To Rescue a Rogue (18 page)

She looked up at Dare, hoping for laughter, but saw strain. He moved away, but aimlessly, or as if seeking escape.

Mara rose, pretending a yawn. “After my performance, and the effort of coming up with praise for two such unlikely specimens, I'm ready for my bed. Please excuse me.”

No one objected, but Dare escorted her upstairs. Simon and Jancy were close behind and Mara wished they weren't. She ached to be alone with him, just for a moment. At her door, she hesitated, wondering if she could invite him in to see her plan of the castle, only for a moment.

Simon would have an apoplexy.

Dare wished her good night and walked rapidly away.

Mara had to go in and close the door, remembering her plan to investigate the ballroom. Ruth arrived with washing water, however, and there was nothing for it but to prepare for bed.

Once the maid left, Mara thought about dressing again, but that would be difficult and she didn't intend to be seen. She had to wait a little for the house to settle.

She went to the window to look out at Great Charles Street. Lit windows showed here and there. One house had so many lit that it might be hosting a party. A hackney coach rattled up and let down two laughing couples, who hurried inside. The coach passed beneath her; then two gentlemen strolled by in greatcoats and tall hats, talking.

Beyond these walls, life went on, the sort of full, merry life she was used to. Inside? Despite superficial normality, gloom slid around like an odorless gas. Prosaic Yeovil House was taking on the gothic aspects of Castle Cruel.

She didn't know how long she could endure this oppressive atmosphere, yet she had no desire to escape. To leave here was to leave Dare. Against logic, she saw it as abandoning him to fight alone. She'd given him her favor yesterday because he'd spoken to her about the opium and his struggles in a way she was sure he spoke to few others.

She wanted to believe that he needed her. She needed to understand. Was this leaping around in the ballroom simply quarterstaff work, or was it something more sinister?

It was time. Mara grasped the candlestick and left her room. Weighty floors and walls blocked nearly every noise. She heard faint voices as she passed Simon and Jancy's door, and then was alone with only the distant ticking of the downstairs hall clock. She set off in search of the ballroom.

She found the double doors, listened and heard nothing. That was no guarantee that no one was inside, but she sensed it was true. Instead of hunting for the back stairs to a musicians' gallery, she gingerly opened one door.

As she'd thought, the large room was deserted. No strange leaping tonight.

The room looked exactly as it did in the dolls' house with upholstered chairs lining the walls and three long windows breaking the facing wall. They let in moonlight and the panes cast silver tiles upon the floor. It looked like a setting for a faery ball.

Mara blew out her candle and put it down, and then she moved into the room to dance from square to square, weaving among imaginary dancers, humming music to herself.

D
ressed for his nightly battle in loose white trousers and shirt, Dare stood in the dark corridor watching Mara. She seemed a creature from another world, and she was. She was of the magical land of Brideswell, a place that in his mind held constant sunlight and laughter.

And he was an inhabitant of darkest hell.

This magic was different, however. She danced in moon magic in a loose robe patterned with flowers, her hair down around her shoulders. She was entrancing and threatening at the same time. But irresistible. He moved forward on bare feet and caught her outstretched hand.

She literally jumped and let out a cry, eyes wide with fright. But almost immediately she relaxed, smiled, and resumed the dance, her hand in his.

“What are we dancing?” he asked softly.

She changed the tune. “A waltz.”

In waltz rhythm they passed down the room and he could almost see the others, the visitors from another realm. This felt like opium madness when he was already too far from his last dose for pleasant visitations.

Perhaps he was far enough away for two hungers to collide—the lure of the beast and the lure of a woman. The lure of this woman. Mara. She'd entered his mind like a melody only days ago, but the melody sang on through restless day and sleepless night. Now, her graceful movements, her eyes on his, her curves, her touch, her very smell, swept over and through him beyond all hope of sanity.

He should flee, but was as powerless to do so as if he had in truth been captured in a faery spell. The sweetest possible spell, one he wanted only to surrender to forever and ever.

They moved into the waltz steps, which meant he must put his hand over silk on her waist, feel the swell of her hip, fight the thought of her breasts.

Meager. That had been her word.

Perfect, he was sure.

Like all of her.

Her hand rested on his shoulder like a brush of impossible fire. They turned eyes locked, until the dance pattern swept them apart again. Oh, wicked dance.

