To Rescue a Rogue

by Jo Beverley

  Feng Ruyuan returned to her and showed her some steps. Forward, backward, and a turn. Mara found it difficult, especially in her long robe, but she would master this.

  She tried to put the movements to music, but they fit no music she knew. She realized she needed to break free of her usual world in order to do this—and then it made sense. She slid into the flow and glanced at Feng Ruyuan. He smiled and showed her an additional step that formed a cycle so she could continue without pause.

  It pleased. It soothed her mind, but not in the way of blanking it. More by elevating it like the best sort of prayer. She could see why this might help Dare to rise above torment and survive the night.

  Then noises brought her back to earth and she stopped.

  The men were fighting now as she’d seen them fight before. She recognized the patterns turned to violent force.

  No, not violent. Just intense. The purpose was not to hit or hurt. That only happened if either made a mistake. The mistakes were always Dare’s. When it happened, he paused, focused, and then picked up the patterns again.

  Sweat poured off him now and his chest heaved so that Mara longed to cry halt, but she knew evil was pouring out of him with that sweat, and tormented thoughts were being vanquished. She simply sat again and tried to join her strength with his as he fought for his life.

  They came to the point she’d witnessed before, when Feng Ruyuan called a halt and produced temptation. From her place, she could smell the opium, slightly sweet, slightly musty. Such a blessing when people were in pain, but such an evil when uncontrolled.

  Dare was quivering, tension in every line of him, anguish in his face, and Mara longed to go to him. She understood that he had to fight this battle alone. He would always have to do this alone.

  When the opium was brought close, his tremors became a violent shaking and his hands pushed together as if they’d break through each other. Mara bit her lips so as not to beg for him to take it, to find the peace it would bring. She closed her eyes and prayed that God give him strength and victory.

  She heard the slight sound and opened her eyes. Feng Ruyuan had stepped back and was slipping the opium box out of sight. Dare still shook. Feng Ruyuan moved behind as he had before, and she could see now that he was massaging Dare’s shoulders, hear that he was murmuring in a singsong that might be Chinese.

  Then he led Dare stumbling away.

  Mara was left sitting in the empty ballroom, surrounded by ghosts of labor and pain, but also by victory. Thank you, God. She rose, finding herself stiff, and left the room. She considered, but not for long, before going to Mr. Feng’s room.

  She knocked, marveling at herself, but sure of what she must do. There was no response, but she could hear something from inside. Music. Flowing flute music that matched the flowing patterns.

  She opened the door.

  Dare was lying on a narrow, high bed, his head turned away from her. He was naked. Feng Ruyuan was pummeling his oiled body in a way that looked painful, but Dare didn’t complain. A woman sat nearby playing the flute.

  Mara simply stood, at a loss, especially as everyone ignored her. It was as if Feng Ruyuan was saying, “Do as you think best.”

  She stepped in and closed the door behind her. She was intruding. Dare had no idea she was here, but she wasn’t sure he’d been aware of her in the ballroom and she simply couldn’t go elsewhere.

  She watched the work of strong hands, which meant she watched Dare’s perfect body. Perfect except for scars—down one thigh, across his side. They were evidence of suffering as his lean, hard muscles were evidence of strength, of a battle won, of mind as well as body. I am dangerous, he’d said, and she saw the truth.

  Every breath brought her subtle perfumes—cedar, perhaps, and incense, sandalwood and rosemary. But other perfumes, too, sweet and strange, all playing on her senses. She walked closer until she stood by the bed.

  Feng Ruyuan put a cloth over Dare’s body and worked his hands down Dare’s legs to his feet, then sat on a stool to concentrate on ankle, instep, and toes. He gestured Mara to his side. Without being told, she knew she was being instructed again.

  Could she? Should she?

  She paid attention to the way he dug his thumbs strongly into Dare’s sole and up around the base of his toes, then pulled and squeezed the toes. Then he rose and worked back up the legs as the encircling music wove on.

