Dare to Risk it All by Emma V Leech

Chapter 2

Monsieur le Comte,

For heaven's sake, don’t be difficult. You cannot spend Christmas alone. Surely you want to see your brother, and if that is not incentive enough, I will be there too.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (Daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

 

1st December 1840, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.

Raphe and his brothers looked out the window as the sound of wheels on gravel reached them from the front of the house.

“Who is it, Raphe?”

Raphe peered down, rubbing the windowpane clear as his breath fogged the cold glass. “Must be Elspeth’s family. She said her parents were coming and her sisters.”

“She has a twin, doesn’t she?” Oliver piped up as the three of them crowded about the window.

“That’s not her, then,” Sylvester observed. “Her hair’s black. She’s—” He broke off and Raphe smiled as he saw a rather glazed expression cross his brother’s face.

“Lovely,” Raphe finished for him, his amusement growing as Sylvester shot a rueful glance at him. “And out of bounds, unless you’ve marriage on your mind.”

Sylvester snorted. “Oh, yes. I can consider marriage, can’t I? The women will queue up for us, desperate to join us on our merry way down the River Tick.”

Raphe frowned, disliking his brother’s cynical tone, and that their prospects were so grim. Perhaps if he’d not given up all hope, he might have done something, but what? If he’d worked for a living—supposing he could find something he was good at—he’d put them beyond the pale. How strange that all his whoring and gambling and drinking would eventually be forgiven and forgotten if he behaved himself from now on, yet working for a living would see the family shunned by polite society. What a nonsensical load of bollocks. Still, he was going to prove to Lord Rothborn that he was a changed man. He was a changed man. No more wickedness, no more debauchery, no more—

Holy mother of God.

“Who’s that?” Oliver asked in awe.

Raphe tried to speak, but for one awful moment no sound escaped. His brain had jolted to a standstill. He thought perhaps his heart had stopped beating too. How very peculiar. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Must be Greer. The sister—twin sister. They’re twins,” he mumbled, realising too late he’d said the same thing twice. Sylvester gave him a significant look and Raphe scowled, straightened, and turned away from the window. He didn’t need to see, anyway. Her image had imprinted itself on his mind like he’d engraved it on silver.

She was clearly Elspeth’s sister, and yet they were nothing alike. Superficially yes, blonde and with an echo of familiarity in their features, but Greer was far more voluptuous than Elspeth and there was something… something….

Whatever the something was, he forced himself not to think about it. Rothborn had told him in no uncertain terms to keep away from Greer Cadogan. He was to sort his life out. Certainly, he was in no position to have any involvement with a respectable young woman. Mind you, if the rumours about the family were true, she might not be as respectable as she ought to be. The inner demon that he had locked in a cage, right next to the heavily chained box of things he wasn’t thinking about, perked up and gave the bars an experimental rattle.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Raphe muttered to himself.

“What?” There was curiosity in Oliver’s big hazel eyes.

Raphe cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

“Oh, who’s that?”

Returning to the window, Raphe looked out to see what Oliver was sounding so pleased about. “The other sister,” he said, little interested in the girl who could be only fourteen. Despite his best intentions, his gaze returned to Greer, but she was walking inside now, out of sight.

“What’s her name?” Oliver demanded.

“Greer, I told you already,” Raphe said absently.

Oliver huffed at him. “No, the other one. The girl!”

Oh. Raphe forced himself to attend his brother. “Er… Alice? Anna? No, Alana, that was it.”

“Alana,” Oliver repeated to himself, giving the girl a speculative glance. “I wonder if she’s any fun, or if she’s the kind to weep and tell you you’re beastly.”

“She looks fun,” Sylvester said, his tone far too nonchalant. “Her sister looks a great deal of fun,” he added, with a more suggestive tone that made Raphe want to hit him.

“No.”

Sylvester returned an innocent expression Raphe was not buying for one second.

“No?”

“No! We are guests and, for once in my wretched life, I’m going to behave like a gentleman, and you two are going to help, not make my life difficult.”

“Oh, Raphe!” Oliver complained, folding his arms so tightly in annoyance that Raphe thought he heard a seam tear. “We came here to have fun. If we’d wanted to behave all the time, we could have stayed with Mother.”

