by Jo Beverley
That crushed the idea, but then Mara straightened. “So we go to Brideswell now! Dare and I, at least.” Above all, she wanted to get him to her healing home.
“Why not?” Nicholas said. “An extra advantage is that it removes you from society, Dare, with no hint of skulking.”
Mara sensed that Dare was about to object, so she turned to him. “You won’t nobly escape me, so there’s no point in delaying the announcement. And our betrothal ball, blessed by many notable people, will smash any mere rumor to smithereens.”
“Good God,” Hawkinville said, “how many of you St. Brides are there?”
“Hundreds,” Mara told him cheerfully, “but only two of us with the hair.”
“Very well,” Dare said.
She couldn’t hold back surprise. “You’ll do it?”
He glanced at the rose between her breasts. “I will do almost anything you command, as well you know, my lady. But this plan makes sense.”
Simon rose. “If we’re to reach Brideswell ahead of the news, we’d better leave now.”
“The sooner the better,” Mara agreed, “but you have a ball to plan, and rapid travel wouldn’t be good for Jancy.”
“She’s right, Simon,” Dare said, rising. “Jancy’s already trembling at the thought of organizing and being hostess at any kind of ball, never mind the scandal of the season. In fact, I’m going to usurp you. We’ll have it here. The staff can do it blindfolded, but my parents returned home last night. I’m sure Mama will be delighted.”
Mara almost choked. His parents had been here while she was sharing Dare’s nightly battle? Massaging his naked body?
Simon was protesting, but Dare was suddenly immovable. Jancy would definitely be grateful but Mara saw another problem.
“The original purpose of the ball was to launch Blanche into respectability,” she pointed out. “We can’t muddle the two.”
“Ah, yes,” Dare said. “My dirt would soil her.”
“That’s not what I meant, idiot!”
Nicholas’s voice overrode hers. “Don’t be an ass, Dare. In fact, combining the events should work perfectly. A ball at Yeovil House will challenge the ton to endorse you or offend your parents, who are well liked and respected. We let it be known that your betrothal will be announced at the event, making the situation clear.”
“And if the ton stays away?” Dare asked.
“It’s a gamble, true, but we hold many court cards.”
“We can’t gamble with Blanche’s life.”
Hal Beaumont had been silent up till now. “If it comes to a choice, she’ll insist that our problems be put aside. They won’t grow worse.”
“In fact,” Leander said, “the blend could work to her advantage. Her minor indiscretions…”
Mara felt her eyes widen at that diplomatic description.
“…will be overshadowed by Dare’s dark dramas. She’ll play a minor part.”
“I’m not sure she’ll care for that,” Hal said, but it was a joke.
“I’ll go and speak to my parents,” Dare said and left.
“This could all go disastrously wrong,” Leander pointed out.
“Will it?” Nicholas asked. It was a serious question, posed to an expert.
The diplomat considered matters. “If one influential person stands firm against us, we’re sunk.”
“Then we make sure none does. Your job.”
Charrington laughed, shaking his head. “If you can guarantee the dukes and the Countess of Cawle, it would have to be a very influential person to capsize us.” He looked at Hawkinville. “What of Wellington? I heard he was in Town.”
“Briefly and unofficially.”
“Even so,” Charrington pointed out, “his failure to attend could be misconstrued.”
Mara couldn’t believe that such a mischance could explode their campaign.
“I can hardly drag him to the ball,” Hawkinville said, “but I doubt he’d want to support this lie. Unless, of course, there is strong evidence.”
“There can’t be,” Mara said, wanting to shoot the man.
But Nicholas said, “We’ll make sure there isn’t any.”
Dare returned to hear this. “If there is any real evidence, let it out.”
Mara wanted to shoot him.
“My parents are rising,” he said. “They’ll be down soon. Salter’s returned. Berkstead’s gone. His landlord said he’d been brought home injured, claiming to have been set upon by me without rhyme or reason, and he left the next day for parts unknown, fearing further attack.”
