“I said that if you meant our marriage and future together was an injustice, I should take action, and that action would translate itself as a duel. Pistols, I think. I never was any good with Matthew’s sword, but I am reckoned quite a crank shot with a pistol.”

“Crack,” he corrected automatically, wondering if somewhere along the last day he had lost his mind. That or his life had turned into a French farce. Either explanation would make sense. “Ladies do not fight duels, Charlotte. Not with pistols, not with swords, not ever.”

“I have never been one to follow the dictates of fashion, my lord.”

Dare stared at her in disbelief. “Of course you are. You don’t think about anything but what’s fashionable and the latest shot with the ton.”

Charlotte appeared to think about that for a moment. “When it suits me, yes, but oftentimes what Society says is reasonable and fashionable doesn’t suit me.”

He had to concede that point. Charlotte did exactly as she wanted, regardless of what anyone thought of her actions, whether it was wearing a beard and codpiece to a masquerade ball or running off with a penniless foreign nobleman. He sighed over his unconventional bride for a moment before admitting to himself that her originality was most decidedly an asset. Still, he wasn’t about to start out his new life as a husband with his wife in the position of power. There was no better time to make it absolutely clear who would be in charge in their marriage.

“Ladies do not fight duels, Charlotte,” Dare said in his best end-of-the-discussion voice. “Now, as I told you earlier, since you have no family present, my sister will be happy to help you plan your wedding.”

“Our wedding.”

“That goes without saying,” he said with only a minor tightening around his chest. Maybe he would survive the experience after all. Maybe, after a few years, he would get use to his bondage and could look forward to, if not happiness, then a pleasant existence.

“And I notice you are the one who is taking great pains to avoid saying it,” Charlotte pointed out. “I cannot help but feel, Alasdair, that you are not entirely happy about having offered for me, and yet I also cannot help but point out that it was, in fact, you who offered marriage, not I. Well, I did earlier, but you turned me down, so that doesn’t count. Not really. Are you?”

“Am I what?” Dare asked, feeling only the tiniest bit bemused by Charlotte’s amazing leaps of thought. He took pride in his ability to follow her, feeling certain few men could claim such an achievement.

“Are you happy that we are to be married?”

Dare flicked the reins and tried to think of how to answer her question. He wanted to tell her that he had only offered for her because she’d trapped him in front of the woman who could destroy his future, but he had enough honesty to admit that wasn’t entirely the truth. Oh, she had trapped him, but he might have been able to bluff his way out of the situation, even with Mrs. Whitney viewing the proceedings with bright, inquisitive eyes. No, the truth was… What was the truth? He didn’t want to wed her, did he?