Noble Destiny (17 page)

She gasped, her eyes heated with passion before she hid her gaze behind the down sweep of her lashes, her dimples flashing despite her attempt at modesty, her color still high. What a lovely contradiction she was—trying so hard to present an appearance of propriety, but her innate boldness and passion for life guaranteed she would never be like the other pattern-card women so cherished by Society. He held her closer than he should, the scent of her stirring him, the memory of her soft, warm, inviting flesh calling to something deep inside him, forcing him to fight to keep from answering it. He had to give her time; he owed her that much. When she came to him, he wanted all of her, her heart and soul as well as that deliciously lush body.

He was contemplating just what he'd like to do to that very same body once she saw reason and fell in love with him when his thoughts—and their waltz—were interrupted.

“Matthew!” Charlotte gasped, the color fading from her face as she looked at the man who had tapped on Dare's shoulder.

A short, fleshy man with a washed-out version of Charlotte's glorious eyes bowed to him. “Carlisle, if you would allow me the pleasure of finishing this dance with my sister?”

Dare was surprised by the ferocity of his wife's grip on his arm, but he had no real grounds to refuse Lord Collins's request other than a general dislike of the man. Despite his lack of concern for what the members of the
ton
thought of him, it obviously mattered to Charlotte. It behooved him to bite back the refusal on the edge of his tongue and accede gracefully.

“Lord Collins,” he acknowledged as he pried Charlotte's hand from his arm and presented it to her brother with a little bow. “I shall entrust my lady to your care for the rest of the dance.”

His words were a warning, which Collins's narrowed eyes showed he understood. Dare smiled at the glare his wife was bestowing upon him and stepped out of the circle of dancers. Given the visions of mayhem that were all too evident in her eyes, he felt it best to make sure there were no more punch bowls at hand.

“I see you haven't wasted the four years of my absence,” Charlotte said as her brother took her hand and, after counting under his breath, managed to move them into the waltz. “You look more than ever like Father.”

She meant, of course, his portly figure, jowls, and huge muttonchop whiskers—a fashion she found ridiculous to the extreme—but Matthew, as usual, missed the finer nuances of conversation.

“No, certainly not. I never waste time, unlike some I could mention,” the earl sneered, his eyes darting around at the other dancers.

Charlotte disliked dancing with her brother. He was neither light on his feet nor graceful (as Dare was), and he had no sense of rhythm, which meant they were often moving against the flow of music.

“How are Eleanor and the children?” she asked, not in the least bit curious about her haughty sister-in-law and their three children, but driven out of politeness to ask.

“In the country, where they belong,” he snapped, his pale blue eyes returning to her. “So you trapped Carlisle good and proper, eh? Silly bitch, you probably think you're clever, but you'll soon learn better.”

“Ah, Matthew, you always have had such a grasp on the gentle art of social niceties. I'm glad to see that you haven't lost that talent while I've been away.”

“Should have stayed in that damned country,” he spat, muttering an apology when he collided with another couple. “Any other woman would have been too ashamed to show her face in Society after she ran off with a foreigner, but not you. As proud as they come, and just as wild as ever, I'll wager. Father should have beaten some humility into you. Then perhaps you'd have the decency to stay away from where you're not wanted. But no, you must return and air the family's dirty linen in public. Well, you're getting your own now, ain't you? I understand your husband hasn't even bedded you. What a slap in the face that must be for you, eh? To know the man you trapped into marriage can't harden his rod for you?”

“Lower your voice, brother,” Charlotte hissed through her teeth, forcing a smile to lips made stiff with anger. How dare he chastise her? How dare he judge her? What right did he have to say such odious things about Alasdair? “I will not debate this issue with you. I will not discuss my marriage or my husband with you.”

A slow, evil smile stole over his face. “Oh, I think you will. When the time is right.”

Charlotte shivered under the influence of his cold eyes on her, but smiled just because she knew it would irritate him. “What, exactly, do you mean by that melodramatic statement?”

His smile transmuted to a harsh bark of laughter that had many heads in the room turning to them. “You've made your bed, you stupid chit, now you'll have to lie on it. By yourself, since you married a man milliner, but lie on it you will. Carlisle impotent, who would have thought? Ah, well, hear me, sister—it'll do you no good to come to me for help when you discover the truth about the man you've married, no good a'tall.”

