by Jo Beverley
“Good land,” Mara said. “A river nearby. The monks needed to support themselves as well as pray.”
Dare tested the air again. “I think it’s more than that. Why have people traveled to sacred sites for centuries? To Compostella and Canterbury. To Stonehenge, even, and Egeria’s Grotto. There are places that seem special.”
She took his hand. “It will provide a blessing for our wedding.”
He kissed that hand, but was assailed by an uneasy premonition. He tried to grasp the threat. It was as ethereal as fog and as unpleasant. He took Mara’s other hand, weaving their fingers. “Do you know that the couple marry each other? The minister merely blesses the union.”
“I don’t think the law quite looks at it like that.”
“It used to. That’s why a Gretna marriage works. Will you pledge to me, Mara, here and now? I shouldn’t do this, but I could not bear to lose you.”
“You won’t,” she said, but smiling, a smile as sweet as evening light. “It’s a lovely idea, but I can’t remember the right words.”
“Does it matter?” He raised her hands and kissed each. “I promise that if you are willing to entrust yourself to me, Mara St. Bride, I will be faithful to that trust. I will be a loving companion through life. I will cherish, protect, and respect you, and put your welfare first in all I do.” He kissed her hands again. “Till death and beyond.”
“I can’t match that,” she said, tears shining in her eyes.
“Of course you can. What do you promise?”
She looked up at the shadowy arches, then back at him, drawing their hands together, hers encompassing his.
“I promise to love you. I will always love you, Darius Debenham, and I will be faithful to you in every way. I will work always for joy—for us, for all around us, and for our future family. I will be your true companion in this life and beyond. This I promise.”
They came together then to kiss, a deep and tender kiss in the rosy light of the setting sun, and then simply rested there together. The peace of mind and heart was so profound that Dare lacked the strength to break it. Even the beast had been cowed in the church. Its snarls had been muted since arriving at Brideswell.
“They’ll find us here turned to stone,” he murmured.
Mara laughed and then moved gently away to take his hand and lead him out of the church, out into a beautiful evening crowned by a blessed, pearlescent sky and pure birdsong.
As he drove the gig toward the Brideswell stables, Dare said, “Is there room for us to live at Brideswell until we find the right place?”
“What an excellent idea. Grandfather Baddersley’s rooms are still vacant—a bedchamber, dressing room, and parlor.”
“Why isn’t Rupert using them?”
“He and Mary did for a while, but there’s no room for a nursery nearby. That’s why Father built on. They would do for us, however, for a while.”
A blush showed she’d thought about their children.
“There’s Delphie and Pierre as well.”
“They’ll want to be the children’s quarters with Lucy and Jenny.”
“Yes, I think they will. But there’ll have to be a dolls’ house of some sort.”
“And a toy boat,” she said, but then smiled. “Perhaps not, for here Pierre can have a real one.”
Mara hugged their private wedding to herself through a family evening that was blessedly short because of the next day’s travel. She loved her family dearly, but at the moment, they interfered with blissful dreams.
Mara settled into her old bed at ten o’clock and snuggled under the familiar patchwork coverlet, amazed at the changes in her world since she’d slept there last and savoring all the wonders to come.
She couldn’t sleep and began to worry about Dare.
He’d said he’d take an extra dose to get him through the night peacefully, but she knew how hard it would be for him. Would he do it? Or would he try to endure without disturbing the household?
He had Salter with him. But not exactly. Dare was in Simon’s old room, and Salter had a room in the menservant’s quarters.
When the downstairs clock chimed eleven, Mara sighed and sat up in bed. She knew what she had to do.
She climbed out of bed, reaching for her silk robe, the one Mary had given her. But then she changed her mind and dug into drawers in search of her old one. It was four years old and the bright blue wool had faded to gray, but it felt more comfortable.
She went to the door remembering thinking that no one could creep around Brideswell undetected. She was about to find out if that belief was true.
