Noble Destiny

by Katie MacAlister

  “Leniency?” Collins sneered. “Could that be the voice of guilt speaking?”

  Dare took his hat and cane and with an effort, shoved neither article down his odious brother-in-law’s throat. “I have no guilt whatsoever concerning my cousin, but you may rest easy that I don’t take being called out lightly. I have men looking into the circumstances of Geoffrey’s adventure six years ago and will soon discover just who is responsible. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave. I’ve lost quite a bit of time on my engine, and must return home to install a new steam cylinder. I shall give your regards to Charlotte.”

  Lord Collins looked as if he wanted to say something more, but Dare wasn’t in the mood to be baited. He’d put up with enough of that from his cousin; he had no intention on debating the finer points on the doorstep of White’s with his brother-in-law.

  With a dashing left-handed twirl of his cane, he marched down the steps and into his waiting carriage, Batsfoam in tow.

  “Home, John,” he called to the coachman as he waved Batsfoam inside the carriage. “Sit down, man, I have a few things I want to say and I can’t yell them out the window to you. First off, tell me what Johnson said about the cylinder.”

  Batsfoam duly reported the details of the blacksmith’s examination of the damaged cylinder, and suggestions for strengthening it. Dare filed the information away for future use, then turned the conversation to the subject that was uppermost in his mind. “As you probably gathered, I have a dawn appointment tomorrow.”

  Batsfoam eyed Dare’s wounded arm openly. “In that case, sir, I would say it’s a very good thing you favor your left hand.”

  Dare was astonished. “That’s all you’re going to say? You’re not going to give me a ten-minute lecture that alternately praises me to the sky while simultaneously pointing out that it would be the purest folly to honor a duel when I have only one working arm and eye? You’re not going to go into a five-minute soliloquy on how difficult it will be for you and your wounded limb to find a new employer once I’m killed? You’re not going to bring up all those many times when we were in the 12th Light when I told you not to take foolish chances and that it was absurd to be chasing death when he was only too willing to claim us? You’re not going to say any of that, you’re just going to tell me it’s good I’m left-handed? Is that it, Batsfoam? That’s all?”

  Batsfoam smiled in a manner that on any other man Dare would have termed a grin. “I have no need to say all that, sir, you just did.”

  “I could still let you go, you know.”

  “But you won’t,” Batsfoam answered with a complacency that amused Dare. “You have need of me, at least until your engine is finished, for you yourself have said that no one else has quite the hand I do in drawing up the specifications.”

  Well, Batsfoam had him there. He leaned back against the soft cushions and with a concerted effort, managed to pull his bad arm up so his hand rested on his thigh. “We’ll take your continued employment as a given. Now, as to this other affair, naturally it is to be kept from my wife.”

  “Naturally,” Batsfoam agreed.

  “And when she finds out about it, as she is sure to do since she is a woman and women always find out about a man’s dawn appointments no matter how hard we try to keep it from them, you will do your utmost to convince her that the appointment is for the following day.”

  “I shall endeavor to put all my acting skills into a performance guaranteed to lead Lady Charlotte into believing that, sir.”

  “Excellent. Now, when we get home, I have several tasks for you on the engine. First, you’ll need to test the condenser…” Dare spent the next few minutes happily detailing what he wanted done that afternoon.

  Batsfoam heard him out, then leveled a steady, dark-eyed gaze at him, speaking with the intimacy of one man who’s seen another through a near-fatal situation. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in pointing out what will happen if the morning does not go as you expect?”

  Dare’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t an unusually foolish man, he’d stared death in the face once or twice, and although he had recently sought the obsidian…oblivion—Lord, now he was thinking like Charlotte!—that death brought, he knew now that he never would have gone through with it. Just the thought of Charlotte filled him with a warmth and happiness he had only dreamt of. The vision of her lying in his bed, hair delightfully mussed, her eyes drowsy and sated, the gentle perfume of a well-loved woman teasing his nose came immediately to mind, making his fingers twitch with the desire to stroke her silky skin. She was his, every last square inch of her bound so tightly around his heart that he couldn’t begin to separate her soul from his. No, death held no charms for him. He was too much in love with his wife, too fond of living to court death.

