To Rescue a Rogue Read online

  “We have to do something,” Mara said.

  “Mara, even a St. Bride can’t solve this.”

  “What about the Rogues, then?”

  “Make the ton accept an actress with a shady reputation as one of their own?”

  “Why not?” Mara asked as they entered Great Charles Street. “I’m surprised they haven’t started already.”

  “Perhaps they’re minding their own business.”

  “That would be very foolish.”

  Jancy groaned again.

  When they returned to the house, Mara went up to her room considering Hal and Blanche’s situation. Ruth had put Juliet’s Tomb on a table. Mara moved it to pride of place on the mantelpiece, thinking about love. Cupid did sometimes shoot his arrows rashly, but once done, it was done.

  Blanche and Hal were sealed forever. There had to be a way to make their path smooth. She went down to dinner prepared to raise the subject. Mainly, however, she was hungry for Dare. It seemed so long since she’d seen him last.

  The news that he’d sent his apologies knocked everything from her head. Jancy and Simon didn’t remark on his absence, and with servants in the room, Mara didn’t feel able to, either, but her appetite fled. Was she such a bother to him that he’d avoid her throughout their stay here?

  After dinner, when they took tea in the small drawing room, she asked, “Is Dare all right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Simon asked curtly. “Of course he isn’t. We shouldn’t have come here.”

  “He wouldn’t have invited us if he hadn’t wanted company,” Jancy said.

  But he didn’t invite me, Mara thought. Should she ask to return to Ella’s house? Everyone would speculate over that.

  Perhaps Dare would benefit from time alone with Simon. Comfortable manly talk.

  “It’s a shame that he didn’t dine with us,” she said, “for then he’d be sipping brandy or port with you and you’d be spared tea and gossip with us. Why don’t Jancy and I take the tea tray to her parlor to talk about babies and silk, leaving you in freedom?”

  “I do have some interest in babies and silk, you know.”

  “But women need their secret discussions, too,” Jancy said, rising and picking up the tea tray.

  He instantly took it from her and insisted on carrying it upstairs, even though Jancy was the sort of woman who’d hewn and hauled for herself. Mara followed behind, aware of all the little ways Jancy and Simon cared for each other, the ways they were one. They glanced into each other’s eyes as they spoke. Their bodies leaned very slightly to each other, as if yearning to be joined.

  She longed for that with Dare. To be free to cherish and protect, to comfort and support. To know, even in the busiest, most separated day, that come night, they would be alone together and joined.

  I am alone too much, he’d said, but clearly he didn’t want her company. She hoped Simon would find him and be welcomed, but she doubted even Simon could touch the isolation in which Dare was imprisoned.

  She’d planned to burst open that prison, but in her new uncertainty she wondered if, like the tiger in the menagerie, Dare might be unable to survive without the bars.

  Chapter 13

  Simon left the parlor uncertain what to do. Over the past six months Dare had spoken and written to him honestly about the beast, as he called opium. The reduction had gone well, if slowly, and Dare’s spirits had generally been high.

  Until two attempts to cut free entirely had failed.

  After the second attempt in March, Dare’s parents had feared suicide. The duchess placed great faith in Salter, who at the time had never left Dare’s waking side—but now Dare had broken free of that. And he was spending time alone with Mara.

  In a different situation Simon would have been delighted. Dare, even on opium, was a worthy brother-in-law. It was the battle he fought that made him unpredictable and dangerous.

  Jancy had interrupted them in the library holding hands, looking at each other intently. “With other people,” she’d said, “I’d have thought them lovers.”

  Dare and Mara.

  Mara was pure sunshine. She had the St. Bride brightness and generosity, but Black Ademar’s heritage made her passionate and reckless. Part of him wanted to offer her to Dare like medicine, but most of him wanted his sister to have the best, most unshadowed future imaginable.

