by Jo Beverley
“Cost is irrelevant in this case,” Simon said. “Sorry, Jancy, but it is.”
Jancy pulled a face, but said, “Yes, of course. I’ll probably wince all the time, but I agree.”
“You don’t need to see a single bill.” Mara put down her teacup. “We’ll start planning immediately and order invitations engraved. That, too, will need special speed. Simon, you can leave this with us for now.” When he reached the door, however, she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “If…when you see Dare, please tell him that I must speak to him.”
Chapter 22
Dare, however, might as well not be living in the house at all. After lunch, Mara visited the schoolroom and found the children unhappy because he’d sent a message to say he wouldn’t be able to visit them again that day.
Where had he gone?
A busy day was a mercy, but through it all—a visit to Marlowe House to confer with senior staff, to Fort-num and Mason, to the printers and vintners, then to a florist—Mara was never free of worry about Dare. She needed to see him so badly it was a deep ache.
That night she crept the house but caught no trace of him, and in the morning, she asked Ruth if he’d left.
“Not as far as I know, milady.”
“But are you sure?” Mara was suddenly certain that Dare had fled. She’d never imagined that people could sense the presence of others in this way, but she was convinced. “Go and ask.”
Ruth made a prune face but she went away and returned in a while with the news that yes, Lord Darius had spent the night elsewhere, but had recently returned. “Now can we decide what you’ll wear today, milady?”
“I don’t care.”
With a scowl, Ruth produced a plain blue dress that was years old. Mara had only brought it to London in case she should end up helping Ella in some menial task. She didn’t complain, however. It suited her mood. If Dare was determined to avoid her, how could she mend their shattered situation? She didn’t even bother with the corset she didn’t need. In this gown, no one would know.
When she went to Jancy’s parlor to ask Simon for help, he told her to leave Dare alone, even adding, “You’ve done enough damage.”
She burst into tears and he fled with the excuse that Marlowe House must be ready for them the next day. That made Mara cry even more. Jancy tried to comfort and reassure her, but then even she lost patience and deserted her. Mara didn’t blame her. She’d hardly ever cried since being a child, but now, sprawled against the arm of the sofa, she couldn’t stop.
“Mara?”
She looked up. Dare stood there, somber. No, anguished.
She gulped, sniffed, straightened, and tried for a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m all right.” Tears kept leaking, however, and she brushed them away.
He sat on the sofa and took her in his arms. “No, you’re not, and it’s all my fault.”
She pushed back to look him in the eye. “If you say things like that, I’ll cry again.”
“You’re still crying now,” he pointed out, wiping tears with his thumbs. “My dearest Mara, what am I to do?”
“Say that again.”
“What am I to do?”
He was teasing, which stopped her tears like a plug.
“My dearest Mara,” he repeated, but he rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t you see that I’m like a bad horse? You are fond of me and I of you, but I could still hurt you.”
She drew him closer, held him tight. “You are not, could never be, a bad anything. As for hurt, you hurt me by disappearing, by trying to end our betrothal. No pain could every equal that, Dare. Except your death.”
“I almost hit you.”
“But you didn’t. And you thought I was another assailant.”
His eyes didn’t waver. “I could have killed you. I’ve trained in these things. It helps me to fight the opium, but—”
She touched his lips. “I know. I sneaked into the musicians’ gallery three nights ago. You’re dangerous, but Feng Ruyuan could kill you in a moment.”
He laughed slightly. “True enough.”
She stroked his hair. “Do you mind? That I spied on you? I meant no harm. I simply care too much not to.”
“If we are to do this, I want you to know all about me.”
She cradled his face, cherishing his cheeks with her thumbs. “I know all I need to know.”
She pressed her lips to his, but then he took over, kissing her slowly, then deeply, then as hotly as he’d kissed her in the lane. They were alone now, private now, and she had no reservations. When his hand brushed her breast, she captured it and pressed it there.
She saw his reaction when he realized she wasn’t wearing a corset. She felt her nipple harden against his palm.
