To Rescue a Rogue by Jo Beverley Page B

with the mind, but she didn’t want to think Dare had sent this.
    With sudden suspicion, she looked down into the pit. Major Berkstead was looking up at her again, trying to catch her eye.
    She shook her head, frowning. He clasped his hands in prayer. The exasperating buffoon!
    She longed to send a pointed message by dropping the card into the pit—torn into pieces, in fact—but someone would be sure to notice. Instead, she bent it in half and pushed it into her reticule.
    The only thing to do was to ignore the wretched man, but now she felt threatened. She’d thought of him as a buffoon, but his eyes had shown a frightening intensity.
    For the first time in her life, Mara felt threatened by a man. It was nonsense. Berkstead didn’t want to harm her, only marry her, but she didn’t know what he might do. He could cause her endless trouble. He could embarrass her with his attentions, but worse—what if he revealed her escapade with him? He’d tried to force marriage through scandal once.
    She shivered. Surely if honor didn’t restrain him, fear would. He’d have to know that Simon or Dare would call him out for it. All the same, her reputation would be in shreds.
    She kept her eyes on the stage, but was hardly aware of the weeping and repentance followed by an unbelievable picture of domestic bliss. The play was followed by a farce about servants and mistaken identity that would have pleased Mara much better if she hadn’t been so upset.
    She made sure never to look in Berkstead’s direction again until they rose to take their leave. Then she checked what he was up to. Thank heavens, his seat was empty and the pit audience was pushing and shoving toward the doors. Good riddance.
    She breathed with relief as they all made their way along the gallery and down the stairs, and even managed some intelligent comments on the play. She kept an eye out for Dare—she couldn’t help it—but it was as well she didn’t see him. She was upset enough to do something stupid.
    What a miserable evening this had turned out to be.
    It grew worse. When they finally arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Major Berkstead walked up to them. “Sir George, Lady Verney, Lady Mara, grand play, don’t you think?”
    Mara wanted to cut him dead, but that could create the scandal she had to avoid.
    Enough was enough, however, and once they were in the carriage, she said, “I’m sorry if this will make things difficult, George, Ella, but I must ask that I not be obliged to meet Lord Berkstead again.”
    â€œGood Lord, why?” George demanded. “Sound enough fellow.”
    â€œHe has conceived a mad passion for me and will not be put off. He was staring at me tonight in the most uncomfortable manner.”
    â€œGood grief,” George muttered, irritated rather than appalled.
    â€œAre you sure, Mara?” Ella asked. “We are used to having him visit us now and then.”
    Mara considered producing the card, but really, she couldn’t. It could raise too many questions.
    â€œAnd must continue to do so,” she said. “Please, I’m not asking you to alter your ways. It’s only that I don’t wish to be partnered with him again, at dinner, for example. Or drive out with him again. It shouldn’t be for long. When Simon and Jancy arrive, I will be moving to Marlowe House.”
    â€œVery well, very well,” George said, looking as if he wished women and all their foibles could be wiped off the Earth.
    Mara hoped she’d repelled attack, but still felt threatened, as if Berkstead might leap on her one day and drag her off. Nonsense. Surrounded by propriety and a large, loving family, she was as safe as the Crown Jewels.
    By the time she arrived in her bedchamber and threw Berkstead’s package on the fire, she’d persuaded herself that he offered no real threat. That, however, left room for anxiety about Dare. Was she