***

Dare paused in the doorway and scanned the ballroom for his sister, all the while he called himself every sort of fool. Try as he might to heed the warnings of the sane voice in his head, he was unable to resist the thought of spending a few moments in private with Charlotte. The predicament she was in was so ludicrous, so utterly Charlotte, that despite the harsh words he had spoken to her, it would take a group of strong men and quite probably several draft horses to keep him from the explanation of what she was doing dressed as Henry VIII with an animal stuffed down her codpiece. He couldn’t begin to imagine what her explanation was, but he was certain it would be the most entertaining thing he had heard in a long time.

He spotted his sister standing on the fringes of a group of giggling girls. As he strode toward her, he justified his interest by pointing out to his doubting self that Charlotte was a widow, after all.

Rendezvous with men at balls were no doubt requisite in her set. A few moments spent alone with her would do her reputation no harm at all. There was, however, the matter of his reputation, and it was with an eye to that grisly relic he took the precaution of murmuring a few words into his sister’s ear.

“Where’s Mrs. Whitney?”

The small, dark-haired woman dressed as the infamous pirate Anne Bonny turned and smiled at her brother, her dark eyes sparkling with happiness. “She’s dancing with David. Isn’t this a lovely ball? I’m so pleased you agreed to let us attend, although it wouldn’t have hurt you in the least to wear a costume. What are you looking so worried about? It’s not me, is it? Dare, I’m perfectly capable of standing here by myself while David dances with his aunt. Unless, that is, you wished for me to join the set with you?”

Dare tweaked a dusky curl nestled next to Patricia’s ear and ignored the teasing glint in her dark brown eyes. “Minx. I detest ton parties, as you well know. The only reason you’re here is because I couldn’t stand the incessant grizzling about not having anyone attend your wedding if you weren’t present tonight, not that I see the connection between the two events. However, even if I wished to dance with you, I am not free. I have an appointment I must keep. I want your promise you’ll stay here and await Mrs. Whitney’s return.”

“Oh?” With one eyebrow cocked in the manner of her brother at his most quizzical, she looked him up and down. He was an impressively austere man in his dress blacks, there was no disputing that, but he had about him an unexpected air of suppressed excitement that intrigued her. Dare was so seldom excited about anything other than his steam engine, surely if something—or someone—had caught his attention, it behooved her to learn more. “What, pray tell, do you have an appointment to do? You’re not gaming, are you? No,” she answered her question before he had a chance to protest her accusation. “No, you wouldn’t do that, you’re much too careful with your money to be throwing it away on nothing. Hmmm. Perhaps you are meeting with a gentleman who wishes to invest in your steam engine?”