To Rescue a Rogue

by Jo Beverley

  Mara reached to squeeze her hand. “Don’t distress yourself. And I have relief for you. Dare Debenham has invited me to drive out with him this morning.”

  Instead of showing delight, Ella’s face became blank. “Are you sure that’s wise, dearest?”

  “Why ever not?”

  Ella turned pink, waving the piece of toast. “You know.”

  “Opium.” Mara practically growled it.

  “Well, yes. Very unfortunate for him, of course, but it could make him…unsafe.”

  “In what way? You think he’ll froth at the mouth or try to ravish me?”

  But then she wondered if Dare was avoiding society for a reason. Did he have fits? Or fall asleep? Or run amok?

  “Do you have reason for concern?” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “Then why say such a thing? You met Dare the other day. He was neither in a stupor nor a rage.”

  “But much changed.”

  “Since Simon’s wedding?” Mara said, deliberately misunderstanding. “Yes, he did look more robust, didn’t he? Besides, we’re only going driving in Hyde Park.”

  “Make sure he has a groom along.”

  “Ella, really! I don’t need a servant to be safe with Dare.”

  “No, but I wish Simon were here.”

  That reminded Mara uncomfortably that Simon seemed to regard Dare as cracked glass, to be handled with care at all times. But what could go wrong in a drive around the park?

  “You give your permission?” she asked, standing. “A drive in the park, no more than that, I promise.”

  “With a servant in attendance.”

  “Of course.” Mara leaned to kiss her sister’s cheek, then hurried back to her room.

  Once there, she stood in frowning thought, then wrote a letter to her oldest brother. She chattered of this and that, asking when Simon would arrive in London. As promised, underlined. Then she mentioned meeting Dare in the park, and that he was shortly to take her driving, and perhaps to other venues on future days.

  She consulted her guide book and listed some of the most highly recommended attractions: Westminster Abbey, the Egyptian Hall, the Tower of London, the Menagerie at Exeter Change, Dubourg’s cork models, Barker’s Panorama.

  If Simon believed that a round of activity would harm Dare that should bring him posthaste. She folded the letter, sealed it, and addressed it to The Right Honorable, the Viscount Austrey, Marlowe, Notts. The horrid house was so famous she could probably have addressed it to Marlowe, the Globe, and have it arrive. Simon should be grateful for escape.

  She gave Ruth the letter. “I won’t wait for George to frank it. Have it sent to the post office. In fact, have it sent express.”

  Ruth’s mouth pursed at such extravagance, but this issue was worth a pound or two. What else was money for but to take care of friends and family?

  Ruth left on her errand, so Mara put on the tall hat unaided, fixing it in place with a couple of pins and then moving her head to be sure it would stay on. It added a foot to her height, not counting the curling feather, and she liked that.

  Too impatient to wait in her room, she went downstairs. Halfway down she heard the knocker, and by the time she arrived in the hall, Dare was coming in. She paused for a moment, struck by how normal he looked. No, not normal. Remarkably handsome in a shaft of sunlight.

  It occurred to her that he must be spending a fortune on clothes. Apparently he’d been emaciated when discovered, but he’d have needed clothes then. At the wedding he’d still been too thin, but his clothes had fit. Now his olive green jacket, fawn breeches, and cream waistcoat fit his strong, healthy body perfectly. But then, he was no more short of money than she was.

  She continued down the stairs and gave him a cheery greeting. For the benefit of the footman, she added, “How kind of you to suggest a drive.”

  But then she faltered, wondering for the first time how he would treat her after last night. A wary glance showed an unreadable expression. If he mentioned it…

  But he smiled, looking her over from half boots to feather tip. “You have some objection to a gentleman being taller than you are, my lady?”

  It was all right. She cheerfully squinted up to assess her height in comparison to his. “I feel sure you’re up to the challenge, my lord.”

  “So do I.”

