Because he had been forced into offering for her. Because he had enough experience to know that what she wanted in life was not what he wanted. Because he knew that despite his acceptance of fate, their marriage would be a terrible mismatch, dooming them both to a life filled with misery, despair, and hopelessness. The Charlotte he remembered was silly and seldom looked beneath the surface, while he had been molded by bitter circumstances and had no patience with shallowness. Dare stared grimly ahead as he drove his team toward Green Park, where his sister had arranged to act in place of Charlotte’s family to discuss wedding arrangements. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, expecting to see a righteously indignant Charlotte demanding he treat her as was her due, or a petulant Charlotte who wanted compliments to soothe his insult, or worst of all, a giggly Charlotte determined to jolly him into a better mood. Dare was a man who cherished his sulks, and he had no intention of being made happy when he wanted to brood.

What he saw in her eyes shook his faith in his right to make everyone around him miserable. She was nodding, understanding and compassion warming her blue eyes until they were so clear, he could see right through to her soul. He yanked his gaze away. He didn’t want to see her soul. He wanted to be left alone to nurse the grievous injury she had done him, and he couldn’t do that if he was forced to see beyond the shallow surface of her character.

She patted his arm nearest her. He stared down at the butter-yellow glove resting on his sleeve as she said, “It will no doubt come as a great surprise to you, but I, too, have had occasion to give in to a pout. I’ve found them most refreshing, as long as they don’t go on too long. Then they can cause wrinkles.”

Dare straightened his shoulders and shot her a warning glance. “I do not pout, madam. I am, if anything, merely brooding over the many injustices done me of late. Brooding is not pouting. It’s as far removed from pouting as is possible. Women pout, men do not.”

“Pheasant feathers!” Charlotte scoffed. “It’s a pout and nothing but a pout. And to what injustices are you referring? You don’t mean our marriage, do you? Because if you do, I shall be forced to be offended and take action.”

“What action?” Dare couldn’t help but ask. He wrestled his bad mood back to its accustomed place. Just being in her presence gave him a sense of something so remarkably akin to happiness that it threatened to blow away the clouds of his foul mood. And he couldn’t have that, because without his cloak of self-pity, he would have to admit to feeling things for Charlotte that were best left unrecognized.

“I should challenge you to a duel.”

Dare jerked at the reins, narrowly avoiding driving over two unwary lady’s maids. He tossed an apology over the side of the phaeton before turning his attention back to his bride-to-be. “Obviously the stress of the last few weeks has taken its toll on me. My hearing has become quite unreliable. Would you repeat what you just said?”