  “Which doesn’t explain why I’m so happy to meet my cousin over a pair of pistols, eh?” he asked aloud. Batsfoam was evidently thinking along the same lines, for he didn’t look the least bit puzzled by the comment and just inclined his head in agreement.

  “You seem to be singularly unconcerned about the event, which is not what I’d expect from a man with only one working eye as he faces a duel upon the morn.”

  Dare allowed himself a smile. “The truth is…well, as my wife would say, all that flitters is not gold.”

  Batsfoam raised his eyebrows. Dare’s smile deepened into a cheeky grin.

  Life really was looking remarkably good.

  ***

  “I’m in hell, aren’t I? I’ve died and gone to hell and no one bothered to inform me.”

  “Eh?”

  “Nothing. How long ago did my husband leave, Crouch?”

  “’Twould be a just a few minutes ago, m’lady. Five minutes would be my best guess.”

  “Drat the man. How dare he slink off in darkness and leave me to be a widow all by myself? If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him twice, no one can kill him but me.”

  “That’s a right interestin’ attitude to ’ave, m’lady.”

  “It is the only attitude to have, Crouch, and you’d best be standing staring at the door and not looking around my bedchamber or trying to peep around the screen. I’m sure I’m breaking all sorts of employer-butler rules by having you in my chamber while I’m getting dressed, but as I have no maid, and as Batsfoam has gone off to see Dare killed, you’ll simply have to be the one to do up the tapes in the back.”

  “Now, m’lady?”

  “No, just a minute, let me get my boots on. Honestly, men! How could he go off to fight a duel and not tell me! He could have at least said good-bye, nice to know you, I hope you have a good life without me.”

  “Mayhap ’e doesn’t think ’e’ll be corkin’ off.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t; every man thinks he’s invisible.”

  “Eh?”

  “What?”

  “’E thinks ’e’s invisible?”

  “Yes, of course, what else would you say about a man who dashes off at all hours of the night to stand on a damp field and take turns shooting at another man, a man who has claimed everything you want and has spread the most malicious, foul rumors about you?”

  “I might say as ’e thought ’e was invincible.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Dare is quite easily seen. Now you may turn around and do up my back, and we’ll be on our way. You did say you overheard that traitor Batsfoam state where the duel was to be held?”

  “Aye, m’lady. The lads and me was just arrivin’ as ye ordered, and there was old Batty and the McGregor gettin’ into a hack, tellin’ it to go to Baker’s Field. Then ye came barrellin’ down the stairs yellin’ and pitchin’ a fit loud enough to be ’eard from ’ere to Banbury.”

  “Oh, do hurry. Dare already has a sizable lead on us. At least you had the foresight to keep the carriage.”

  “It ain’t easy doin’ up all these fidgety bits with only one ’a
nd, m’lady, but if ye’ll just stand still…aye, there it is. Ye’re done, then.”

  Charlotte ignored her bonnet and shawl, grabbing her reticule and dashing out the door as she called over her shoulder, “Come along, don’t dawdle, Crouch, I have a husband to save! Again!”

  The ride to Baker’s Field was not long, nor was it particularly arduous, but it seemed to Charlotte to last just shy of an eternity. What if she wasn’t in time? What if that bastard killed Dare? What if her beloved husband was at this very moment lying on the damp grass, his life’s blood draining away from him? What then?

  “I’ll kill him,” she growled to herself as she clutched the seat in the carriage when it lurched drunkenly over ruts in the road. “If he’s dead, I’ll bring him back to life just so I can kill him for scaring me so! Oh, Dare! You stupid, foolish, idiotic…wonderful man! How can you do this to me? How can I mean so little to you that you’d go off without even saying good-bye, while you mean the world to me? How can you possibly want to die after spending such a miraculous night together?”