She opened the door and listened, hearing all the familiar sounds—four discordantly ticking clocks and her father’s intermittent snore. At least he was asleep. Jenny and Lucy were in the schoolroom on the next floor up. Rupert and Mary were in their own quarters in the extension to the house.
That left only her Baddersley great-uncle and aunt, and her St. Bride grandmother in this part of the house. Did any of them suffer from insomnia? She had no idea. Then there were the dogs and cats. If they heard her, they might come in search of nighttime amusement.
At the moment there was no sign of life. The corridor was lit only by moonlight, but Mara could find her way around Brideswell blindfolded. She’d done just that many times in mischief and games.
She crept barefoot past the room that had been Ella’s, then around the stairwell past her parents’ room to where the boys’ rooms lay. A hand run lightly along the wall discovered one doorway—Rupert’s old room—then the next, Simon’s.
Heart pattering, she listened and heard movement. Perhaps a chair pushed back when someone stood. Dare wasn’t asleep, then.
Or Salter was keeping watch?
Ah, well. She turned the knob and eased open the door, praying the hinges didn’t squeak. They didn’t, and she saw Dare by firelight, standing at the window looking out at the sea. She slipped in and closed the door.
It made a little click and he turned, but not sharply. As if he’d expected her. As if he’d been waiting for her?
“I always thought it unfair that the boys got to look out at the sea,” she said, intending to speak softly, but not quite so breathily.
He was in a dark banjan robe and held a glass of dark liquid in his hand.
“Is that…?”
He started and looked down. “Laudanum? No.” He put it aside. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?” she said, walking toward him. “We’ve taken our vows.”
“Mara…”
But he didn’t resist when she went into his arms, when she drew his head down for a kiss. She’d expected to have to fight honorable reluctance, but it was as if she’d flung a door open to release a torrent.
He ravished her mouth with a ferocious hunger that weakened her knees, so she clung as she ravished him back, senses rioting and exploding all civilized restraint. The touch, the heat, the smell of him swept through her, creating such need that she’d have clawed her ways through walls to get to him.
She was tearing at his clothes when he swept her up and carried her to the bed, laid her there, collapsed over her—sweet, potent weight—and kissed her again. His hand gripped her thigh, her hip and she pushed against him, wanting more, fighting to get at his skin beneath heavy silk, longing for his skin on every inch of hers.
Panting, Mara heaved him off her, but only so she could strip for him; then she grabbed his garment.
He escaped, laughing, but only to strip it off, then to drag down the bedcovers. But then he took his shirt off a chair and flung it over the sheets before picking her up again and laying her on it, more gently this time, but his eyes burning with passion.
Fearing the pause, Mara raised her hand. “Come.”
He took her hand, kissed it, but then settled at her side. When she protested, wriggled closer, he said, “Slowly, slowly, love, testing though it is. This is not a wine to be gulped.”
He began to kiss and tongue all over her bod
y.
Mara lay there, heart pounding, stroking whatever part of him came beneath her hands, trying to match him for control despite a passion that felt as if it would explode. She recognized a dim echo of the pleasure he’d given her last time, but this was torrent to stream. Her body would not stay still. It responded to his every ministration with shiver or stirring or sometimes an arch of need.
As when his mouth settled around one nipple, to tongue and suck. A cry escaped her.
“Hush,” he murmured, and she heard the beloved laughter in it. So she hushed, even when he worked the same magic on her other breast, and when his hand slid into the folds between her spread thighs, finding the pleasure places there with a gentle, almost teasing touch.
She moved hungrily against him and tangled fingers in his hair to make him look at her. “This time I want you inside me. Promise me, Dare. I must be yours completely.”
“Oh. yes.”
His agreement soothed her mind but not her urgent body.
“Now.” She spread her thighs wider and moved against him. He settled there, breathing hard, nudging her wider still, pressing closer still. Mara sucked in breaths as if the air was thin as his hardness began to fill her hot ache. Then it hurt, and she couldn’t help a caught breath.