“Would be nice if parts unknown were hell,” Nicholas said.
“As it is,” Stephen said, “he’s probably showing his wounds to his friends as proof of Dare’s efforts to silence him.”
Mara felt furious and horrible guilty. “There were witnesses,” she said. “Men who came into the lane from the street who could know nothing of the cause. This is all my fault!”
Dare took her hand. “Of course it isn’t.”
They searched each other’s eyes and might even have kissed if Major Hawkinville hadn’t spoken.
“If the bastard’s spreading stories, he can’t have gone far. I’ll start a search for Berkstead and the angry dancing officer as well as for witnesses to Dare’s fall in battle.”
He left, and Mara said. “Can he do that?”
“If anyone can,” Dare said. “He was one of those chiefly involved in organizing the movements of the army and he did seem able to keep it all in his head like a giant chess board. As for Berkstead and the West Middlesex officer, what Hawk seeks, he finds.”
“Well, good then. But if we’re going to Brideswell and returning for the ball, we must be off.”
But the Duchess of Yeovil came in then. She took Mara’s hands. “My dear, we’re delighted! I never would have believed the scamp could make such a perfect choice. Simon’s sister!”
She was a sturdy woman with a kind face and brown hair beginning to be touched by gray. In a simple rust brown dress, she could have been anyone.
Mara tried to curtsy, but was warmly embraced. She wondered how much of the warmth was acting. But then, the duchess didn’t yet know that Dare’s recent problems were all her fault.
“And you’re rushing away immediately,” the duchess said, “before we have chance to talk. But don’t concern yourself about the ball. All will be perfect.” She looked around the room. “Despite Rogues,” she said. “I do hope you all will behave.”
When she’d left, Nicholas said, “I feel delightfully sixteen.” There was a bittersweet tone to it, for much indeed had happened in the past decade.
Chapter 25
It was an hour before Mara and Dare climbed into the duchess’s traveling chariot, with Ruth as chaperone. Part of the delay was because of the children, who had become distraught at the idea of Dare leaving them for days.
Mara had loved the patience with which he’d reassured them, explaining that he needed to go to speak to Mara’s father about marrying her. And that, no, they couldn’t come this time.
Eventually, Delphie had slid over to Mara. “You are to marry Papa?”
“I am. And I will try to be the best mama in the world.”
Delphie’s solemn eyes hadn’t changed. “You will be kind to him?”
Mara drew the child into her arms. “I love him, sweetling, perhaps as much as you do. I promise I will never hurt him or let anyone else hurt him.”
Delphie suddenly hugged her back. “Why can’t we come with you? We’ll be good.”
Mara looked at Dare, willing to give in, but he said, “You would slow us down, Delphie, and we must be back for the ball. We’ll be back soon.”
Delphie had let go, with a pout suggesting that she’d hoped to get her own way. The more confident she became, the more trouble she’d be, but delightfully so.
Now, in the speeding coach, Mara glanced at Dare beside her. It must have been very hard to be firm with the children he only wanted to protect and
make joyous, but he’d done it.
He was a good father. As for Mara’s own father, she had no idea how he would take their arrival and announcement. Simon was sending a courier ahead to give some warning, but still, Sim St. Bride didn’t like sudden fits and starts, and he might not want his daughter involved with opium and scandal.
And how, she wondered, was Dare to manage his opium on this journey? Salter was with them, of course, riding alongside the chaise, and it was none of Ruth’s business what Dare did or how he behaved, but even so, it could be difficult, and this nasty rumor had to be making his control harder.
Mara took Dare’s hand. His fingers moved within hers in a gentle stroke that caught her breath and curled her toes. If only Ruth wasn’t with them. But this was why Ruth was with them.
Their eyes met, and she was sure he was sharing her thoughts, but she saw the shadows and longed to chase them away. Perhaps she had the means. She picked up her carriage bag and took out some papers.