  Mara sat, heart thundering. Her hands hovered but didn’t touch, but then she made herself grasp Dare’s right foot as the man had and rub firmly with her thumbs.

  Dare stirred, doubtless recognizing an extra pairs of hands, but Feng Ruyuan said something and he settled again. Mara focused, wondering if he would recognize her touch, whether she wanted him to.

  She’d never touched anyone in such a way before, and this was Dare. It made her light-headed enough to faint, but it also made her strong. She poured strength through her hands because she knew that was what he needed, and tried to pour pleasure, too, for she was drowning in it. Every push, every stroke, every pull swept sweetness of the purest kind through her. There was nothing in this of carnal ecstasy. It was sublime.

  She moved to the other foot, then worked her hands higher, rising to work up his leg to the jagged, sunken scar that marred one thigh. She could imagine the work and pain required to overcome that and still move well.

  “He sleeps, milady.”

  Feng Ruyuan’s soft voice pulled Mara out of another land. She straightened, feeling a sharp loss when her hands separated from Dare’s body, and then a sharp twinge from her back. The music continued.

  Feng spread the quilted cover entirely over Dare, then moved away from the bed. Mara followed. “Will he sleep through the night now?”

  “No, but long enough to face another day. He sent you the gift?”

  After a puzzled moment, she remembered the silk. “No.”

  “Then you must be wary of the one who did.”

  “I am.”

  “I wish to give you something if you will accept it, my lady.”

  “Of course,” Mara said, but she felt uncomfortable.

  He gestured her through a door into an adjoining room. The light of two branches of candles made Mara blink, and for the first time, she did feel uncomfortable. This was a normal bedchamber apart from various Oriental artifacts.

  He picked up something and offered her a disk about the size of a crown coin, with a strange swirling design of black and white.

  “We call this yin-yang, Lady Mara. It represents the balance of the universe, but also the balance we must all seek inside ourselves.”

  “Good and bad?” she asked as she took it. The disk was smooth beneath her finger and was made, she thought, of ebony and white enamel. In each swirl, there was a dot of the other color.

  “Of light and dark,” he said, “but dark is no more bad than nighttime is. Light and dark also represent the masculine and feminine in each of us.”

  “Dark being masculine and light feminine?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Your traditions do not appreciate the feminine. Dark is the female side—cool, contemplative, and healing. Light is the male side—hot, energetic, and mobile. In relationships, the woman is the rock around which the man flows. You are strong in yin, Lady Mara.”

  She laughed slightly. “I always thought myself an energetic, mobile sort.”

  “Remember, in each of us the two should balance. And also”—he touched one of the dots—“each should be balanced by a little of the other. You are balanced for one so young, and will become more so as you continue along the path.”

  Mara looked up from the fascinating pattern. “Thank you.”

  “You are an excellent match for Darius, my lady, but you need rest. You, too, must face tomorrow.”

  Mara turned to go, but then turned back. “Please, would you call me Mara?”

  He bowed, hands together. “I am honored, Mara, and even more so if you would call me Ruyuan.”

  Mara repeate
d his bow. “I, too, would be honored, Ruyuan.”

  Mara returned to her room, the disk in her hand, and fell instantly asleep. She awoke brightly to the first light coming through the gap in the curtains. Ruth would be pleased.

  But then she realized that her room reeked of Oriental magic. She leapt out of bed and opened the window, but realized the oil had smeared from her hands to the sheets. There was no water to wash in, so she found a bottle of perfume and spilled some on herself and the bed. It earned her a scolding for carelessness, but Ruth seemed more relieved than anything to see her lively and troublesome.

  What to do today?

  She and Dare had agreed to ride.

  After last night, it seemed ridiculous, but she understood many things now. The ordinary days were as important to Dare as the extraordinary nights.

  She wrote a note to remind him. When Ruth brought the reply, she also brought a pink rose, turning Mara almost dizzy with bliss. The note, however, said: Alas, my love, Godiva must ride another day. A council of war has been convened.

