Free To Rescue a Rogue by Jo Beverley Page B

little while, the world would seem serene, without strife, without pain, without suffering of any sort. And that illusion would be very hard to leave behind.

Chapter 7
    M ara woke early the next day, aware only that she’d soon see Dare again. Who could have imagined that a visit to the cork exhibit would shine like sunrise?
    To stop herself mooning about Dare all morning, she wrote a letter to a friend, though it felt false because she couldn’t say anything about him. Not yet, at least. She was past the age of confessing impetuous loves.
    Impetuous?
    She sat staring into space. Rather, it felt predestined, as if her lack of interest in her suitors had been because she’d been already committed to Dare. She could envision their wedding at the church in Monkton St. Brides. She could see friends and family celebrating.
    She shook herself and returned to her letter to write a dull account of political dinners and a drive in the park “with an old friend of Simon’s.”
    Ruth came in with the washing water. “Nice day again, milady. What will you be wearing?”
    â€œI’m going out with Lord Darius again. We’ll be walking to the cork exhibition.” She mentally riffled through her walking dresses and discarded practicality in favor of prettiness. “I’ll wear the Nile green with the flounced hem and the bronze pelisse.”
    Ruth pursed her lips as if she’d prefer to send Mara out in a nun’s habit, but she didn’t openly protest.
    Once dressed, Mara visited Ella again and played with little Amy, thinking for the first time of children of her own. Dare’s children. When he was announced, she raced to add gloves, pelisse, and bonnet, but then went downstairs in careful dignity.
    She paused at first sight of him, to absorb a special thrill that came from knowing he was her beloved. When she took his proffered arm, the simple action excited her like a kiss. She managed a dignified good morning, but then babbled as they went out into an overcast day.
    â€œI hope this is interesting, but I have little faith. Cork, after all.”
    â€œI’ve seen clever models out of paper, plaster, and even bone,” he said.
    â€œI remember our governess setting us all to making an Egyptian scene with pyramids of papier-maˆché. It also involved a lot of sand. We were brushing it out of clothes and carpets for weeks.”
    â€œI can imagine. Did you all take lessons together?”
    â€œMuch of the time. Though Benji went to school eventually, of course.” Mara wanted to cut her own throat. He was going to die of boredom with such dull talk. “When did you go to school?” she tried.
    â€œI had tutors until I went to Harrow at thirteen.”
    â€œDid you mind leaving home?”
    â€œNot at all. It was an adventure.”
    She lured him to tell stories of the Rogues, including some about Simon that her brother had concealed. By the time they arrived at the exhibition in Lower Grosvenor Street, she almost had her head back on straight.
    The building seemed like any other house, but once Dare had paid, they were ushered into a large chamber at the rear, well lit by windows up near the ceiling. Tables around the walls held ancient monuments in miniature, but in the middle of the room stood the pie`ce de resistance.
    â€œOh, my,” Mara said, approaching a craggy rock crowned with the ruins of a temple. Water tricked down to gather in a pool at the base. “No wonder these are famous. Apart from the scale, it could be real.”
    â€œVery cleverly done,” Dare agreed.
    â€œIs it truly all from cork?” Mara longed to reach out and touch and glanced around. She could only see six other visitors, but an attendant was already hurrying over.
    â€œIndeed, yes, madam,” he answered. “Monsieur Dubourg discovered entirely by accident that cork, in texture and color, is ideal for the representation of ancient