch-paring?”
Sadness, regret, and guilt flickered across Dare’s handsome face. Ire that had built up under his outrageous claims thinned when she saw the last. Perhaps he had been telling her the truth when he said he hadn’t wanted to marry her because he couldn’t support her. Perhaps he truly hadn’t wanted to marry her. She quickly pushed away that horrible thought. Even if it was true, they were wed, and he would soon learn that she was an excellent wife, ideally suited to him, just as he was to her.
“I wish it were that simple, Charlotte. I inherited the title, true, but I also inherited my uncle’s debts, a great many debts, which I am honor bound to cover. Our only hope of financial security lies in my success with the steam engine.”
“That’s where David comes in,” Patricia added. “If Dare can sell his engine to David’s uncle Edward, Dare will be able to pay off the debts.”
Dare nodded. “With enough left over to begin recovering the estates. It will take time, but I’m confident that with hard work on all our parts, we’ll see it through without too much damage.”
“I don’t wish to work hard and be damaged,” Charlotte cried. “I wish to have a new gown for Patricia’s wedding!”
Dare pushed his plate away and rubbed at his forehead. “Can’t you wear the gown you wore for our wedding?”
She stared at him in horror. “And have people see me in the same gown twice in one week? I think not!”
“It’s a lovely gown, Charlotte,” Patricia said quickly. “I’m sure no one would think any less of you for wearing it at my wedding as well. I think it’s rather romantic, actually.”
Charlotte glared at her, but transferred her glare to her husband when he added, “I doubt if anyone from our wedding will be in attendance at Patricia’s, unless she’s added Messrs. Rosencrantz and Windlestop’s circus to the invitation list.”
“No, indeed, I haven’t. So you see, Charlotte, you will have nothing to worry about. You may wear your lovely gown and no one will know.”
“I will know,” Charlotte muttered to her breakfast. She looked up in time to see the pain in Dare’s eyes before he threw down his cloth and pushed back from the table, making his excuses as he strode out of the room. Charlotte half rose in her chair, prepared to apologize for her comment, ashamed that he should see her acting like a petulant child, but he escaped before she could say anything. She sat back down, frowning. It wasn’t fair. It just was not fair. How was she to know Dare hadn’t any money? He looked just like every other rake in the ton, well-dressed but careless with his clothes, an air of noble negligence clinging to him just as it clung to every other family of blue blood. It was only the upstarts, the new money, the mushrooms who flaunted their wealth. How was she to know Dare really was on his uppers?
“If I’d have known that from the beginning…” she threatened, then stopped.
“If you’d have known what?” Patricia asked.
&n
bsp; “Nothing.” Charlotte sighed, unable to lie to herself. She had always wanted Dare, wanted him before she was married to Antonio, and wanted him a hundred times more after she returned to England. For a moment the visions of lavish balls and a dazzling wardrobe shone brightly in her mind. Then the warm, intimate memory of the evening past returned. Clothes and balls were, she thought with some surprise, only things. There was joy to be had in them, true, but the taste of bliss she had found with Dare filled her with a strange yearning for something more, something that went beyond the pleasure a pretty gown provided. Regretfully, she tucked away her dreams and braced herself to face reality. Lowering her expectations would not be easy, but she was never one to shy away from a challenge.
Righteousness and determination flared within her. “Your brother told me several years ago that I was nothing so much as a very pretty spoiled child. Well, he will not find me so now. If there is one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, it is that wanting something seldom makes it so. We will simply have to economize,” she said firmly, tapping her knife on a peach. “I’m not quite sure how one goes about economizing a household, but I’m sure I can do it. It can’t be that difficult. And besides, the servants are economizing already, so that will be of some help.”
“Oh, yes, we’ve economized for the last three years.” Patricia smiled. “We’re all quite used to it, I can assure you.”
“Excellent,” Charlotte responded, her mind busy with ideas and newfound resolutions. In the midst of plans for cutting back on meals and canceling her order for several new bonnets, a bright, shining image came to her mind. She studied it for a moment, pronounced it good, and smiled at her sister-in-law. “I shall start my economies by making a supreme sacrifice. I will inform Batsfoam he is to unhire the maid he hired for me.”
Patricia blinked in surprise. “But you must have a maid! Who will help you dress? Who will do your hair? Who will mend your clothes and take care of them and see that they’re washed and such?”
The image grew brighter in Charlotte’s mind. “I shall take care of my own clothing. Don’t look so shocked, Patricia, I am quite well known for my embroidery, how much different can mending a few tears be than embroidering? Besides, there can’t be much to it. Francesca, my maid in Italy, was always finding time to go out and meet her lover. I imagine a few minutes each morning and night and I shall be perfectly suited.”
“Perhaps so, but what about assistance dressing? You cannot do up all the tapes and buttons yourself.”
Charlotte’s smile deepened until her dimples danced. “My husband shall help me dress and undress. He, after all, is the one who insists on everyone economizing, it’s only right he should do his part by attending to me himself. As for my hair, I shall adopt simpler styles as my cousin Gillian wears. Her husband always seems to approve of her hair despite its unfashionable color. Thus mine should be a great success. Now, tell me, when is Mrs. Whitney due to return from Bath?”
“Saturday, just before the wedding. She is taking the waters for her dyspepsia. She suffers terribly from upsets of an internal nature, and Lady Devonshire assured her that her upsets were quite cured by taking the waters. I do hope they help. Aunt Whitney has been most uncomfortable after dinner.”