He sealed her mouth with a kiss, then thrust, so her short cry was caught there. Then he stilled and smothered any memory of pain in a searing kiss, one hand pleasuring her breast until she thrust up against him, wanting more. Wanting everything.
He met her, then slid in and out. “Yes,” she gasped. This was what she wanted, had wanted in her secret knowing places for so long. With Dare. With Dare. With Dare.
She was thrusting against him now, as fiercely as he thrust into her, trying to hold back cries of effort and mindless pleasure, vaguely praying their exertions couldn’t be heard, as her heart thundered in her chest and then her mind spun wildly into blank brilliance.
Still locked, Mara grabbed Dare to her and kissed him, heart still hammering, fire still pulsing through her veins. Then hard mouths turned soft to trail over sweaty skin, to suck, to lick, to love, and the world steadied around them.
A different world.
A better, more perfect world.
“Forever and ever. Amen,” she murmured against his chest.
Then later: “You finally showed me a volcanic eruption.”
He laughed, rather helplessly and rolled to lie on his back.
She coiled into him, hooking a leg over a strong thigh, running a hand over his hard abdomen. “That was perfect.”
His hand cherished her hair. “With daylight and sanity, we may regret it.”
“No, we won’t. What does it matter? We’re to marry in weeks.”
Silence reminded her that he’d intended to wait until he’d won his battle, but then he kissed her hair. “You are truly precious to me, my dearest lady and I won’t betray this trust.”
They slid into comfortable talk of their future, then made love again, slowly, gently, but no less volcanically, before Mara had to slip back to her bed to catch a few hours’ sleep.
Alone, Dare lay facedown where Mara had lain, inhaling her smell, absorbing her warmth, of spirit as much as flesh. Their lovemaking should not have happened, but he couldn’t regret it.
How could he regret heaven? He gathered up his shirt, now marked with a streak of blood. He’d meant to burn it, but he couldn’t. He folded it and packed it carefully away.
Then he picked up his glass, shivered, and drank.
Chapter 27
They arrived back in London after dark. Everyone was exhausted, but they had made it in one day. Mara was as relieved as her parents to arrive, for she’d not anticipated being separated from Dare nearly the whole way. It had simply been taken for granted that Dare would travel with her father in one chaise, and Mara with her mother in the other. There’d been no rational argument to make so they’d met only for meals.
At those meals her parents had insisted on a half hour to digest their food before “rattling off again,” as her disgruntled father put it. But Dare needed most of that time for opium, and though Mara wished he’d let her be with him then, she knew he’d hate it.
Thirteen hours apart had hurt as much as torn skin, especially after the wonder of the previous night, but when the post chaises entered the walled courtyard of Marlowe House, Mara realized that torment wasn’t over.
Simon and Jancy came out to greet them. They’d already moved here, and so, therefore, had she. In any case, with her parents here she’d have to live with them. How could she have been blind to that?
She climbed down close to tears. Dare had left the other chaise with her father and was talking to Simon, but in moments that chaise would take him on to Yeovil House.
He looked unhappy about it, too. But then she realized it must be something else. He looked as if he’d received news of a death. She hurried over. “What is it?”
Simon answered her. “A woman’s turned up who claims to be Delphie’s mother.”
“No.”
“Unfortunately, yes. She presented herself only hours ago at Yeovil House.”
“I must go there,” Dare said and walked rapidly to the waiting chaise.
Mara pursued, ignoring her family. She dashed in before the steps were raised, and then they were off. “It won’t be true,” she said, gripping his hand. “It’s probably someone trying to get a reward.”
“What reward?” He was looking forward as if that could force the carriage to make better speed through the London streets.
“You’d pay her to go away, wouldn’t you?”