She knew Matthew was a swaggering braggart, a cowardly bully who preyed on men weaker than he, but she also knew well he had a cruel streak that would not bode well for either her or Dare if he should take it into his head to do them some harm. Despite her inclination to answer insult with insult, it was best for Dare that she should swallow her brother's slurs and try to get to the bottom of his vague threats. Clearly the situation called for her to handle Matthew with the softest touch. She would be clever and very, very subtle. “Brother, you great boob, what are you blathering about? I know exactly the sort of man I married—one who is handsome and honorable and unlike you, can dance without stepping on his partner's toes—so unless you have something specific to tell me, please cease with these shadowy immuendos.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “The word, you stupid slag, is
innuendos
.”

“Since I suspect the word ‘slag' is neither nice nor used in a loving, brotherly manner, I shall forgo discussing your use of it and repeat my request—if you have something particular to say against my husband, please do so, but be aware that nothing short of Alasdair turning out to be the sort of man who eats small children for breakfast would induce me to turn to you for help or assistance. Even then, I would rather deal with a child-munching man than place myself in your power.”

Matthew gave another cold bark of laughter, sending a little frisson of worry skittering across the somewhat sparsely furnished hallways of Charlotte's mind. “Oh, you'll find out in good time, my dear sister. And before too long, I'd wager.”

What was he up to? she wondered as the dance came to an end. Rather than escort her back to where her husband waited, he simply dropped her hand and turned on his heel. It was a cut, and Charlotte knew it. Normally a cut from her brother would not have bothered her, especially not on
her
evening, the evening that should have been such a glorious triumph. But the cold shadow of worry about Matthew's words had joined with the shame of having her intimate marital details shouted to everyone. The evening was ruined.

She thought of bursting into tears right there, but Dare's softly whispered words echoed in her head.
Don't let them see you care
. Lifting her chin, she looked out at the figures around her, strolling, talking, laughing as if nothing life-shattering had happened.

But something life-shattering
had
happened—she had changed. She blinked for a moment, stunned by that unwary thought, then pushed it aside to examine it later. No doubt it was just a rogue thought, one of those pesky, troublesome thoughts that really had no place in her mind, but which were, to her dismay, appearing with a worrisome frequency.

It wasn't to be, however. The thought returned, and for the first time since she had come out, Charlotte felt herself distanced from the tightly woven threads of Society. She stood outside it, able to see the strands of etiquette and manners that bound everyone together, blurring them until individuals could no longer be seen, and only the whole—a bright, glittering braid that made up the
haut
ton
—was visible. She shook her head and tried to blink the fanciful thoughts away, but as her eyes roamed over the crowded room, she realized that her first thought was true: Time
had
changed her. She was no longer a part of Society. She was alone, an outcast, not part of the whole, but separate.

Her eyes filled with tears, blurring the image before her even more until all she saw was a swaying blur of color and lights, and for a moment she had an inkling of what Dare had said about looking beyond appearances. She truly was an outsider if she could see the flaws beneath the shining veneer of the
ton
. A sob of self-pity gathered in her throat, but stopped there as a tall blond man in black evening clothes emerged from the blur and strolled toward her.

Dare didn't blend into the
ton
, either. If she were an outsider, at least she was not alone.

Swallowing back the aching sob, she moved down the long ballroom until she reached her husband. Dare, stopped by an acquaintance, turned to her as she placed her hand on his arm.

“Enjoy your dance?”

“Not in the least,” she said with a slight shudder. Swallowing her unhappiness, she dimpled prettily at the man Dare was speaking with, waiting patiently until he turned back to her, a question in his eyes.

“I wish to go home,” she said simply.

He examined her face, concern darkening the deep blue of his eyes. “Because of Lady Brindley? I told you, if you act as if nothing she said mattered, you'd give people less to talk about.”

She rubbed her arms through the thin material of her overdress. “I don't think I can pretend not to mind much longer.”

She lowered her eyes from his to look at the simple but elegant neck cloth that graced his neck. There was something compelling in his gaze, something almost magical in the way his eyes on hers made her want to confess every thought she had, every fear, and what was worse, every desire. She had a great number of desires where he was concerned, and she'd no doubt shock him with not only their sheer volume, but the quality of some of them. Vyvyan La Blue's guide had been most thorough in examining the many connubial calisthenics possible, and although Charlotte had misgivings that some of the positions might not physically be possible without the aid of two or three strong footmen, not to mention a winch and tackle, still, they piqued her interest and she very much looked forward to discussing with Dare the relative merits of the Antics of a Burrowing Crane calisthenic versus the equally fascinating but more involved Eruption of Magma From Vesuvius on a Late Summer's Eve.