  Chapter 5

  As she took his offered arm and left the house, Mara decided there’d been a hint of warning in those words. How delicious. Any shadowy concerns drifted away. This was going to be delightful—a feeling confirmed when she saw the carriage.

  “A high-perch phaeton! I’ve always longed to ride in one. I should have known you’d have the latest thing, Dare.”

  “Must I confess that I borrowed it from a friend? I don’t keep my own vehicles in Town at the moment.”

  Something about “at the moment” carried shadows. Mara beamed at him to drive them away. “Then you have excellent taste in what you borrow.”

  She eagerly navigated the steps up to the high seat. “And excellent taste in friends,” she added as he joined her. “A Rogue?”

  “No. St. Raven.”

  “A duke’s rig. Even better!”

  Dare took the ribbons as the groom ran to his position at the back. If Ella was watching she’d be comforted by his attendance. She’d be comforted by Dare’s appearance, too. No one could imagine him a wild man.

  Perhaps he was already free of the drug. Yes. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It explained his arrival in London.

  “Vive la liberte!” she declared as they rolled out of the square down Upper Brook Street.

  He glanced at her. “You embrace revolution?”

  “Only in the rolling wheels that carry me out of Fortress Grosvenor.”

  “What?” A hint of laughter in his voice delighted her and she continued her nonsense.

  “Don’t you think the four terraces of a square are like fortress walls, designed to keep some people in and others out?”

  “Quite likely. London being so full of others.”

  “So is Monkton St. Bride, Dare. Delightfully so.”

  He slowed the team to navigate a spot complicated by a large wagon. “Some of the London others are a bit too otherish, Imp.”

  “As in the inhabitants of the Seven Dials?” she said to show she knew something of the world.

  He glanced at her with a frown. “What on earth do you know about a place like that?”

  “I wander there at night.” She laughed at his expression. “Of course, I don’t. Mind that child.”

  He turned his attention back to his horses and slowed them to let an urchin dash across the road. “With you, one can never quite be sure.”

  “I think I like that.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “Don’t be prosy. I am surprised, however, at how close such a den of thieves lies to Oxford and Bond Streets. It’s less than a mile from here, even.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “From a book.”

  “Lord help us. What sort of book?”

  “A Guide to London’s Wickedness.” At his alarmed look, she laughed again. “It’s A Young Lady’s Guide to the Educational Delights of London, given me by my godmother, the bishop’s wife. Completely respectable.”

  “Not if it mentions the Seven Dials.”

  “Only to warn young ladies away from danger. Indeed,” she said in response to his groan, “such warnings are extraordinarily useful.”

  He looked at her again, but now he was sharing her amusement. His smiling eyes were so much the old Dare that Mara wanted to leap down and dance.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not the slightest bit tempted to explore there. But another perilous enterprise does appeal.” When he didn’t ask what, she added, “A public masquerade.”

  “No.” He turned the team into Hyde Park Lane.

  Mara sighed, but didn’t press even though Dare would be the perfect escort for such an adv
enture. He’d share the fun, keep her safe, and never step beyond the line.

  Safe. Yet after last night, safe wasn’t exactly the right word. She’d trust him with her life, but the brush of his body against hers now was sending a tingle down her spine, and even the deft action of his gloved hands on the reins seemed a wonder.

  Dare?

  She tore her gaze away and concentrated on the enormous park. As it lay on the edge of London, it was countryside at its limits. At this unfashionable hour, it was quiet enough for the countryside, populated by only a few pedestrians and some children out with nursemaids.

  “This is lovely,” she said, enjoying the greenery and the soft clop of hooves on the earthen path. Horse-shoes sounded so harsh on cobblestones. “Illogical to long for Town when in the country, then pine for country when in Town.”

  “Doubtless why the haut volée migrates between the two.”

  “Flying high from country nest to London mating ground?” she suggested, enjoying the whimsy.

  “Such a chattering and fluttering and puffing of fine feathers.”

  They shared a smile at the image, but she said, “I suppose we, too, will do the same.”