He turned to face her. “How could I do that if she truly is Delphie’s mother? I’ve always known The´re`se would have snatched the children without care for other people’s suffering.”
Mara chose silence and prayer. When they arrived, she wanted to race into Yeovil House, but Dare was superficially composed, so she matched him.
When had he last taken opium? He’d need it for this. Probably when they’d stopped for dinner two hours ago. Not too bad a time of day for disaster, if that made any sense.
They were directed to the library by a footman, who looked upset despite his training. There they found the duke and duchess, and a young woman in shabby black sitting on a sofa looking both terrified and belligerent.
Delphie’s mother? There was no obvious resemblance, but a white cap beneath a black straw bonnet concealed the woman’s hair. She couldn’t be Delphie’s mother. To lose the girl would destroy Dare.
Dare’s parents rose to stand with him as his father said, “This is Madame Clermont. She claims to be Delphie’s mother.”
“Annette!” the woman protested. “Elle s’appelle Annette!”
The Duchess of Yeovil spoke soothingly to her in French. “She has been known as Delphie for some years now, madam. It is how she thinks of herself.”
“But she is my daughter, madam. Mine. My Annette. She was stolen from me after the battle, when there were so many soldiers, so much death and dying.” She began to rock herself, moaning. “I hear of her, and I know it is she. A pretty child with dark curls, yes?”
Mara was devastated by that detail, but then realized the woman could be repeating the description in the advertisement.
Would Delphie recognize her mother? She’d been so young when taken, but surely a well-loved child would.
“Has madam met the child?” she asked in English.
“Not yet,” the duke said.
Mara turned to Dare, aware of the poor woman following their unintelligible conversation with frantic eyes. “You have to bring Delphie down, or take Madame Clermont up.”
“She’s in black,” he said. “Delphie will be terrified.” She touched his arm. “Go. We’ll see what we can do.”
Dare left and Mara considered the woman. She was probably only in her twenties, but aged by gaunt distress. Understandable if she’d been seeking a missing child for two years, but she would frighten any
child.
Mara went to sit by the woman. “Madame Clermont,” she said in French, “the little girl is afraid of women in black. It is to do with the woman who stole her. You don’t want to frighten her. Let us replace your outer clothing with something brighter.”
But the woman shrank away. “No, no. You are trying to trick me.”
“No, truly…”
But the woman pushed at her, so Mara gave up.
The duchess left and returned with a huge silk shawl in shades of blue. She put it around the woman’s shoulders and it was not rejected. Madame Clermont’s whole attention was fixed on the door.
It opened, but only to let in Mara’s parents and Simon and Jancy. Mara quickly explained. Then they all waited in silence.
At last, Dare came in, carrying Delphie, who was clutching Mariette. Pierre marched alongside, fiercely on guard. That was another problem. How could the two children be separated?
Madame Clermont stared. She seemed stunned for a moment and Mara hoped, but then she leapt up and rushed to grab Delphie, crying, “Annette, Annette! I knew you were not dead. I knew it!”
Delphie shrieked and clung to Dare and all three ended up in a tangle, with the woman flailing at him. “Give her to me! Give her to me! Give me my child.”
Dare thrust Delphie into Madame Clermont’s arms and everyone suddenly went silent. Delphie looked at Dare with such shocked betrayal that Mara covered her mouth with her hand. Huge, silent tears swelled in the girl’s eyes and began to slide down her cheeks, but she made not a sound.
Madame Clermont began to moan, rocking the child. “Annette, Annette, Annette…”
Pierre stepped forward, lower lip thrust forward. “Her name is Delphine,” he said in French.
Madame Clermont backed away from him. “Who are you?”
“I am Delphie’s brother.”
“No, you’re not. You are not my child!”
“I am her brother and I must protect her.”
“No. Go away! You are trying to steal her again!” She clutched Delphie even tighter. A squeak escaped the girl, but only a squeak. Mara recognized a child who had learned the hard way to be very, very quiet.
