To Rescue a Rogue by Jo Beverley Page A

taste for risks.”
    â€œUnlike Mara,” Dare said.
    Mara flashed him a hurt look. He lightly added, “Everyone knows that a devil-haired St. Bride is born to be wild.”
    Lord Middlethorpe laughed. “Lord, yes. The things Simon got up to. Only to be expected that he’d start a war in Canada.”
    â€œHe didn’t start it,” Mara protested.
    â€œI’m not convinced. He certainly went raiding with some group called the Green Tigers.”
    â€œHe had no choice but to defend British territory against attack,” Mara said.
    â€œBut no sooner does he arrive back in England than the masses riot at Spa Fields.”
    Lord Middlethorpe was clearly teasing, and Mara felt as if she were with old friends.
    â€œSimon certainly had nothing to do with that,” she said. “The unrest is all to do with unemployment and the Corn Laws, which are the responsibility of you members of Parliament.” But then she covered her mouth with her hand. “I can’t believe it. I actually raised the subject of politics!”
    Everyone laughed, including Dare, who looked so much like his old self. This was how he should be, laughing with his friends.
    Their eyes met and held for an extraordinary moment, and she knew hers spoke her thoughts. His lids lowered and he turned to say something to Lady Ball just as the bell announced the next act.
    Mara quickly settled the details of the silk-hunting expedition and returned to her box, wishing she could go with Dare instead.
    But would he want her to? She very much feared that she’d let her heart speak in her eyes, and he’d deliberately cut the connection.
    She took her seat fighting tears. She’d dallied and flirted for years, but she’d never had to try to hide her feelings before. It had never mattered before.
    Oh, Lord. Was she doing to Dare what Berkstead was doing to her? She resolved to ignore Dare for the rest of the evening.
    During the next intermission she expressed interest in watching some performing dogs. During the third and last, Ella wished to listen to what sounded like a pious monologue and Mara simply couldn’t bear it. She would have been better off. The Scilly brothers both insisted on escorting her but talked to each other over her head, and the only people they joined were the Mackens and a dust-dry Reverend Forbes.
    Mara saw Dare some distance away, but stuck to her resolve. She prayed, however, that he’d come to her again. He didn’t, even though she saw him see her.
    At the bell, she returned to the box feeling tragic enough for Romeo and Juliet. She held back for a moment outside the door to compose herself.
    â€œPlease, gentlemen, go ahead.”
    It was the sort of vague feminine comment men never question. They went into the box and Mara fiddled with her gown. She was nothing but a pest to Dare. She couldn’t bear it.
    But she achieved a smile and was turning toward the open door when a theater servant came up to her. “Lady Mara St. Bride?” he asked, holding out a folded paper.
    Startled, Mara took the note. It was a slim, stiff package with only her name on the outside. The orchestra signaled the beginning of the final act, so she concealed it in her hand and took her seat.
    Was the note from Dare?
    Telling her to stop pursuing him?
    She couldn’t bear to wait. Once the play was under way again, she unfolded it as quietly as she could, then looked down, grateful for the small lamp in the box.
    A blank sheet of paper enclosed the playbill and a playing card: the Queen of Hearts.
    Mara suppressed a nervous laugh. This package could be wildly romantic, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt peculiar. Then she noticed that the play’s title, The Lady’s Choice , had been circled in black. In the margin, the sender had written: May your choice be forgiveness, my queen.
    Forgive what? Was Dare asking forgiveness for ignoring her? Opium could play strange games