To Rescue a Rogue Page 16

  Jancy was smiling. “It’s wonderful. It seems to say that there will be problems but Dare will be yours in the end.”

  Mara let out a breath she’d been unaware of holding. “What of the rest?”

  “The ten of hearts. Lucky in love. The nine of clubs. More good fortune, especially in business or legal matters. The ace of diamonds—good news. The queen of spades—a widow.”

  “Not me, I assume,” Mara said.

  “No, but it is a warning card. The next card might add something.” She turned it. “The seven of spades. Difficult decisions. All I can say is beware of widows.” She turned the next card, the eight of spades. “Disappointments.” Quickly she turned up the last and smiled. “The seven of hearts—wishes fulfilled.”

  “So in the end all is well?” Mara asked.

  Jancy gathered the cards. “If you believe in it.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jancy slid them carefully back into their pouch. “Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t suppose you could do a reading for Dare, could you?”

  “No.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Won’t. It’s not right to pry into other people’s lives, Mara. Be content with what you have. It seems your destiny is with Dare and it will be a happy one.”

  “With problems along the way.”

  “That can’t surprise you.”

  “No,” Mara said. “And at least sharp objects and guns are unlikely here in the heart of London.”

  “It can mean any kind of serious problem if it’s unexpected.”

  “Not opium then, and I can’t see how anything could be more serious than that.” Mara was whistling into the wind and knew it.

  “Truly, Mara, this was an excellent spread,” Jancy said. “All will be well.”

  Mara hugged her. “Thank you. Did you want something?”

  “Help with fashion. Laura’s sent magazines so that I’ll have some ideas before we go to the mantua-maker.”

  “Lovely,” Mara said, grateful for a diversion.

  Assessing the latest designs—and laughing over some of the more absurd—passed the time until dinner. Mara changed her gown and went down, praying that Dare join them. It seemed to her that it would be proof that all would be well.

  He did, and even gave an amusing account of the children’s reactions to the volcanic eruption. Pierre had been thrilled. Delphie had clung to Dare, but seemed to have enjoyed it, too. “Not a delicate female, all in all,” he said.

  “What of you?” Mara asked. “Were you thrilled?”

  “Tolerably. It’s well done. Simon, we need to take Mara there before she erupts herself.” His smiling eyes took any sting out of it.

  “Tomorrow?” Mara said. “No, it’s Sunday. And Monday we go to the mantua-maker’s. That could take all day.”

  Jancy groaned.

  “Tuesday, then.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Simon said. “And I confess, I want to see this wonder myself. By then, we should be at Marlowe House, however.”

  Mara almost gasped. She was frantically seeking an objection when Jancy said, “Are the pipes still there?”

  “Yes, but the gas is turned off.”

  “All the same, Simon, I don’t like it. Can’t they be removed?”

  “It’ll make the devil of a mess.” But then he said, “Of course, if you wish.”

  Mara could breathe again, but she was aware now of how short her stay in this house might be, and here she felt so close to Dare.

  After dinner Simon proposed whist. Naturally, Mara and Dare became partners, which thrilled her out of all proportion to the situation. Whist was an excellent choice, however, being interesting and free of dangers. Sitting as Dare’s partner also made it easy for Mara to keep an eye on him. She was ready to complain of tiredness if he showed strain.

  She was bracing to do that when a rubber ended and Jancy rang for tea. Dare immediately rose as if restless, but he didn’t leave. He turned to Mara. “Don’t you play the harp?”

  “It’s her only accomplishment,” Simon commented.

  Dare’s eyes stayed on her. “No. Will you play for us if I have it brought in?”

  Mara was smitten with sudden shyness, but she agreed and sent for her finger pads. Being shy made no sense. She’d played in company for years and here her audience would be friends and family.

  Dare had requested this, however, so she must be perfect.

  And what other accomplishments did he see in her? She could not sing or draw well. Her handwriting was higgledy-piggledy. She was a good dancer; had he noticed that at the wedding?

  When the harp was wheeled in, she tested it and then sat to play, fearing her hands would be too unsteady, too weak, even. She looked away from her audience and soon the music flowed.

  Eventually she glanced at Dare. His eyes were closed, but it might be with pleasure, so she played for him alone, trying to send the rippling music into his distressed mind.

  When she looked to the side she saw Jancy and Simon leaning together on the sofa, so naturally drawn to each other by familiar love. Oh, to be like that with Dare, she thought as she returned her gaze to the strings. The longing grew in her until it stole all power from her fingers.

  The others stirred to look at her.

  “I’m sorry. Lack of practice. My fingers cramped.”

  Dare rose and came to her. “Angel music. Thank you.”

  Mara prayed her blush could be taken for modesty. “As Simon said, my only true accomplishment.”

  “And as I said, no.”

  “Then what are the others?” she asked with a smile.

  “Begging for compliments again?”

  “As I said before, a lady can never receive too many.”

  “What about we poor fellows?” Simon asked from where he lounged on the sofa. “Unappreciated to a man.”

  Mara had forgotten anyone else was in the room. Gathering her wits, she surveyed both men boldly. “On the contrary. I see two fine specimens, in full vigor of manhood and beauty. Noble souls…”

  “Warriors for truth and justice,” Jancy contributed.

  “Tested by fire.”

  “Wounded in the cause!”

  “Destined for greatness. Need we go on?” Mara asked.

  Simon was laughing. “Spare our blushes.”

  “When a lady says that,” Mara pointed out, “she is begging for more.”

  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 kn
ow 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.

  Chapter 15

  Dressed 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.

  Chapter 16

  Mara 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 Sim
on 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.”