  He walked down the corridor toward Dare’s room, trying to decide the best thing to do. If Mara was upsetting Dare, he’d find an excuse to send her back to Ella’s, or even to Brideswell. If Mara wasn’t upsetting him, if Dare was beginning to fall in love with her, he might have to warn him off, which would be hell.

  Then he paused. Whispers. Childish whispers.

  “Quelqu’un arrive,” one whispered in French.

  “Attendez un peu.”

  One had whispered that someone was there. The other had replied that they would wait.

  “Bonsoir, mes enfants,” Simon said.

  Two heads peered around a corner. “Bonsoir, Uncle Simon,” Pierre said, in the mixed French and English they often fell into. “We are looking for Papa. He has not come to see us at l’heure du coucher.”

  “Perhaps he’s unwell.” The children knew the truth. How could they not, having shared hellish confinement with Dare for most of a year?

  “But where is he?” Pierre demanded.

  They were as protective of Dare as he was of them, but if Dare was in real difficulties, he wouldn’t want the children around.

  “Which is his bedchamber?” Simon asked.

  “That one lá,” the boy said, pointing. “But he is not there.”

  “Then perhaps he’s out.”

  Pierre shook his head. “He would say if he was to be out.”

  Simon was very unsure what to do for the best. He didn’t doubt the children’s word, and he knew Dare put their comfort first. He probably did always warn them of any disruption to the pattern of their days.

  “Return to the nursery. I’ll find your papa and send word.”

  Two pairs of solemn eyes studied him, too knowingly. Awareness of what these children had seen and experienced could break his heart.

  But then Pierre nodded. “Merci, Uncle Simon.” He took Delphie’s hand and led her away. Simon noticed the small black cat that followed. Their other guardian, Jetta.

  The cat had been a stray that had attached itself first to Nicholas’s daughter, Arabel, then to these children. There was little a cat could actually do about the dangers of the world, but it was always comforting to see the way it watched over the little ones.

  Simon considered his quest and decided he needed more information. He went to his room and rang for his valet.

  When Trafford arrived, Simon asked, “Do we know where Lord Darius is at this moment?”

  “No, milord. Though I heard mention of his treatment room.”

  Feeling horribly like a nosy parker, Simon asked, “And where is that?”

  “I don’t know, milord. Mr. Salter may.”

  “Salter’s not with him?”

  “No, milord. He is presently in the upper servants’ drawing room, playing cards with Alstock. The head footman,” Trafford added as explanation.

  “Please ask Salter to come here as soon as may be convenient.”

  When Trafford left, Simon shook his head at the formality of that request. Life at Brideswell and in Canada had not prepared him for the servants’ world in a great house. Marlowe was particularly challenging, but he and the staff there had silently agreed to a form of co-existence. Within the central house, the most formal part, Simon tried to live up to their expectations. In his home in one of the attached villas, they did things his way.

  Did the senior servants at Marlowe have a drawing room? Almost certainly, and with their own servants to wait on them.

  A knock brought Salter. Simon invited the man in, unsure, as always, how to treat him. He was more than a valet, but not quite an equal. Simon didn’t care, but Salter might
.

  “I encountered the children, Salter. They’re worried because Lord Darius hasn’t visited them.”

  Salter’s eyes went to the clock. “I’ll see to it, my lord.”

  He would have left, but Simon said, “Wait. Where is he?”

  Salter turned. “He will be in the house, my lord. I’ll find him.”

  “Is he in…difficulties?”

  The man’s eyes met his. “Perhaps, but of no great seriousness, I assure you, my lord.”

  “You mean he’s not slitting his wrists. Forgive me, but from an outsider’s perspective, everything looks serious.”

  The man weighed his words. “Lord Darius is impatient to be free and frustrated by not being so. Also, new excitements and stresses exert strain.”

  “And then what happens?”

  “He cannot act as he wishes.”

  “We shouldn’t be here?”

  “Lord Darius invited you, my lord, and he always enjoys your company.”