“Jancy’s not going to come back,” she whispered. “Show me more of this. Please. If you love me, please…”
With a sigh and a groan, he began to rub his hand gently over her breast, sending ripples of pleasure through her. She pressed her hips closer. “That’s wonderful.”
He pushed her sleeves off her shoulders, freeing her breasts to cool air, then to his hot mouth.
Mara melted against the sofa, liquid, languid, and yet fiercely burning, hands clutching at him, stroking him, loving him. She slid hands inside his jacket, kneading his flesh, and met his hungry mouth in another famished kiss.
When he moved over her, she felt the hard ridge of him and arched against it, driven mad by his clever mouth, by his weight, his scent, his heat. She spread her legs, urging him between her thighs. “I need you. I need you now, Dare. Now.”
But he drew back. “Mara, this is wrong.”
She grabbed his shirt. When had his jacket and waistcoat gone? When had she untied his cravat and tossed it on the carpet?
“We’re as good as married. Don’t stop now. I can’t bear it if you stop now!”
He gathered her into his arms—“hush, hush”—and slid his hand up under her skirt and between her thighs. She opened wider, and when he pressed there, she laughed into his shoulder for the sweetness of it.
In moments she was lost, feverishly swimming in ecstasy, clutching, nibbling, kissing. He caught her cries in a kiss, as the sharpest pleasure she’d ever known shot through her again and again and again.
She might have passed out. Certainly when she became aware of hot sweat and thudding heart, time seemed to have passed. She opened her eyes to look up at him.
Various words came to mind but all seemed inadequate, so she spoke to him with kisses and with touch, trying to tell him that way how much she loved him and what pleasure she’d felt.
She longed for more, to belong to him more deeply still, but she saw he couldn’t allow himself that yet. She could wait until her wedding night. For now, she would cherished him in every other way she could, pressing close, stroking his hair, murmuring her love, sensing his pleasure in these simple things.
Eventually, he stirred. “I don’t know how Jancy is keeping the world at bay, but we should relieve her of duty.” He pulled up her bodice and straightened it.
“Oh, good Lord!” Mara was suddenly plunged back into the real world. She fussed at herself, then at him. “I ripped your shirt!” But then she was distracted by his beautiful, muscular chest, kissing it, licking it, tasting his sweat….
A shudder ran through him, but he pushed her away. “You enchant me. Literally. I shouldn’t have done this. We shouldn’t have done this.”
“Yes, we should, and if you’re powerless before my magica, we’ll do it again. Soon.” She reached for him, half in jest. Laughing, he escaped to stand, to fasten his torn shirt and look for his other clothes.
Mara stood to restore her own clothing, but mostly she watched Dare, loving the intimacy of the moment. He put on his waistcoat and found his cravat, then peered into the small mirror on one wall as he did skillful things to it.
“Why don’t men just knot a cloth around their necks as they used to?” she asked.
“I don’t know why we wea
r such things at all.” He finished, pulled on his jacket, and turned to her. “Do I pass muster?”
She went to fiddle with his clothing, mostly because she wanted to. Then she turned for inspection. “What about me?”
“Remarkably in order. And,” he added, stroking her bodice, “there is nothing at all lacking about your breasts.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks, but it was a flush of pleasure. “You don’t mind? That they’re small?”
“My dear idiot.” He offered an arm. “If we’re to retain a scrap of sanity, we must leave this room.”
Mara took it, but she asked, “Are you all right now? You know you could never hurt me?”
“On the contrary,” he said, “I’m sure I will. But as little as possible. That I vow.”
Mara had hoped all the shadows were gone, but she tried not to show disappointment as they stepped out into the corridor. There was no sign of Jancy. No sign of anyone, in fact.
“The world has come to an end?” he asked.
“It’s certainly changed, but this house is often like this. It’s why I’ve been tempted to wander in the night.”
“Wander as you will, my love, but by the time we return home tonight, you’ll be too tired.”
