Happily for all concerned, the subject was dropped in favor of a debate on the relative merits of Belgian versus Irish lace, a discussion that ended abruptly when Dare, shadowed by Batsfoam bearing Charlotte’s revised list, came roaring into the room with a demand to know why Charlotte was attempting to drive him insane.

“I thought it only right since you earlier accused me of being mad, not to mention obstinate and unreasonable,” she said placidly, considering and rejecting the fashion plates Patricia had presented her. As money was clearly no object with Dare, mundane fashions that any woman might have would not suit the future Countess of Carlisle.

When Dare sputtered indignantly at her answer, she glanced up at him to ask just what he was so upset about, but ended up staring in stunned amazement. He was coatless, cravat-less, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose muscled forearms that were as bare as the day he was born. His shirt gaped at his neck clear down to the top of his waistcoat, exposing a tanned column of throat that made Charlotte’s mouth suddenly go dry. She looked between his neck and his arms, unable to decide what she wanted to stare at more, the corded strength of his naked arms, all golden and warm in the afternoon sunlight, or the strong, tempting neck and glimpse of bare chest, with…good Lord, were those gilded curls nestled at the top of his waistcoat chest hair? She toyed briefly with the thought of swooning, but decided against it when she realized that if she swooned she wouldn’t be able to stare, and at that moment, there was nothing more she wanted than to view his deliciously exposed flesh. Arms! Neck! Collarbone! Chest hair!

“Really, Dare, are you a savage that you must speak to your betrothed dressed in that obscene fashion?” his sister scolded him. “What Lady Charlotte must think of you, I shudder to think.”

Charlotte knew exactly what she thought. She thought covering up all that glorious flesh was a crime against nature, an abomination, a travesty. She wanted to see more of it. Much more. All of it, in fact, every last inch of that golden, tanned, muscled flesh. Her tongue cleaved itself to the roof of her mouth just imagining it.

Dare’s frown, directed temporarily at his sister when she demanded he rectify his appearance, returned to Charlotte, where it faltered in the face of her stunned expression. Charlotte dragged her eyes up from his neck to watch in fascination as his frown faded into a faintly puzzled look, flirted for a few seconds with smug male satisfaction, then deepened into an intense look that seemed to charge the air between them with almost tangible desire.

“My lord, if you would allow one so humble and unimportant, not to mention overworked and burdened, to explain…”

Charlotte and Dare both ignored the interruption. The tiny hairs on Charlotte’s arms stood on end in response to his gaze; heat rose in her chest, then suddenly pooled low, down in her womanly parts. So surprised was she by the feeling, she almost looked down at them. That region seemed suddenly quite important, calling for attention in a manner she’d never encountered, certainly never in response to a man’s look. One’s genitalia wasn’t supposed to do that, was it? Dare’s gaze tightened on her and her womanly parts answered his silent call with a demand that she take them to him immediately.