“This is an excellent opportunity to work on our novel.”
Ruth snorted, but Dare laughed. “By all means. What further adventures have you devised for Anne and Canute?”
Mara wished she still had the excellent plan of Castle Cruel she’d impetuously burned, but she still had her notes. He applauded the addition of Ethel the Unready and the midget Halfacanute, and suggested that the castle cook be Alfred, because King Alfred had been the one to burn the cakes.
Their discussion came nowhere close to the sparkling fun at the Yeoman’s Arms, but it was a candle flame against the dark, and passed the time.
They traveled at speed, but Mara insisted on a midday break, knowing Dare would need to take opium around then, and she demanded that they stop for the night when the light went.
Mara and Ruth shared one bedroom and Dare and Salter took another. They all four ate dinner together in a private parlor, but it was a quiet meal with servants present. Dare would have taken his evening dose but he still seemed shadowed.
Those foul rumors weighed on him, and she suspected that he couldn’t rid himself of a splinter of belief that they were true. She needed to take him in her arms. She longed to at least be alone with him.
“Why don’t we take a stroll?” he said when the meal was over, as if picking up her thoughts.
Ruth pursed her lips, but she could hardly forbid it.
“We’ll be back soon,” Mara assured her, but then hurried into her cloak, bonnet, and gloves before the maid could try. She and Dare were soon walking down the evening-quiet street, with moon and planets gleaming in a slate blue sky.
“This is the first time we’ve done this,” she said, linking arms.
“Done what?”
“Strolled in the dark with no purpose in mind.”
“The purpose, I thought, is to be together.”
She smiled back at him. “Yes.”
They could have talked, perhaps should have talked. Of the rumors, and of the ball and of all the ways it might go wrong. Of her parents. Of opium, even.
Instead, they walked the length of the street, sharing good evenings with the few people they met along the way. They paused to look in the window of a bookseller’s shop, then to watch a mail coach rattle by, outside passengers clinging to the rail on top.
A glossy curricle tooled past under the control of a very young buck. He called a good evening, then tried to impress them with a tight turn around a corner. Mara winced when he almost tipped the sporting vehicle over.
“Young fool,” Dare said. “But I remember doing the same.”
As they turned back toward the inn, Mara said, “His generation won’t have to go to war. I’m glad.”
“Indeed, though there is the saying about the devil finding work. Some young men burn to take risks.”
“Like you?”
“Not really. I met some officers who only seemed to come alive when in battle. Lacking that, they tended to stupefy themselves with drink, or seek danger in high-stakes gaming.”
“Perhaps we need a gladiatorial system, so they can fight anytime they wish.”
He laughed. “I know some men who would benefit from that.”
“Does the sort of fighting you do with Ruyuan serve the same purpose?”
He considered it. “Mainly it teaches control, but yes. It burns off that urge toward physical challenge and drama.”
They were nearing the inn, and Mara had to ask, “How will you manage the night here?”
“I’ll take an extra dose.”
She turned to him, knowing what that meant. “Oh, Dare.”
He smiled wryly. “Apparently it’s my next lesson. I have proved I can stand like a wall, Ruyuan says, and must now prove that I can bend like the willow. Or something like that. He becomes metaphorical.” His voice had taken on a bitter edge and he added, “Rules are easier.”
“I think that was his point.”
He took out a finger-sized vial of deep blue glass with gold Chinese lettering. “I am even in charge of my destiny.”
He was carrying the opium with him?
“May I see?”
He passed her the bottle and she saw that on the top of the cap was an etching of an Oriental warrior wielding a sword. “Laudanum?” she asked, trying to keep her tone mundane.
“Of a sort. Strong and without sugar. I prefer it bitter. I would prefer it to be in an ugly container, but there is some other lesson in that, I gather.”
“That opium is not itself evil. It saves lives and eases so much suffering.” Mara touched the picture of the warrior. “Do you still have my favor?”