  My love.

  The first time he’d written such a thing. It and the rose were affirmations of their love, despite anything the world could hurl at them. Inhaling the fragrance of the flower, Mara wondered if Dare realized what she’d done last night and what he thought about it.

  “When you’ve finished sighing over that rose, milady, what do you want to wear?”

  “Armor,” Mara said. “I’m going to a council of war.”

  Chapter 24

  Mara wore the rose between her breasts in a bud pin when she went downstairs, where she had to fight a preliminary skirmish. Simon was completely opposed to her attending the meeting, but Mara recruited Dare, who smiled at the rose, even though he looked strained.

  “Of course she should attend, Simon. She’s closely affected.”

  She linked arms with him to go into the library, where she found all the Rogues who were in Town, plus Lord Vandeimen and Major Hawkinville.

  “Because of their military expertise and connections,” Dare said, as he escorted her to a sofa.

  “And they’re friends of Lord Amleigh’s, I gather.”

  “Like peas in a pod.”

  That seemed a strange thing to say, for the two men before her were not at all alike, but she let it pass.

  “We all shared a billet in Brussels,” Dare said.

  “So they know you well.”

  “For their sins.” He spoke lightly, but a deeper meaning lay beneath. With a shiver, Mara remembered Jancy’s fortune-telling. An unexpected disaster. Here it was, but not disaster. Major Hawkinville had already eased matters.

  Nicholas ceded control of this meeting to Sir Stephen Ball, saying, “I’m sure we need a legal mind.”

  Stephen sent him a look that showed it wasn’t entirely a compliment, but he laid out the situation with crisp clarity. “The story was probably begun at Almack’s,” Stephen continued.

  “Why do you say that?” Vandeimen asked. “It could simply have arrived there as the tidbit of the day.”

  “Because it wasn’t there at the beginning of the evening,” Leander said. “Judith and I arrived early and there was no hint of it.

  Mara decided to speak. “I think I felt it begin.”

  Everyone looked at her. “When?” Stephen asked.

  “During the second set. Could it have been sparked by seeing Dare there?”

  “Perhaps because Dare seemed popular and apparently unharmed? But who would resent that?”

  Berkstead? The name popped into Mara’s mind, but he hadn’t been there and she couldn’t bear to expose her foolish behavior to all these men.

  “I don’t understand why it was believed,” she said.

  Stephen spoke without a trace of emotion. “Because the story presented to explain Dare’s absence and recovery was always suspect. It sufficed as long as it was unchallenged, but it was always a cracked pot.”

  “They could have the whole truth and be damned,” said Nicholas, “but it’s an overblown tale without evidence to give it credibility.”

  “It doesn’t address the current problem anyway,” Stephen pointed out. “The only relevance is that if Dare had been discovered on the battle field and cared for in the normal manner, this story would be toothless, even though it could as easily be true.”

  “Indeed,” Hawkinville said. “Anyone in battle can receive wounds in an ignoble way, but especially men like the couriers, not attached to any body of soldiers.”

  Stephen nodded. “The peculiarities in Dare’s story mean that the balance tips the other way. There’s a danger the story will be accepted unless there is proof to the opposite.”

  “Which doesn’t exist,” Dare said. “Even I can’t remember.”

  “We could advertise for witnesses,” Francis suggested.

  “Judging from the success at finding the children’s parents,” Dare said dryly, “that’s a waste of time.”

  “And such an advertisement implies uncertainty,” Stephen pointed out. “Never imply uncertainty. The first action we take is to present complete conviction. The story is too ridiculous even to be discussed.”

  Everyone nodded—except Dare, Mara noticed. No one was likely to confront him with the charge, but she wondered what he would say if that happened.

  “Our next step,” Stephen said, “is to find the originator of the story.”

  “Question everyone who was at Almack’s?” Leander queried in mild alarm.

