To Rescue a Rogue

by Jo Beverley

  She pressed even closer. “Yes, please.”

  He laughed and steered her toward a back door she also remembered. The sleeping alcove was now empty.

  “Perhaps when we’re married?” she murmured as they went outside.

  “Then your wicked wish will always be my command.”

  Wicked wishes rippled over her so fiercely that she could imagine her hair standing on end. “I can hardly wait.”

  He touched her back to move her through the small area of herbs and vegetables toward a gate into the ornamental garden. More wickedness shot out from that fleeting contact. If they stopped beneath a tree for a kiss, could anyone see them?

  Mara glanced up at windows. Probably. But she kissed him anyway, a brief touch of lips to lips, a look from eye to eye that transformed the London garden to Eden.

  Smiling, they linked arms and strolled on. This is what our life will be, Mara thought. Walking through gardens. Visiting a new horse in the stables. One day there would be children by their side. Very soon, in fact. They would have Pierre and Delphie.

  “Are the children riding yet?”

  “A little. For a long time they wouldn’t go far from my bedside, but Thea was very good with them. She coaxed them outside, and then to the stables to get used to horses. Once I could go there with them, they began lessons.”

  They entered the mews where a magnificent gray was being rubbed down.

  “He’s splendid,” Mara said.

  “One of Miles Cavanagh’s.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” With a smile she found the farthing in her pocket and presented it to him. “To fix my purchase, my lord.”

  He considered it, then slipped it into a fob pocket, but he held out his hand, palm up. “We should slap hands.”

  “Slap hands?”

  “To seal the deal.”

  Mara took off her glove and slapped his palm. “Does that mean you’re completely mine now, bought and sealed?”

  He’d captured her hand and raised it for a kiss, his eyes warm on hers. “So it would seem. I am your slave for life.”

  She tightened her fingers around his. “I mean to hold you to that.”

  The horse’s shifting hooves reminded them where they were. They moved apart, fighting smiles.

  “He’s a hunter,” Dare said. “Will you object to spending time in the Shires next winter?”

  She smiled at him again. “Not at all, even though ladies aren’t allowed to hunt.”

  “Are you saying you’d want to?”

  “Are you saying you’d let me?” she parried.

  “You own me, not the other way around, but you’ve always been squeamish. You didn’t even like to fish.”

  She pulled a face at the memory. “You all teased me about it.”

  “Boys will be boys.”

  Mara slapped at a fly that buzzed around her face.

  “Aha,” he said. “A bloodthirsty creature after all.”

  She searched for any hint of battle horrors, but he seemed topaz bright. “I’ll kill a fly and even a wasp if I have to. And ruthlessly attack unborn moths.”

  They moved closer to admire Conqueror, which preened at the attention. Mara could see the horse was already devoted to Dare. “I brought Godiva to Town, but haven’t had a ride yet.”

  “Then we must,” he said as they strolled out of the stable. “Tell me, fair lady, do you ride her naked?”

  Mara swatted at him. “Godiva, sir, is the horse, and thus always naked.”

  His brows rose. “You ride her bareback?”

  “No, but a saddle doesn’t cover—Oh—” She broke off, red-faced. “This is a ridiculous conversation!”

  He laughed, and she laughed, too, for pure pleasure at his wicked teasing.

  “We could ride tomorrow,” he said.

  “Lovely. When?”

  “Ten?”

  “Nine,” she countered. “Rides should be early.”

  “Eight, then.”

  “Seven?”

  His eyes danced. “Mara, Mara, you’ll never win that sort of challenge. Eight will be early enough.”

  She laughed again, not caring if the world heard her love in it. “Eight it is.”

  By silent accord they didn’t return directly to the house but walked down the lane to the street. He took her hand, skin to skin, and the simple contact carried astonishing power. Didn’t they speak of handfasting? Now, weaving her fingers with his, she understood why. Flesh to flesh entwined like the honeysuckle that tumbled over a wall here.

