He glanced out the window. The sun was low in the sky, long shadows reaching across the street in an elongated parody of the house’s shape. It wasn’t too late; he could still take her to the opera. He had that box Patricia had pleaded with him to take for the Season…it would take little time to send a footman to the theater. A slow smile curled his lips as he thought about spending the evening in the company of his wife. True, he’d rather spend that time in a less public place, one conducive to the activities that had, the evening before, left him wrung out like a well-used rag, but a visit to the opera would please Charlotte. Spending a few hours listening to a bunch of singers screeching in Italian was a small price to pay for giving her pleasure.

He paused for a moment before the bureau drawer, a fresh neck cloth dangling from his fingers, his body quivering with the thought of giving his wife pleasure. Just imagining her response to him was enough to leave him hard and aching. With a leer that would have a harlot blushing, he quickly changed out of his oil-splattered work things and into garments more suited to a gentleman.

“Ah, Batsfoam,” he said when that worthy wandered in a few minutes later. “I hadn’t expected to see you abovestairs so early.”

Batsfoam retrieved Dare’s recently discarded boots, now coated with coal dust, oil, and assorted grime, and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Regardless of my other responsibilities—many and varied as they are—I am still your valet, and as such, it is my duty, nay extreme pleasure, to be on hand when you undertake that most onerous of tasks: clothing yourself. Thus you see me here, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement at the thought of making myself useful to you.”

Dare smiled fondly at the man. Not even Batsfoam’s usual dour countenance could ruin the happy anticipation that filled him when he thought of spending the evening with Charlotte…particularly the last part of the evening, the part when they would be alone, naked, his hands skimming all her lovely curves, making her eyes burn hot with that erotic mixture of love and passion that made him feel like a god among mere mortal men. This, he thought smugly to himself as he allowed Batsfoam to help him into a midnight-blue coat that fitted him as closely as a sausage casing, was what he’d wanted from a wife all along—not just the sharp bite of lust, but the soul-deep satisfying warmth of a companion, a friend, someone he wanted to be with simply because he delighted in her company.

Someone who loved him.

“Do you know the whereabouts of my wife, Batsfoam?” He tweaked the neck cloth slightly until the simple arrangement met with his satisfaction.

“Lady Charlotte has been gracious enough to gift me with that information, sir.”

Dare waited a moment, but when Batsfoam gathered up the boots and used linen in preparation to leaving the room, he cocked an inquiring brow. “Would you be so generous as to share that information with me, or is it some state secret that I’m not to be privy to?”