  “I have no country nest,” he said. “Nor a town perch, if it comes to that.”

  “You own no property?” Mara was surprised. She’d always assumed him to be rich, but he was the younger son.

  “A few, all leased to long-term tenants. No place appeals to me enough to evict them.”

  “But you’ll need a home one day.”

  He was not fixed in Somerset, however. She noted that.

  “I’ll probably take rooms in London again,” he said.

  “Is that why you’re in London now?” she asked. “To look for a place?”

  “No, just for a change of scenery. And to please Mother. She longs to see me ‘out in the world,’ as she puts it. Back to my old self.”

  His tone was wry, and Mara thanked heaven he was focused on guiding the team past some boys with a kite or he might have seen her stab of guilt. Wasn’t that what she, too, was doing—trying to restore the old Dare?

  Something was wrong here. He needed his friends.

  “Simon should be here soon,” she said, then realized she’d spoken to her thoughts, not the conversation.

  He drew the carriage to a halt and said, “I wish I’d gone with him.”

  “With Simon? To Canada?” But then Mara understood. If Dare had gone with Simon there would have been no Waterloo, no injuries, no opium.

  “There’s no point in might-have-beens,” she said, but then winced. “I’m sorry. That was horribly preachy.”

  “But true. I wasn’t pining, merely reflecting. I’m an object lesson on not plunging into enthusiasms without due thought.”

  “Now you’re preaching. I told you I’d learned my lesson. I’m going to behave with complete propriety from now on.”

  He seemed neither skeptical nor amused. This wasn’t going as Mara had expected. Perhaps Simon was right about Dare’s fragility. Her intention to meddle was beginning to feel like tossing around a precious glass bubble.

  “I’m going to be good,” she promised, “but I do long to meet more Rogues. I’ve only ever met you. And Simon, of course.” The horses shifted, and she grabbed Dare’s arm for balance.

  He ordered the groom to the horses’ heads and Mara almost felt warned off touching him. She removed her hand and laid it in her lap.

  “That shouldn’t be difficult,” he said. “The MPs are here to do their duty in Parliament.”

  “Sir Stephen Ball. I’ve read some of his speeches in the papers. Who else?”

  “The peers. The Earl of Charrington…”

  “Lee,” she said.

  “Viscount Middlethorpe.”

  “Francis.

  “Simon has bored you with us all, hasn’t he? Lord Amleigh?” he tested.

  “Con.”

  “Indeed, but he’s not arrived yet. His infant took ill.”

  “Not seriously, I hope.”

  “She’s recovered, I understand.”

  Mara counted on her gloved fingers. “With you and Simon, that’s six. Where are the other four?”

  “None of them are Members of Parliament, but Hal’s in town. He’s married to the actress, Blanche Hardcastle. Miles, I assume is in Ireland, and Lucien at his country place, but he’ll come for part of the season. Nicholas thoroughly dislikes London, but I suspect he’ll be here soon.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her. “Because I’m here and he’s playing mother hen.”

  “That doesn’t sound like King Rogue to me.”

  Nicholas Delaney had formed the Company of Rogues in his first days at Harrow, and had always been the leader even though many of the others out-ranked him socially. She was surprised he still took that role seriously now they were all grown men.

  “Do you truly mind his concern?” Mara asked.

  “No.”

  “I hope I meet him. I hope I meet all the Rogues.”

  “Simon will provide you entre´e.”

  “Or you.” It popped out before she could help it, heating her cheeks. “I mean, if Simon for some reason can’t be here.”

  “I’m not sure that would accord with the rules.”

  She grasped the escape. “There are rules?”

  “Better than rules, we have a blood oath. Let me see if I can remember it.” He leaned back, considering. “‘I do hereby pledge myself to the service of this noble band; to defend each and every one, individually and as a group from all malicious injury, and to never cease in my endeavor to bring horrible vengeance to any who might injure one of my fellows.’”

  “How thrilling! What happened if anyone broke the oath?”

