Such moody reflections ended in steely determination as he dismounted before the entrance to the large house. He tossed the reins to the footman who accompanied Charlotte’s carriage in the role as coachman.

“Tie him to the back of the carriage.”

“Sir?” Jackson’s eyes opened wide as Dare started up the steps to the front door.

“I’ll be back in a minute. With my wife. Stay here.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Lady Charlotte?” Dare asked grimly to the slight, golden-haired footman who opened the door.

The footman looked surprised. “No, I’m Charles. Lady Charlotte is a female.”

Dare took a deep breath and unlocked his clenched fingers. “I’m looking for my wife, Lady Charlotte. Is she here?”

“Yes, sir.” The footman blinked at him, a pleasant, but slightly vacuous, expression on his face.

Dare fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Or throttling the man. Either action had its attraction. “Might I see her? Today? Now?”

Enlightenment dawned. “Oh! You want to see her. If you will come this way…”

Dare strode past the man into the oak-paneled hallway and summarily ignored the footman when he held open a door to what was obviously a small sitting room used by guests awaiting attention by the family. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, put his hands on his hips, and threw back his head to bellow, “CHARLOTTE!”

The noise echoed most effectively around the long hall, up the stairs, and through the length of the second floor. The footman danced around him as his keen ears picked up the sound of a door on the floor above opening. He stomped up the stairs, ignoring Charles’s suggestion that he wait in the sitting room. “Charlotte? I know you’re here. You cannot hide from me!”

“Why would I wish to hide from you?” his wife asked as he reached the top of the stairs. “Alasdair, what are you doing he—oof!”

Dare knew his wife well enough to recognize the stubborn set of her chin. That chin decided him in an instant. He would forgo explanations and get right to the point.

“I am collecting you,” he said as he scooped her up and over his shoulder, turning carefully and starting back down the stairs to where his carriage waited. “There’s no sense in arguing, woman, you are coming with me. Save your tears and tantrums, my mind is made up. You are coming with me.”

“So I have gathered, Alasdair.” Dare’s mood lightened. She didn’t sound upset or hysterical. Still, with Charlotte, you never knew. Better safe than sorry.

“Since I am forbidden tears and tantrums, would you tolerate a simple question?”

Dare stopped at the bottom of the stairs and allowed his wife to regain her feet, although he kept a firm hand on her arm lest she suddenly try to break away. “Perhaps, if it’s pertinent to this situation.”

“How very generous of you,” she replied, but he had to admit she didn’t look at all grateful. If the thinned line of her lips and the fire in her eye were anything to go by, he judged he was about to be on the receiving end of her temper. “Might I then inquire what the devil you think you’re—oh, Crouch, there you are. Would you please fetch my reticule and memorandum book?—doing here, and why have you suddenly been taken with the desire to sling me about as if I were a sack of—” Charlotte waved her hands around to express her inability to finish the simile.