  It was like fighting cobwebs, but Simon appreciated that Salter would not gossip.

  “I would like to see him when that’s possible. And some message should be sent to the children.”

  Salter bowed and left.

  Simon paced his room, wishing the previous Lord Austrey hadn’t taken it into his head to put gas lighting in Marlowe House. He’d thought Dare was in better state than this. He’d seemed normal—whatever that meant.

  Normal compared to the Dare he’d found when he’d arrived back in England last October. That Dare had been thin, pale, and living on a fragile edge.

  He was much better now, but nothing like the old Dare. He hardly ever showed a hint of spark, of mischief. Unfair to want Dare to be a person from years ago, but how could anyone help it? Everyone wanted to see the quick wit, the pure lighthearted brilliance that had been Dare Debenham.

  Another knock brought Salter again. “Lord Darius would like to speak with you, my lord.”

  Simon suppressed a stupid “He’s all right, then?” and followed, beginning to feel that he’d made a fool of himself. Perhaps Dare, like the rest of humanity, sometimes got a headache or an upset stomach. But he’d forgotten the children. That had to be serious.

  He was taken to Dare’s bedchamber, where he found him fully dressed and apparently normal.

  “Thank you for carrying the message from the children.”

  “Of course. Why did you forget?”

  Dare’s lips twitched. “Ambition. Desperation. Despair…I took it into my head to stop this nonsense once and for all so I didn’t take my evening dose.”

  “And that makes you forgetful?”

  “That makes everything other than the untaken opium unimportant.”

  “And now?”

  Dare’s smile twisted. “All is well with the world. I must go and see Pierre and Delphie, but I wished to speak to you.” He hadn’t exactly been looking at Simon as he spoke, but now he definitely looked away. “To assure you that I am no danger to anyone.”

  “To Mara,” Simon said bluntly.

  Dare’s face twitched, but it seemed more of a frown than a grimace. “I assure you, she’s in no danger from me.”

  “But are you in danger from her?”

  Dare looked at him then, surprise and a touch of humor making him heartbreakingly like the boyhood friend. “Of course not.”

  “Are you sure? She’s a devil when on crusade.”

  “It’s the hair.”

  “I’ll send her back to Ella’s—”

  “No! No,” Dare repeated more calmly. “What she needs is other interests. Provide entertainment and she’ll forget me.”

  Simon wondered. He remembered his own falling in love, which had perhaps been a slow slide but had felt like a shocking tumble, and completely uncontrollable.

  But he said, “A good idea. Will you join the revels?”

  “Whenever I’m able.” Dare glanced at the clock. “I must go.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll move out soon.”

  “Don’t rush. It’s good for me to have you here and I promise not to be impetuous again. Slow and steady wins the race, as they say.” His tone was desert dry.

  He walked to the door and Simon went with him. “Does the race ever end?”

  “On my birthday, June twenty-third. I’m resolved on it. Do or die. But don’t worry. I intend to return to Long Chart for Armageddon.”

  Simon watched Dare walk away, then turned toward his own room.

  Armageddon—the mighty battle at the end of the world. From what he knew of the attempt to cut free of opium, the concept was appropriate. Dare had said once, “We take opium to smother pain, of mind, of body, or both, but I think we bottle it up. And one day we have to let the demon out.”

  He went to the parlor and found Jancy and Mara playing chess.

  “Well?” Mara asked.

  Tight as a wound spring, he thought. “He was feeling under the weather, that’s all.”

  “Because of opium,” Mara said.

  Simon found he couldn’t lie outright. “Yes, but he’s fine now. He’s with the children.”

  “And he wouldn’t go to them if out of sorts. Simon, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I need to know more—”

  “No, you don’t. Don’t interfere, Mara.”

  “I’m not interfering! Well, perhaps I am, but I can’t ignore the suffering of a friend, especially when under his roof.”