“I will get Patricia,” Dare said quietly. She could feel his eyes still studying her face.

“No, it would be cruel to make her leave so early.” Charlotte twisted the wedding ring beneath her glove, reminding herself that she was responsible for her sister-in-law for the following few days. “There is no need to ruin her evening. We…we will stay.”

“Are you sure?”

She glanced up at his eyes and raised her chin. “Yes, of course I am. Patricia is enjoying the evening.”

“And you are not?” he asked, his fingers briefly caressing her chin.

“No. I was earlier, but now…” Her voice trailed off as his eyes burning into hers had its usual effect of wiping all thoughts from her mind.

“Now?” he prompted, his voice pitched low, intimate, wrapping around Charlotte with a soft blanket of warmth and comfort. The noise and music and chatter of the bodies around them faded as she gazed into her husband's eyes and saw only him.

“Now it does not seem to be as enjoyable as earlier,” she admitted, rather against her will since she clung firmly to the notion that her triumphant return to Society was everything. She felt frail, as if she had been ill for a long time, and only just now had the fever broken. Mayhap the fever analogy was more true than she knew—she must be feverish to be even thinking that she no longer fit into Society.

Mustn't she?

“Then we will leave,” Dare said, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. She gave a little thrilled gasp, her lips parting, her attention torn between the anguish of her own thoughts, and the sudden flair of desire that left her wanting with every part of her body for Dare to kiss her. A sudden jostling of her arm reminded her where they were.

“I'll tell David to bring Patricia back later,” Dare added, his eyes bright with desire. She thrilled knowing that he was as affected by their nearness as she was, and pushed away the worry over her mental state. She would deal with that later, once she had teased a few more kisses from her husband. “Perhaps Lady Beverly could watch over her?”

What a perfectly marvelous plan! Patricia could stay at the ball, and she could return home with her sultry-eyed husband and allow him to seduce her. Or perhaps, since he seduced her last night, it was her turn. She eyed him for a moment. What a very good thought that was. Likely a good seducing on her part was all he needed to clear out the cobwebs of his thinking regarding their nuptial activities.

“I shall ask Caro, but I'm confident she will have no objections to watching Patricia.” She wouldn't if she knew what was good for her, Charlotte vowed as she hurried off to find her friend.

***

Charlotte thanked her lucky stars that Dare lived in an unfashionable area of town, one at a distance from Henley House. She waited until he rapped on the roof of the carriage before commencing her seduction.

“Charlotte,” he had time to gasp just before she flung herself on him and captured any other words of surprise in her mouth. Since it was her turn to seduce, she didn't wait for him to take charge. She peeled off her gloves, spread her fingers through the silken strands of his hair, and grasping it firmly, pulled his head back just as he had done when he seduced her. His mouth was hot and alluring and she moaned her need into it as she twined her tongue around his, taking advantage of the element of surprise to taste him just as thoroughly as he tasted her. His fingers biting into her hips were the first sign that he had regained his wits; the fact that he flipped her aside, moving her under him until she lay half on, half off the carriage seat with him poised over her was another.

“I take it you are suddenly feeling better?” he growled, his breath hot on her lips. She kicked her legs up while pushing back against his chest until he toppled over onto the carriage floor. She followed him down, brazenly laying across him, her breasts heaving into his chest, pinning his hands to the floor next to his ears as she dipped her head lower.

“Much better,” she said, nipping his lips as she demanded entrance.

He captured her legs between his, rolling her over until her back was pressed against the edge of the seat. She pushed him back, throwing herself over him and pinning him to the floor.

“Stay put, will you?” She frowned. Honestly, was any other husband in the world so hard to seduce? “It's my turn, you are obliged to do this my way.”

She could just make out the look of confusion in his eyes through the dim light of the carriage lantern. “Charlotte, what are you talking about? I'm obliged to wrestle with you on the floor of my carriage? I don't remember that as part of our wedding vows. Or is this some new
ton
nish trend that you are determined to try? If so, I must object. This position is not only undignified, but it has the added detraction of causing a crick in my neck, not to mention the fact that I'm lying on a brick.”

“Oh,” she said, releasing her grip on his wrists to run her fingers into his hair. She sat up, straddling him. “I didn't know about the brick. Do you wish for me to get off you and postpone your seduction until a later time when there are no bricks and cricks to interfere with my plans?”