  “This could almost be in the country,” she said, looking at the plants that flourished where hooves and wheels never reached. She paused to inhale the sweet scent of wildflowers. She looked at him. “We should go to Brideswell to talk to Father.”

  His jaw tightened and he looked away. “I won’t marry you while addicted, Mara.”

  “When will you be absolutely free? How long before you can be sure? How long before we can be open about our love?”

  “Months, at least.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but switched her ground. “I at least want my father’s consent. As soon as possible. I mean it, Dare.”

  He looked at her with love, but a touch of despair. “What if your parents don’t agree?”

  She took his hand. “They will. When?”

  After a moment, he said, “We’re committed to Almack’s and then the ball at Marlowe House. After that, whenever you wish.”

  Mara realized she could raise the subject of where they’d live. Still holding his hand, she said, “Dare, I’ve been assuming that we will have a house close to Brideswell. A place in Town as well, but…Is that what you want?”

  What was she going to do if he said no?

  “Move a St. Bride away from their hive?” he said. “A crime against nature.”

  “Oh. I thought you might think…because Simon…”

  “Simon doesn’t have the same bond, but if he could, his country home would be there rather than at Marlowe. Brideswell is a special place, Mara. Perhaps I’m only marrying you for that.”

  “Perhaps I’m only marrying you to become a Rogue.”

  He laughed, and they came together for a kiss.

  Suddenly, he pulled her hard against him in a fierce, famished kiss. She wanted to return it wildly, but they were in a public place. She broke free to gasp, “Dare, stop!”

  He wrenched back from her, looking shocked.

  But then she realized someone had dragged him away from her. Dare whirled—to face Major Berkstead.

  “You cur!” Berkstead roared and swung a fist.

  Though off-balance, Dare slid by it. “Stop it, you madman—” He blocked the next fist with his arm and again turned so that Berkstead stumbled, but the man threw himself back into attack, red-faced and madeyed.

  Dare punched Berkstead in the chest. The man staggered back, wheezing, but managed to grab Dare’s jacket. They both tumbled to the ground.

  “Stop it!” Mara screamed, but then realized Berkstead wouldn’t and Dare couldn’t. She looked around frantically, but no one seemed to be coming to help.

  Berkstead grabbed a stick, a bit of tree limb as thick as Mara’s arm and swung it at Dare’s head. Dare rolled away and to his feet with the fluidity Mara had seen in the ballroom. He was focused now in the same way, but he let Berkstead struggle to his feet.

  Berkstead showed his teeth and swung the stick, then attacked again. Mara wasn’t at all surprised when Dare kicked it out of Berkstead’s hand and, almost in the same movement, punched him in the belly. When Berkstead staggered back, however, Dare kept going, landing another ferocious blow on the man’s body. And another.

  “Dare, stop!”

  People were running toward the fight now—grooms from the stables, someone behind from the street, but they were too far away. Berkstead was glassy-eyed, but Dare still attacked.

  Mara picked up the stick and whacked Dare hard across his back.

  He whirled, smashing the stick from h
er hands with one fist, the other moving toward her, hard-edged as a blade.

  He stopped dead, ashen with horror. “Mara?”

  She’d flinched, but she said, “It’s all right. I’m all right. I couldn’t let you kill him.”

  She reached for him, but he turned away, slowly, clumsily to where Berkstead leaned heavily against a wall, clutching his body, blood pouring from his nose. Three grooms ran to him, shooting astonished and nervous glances at Dare. On the street side, two older gentlemen had paused, seeing that the action was over, but they were staring, too.

  It could only have been minutes. Less than a minute, even.

  Mara took Dare’s arm. “Thank you. For protecting me.” He was still pale and she could feel tremors running through him. “Come along. Come back to the house.”

  He shrugged her off. “Is he badly hurt?” he asked the grooms.

  “Maybe cracked ribs, milord—”

  Berkstead wheezed. “You’re a madman. You should be locked away. First you attacked a lady, then me.”