  Charlotte sniffled into her handkerchief as she remembered the hours leading up to dawn. Dare had been a wild man, gentle yet demanding, forceful yet tender, bringing her again and again to the brink of paradise. “If you die, how will I ever again know the joy of Churning Butter on a Fresh Spring Morn?”

  Slowly a deep, dark rage overtook her grief and filled her with determination. If God were so gracious as to leave her Dare alive until she could save him, she would see to it that the beastly Pretender never bothered him again. She’d kill him herself if she had to, if that’s what it took to keep Dare safe.

  Such were Charlotte’s musings as the carriage rolled on toward what she had begun to think of as the murder ground. Before she had time to do more than mentally murder Geoffrey McGregor two or three times, the carriage had stopped, blocked by a newly arrived curricle. Charlotte peered out the window at the offending obstacle, then snarled an oath that she would never admit to knowing, and without waiting for Crouch to let down the stairs, leaped from the carriage and ran to the man climbing down from the other vehicle.

  “Matthew! What are you doing here? Where’s Dare? What have you done to my husband?”

  “Charlotte! Dear God woman, what can you be thinking? You can’t be here! Go home this instant.”

  Charlotte grabbed her brother by the neck cloth and shook him, not an easy task since he had several stone on her. “Where is my husband?”

  Lord Collins’s eye bulged slightly, reminding her of Caro’s pug. “I haven’t seen him,” he choked out in between shakings. Charlotte loosened her grip. “I just got here myself. Now, release me. As long as you’re here, there’s something I wish to say to you.”

  She stepped away from her brother and looked around the field. A row of trees swaying vigorously in the morning breeze blocked her view, but she thought she saw two carriages through them. “Crouch?”

  “Right behind ye, m’lady.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Most likely beyond the trees.”

  She picked up her skirts and started off toward the carriages, ignoring her brother’s demand that she wait and hear him out. “I have better things to do than listen to you tell me yet again that I’ve made my bed and now must lie in it.” Better things like throttling her husband’s murderer with her bare hands.

  “That’s just it, you foolish girl, I’m offering to forgive you and welcome you back to the bosom of the family!”

  “All I care about is Dare and ending this stupid duel without him dying. Your bosom will have to wait until later.”

  “Dammit woman, it’s you I’m thinking about! I can stop the duel!”

  Charlotte stopped and turned to look at her brother. “You can what?” she asked baldly, waiting impatiently as he puffed his way up to her.

  “I’ll forgive you. You’ll be reinstated to your rightful place in the eyes of the ton. You’ll have everything you had before—position, a dowry, the force of our family name at your back—everything.”

  Charlotte glanced through the trees. She could see the figures of men speaking together next to the carriages. Her heart lightened considerably with the knowledge that the killing hadn’t started yet. “You said you can stop the duel. Did you mean that?”

  “I never say anything I don’t mean, sister.”

  “Pheasant feathers, you do it all the time. What I want to know is whether you’re telling the truth now. You can stop the duel? You can truly stop it?”

  Lord Collins smiled in a way that made Charlotte’s skin prickle. She’d never really liked her brother before. He was always a bit of a bully and a know-it-all, but for the first time she realized that she actively disliked him. He was an unconscionable beast of a man, and she suddenly had the desire to be away from him and his oily smile.

  “I can stop the duel. All it will take is cooperation from you, my dear sister.”

  She glanced over at the trees again. The men were still talking. “Crouch, would you please go see if they are getting ready to start murdering each other?”

  “Aye, m’lady.”

  Charlotte turned back to her brother. “What sort of cooperation?”

  His oily smile widened. “Nothing very particular, certainly nothing you should balk at if you wish to regain your proper place in Society.”

  “And what would ‘nothing very particular’ consist of?”