“Always.” He took back the vial and put it away, then took her hand to lead her down a lane between a house and a cobbler’s shop.
There he drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. She sensed he meant the kiss to be brief and decorous but tender need swept through them. She cradled his face and parted her lips to join with him in the only way allowed.
And such a blessedly complete way it was, as if hot mouths became the whole of them in everlasting connection. Rough wall pressed at her back, and Dare’s strong body enfolded her. Mara lost all sense of reality other than him, and pleasure, and a building desire that could drive her mad.
They pulled apart, staring into each other’s eyes, only to press together again, this time bodily, with Mara’s head on his chest, within which his heart pounded frantically just like hers.
“Oh, but I want you so much, Dare. I want to be yours completely. I don’t know why! We’ll be married soon. But I wish it were now.”
“My adored, beloved Mara,” he whispered into her hair. “Thank God for control, or I’d take you here against the wall.”
A part of Mara leapt at that, but she too had control. He would hate himself after.
Reluctantly, they separated but held hands all the way, only breaking that contact at Mara’s bedroom door, when they had to go to their separate beds.
They arrived at Brideswell the next afternoon and nothing could have been warmer than Mara’s parents’ welcome. She wished she’d seen their first reaction to the news.
“You look so well!” her buxom mother exclaimed to Dare, hugging him. “At Simon’s wedding, it was all I could do not to coddle you and feed you nourishing food.”
“I might have liked that,” he said, smiling.
“Not at the time, you wouldn’t.” Amy St. Bride took both of their arms. “Come inside, come inside. It will be so wonderful to have another wedding!”
Over tea and cakes with most of the family present, the talk was all about the lighter aspects of London and weddings, but in the end, Mara and Dare were alone with her parents.
“I gather there’s a bit of trouble,” her father said, mostly to Dare. He was a trim, healthy man who looked younger than his fifty-two years, but he was every inch a country gentleman.
“Apart from the opium, you mean, sir?”
Sim St. Bride waved that away. “These nasty rumors, I mean. I’m sure they
’re not true, but I don’t like to see Mara upset.”
“I’m not upset,” Mara protested.
But her father pulled a face. “I always knew letting you go off to London was unwise.”
Mara took Dare’s hand. “At least I’m not marrying away, Papa. Dare wants to find a home nearby.”
“Ah,” her father said, relaxing. “Well, then, there’s a place coming up for sale not five miles away. But,” he added, with a searching look at Mara, “I’ll be surprised if your exploits didn’t play a part in these troubles. Black Ademar’s hair.”
Dare intervened. “It’s entirely my fault, sir. If this story was set about by this Captain Berkstead, it’s because of a disagreement between us. It ended in blows.”
“That won’t lead to a duel, will it?” Mara’s mother asked, suddenly pale.
“No,” Mara said.
“I doubt it,” Dare said.
She turned to him. “It will not. No matter what Berkstead’s done, it can’t be worth calling him out.”
“What if he calls me out?”
“On what grounds?”
“I did break his nose.”
“After he attacked you!”
“You were there?” Her father’s astonished question snapped Mara back into her situation.
Knowing she was blushing, she said, “I was visiting the mews to see Dare’s new horse, Papa.”
“And this scoundrel attacked Dare in the Yeovil House mews? Sounds like a madman. I assume the grooms dealt with him.”
Mara struggled not to look harried. “Dare and I strolled back to the house down the mews lane, Papa. It happened there.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” her mother said. “I’m sure you and I strolled many a lane when we were courting, Sim.”
“Not in London, we didn’t,” he grumbled. “A wicked, disorderly place it is, and you’re expecting your mother and me to rattle all that way for this ball. Better to hold it here, and in less of a rush.”
He’d turned to Mara again, but Amy St. Bride responded. “You know why it has to be in Town, Sim. And only think, you’ll be able to attend some votes in the Lords. You know you’ve been feeling guilty over not doing so.”