  “‘If I should be forsworn,’” he recited in the grand manner, and Mara saw a hint of the old Dare, “’or if I should reveal to any person the secrets of this band, I shall be boiled in oil, devoured by worms, or inflicted with other torments too horrible to mention.’ We were,” he added with a smile, “about thirteen at the time.”

  “I think it’s deliciously bloodcurdling. You said blood oath?”

  “We cut our hands with a penknife.”

  “Do you still have the scar?”

  He pulled off his leather glove and showed her the pale scar on the ball of his thumb, but she saw other, more recent ones. She noticed for the first time that his middle finger had healed slightly crooked. They had slid into darker matters.

  Quickly, she asked, “So what are the secrets?”

  He pulled the glove back on, gathered the reins in both hands, and put the horses back into motion. “Under such threat, you can hardly expect me to reveal them.”

  “I don’t think there are any.”

  “That in itself would be a secret, wouldn’t it?”

  “Wretched man! So what are the torments too horrible to mention?”

  “Lack of schoolboy imagination. Which time has amended.”

  That had been a stupid, stupid question.

  Mara looked around for escape. “I wish I’d been here in 1814 for the victory celebrations. I remember begging Papa to bring us, but of course he detests London.”

  “The premature victory celebrations,” he pointed out. “The victory pagoda burning down was probably an omen if anyone had paid heed.”

  Why did everything keep circling back to Waterloo? Mara was seeking a safe response when cries of “Papa! Papa!” startled her.

  Two children were racing toward the phaeton, out-pacing their alarmed maids. Instinctively, Mara reached for the reins, but then the groom leapt off the carriage to stop the children and Dare brought the team to an orderly stand.

  All was calm, but she was aware that she’d reacted because Dare had been a second slow to do so.

  “You can handle them?” he asked her, looking pale.

  “Yes.”

  He tossed the reins to her and climbed down to go on one knee in front of the children, perhaps scold
ing them. Any trace of distress lasted only a moment, and then the dark haired little girl and the sturdy, brown-haired boy were hanging on him, chattering merrily.

  Papa?

  Mara could hardly breathe for the knot of pain in her chest.

  The groom was at the horses’ heads now, but without assistance, she was stuck in the seat. Height gave her an interesting perspective.

  The two maids had retreated to watch, smiling. The two children treated Dare as if he were the sun and the stars, and though he had his back to her, she sensed he felt the same way about them.

  Papa?

  How could she not have known Dare was married? She’d wring Simon’s neck when she saw him!

  No. Nonsense. Simon would be bound to have told the whole family. And though the girl might only be about four, the boy had to be five or six. He would have been conceived when Dare was about twenty and in and out of Brideswell all the time. He couldn’t have been married then.

  Bastards, then. But that didn’t work either. She couldn’t imagine Dare having bastards, particularly ones he clearly loved, and no one at Brideswell knowing about it. Then the answer dawned.

  Stepchildren.

  He’d recently married a widow with children. Of course he had! The Belgian widow who had saved his life. The ache swelled again, because he was out of reach before she’d even realized she wanted him.

  Dare turned and she saw the remains of happiness on his features like sunlight. She had to try to be happy for him.

  He hurried to her. “I’m sorry for abandoning you. Would you like to come down and meet the children?”

  She made herself smile. “Yes, please.”

  With his help, she made the descent in dignity and went over to the two young ones—who clearly were not seeing her arrival as a treat. They were strangely unalike for brother and sister. The sturdy, brown-haired boy could be described as plain, but the girl, with a heart-shaped face, huge eyes, and dark, bubbling curls, was beautiful.

  “Mara,” Dare said, “permit me to introduce Delphie and Pierre. Children, this is my friend, Lady Mara St. Bride.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Delphie, Pierre.”

  The children, still unsmiling, gave her a perfect curtsy and bow. But then Pierre cocked his head. “Our uncle Simon, he is called St. Bride.” He spoke with a strong French accent.