  “An annulment, of course, so that you might make a more advantageous marriage than to a penniless criminal. If you renounce McGregor for the liar and cheat he is, if you are willing to state that he’s a dishonorable blackguard who tried to steal his cousin’s title by having him kidnapped, and an impotent blackguard to boot, I will see to it that you have everything you’ve ever desired.”

  Charlotte stared at her brother, aware that her mouth was hanging open in surprise, but unable to do anything about such an unseemly expression, too astounded by his proposal to function properly for a moment.

  “Impotent?” That wasn’t what she was intending to say, but it was the first word that came to her tongue.

  Collins nodded. His voice was smooth, persuasive as it coiled around her. “You can have it all, Charlotte: a new husband, one who can give you children, a title, money, position, power—it can all be yours. Just give me your word, and I’ll go tell Carlisle that you’ve agreed to testify on his behalf against McGregor. You’ll be a free woman again, but this time you’ll have my blessing to smooth your path in Society. It can all be yours again, Charlotte, everything you’ve ever wanted.”

  Charlotte thought she saw the distant figures start to separate. She had to stop her foolish, honorable husband before he got himself killed; she had to take matters into her own hands.

  “I see only one logical response to your plan,” she told her brother as she peeled off her glove.

  “I thought you might feel that way,” he responded with a smug smile.

  A fraction of a second later her fist struck his nose with every ounce of strength she possessed. She didn’t wait to witness his reaction, but took off in the direction of the trees, following Crouch’s path as he veered off toward the left. Judging from the cursing at her back, her brother was not far behind.

  She burst through the trees just in time to see the Pretender aim his pistol at her husband. Then there was a familiar blast and a black puff of smoke belching from the pistol. Her heart stopped as her husband staggered, then clutched at his chest before dropping to the ground.

  “Dare!” she screamed with enough volume to disturb a flock of birds roosting in a nearby tree. Another blast echoed as Batsfoam snatched up the second loaded pistol and fired at the Pretender, but Charlotte ignored Geoffrey as he fell screaming to the ground. Her eyes were focused on her husband’s body. Somehow she made it across the field, flung herself onto Dare’s chest, sobbing his name as her heart frac
tured into a million aching pieces. His coat had fallen aside to expose a huge red stain directly over his heart, but try as Charlotte did, she couldn’t see through the tears enough to find his wound and stop it from bleeding.

  “How could you do this to me?” she sobbed as she struggled with his neck cloth, her hot tears spilling down her cheeks to splash on her hands. “Do I matter so little? How could you be so careless with yourself? Oh, Dare, I love you so much, I can’t go on without you, don’t you know that you stupid, stupid man?”

  “If you don’t let go of my neck, you’re going to strangle me, woman,” came a whispered reply.

  Charlotte stared down at her husband in shock, utter and complete shock. His good eye opened just enough for her to see a glint of blue.

  “Dare?” she said hesitantly, her bloodstained fingers still buried in the folds of his neck cloth. “Dare?”

  “Shhhh,” he replied inexplicably, his eye closing again. “Act like I’m dead. Cry and wail a lot, you were doing a good job until you stopped.”

  His eye opened again, briefly, just long enough for him to say, “And I love you, too. I’ll never leave you, Char. Never.”

  She stared at him, stared at his still figure beneath her fingers, aware dimly that others had come up next to her. He wanted her to act like he was dead? To cry and wail? He wanted her to act like he was dead? Act?

  Slowly she pulled her fingers from his neck cloth and looked at them. They were stained red, true. But it was a curious red, a thin red, a red not at all like the blood she had stanched when he had been wounded in the explosion. This red was…well, it was false. And if the blood on his shirt was not real…

  “Aaaaaaaaaaagh!” she shrieked as she threw herself over her husband’s body, then shrieked again, louder, to cover up his grunt as she landed hard on his chest. She wailed, she ranted, she raised her fists to heaven and promised retribution on a God who would be so cruel as to take her husband, she did all but pour ashes on her hair and don sackcloth.

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