“Almack’s,” she said, astonished that she could have forgotten. She smiled up at him. “Tonight, we dance.”
If not for Almack’s, Mara might have dreamed the day away, but she wanted everything to be perfect for her first appearance at a significant London event. She also had to keep an eye on Jancy, who was suffering an extreme attack of nerves. Jancy could never quite rid herself of the fear that she’d meet someone from her home area of Carlisle who could reveal her lowly origins.
Mara kept Jancy company during her first experience of a fashionable London coiffeur. Her thick red-gold hair was arranged into a complex confection that included an amber, pearl, and diamond tiara to match the other jewelry Jancy would wear.
Mara had to leave then to have her own hair arranged, but her curls required less work and they were soon in order and scattered with pink rosebuds and tiny brilliants. Her gown of white gossamer silk over pale pink satin was a favorite and she knew it suited her.
She rejoined Jancy to help with the final touches, and to genuinely admire the gown made from the green sprigged with gold. Jancy looked wonderful and could see it for herself in the mirror. She smiled at Mara. “I think I’m ready.”
When they went down, Simon came forward, his eyes bright with appreciation. Mara looked to Dare, whose eyes, she thought, were much the same.
“What shade is that?” he asked.
“Maiden’s blush. Truly. They give colors the most ridiculous names. Do you know the old French court used to have a color called caca de dauphin.”
When Dare and Simon laughed, Jancy demanded, “What does that mean?”
“Excrement of the baby prince,” Mara told her.
“You made that up.”
“I did not. It’s a greenish yellow. There was langue de reine as well. Tongue of the queen. A deep pink.”
Dare kissed her hand. “And,” he murmured so only she could hear, “cuisse de nymphe émue.”
Mara blushed, for the translation was “thighs of an aroused nymph.” “Langue de coquin,” she chided.
“How can I help but have the tongue of a Rogue?” He draped her white velvet cloak around her shoulders—and stole a kiss at the nape of her neck.
“Stop it,” she said, not meaning it at all. “I am determined to be the perfect young lady tonight.”
“Then perhaps the bodice is a little low?”
Mara followed his look down to where rosebuds nestled between her breasts. The neckline only just covered her nipples. “It’s the fashion. And the bounty is the deceptive work of an excellent corset. As you know?” she added, with a look.
“You were going to be a perfect young lady,” he reminded her.
She laughed as they went out to the carriage, but suddenly realized that he must already be hours past his last dose. Her look must have been eloquent, for he said, “I took my dose later than usual. I can survive.”
“I’m glad we can speak about it.”
“I wish there were no necessity.”
She sought the right response to that, but they were at the carriage door and Simon was urging them inside.
Almack’s was everything Mara had hoped, being packed with the noisy, glittering elite, but as they threaded their way into the crowded rooms, she was more concerned with her charges—Jancy and Dare.
Jancy was clinging to Simon too much, but at least he was at ease. He’d probably never attended an Almack’s assembly before, but he and she shared an ease with new people and new situations. It was a bold confidence that could sometimes lead them too far. Simon had almost died in Canada, and she had almost ruined herself that night with Berkstead.
She resolved to be very careful tonight.
Dare didn’t need her care. He was being greeted by friends left and right, and if anyone was concerned about opium, they were hiding it. Lady Downshire, one of the patronesses, paused to ask after his health and fondly admonish him to behave. “I don’t forget the feathers,” she said.
When she’d moved on, Mara asked, “Feathers?”
He smiled. “I have to have some secrets.”
Then the other side intruded—the remnants of war. A grizzled-haired military man came over and was introduced to Mara as Captain Morse, whom Dare had met in Brussels. A Lord Vandeimen joined them—a dashing blond with a scar on his cheek that rather enhanced his looks. His wife was a fashionable lady who must be some years older.
What a variety of couples in the world, to be sure.
Mara prayed military talk wasn’t upsetting Dare.