  “Question those we know well enough,” Stephen said. “It might show a flow of information from one particular point.”

  Mara knew she had to speak. She swallowed and said, “I’m wondering if it might be something to do with me. There’s a Major Berkstead—”

  “That poor fellow,” Dare interrupted. “Mara might be right. He deluded himself that they were Romeo and Juliet and attacked me yesterday out of jealousy. But I doubt he was at Almack’s. I broke his nose and possibly some ribs.”

  There was a murmur of approval.

  Nicholas said, “Where do we find him?”

  Dare supplied the address. “It’s close by. Salter could go and check his present state.”

  That was agreed and arranged.

  “He could have sent a deputy,” Mara said. “Dare, do you remember in our first dance, an officer who seemed angry?”

  He smiled at her. “I was dancing with you. How could I be aware of others?”

  Mara blushed, but ignored it to address the men. “I thought at first the man was angry with me, and I wondered if it was something to do with Simon, because he said he’d been in Canada at the time of Waterloo. We were talking lightly about military matters when we met in the dance—you know how it is. But then I saw him look at Dare with such…anger.”

  It had really been disgust, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that.

  “Name?” Nicholas demanded.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  “Was he in uniform?” Hawkinville asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Describe it, please.”

  Mara did her best, but she hadn’t paid much attention.

  “Sounds like the West Middlesex. I can find him.” He sounded astonishingly sure.

  “If it is him,” Mara asked, “what can we do?”

  “Discover the basis for his anger,” Nicholas said. “He looks like our first evidence of ill will.”

  “But why?” Mara demanded. “He wasn’t at Waterloo. He said so.”

  “Perhaps he heard the story from someone who was,” Dare said wearily.

  Mara turned to him. “The story is not true.”

  Before he could protest, Hawkinville said, “It’s certainly highly unlikely. I didn’t lie about Wellington’s approval of your work.”

  “I appreciate the endorsement but that doesn’t mean I didn’t lose my courage later. God knows, I can understand how that could be.”

  “As can any who’ve been in battle. I doubt you have that n
ature, however.”

  “And what nature is that?”

  “In my experience,” Hawkinville said, his voice calm in the face of Dare’s rising temper, “the brave man who breaks has been fighting his fears all along. More credit to him for holding on. There’s little glory in heroics without fear. Were you afraid?”

  Dare suddenly laughed. “No. I have always been known to be mad.”

  “Thus the story is untrue.”

  Stephen spoke. “We need proof, however. And witnesses.”

  “Where were you when you were hit, Dare?” Vandeimen asked.

  Dare grimaced. “Somewhere in the battle.”

  Hawkinville pulled out a notebook and pencil. “Tell me any detail you remember.”

  Under taut questioning, Dare produced fragmentary memories of uniforms, and then the important details of where he’d started out and where he’d been heading.

  Major Hawkinville consulted some distant vision. “That gives me angles of enquiry,” he said at last, “but it might take time. I suspect this battle will have to be fought in the air.”

  “What?” Nicholas asked, clearly puzzled..

  “Among the haut vollée.”

  Mara glanced at Dare and saw he, too, remembered joking about fine feathers and country nests. But the high flying birds of society could have sharp beaks and talons. She took comfort from the fact that some of the eagles and hawks would be Rogues.

  “Our greatest weapon, then,” said Nicholas, “is the ball.”

  “Swung mightily?” queried Dare.

  Everyone chuckled, and it was partly because Dare retained his sense of humor.

  “Crushingly,” Nicholas agreed with a smile. “Your formal betrothal would add weight and force to it.”

  Silence fell.

  “We already spread the word,” Mara said, “so why not?”

  Dare said, “A rumor at Almack’s is one thing. A formal announcement quite another. Simon doesn’t want you jilted.”

  “I don’t want me jilted, either.” She met his eyes relentlessly and eventually he looked down at his laced fingers.

  Simon objected. “We can hardly have a betrothal ball without Father’s permission. Without his presence, in fact.”