  “I told you. Dare is slowly reducing the amount of opium he takes, which allows his body to get used to less and less. He’s on a low dose now and in time will be able to do without it entirely. That’s it. But it’s a difficult process, so he doesn’t need extra aggravation.”

  “I hope I’m never aggravating, but I didn’t mean that. Was he imprisoned? He seemed upset by the dungeon in the Tower.”

  Damn. Simon sat by the fire. “Yes.”

  “By the French?”

  “No.”

  “Then by whom? Tell me, Simon!”

  “By the kindly widow.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Madame Bellaire? No wonder he said she was evil.”

  “His wounds were his prison to begin with, and she probably had good reason to give him laudanum, but she gave him more than necessary for longer than necessary, and then continued to feed it to him when he no longer needed it at all. By the time he understood what was going on, the damage was done. His addiction became a prison of sorts, but the true one was the children. If Dare rebelled in any way, she would punish them for it.”

  Mara turned pale. “Dear God.”

  “And at the end, he and the children, including Arabel Delaney, were truly imprisoned—locked in a room, unsure of their fate.”

  Mara inhaled. “No more dungeons, then. And probably he will be better without my bothersome company. You and the Rogues will drag him out, though, won’t you?”

  “Perhaps we trust his judgment more than you seem to.”

  “I didn’t force him to anything. I merely asked. You might have to ask. He probably went to the theater because someone took the trouble to ask.”

  Simon wondered if she was right. They’d all been carefully letting Dare set the pace, but perhaps he did need help. He’d find out how Dare had come to be at the theater the other night with Stephen and Francis. He’d talk to the other Rogues, even though it felt wrong to be discussing Dare behind his back.

  “And speaking of Rogues helping Rogues,” Mara said, “what about Hal and Blanche?”

  “What about Hal and Blanche?” he asked.

  “I gather they’re not completely happy because Blanche doesn’t feel comfortable among the ton. The Rogues can solve that, can’t they?”

  “How?” Simon looked at Jancy, suddenly desperate for the ease of her company.

  She rose. “After such a day, I need to go early to bed. We can discuss that tomorrow.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mara said, a slight blush showing both her innocence and her understanding. “Good night.”

 
Mara stood in the corridor feeling decidedly sorry for herself without being entirely sure why. Because Simon and Jancy were going to be enjoying marital love? Her turn would come.

  Because she’d been warned off interfering with Dare and had tacitly agreed? That certainly hurt, especially when it seemed she might never see him here.

  She should go into her room, but it was early and she was restless. Instead she strolled down the corridor.

  Dare was with the children, thus presumably on the next floor up, but he would come back down eventually. To his bedroom. She should know where that was from her illicit visit, but she’d not taken in details.

  Was this the corridor she’d walked with Dare that night? Yes. She recognized a portrait of a very ugly child clutching a pug dog. Then this, she thought, walking toward the last door on her left, is his bedroom.

  She paused to listen, but of course there was no sound. After a glance left and right to be sure no one was watching she laid her palm briefly against the polished oak, trying to sense…what? A memory of him?

  What nonsense. She hurried away. She should go to her room and read, but she was too restless for even Tales of Fancy.

  The big house lay silent around her. She crept downstairs, feeling like a sneak thief, but finding that rather exciting. She jumped guiltily when she encountered a maid leaving the dining room with a broom and cloth, but the woman merely curtsied and hurried on her way.

  Mara continued down to the hall, then looked up the stairs, remembering Dare carrying her, but no ghostly representation of that time revealed itself.

  She suddenly felt completely alone. The servants were doubtless enjoying a bit of time to themselves before bed. Dare was with the children. Simon and Jancy had each other.

  She was not just alone but lonely—a most unusual condition. Loneliness was never a problem at Brideswell, and in Grosvenor Square she’d had Ella’s company. And politicians for dinner, she thought with a smile, remembering Jancy’s joke.

  She went into a dark reception room to look out at the street. She’d crept down that street barefoot, huddled in a blanket. Anything could have happened.