‘There’s no stopping them,” Lady Vandeimen said with a smile, then added softly, “Don’t worry. Dare is a beloved cousin of mine, and Vandeimen is a close friend of Lord Amleigh.”
Part of the Roguish contingent. Mara wondered just how many of the glittering throng were.
“Is this your first visit to Almack’s, Lady Mara?” Lady Vandeimen asked in a normal voice.
Mara took the hint and chatted of the crush, the fashions, the famous and infamous. She saw the Charringtons and another couple talking to Simon and Jancy. St. Raven and his wife joined that party.
A flurry drew her eye to the entrance.
Stephen and Laura had just entered and were attracting people like magnets. Or at least, Laura was.
“Labellelle,” Lady Vandeimen said. “I’m so glad to see her happy.”
All was well. The Rogues and their friends would be dropping mention of Mrs. Beaumont into every ear, and the dancing would soon begin. She’d dance with Dare.
Then a woman cried, “Mara!”
Mara turned to see two friends struggling toward her. “Sophie, Giles! When did you arrive?”
“Last Friday,” said Sophie Gilliatt, gasping slightly, her guinea gold hair already trying to riot. “I would have sought you out earlier, but it’s been rush here, race there, and such a panic over vouchers to come here.” They chattered about London and Lincolnshire, but then Sophie said, “He’s very handsome.”
Mara blushed, realizing she’d been stealing glances at Dare. “Lord Darius Debenham, Simon’s friend.”
“Oh, I remember him. He’s matured very well.”
Sophie’s appreciation made Mara smile, but Giles said, “Make him sound like a cask of port. Anyway, he’s not a Lincolnshire man.”
“He’s a younger son,” Mara said, “so that doesn’t matter.”
Sophie said, “Oh-ho!” but Giles glowered. Mara remembered that he was one of her suitors.
“Wasn’t he the one who organized hedgehog races at the summer fair one year?” Sophie asked.
Mara laughed. “Yes, that was Dare.”
“And a jousting tournament on the river in boats.” Sophie slid another look. “He’s very changed.” This time it wasn’t a compliment.
>
“He was at Waterloo and seriously injured.”
“I remember now.”
Giles said, “Thought dead, then mysteriously appeared. A bit fishy if you ask me.”
“Which no one did,” Mara said hotly. “It wasn’t at all fishy. His wounds were serious, and for a time, he didn’t remember his name. Then he was too weak to get home.”
“Fishy,” Giles insisted. “Do you really believe that he couldn’t get word to his powerful family?”
“You’re being horrid, Giles,” Sophie said. “Stop it.”
“That’s because Mara’s broken my heart.”
He was trying to make it a joke, but Mara feared it was a little bit true. She laid a hand on his arm. “If I thought so, dearest Giles, I’d die of shame.”
He pulled a face, but covered her hand. “And that’d be a sorry waste. I hope he’s good enough for you, though.”
“Thank you.”
The music changed. Mara had hoped to dance first with Dare, but with her hand in Giles’s, she had no choice but to walk out with him. Dare asked Sophie to dance. At least Sophie would soon realize what a gem he was.
Mara loved to dance, so any tendency to pine was swept away by music and the lively patterns. As she moved up and down the line, she caught a glimpse of another entrance.
The magnificently bosomed woman in a gown in the style of the previous century had to be the Dowager Countess of Cawle. The many going to pay their respects were mostly older, which was excellent. They were the ones who might be hardest to convince to accept Blanche.
The woman’s style of dress was a good choice, for she was the sort made to be well-rounded. The modern high waist and simple fabrics did tend to make a large women look like a bulging sack. Mara liked the spirit of the woman who refused to bow to fashion.
When the dance ended, Mara made sure to join Dare and Sophie for the promenade so that the next dance would be with him.
As he took her hand to lead her into a set of eight, Mara felt as if she floated, and she smiled into his eyes in memory of their moonlit dance. Alas, this wasn’t a waltz so, she and Dare would spend little time with each other. It was still a unique joy, and she wove the patterns smiling.