  “He did not attack me!” Mara spat. “It’s you who is mad.”

  “Kiss him in the street of your own free will, did you?”

  “Yes. We’re to marry.”

  Berkstead’s angry color bleached. “No.”

  She’d spilled the secret before witnesses, but what else could she have done? “Yes,” she said, loudly and firmly.

  “Assist him back to his rooms and do whatever’s needed,” Dare told the grooms. “Come.”

  He put an arm around Mara and drew her back toward the mews and the house. Faint tremors still ran through his body, and she probably trembled, too. At her words, Berkstead’s expression had turned to one of deadly hate.

  Mara couldn’t have chattered to save her life. Her heart still raced and her breath came shortly, but it was something about Dare that silenced her.

  He stopped in the garden behind the house. “Why was Berkstead there?”

  “What?”

  “Why was Berkstead in the lane? Why did he think he had the right to protect you?”

  “What?” Mara repeated. “The man’s an idiot! He believes he’s in love with me. He believes I’m in love with him.”

  “Not surprising when you gallivant in the night with him.”

  “A mistake. I admit it. I’ve told him clearly—”

  “You’ve been meeting him?”

  Mara’s rare anger burst into flame. She shoved him. “Don’t make this my fault. It would have been nothing if you’d not turned into a killer.” At the look on his face, she said, “No. No, Dare, I didn’t mean that….”

  But he’d already turned and was striding toward the house.

  She ran after. “Don’t. Don’t walk away from me like this.” She grabbed for his arm. “Stop!”

  He whirled, wrenching free. “Leave me alone.”

  The cold force of his words froze her and she could only watch as he disappeared into the house.

  She realized she was crying when a scullery maid came out with a bucket of slops and stopped to stare. Mara pulled herself together as best she could and turned into the house and up to her bedroom, where she sat, shivering and hugging herself.

  When someone knocked on the door, she didn’t know how much time had passed. She went to open it, unsure whether she wanted it to be Dare or not.

  It was Jancy, looking worried. “Are you all right?”

  Mara tried for her normal manner. “Yes, of course. Why?”

  Jancy came in and shut the door. “Because Dare told Simon he can’t marry you and then refused to say anything else.

  “What?” Mara rose, but the room whirled around her and she had to grab on to a chair for support. “I have to speak to him!”

  “Not yet,” Jancy said, putting an arm around her. “Sit back down. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

  Mara let Jancy settle her on the sofa near the fire, wishing she were sure of that. He’d spoken so roughly, so coldly. Her misery was too deep for tears.

  “What happened?” Jancy asked. “We heard about a fight in the mews lane and Dare almost killing someone.”

  “It was horrible. Berkstead attacked Dare.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the man’s mad. We were kissing…. Dare tried to reason with him…. Do you know he uses a kind of fighting to combat the opium?”

  “No, what do you mean?”

  Mara explained what she’d seen, though not the whole of her night time adventures. “He’s so strong and fast. I thought he’d kill Berkstead, so I walloped him with a stick. And he turned on me.”

  For the first time, Mara realized that her hands stung, that she had some scrapes from when the stick had flown from her grip.

  Jancy looked at the marks. “Did he hurt you in any other way?”

  “No, of course not.” But then Mara said, “Almost…”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  “Of course not. I’m a little afraid of what he can do. And of his anger. I don’t remember him ever getting angry with anyone. Before.”

  “You probably never saw him when he was attacked.”

  “No one would have had reason to attack him back then.”

  “So why did Berkstead attack him today?”

  Mara blushed. “Probably because we were kissing.” She sighed and told Jancy about the theater and the silk, and the content of the message in Chinese.

  “Mara, you should have told Simon days ago!”

  “I only just realized the truth of the silk, and I will never risk another duel.”

  Jancy covered her mouth with her hand.

  “See? I didn’t tell Dare for the same reason, and because he has enough to worry about. I thought it would blow over. I never imagined that Berkstead would cling to this obsession when I steadfastly discouraged him. Now everything’s ruined!”