Time ceased to have meaning, but each waltz step brought them closer until they turned at last, body against body. When the faery dancers moved on, they stayed together, hot, close, and in his case, aching with desire in a way he'd not experienced for so long.

“Almack's would definitely not approve,” she said, her eyes bright with laughter, but with something else. Something he wasn't worthy of. Lost in the loveliness of Mara in his arms, however, with her lissome body pressed to his, her sweet perfume filling his disordered senses, he could not be noble.

He lowered her head to kiss her beautiful hair. “Not at all,” he murmured. She moved so his lips slid to her cheek, then again so lips met lips.

He pulled back. “We mustn't.”

She held on to his shirt. “Dance.”

So they danced, twirling slowly until they swirled to a stop again, and this time the kiss had to be complete.

You mustn't do this!
clamored in Dare's mind but the compulsion outreached anything he had ever felt for opium. To kiss Mara. At last. Fully. To run his hands down her back and explore the hot sweetness of her willing mouth, inhaling everything perfect that she was.

It was like consuming sunshine, peace, and home.

 

The heat of Dare's mouth sent a jolt through Mara, raising her to her toes to press closer to him. His lips claimed hers with a hunger that matched her own as perfectly as they'd matched in dancing. She arched against his strong arm, swept into delight and triumph.

He truly was hers!

They were turning still, slowly, slowly, as they shifted and explored, kissing, kissing, kissing. Their legs brushed with every movement, sending shivers through her, shivers of longing for more, ever more. She'd never imagined a kiss could be like this—so hot, so wild, so complete and everlasting.

She pressed her hands into his long, strong back, exploring the body of a man for the first time. He was wearing only loose pantaloons and shirt, and she could feel every inch of him with hands and trembling body. She felt his hands on her and he pulled her hips closer, closer to where she wanted to be.

Her breasts tingled and ached, and she rubbed against him, breaking free for a moment to breath, to smile, to speak. To tell him how wondrously perfect this was.

He wrenched free of her.

“Dare?”

Eyes dark and wide he stepped back, back, back toward the door.

“Dare?”

He turned and ran.

Mara ran after him, but by the time she reached the door, the corridor lay empty in both directions. Silence ruled as if that kiss had never happened. She tried to calm her gasping breaths for they and her hammering heart deafened her, but it was hopeless.

For a magical moment all had been perfect, but she'd lost him as if he truly were a faery prince who'd now been dragged back into hell. No. She wouldn't let that be!

She ran to his bedroom and burst in.

It was empty.

She summoned the image of the doll's house and ran to what she thought was the special room but paused outside the door, sanity creeping back. She heard no sound from inside. This time, when she reached for the knob and turned it, her hand shook.

She opened the door—into darkness. Then the weak light from the corridor lamps showed her not a room but a staircase. One of the plain service staircases.

She'd picked the wrong door!

She closed it. The correct door had to be nearby, but her courage had seeped away. Dare had fled from her as if she were a demon. How could she chase him down?

She stood hugging herself, rubbing her arms, searching desperately for a hint of sound that would prove he was still here, beneath this roof—in this world.

She knew now that image was true. He lived in two worlds. One was the ordinary world of sunlight, silk, and society, but he only visited that from a dungeon, where he was trapped by the beast of opium.

Well then, she thought, straightening and walking back to her room, that had always been her quest—to rescue Dare. Nothing had changed except that she better understood the brilliance of the light and the intensity of the darkness.

And after that kiss, he was hers to care for, no matter how he fought that fact.

M
ara slept badly, but in the morning she tried to be lively for Ruth. Heaven help her if the maid learned of her nighttime adventure.

If only she had someone to talk to about it, but she couldn't imagine trusting even Jancy on such a subject. Jancy would be bound to tell Simon and Mara would be on a coach back to Brideswell within the hour.

Simon would fear kisses leading to more, to her losing her maidenhead before she married. And he could be right. If they'd kept on kissing, if Dare had slid his hands inside her clothes, if he'd whispered temptation…

Ruth returned with breakfast. “Come on, milady. You need to be up.”

She was carrying the tray balanced on what looked like a bolt of black cloth. She put down the tray and passed over the package. “This just arrived, milady. You must have forgotten it.”