“That’s such a shame,” Charlotte said cheerfully. “We shall sorely miss her presence here in these, your precious last few days as an unmarried woman. Indeed, I shall endeavor to fill your time so that you don’t fret over her absence. Do you need help with the wedding?”
“No, Aunt Whitney took care of that before she left for Bath. I have a final fitting today for my wedding gown, and then there is nothing to do until Sunday.”
Charlotte drummed her fingers on the table before rising. “I assume, then, you will not be odverse to helping me with a little project of my own?”
“I would not be adverse in the least to helping you, dear sister-in-law. How can I be of assistance?”
Charlotte took Patricia by the arm and headed toward the kitchen. “You know, of course, that the Duchess of Deal is giving an engagement ball for that pasty-faced daughter of hers whose name I never can remember.”
“Lady Charlotte, yes.”
Charlotte paused as she descended the stairs to the basement. “Charlotte? Her name is Charlotte? Well, the insipid little twit was misnamed, she’s nothing like a Charlotte. Regardless of how poorly Their Graces chose to name her, her engagement ball is going to be the biggest event for the rest of the Season, and I’ve already accepted—on all our behalf—the invitation she sent Dare. Now we must acquaint him of this fact, and then I shall take the servants in hand. They sorely need it, not that I am impugning your skills in the least.”
Patricia giggled as the pair headed down the low-ceilinged, dark hallway leading to Dare’s workroom. “Thank you, Charlotte. I’m not feeling impugned at all, but I’m afraid Dare won’t like your idea in the least. He hates the ton, he has ever since…well, since before he became an earl. I had a terrible time getting him to take me to Lady Jersey’s masquerade. I had to threaten him with all sorts of things, finally resorting to crying before he agreed, and even then he swore it would be the only function besides my wedding that he would attend for the rest of the year. I don’t know how you plan to persuade him to go, but I can assure you that it will not be an easy task.”
“I don’t imagine it will be too difficult once I present my proposition,” Charlotte said, halting before the door to Dare’s workshop. “He’ll have no way to refuse me once I offer to help him sell his engine to Mr. Whitney.”
Patricia grabbed her arm as she was about to open the door. “Help him? How can you help him sell his engine to Uncle Whitney?”
Charlotte smiled a smile filled with her newly discovered awareness of feminine power. “My dear, I am a woman. No one can resist me when I put my mind to it. Even your brother could not withstand the onslaught of my full attention. Persuading your David’s uncle to buy Alasdair’s machine will be nothing compared to the coup I have just made.”
Patricia mumbled a warning about the advisability of referring to Dare’s marriage as a coup in his hearing, but she followed along docilely enough as her new sister bearded her brother in his den. Watching Charlotte handle Dare for the next few days was going to be an education, and she very much looked forward to seeing who would win their battle of wills.
Eight
“Truly, Charlotte, I don’t know how you managed this miracle, but I’m so glad you did,” Patricia whispered, squeezing Charlotte’s hand as the pair slowly maneuvered their way through the crowd that littered the grand staircase at Henley House.
Charlotte thought briefly of the steadfast refusal Dare had first given, followed by gracious capitulation once Charlotte had sent Patricia from the workroom so she could ply him with kisses and pretty words. Truthfully, the words had little effect, but the kisses, oh, those kisses… Charlotte glanced behind her at where her husband and David followed. The latter was smiling pleasantly, his eyes on his betrothed, while the former was scowling at her with an intensity that could blister steel. She paused for a moment to note just how very handsome he was in midnight blue, then blew him a kiss and turned back to the hall to remove her cloak and make her curtsies to those in the receiving line.
“Lord Carlisle, how pleased I am you could attend after all,” the Duchess of Deal trumpeted down her long nose as soon as Charlotte and Patricia had left their cloaks. The duchess always reminded Charlotte of a long-faced pony she’d had as a child, and the similarity to those of the equine persuasion was becoming even more pronounced with the passing years. “Miss McGregor, is it not? And you must be Captain Woodwell. You are most welcome, sir. My congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”
Charlotte waited politely to be acknowledged, relishing the moment of triumph. She had done what she had set out to do—she had married well and had regained her position, if not fortune. No one in the ton
would slight her now, not without incurring Dare’s wrath, and as he was in general a well-liked (if seldom seen) man, she knew his name would protect her. She flashed her dimples as the duchess condescended to notice her.
“Lady Carlisle.” An infinitesimal tip of the head accompanied her dismissive glance.
“Your Grace.” Charlotte smiled broadly, dipping into a deep court curtsy just to annoy the duchess. She rose and greeted the duke, gave her felicitations to the Marquis of Summerton, kissed the cheek of the unworthy bearer of her name, and proudly entered the crowded reception room on the arm of her husband. Candle flames flickered and swayed in the swirling air generated by so many moving bodies as they conducted that intricate dance of Polite Society meeting, greeting, and promenading. Delight shivered down Charlotte’s back as she smiled at everyone. She had done it. She had succeeded where everyone predicted she would fail. She had returned, on her own terms, and no one would ever again keep her from her rightful spot. Ah, but life was sweet.
“I’m back where I belong,” she breathed, her eyes alight with joy as she savored her victory.
“I need a drink. I trust you will keep an eye on Patricia?” Dare asked as he disengaged his arm from Charlotte’s clutch. “Good. Send someone for me when you are ready to return home.”
Charlotte stared in horror as her husband of a day abandoned her at the moment of her greatest triumph.