  “No, it isn’t. It will sort out.”

  Mara shook her head. “I ripped up at Dare and now he hates me.”

  “Hates you? That’s impossible.”

  “I told him he’d turned into a killer.”

  “Lord above, why?”

  “Because I was so furious at him. For accusing me of sneaking out to meet Berkstead. And because he did. Turn into a killer. But I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t lost my temper.”

  “I didn’t know you had a temper,” Jancy said.

  “I have the hair.” Mara sighed. “Hardly anything ever happens to make me angry, but yes, I have a temper, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

  Jancy stood. “I’m going to order hot, sweet tea, and talk to Simon. Stay here and don’t do anything else stupid.”

  Mara decided that taking off her hat and pelisse wasn’t stupid and did so. She washed her hand in cold water, dabbing at the scrapes. She wasn’t afraid of Dare, not really, but she didn’t like the trapped violence in him. It wasn’t part of the real Dare.

  And she was still furious that he’d leaped to such vile conclusions. She saw her plan of the layout of Castle Cruel and tore it up, tossing the bits on the fire.

  Then she burst into tears. She was still sniffling when Jancy returned, accompanied by Simon, carrying the tea tray. Simon did not look pleased.

  Jancy poured tea and Simon waited until Mara had drunk some before speaking. “Jancy’s told me about this Berkstead. You doubtless went beyond the line to encourage him to such folly.”

  Mara blushed and prayed he never knew how far beyond the line.

  “I’ll make it very clear to him that he’d better stay away from you.”

  “You won’t call him out,” Mara said.

  Simon glanced at Jancy. “It would take a lot to get me to another duel. If he won’t bend to pressure from me, I’ll pile on Rogues until he buckles.”

  Mara accepted another cup of tea. “What about Dare?”

  Simon grimaced. “He’s not available and I can hardly force my way into his bedroom.”

  “I wish you could. I worry.”

  “So d
o I, but he has Salter and Feng Ruyuan.”

  “When you do see him,” Mara said, “tell him I will not be jilted.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “That you want to marry him?”

  “You don’t trust him, Simon?”

  “Yes, but it won’t be easy.”

  “I don’t want easy.” Mara sighed. “Yes, I do, for Dare, for both of us, and we will have that one day, but if I must struggle to get there, so be it. But I do hope we can leave London soon. I want to get him to Brideswell. When will this ball for Hal and Blanche be held?”

  “It will take a week or so to extract the pipes and clean up the mess.”

  “I was being silly,” Jancy said. “You said there’s no gas flowing through those pipes anymore, so there’s no need to rip them all out. We could move there today.”

  “No!” Mara protested. Quickly, she found a reason. “There’s Almack’s tomorrow.”

  “What has Almack’s to do with it?” Simon demanded. “You can attend from Marlowe House as well as from here.”

  “There are preparations. Jancy and I need to rest. A hairdresser is to come.” Then Mara found a reason that made sense. “We can’t leave now. It will look as if we’ve fled Dare.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair. “I suppose you’re right. On Thursday, then. But we can send out invitations for next week, and begin preparations.”

  “Less than a week for a ball?” Mara said.

  “Musicians, food, wine. What else is needed?”

  She rolled her eyes. “This is a London ball, Simon, not a hop with the neighbors.”

  “Do you want to get Dare to Brideswell or not?”

  Mara gathered herself. “Yes, yes, of course. It can be done.”

  “It can?” Jancy asked weakly. “We’ll have a poor attendance, however.”

  “For the first ball at Marlowe House in years, with hints of a scandal attached? It will be a crush.”

  Mara ignored Jancy’s moan. “I’ll do most of it, and the Rogues will help. The house is in perfect condition. You’ll need more staff, but probably the Rogues can lend some. Better than bringing in strangers. For enough money the food and wine can be produced overnight. The same applies to decorations. Fresh flowers. Masses of them. For enough money, almost anything can be achieved overnight.”

  Jancy gave a pained squeak.