The black cloth was in wrapping stamped with white Chinese characters. Mara's purchase from Mr. Lee had been wrapped that way.

“It arrived on
Sunday
?” she asked.

Ruth sniffed. “I don't suppose such heathens mind about the Lord's day, milady.”

Mara put it aside. “It's not mine, anyway. It must be Lady Austrey's. Give it to her maid, please.”

Mara sat to her breakfast and to the ever-present thoughts of Dare. She'd spent half the night trying to come up with a magical remedy. Now she tussled with a more mundane problem. How would he treat her after what had happened?

He might hide from her again, but when she went down to go to church, he was waiting with Simon and Jancy. Their eyes met for one intent moment, but then they both acted as expected. Or in Mara's case, particularly brightly because of relief.

Jancy stepped close and softly said, “Did you want to keep the silk secret, Mara? I'll hold on to it for you.”

“What silk?”

“The satin with roses.”

“I didn't buy that.”

“It was in that package,” Jancy said. “Perhaps Mr. Lee sent it as a gift.”

“How strange. Was there a message?”

“There's a paper enclosed with Chinese letters on it. I'll give it all to you later.”

Dare came over to offer his arm, and they all left the house.

“Is something the matter?” he asked Mara.

Again their eyes met, speaking of the past night.

“Nothing except that you fled,” she said quietly.

“It shouldn't have happened. You shouldn't have been there.”

“I don't regret it, Dare. I love you.” She let her eyes challenge him to evade that.

But Simon and Jancy came abreast with them before he could react.

“I forgot to say that I had a message from Hal,” Simon said. “He and Blanche will be at the Abbey today, too, along with Stephen and Laura. Testing the waters.”

“No one is going to snub anyone in church, are they?” Mara asked.

“There are always subtle ways,” Dare said, “but it's a good testing ground. Many of the old-fashioned sort attend service there and they're the ones most likely to be difficult.”

They entered the ancient church to find it filled with the angelic voices of a boys' choir. Mara remembered she'd proposed a visit here to research moldering crypts, but this was more heavenly.

Especially to be attending Sunday service on Dare's arm. Almost like a married couple.

They joined the Beaumonts and Balls and during the service Mara prayed as never before—that Dare would be victorious over opium, and that they would be happily together for the rest of their lives. She remembered to also pray that the Rogues find a way to have Blanche fully accepted by society.

They emerged into sunshine and their party became a hub for friends and acquaintances. No one seemed to treat Blanche coldly, but Mara noticed that some people kept their distance. That was probably telling, for few members of the ton would lightly ignore the son of a duke, the heir to an earldom, and a prominent politician.

There was a preponderance of fashionable younger gentlemen in the group around them, many clearly delighted to see Dare back in the social whirl. She shouldn't be surprised. He'd doubtless been the heart and soul of every bachelor party before Waterloo. Mara reveled in his popularity, especially as many of the gentlemen discreetly flirted with her.

She flirted back with ease, delighted by the shower of invitations Dare was receiving. Until she realized he was hating all this.

He needed to be rescued. She caught Jancy's eye. Jancy said something to Simon. In moments the men melted away and their party was walking back to Great Charles Street.

“Being with child is such a convenience,” Mara said to Jancy.

“And Simon hinted it so delicately,” Jancy replied.

“Which promptly terrified them. Anyone would think you were about to give birth on the spot.”

“Probably a very natural bachelor terror of anything to do with nurseries,” Dare said.

“Oh, what fools these men do be,” Mara misquoted, linking arms with him. He was still tense, she noted, but he'd be better now.

Simon and Jancy walked ahead, which left Mara exactly where she wanted to be—almost alone with Dare. “That went well,” she said, “but I noticed how few of the older people came over. It's so unfair to Blanche.”

“It was doubtless because of me not her,” he said. “I don't think association with me can help Blanche at all.”

“Because of opium. That's nonsense. Any number of people take it.”

“And some are even addicted,” he said, making nonsense of her evasion. “None, however, quite so infamously.”

“There's nothing shameful about your situation, Dare, and only see how many well-wishers you had. Have you been treated coolly elsewhere?”

“I've not been mixing with society elsewhere.”

She shouldn't have begun such a stressful subject. “I'll find a way to sort this out.”

“The hair, the hair,” he lamented. “Mara, don't.”

