Read Online To Rescue a Rogue by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online Page A

including Dare’s bedroom. Even though his wife would have a bedroom of her own, she couldn’t make the facts fit.
    She longed to cut through her confusion with a few straight questions, but this was a situation without any etiquette that she knew. A touch on her skirt made her look down. Delphie was fingering the silk braid down the front. “C’est joli.”
    â€œMerci beaucoup.”
    The girl’s huge eyes shone. “Vous parlez francais, madame! Papa, il le parle avec nous, et Janine aussi, mais tous les autres, c’est anglais, anglais, anglais.”
    She chattered on and Mara gave thanks for her French tutor, which she’d thought a waste of time when travel to France had been blocked by the war for most of her life.
    Then Delphie demanded her papa’s attention and both children urged him down to the Serpentine to see something. He glanced at Mara for permission and she smiled and joined them. He had joy in his life and she must be delighted by that.
    Pierre pointed out a particularly fine toy sailing ship, scudding across the water under full sail. Delphie chased ducks, shadowed by her maid, and then stopped to pick some buttercups and daisies. It was an idyllic family moment, except that Mara was the outsider.
    The little girl ran back to present half her flowers to Dare and half to Mara. Dare fixed his through his buttonhole, as any good papa would. Mara tucked hers through a loop of braid on her bodice.
    Delphie fixed her with a look. “My papa is well now,” she said in French.
    â€œI hope so.”
    â€œHe will not die.”
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    The girl nodded as if a truth had been established, then turned back to her harvest of flowers. Of course, the child would have known Dare when he’d been deathly ill. Mara swallowed tears, smiled, and wanted to rush back home and nurse her grief.
    Eventually Dare led Mara back toward the phaeton. She felt sure that he would much rather have stayed by the river with them, and if she’d seen any way to return home alone, she’d have allowed him to.
    â€œThey’re delightful,” she said as the carriage moved off.
    â€œWhen not being imps.” He smiled at her, inviting amusement over the name.
    She tried to respond. “Belgian, I assume.”
    â€œPossibly. It’s not clear.”
    â€œNot clear?”
    He glanced at her. “Didn’t Simon tell you? They’re the children of the woman who nursed me after Waterloo.”
    â€œSo I supposed, but I presume she knows their nationality.” It came out tartly for many reasons, not the least of which was that the children were so unalike that they’d probably had different fathers.
    â€œIf so, she can’t tell. She’s dead.”
    â€œOh, Dare, I’m sorry.” But Mara wasn’t. It was as if the sun had suddenly come out from behind heavy clouds.
    â€œSorry?” he said. “Simon really hasn’t told you anything, has he?”
    â€œI thought you must have married her. Out of gratitude.”
    Even though she could only see his profile, she saw his mouth tense. “Hardly.”
    Mara was suddenly afraid of blundering. “But the children call you papa.”
    â€œThey fell into the habit, and I will be their father unless anyone proves a better claim.” As if compelled, he added, “They’ve experienced unpleasant things.”
    â€œThe death of their mother.”
    When Dare didn’t respond, Mara tried to read his expression.
    He was looking fixedly at the road ahead even though it hardly seemed necessary. There were few other vehicles around and the horses were placid. Remarkably so for such fine animals, she realized. Had St. Raven’s servants taken the edge off them before entrusting them to Dare? He’d been a fine whip—before Waterloo.
    Something was terribly wrong. “What sort of woman was she?” Mara asked.
    â€œEvil.” But then