Like a lightning strike, memories hit—of that moment as they'd returned home from the visit to the Tower, after she'd revealed her love. She saw in his eyes that he remembered, too.

“How can I help it?” she asked softly. “I do love you, Dare. There's nothing you or I can do about that.”

“Even though it's a dread affliction?”

“You know that's not what I meant. And if you say you're not worthy of my love, I'll hit you.”

His lips twitched. “You would, too. I do hope to prove worthy.” He came to a stop, looking beyond her, frowning.

“What?” Mara asked, turning to see what concerned him.

But he met her gaze and spoke. “I shouldn't say this, but…Mara, will you wait for me?”

She turned back, hope uncurled, then blossomed at the look in his eyes. “Of course! But why wait? I'll marry you now. Soon, at least. As soon as you wish.”

He laughed rather wildly. “No. When I'm free of opium.”

“The lady sets the date, sir.”

“In a normal world, the gentleman proposes.”

She gripped his arm. “But I want to help you in the fight and how can I do that if we're apart? Soon Simon will take me to Marlowe House.”

“Mara—”

“I always get my way—you know I do. Three weeks. Time for banns. We'll marry at home—Brideswell, I mean.”

“If we marry, then yes, it must be at your magical home.”

“It is magical, isn't it? And once you're married to me, we can spend as much time there as you want. It will heal you.”

“Or I will pollute it.”

She stilled. “Never say anything like that again.”

“But—”

“Never.”

The resistance in his eyes, the self-doubt there, terrified her into pushing harder. “So in three weeks?”

“I will not marry you while in this state,” he said.

“I would marry you in a far worse state.”

“But I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “It wouldn't
be
a sacrifice, you dolt. Do you love me?”

He hesitated, his eyes anguished, but then said, “Yes.”

Mara paused to savor that precious gift.

“Would you reject me if I became sick?” she asked, as calmly as she could.

“No. But—”

“But this is
exactly
the same.” She wanted to insist on a hasty wedding—she wanted him entirely in her protection and care—but she managed a light “At least we're betrothed.”

“No, we're not.”

“My lord, are you
jilting
me?”

“Mara—”

“What are you two arguing about now?” Simon asked.

He and Jancy had walked back to see what was delaying them.

Mara looked at Dare and took the most dangerous plunge of her life. “Dare just asked me to marry him,” she told her brother. “And I said yes.”

She saw Dare's lips go tight and Simon's do the same thing.

“He should have spoken to Father first,” Simon said.

“And will. Yes?” Mara asked Dare, who looked as if he had a blinding headache. Oh, Lord.

“If you wish,” he said, but sounding as if he'd make the same response to the question “Will you shoot yourself?”

“Let's get home,” said sensible Jancy. “We can talk about the details there, but you have my congratulations, Dare.”

“Mara is a ruby beyond price,” he said flatly, “and I am truly unworthy of the honor.”

The rest of the journey passed in a silence that even Mara was afraid to break. She became more and more afraid of the situation she had created. As they approached the door, she whispered to Dare, “There's no need to make our betrothal public yet.”

“It will be as you wish.”

“Stop that,” she hissed. “Stop agreeing to everything. Stop being cold and distant. If you don't want to marry me, say so.”

“I am not in the habit of lying.”

She stopped. “Well, then…”

“I also want to throttle you,” he said with shocking sharpness and walked ahead of her into the house.

Simon handed his hat and gloves to the footman. “Dare, we need to talk.”

“Of course.”

Mara wanted to insist on being part of the discussion, but Jancy took her arm and drew her upstairs to her parlor.

“Did he really ask you?” Jancy demanded as soon as they were in the room.

“He asked me to wait. Isn't that the same thing?”

“Not precisely.”

“A fig for precision. He admitted he loves me.” Sudden joy burned through everything else. “He
loves
me!” Mara flung herself into Jancy's arms and danced her around the room. “He loves me! He loves me! He loves me!”

Jancy extricated herself laughing, bonnet askew. “Stop it, you madwoman. Simon's furious, you know.”

“Of course I know. He's my brother. But I don't know how he can be. Dare's his closest friend.”

“And you're his sister. He wants only the best for you.”

“The best is Dare.” Mara whirled around the room alone. “It has always, always, always been Dare!”