“Then go back to her, and with my blessing,” Raphe said, heading for the door. “Because if you stay here, you’ll be on best behaviour, or you’ll have me to answer to. I’m going to get cleaned up for dinner. If you’re staying, I suggest you do the same.” And with that, he left them to bemoan him in his absence.

By the time Raphe had washed and made his way down the stairs, the guests were all congregating in the family parlour. It was a cosy room despite its grandeur, and everyone had gravitated to the immense stone fireplace where a half a good-sized tree burned merrily and cast a golden light about the room.

“Ah, here he is,” Dare said, grinning broadly as he spotted Raphe enter the room. Sylvester and Oliver were already chatting with the new arrivals, Raphe noted with a grimace. “Raphe, old man, come and let me introduce these lovely creatures. This is Lady Aisling Baxter, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Trevick, and my sisters-in-law, Miss Cadogan and Miss Alana Cadogan. Ladies, this dashing fellow is my dear friend, Lord de Ligne.”

Raphe was rivetingly aware of Greer Cadogan watching him with alert interest, almost as if she’d been waiting for him to appear. His heart gave an odd kick in his chest as he took her in. Her eyes were a far paler green than her sister’s and full of mischief. She looked to be exactly the kind of woman he would very much enjoy a naughty romp with. Out of bounds! yelled an anxious voice in his head, whilst the devil in him rattled its chains, excited to recognise one of its own. Hell, this was going to be a challenge. He’d best start as he meant to go on.

Raphe executed a very formal bow, murmured a few cool words that impressed upon them his polite indifference, and walked away. He was unsurprised when Sylvester pounced on him moments later.

“What crawled up your arse and died?” he demanded.

Raphe sighed and returned a quelling look, which had no effect whatsoever. “You’ve always had such a pretty turn of phrase, Sy.”

“Well?” Sylvester prompted, apparently not diverted by this sally.

“For God’s sake,” Raphe said in an undertone. “Rothborn warned me off Miss Cadogan on pain of death. He’s the only friend this family has, and I swore I would not let him down again.”

Sylvester’s expression warmed a degree in sympathy. “Oh, well. I understand that, but there was no need to be so damned rude. The ladies think you’re a proper stick-in-the-mud now, which is not at all your reputation.”

“The less they know about my reputation, the better,” Raphe muttered.

“Unlikely, that. You’re the print shop’s darling. Especially since Bainbridge has started behaving himself. Come on, surely you can be polite and endure a conversation?”

Raphe dared another glance at Miss Cadogan and stiffened as he found the bold chit studying him in return. He looked away at once, cursing under his breath. To his further irritation, Sylvester noticed the exchange and chuckled.

“Ah,” he said, his tone far too knowing. “I see it is not that simple.”

Raphe glared at him. “Just do us all a favour and keep her away from me.”

Sylvester mimed tugging at his forelock. “Yes, my lord,” he replied gravely, and returned to the far more convivial conversation buzzing about the young ladies.

Raphe endured dinner. He simmered with irritation, wishing Miss Cadogan to the devil with increasing enthusiasm. If only she were not here, or at least were not so very intriguing, then everything would be lovely. He was more touched than he wanted to acknowledge to discover his brothers wished to spend Christmas with him, especially after he’d neglected them for so long. Dare was convivial company and his in laws were the kind of people with whom Raphe most enjoyed conversing. Amusing and irreverent, they did not give a fig for propriety and wished only to live life to the full. Mrs Bonnie Cadogan had a wicked sense of humour that he much appreciated and, if only her eldest unmarried daughter were elsewhere, it would have been a perfect evening. She was not elsewhere, however; she was here, seated to his left on the opposite side of the table. He could feel her gaze upon him and realised now that he had mis-stepped. By treating her with such indifference, he had only piqued her interest. Dammit. Perhaps he should try again.

On feeling the weight of her stare, Raphe looked up, met her eyes and returned a frosty glare. Instead of blushing and looking away like any normal girl, she merely continued her perusal of him, as if he was an interesting specimen of some variety she’d not seen before. Unsettled, Raphe returned his attention to his plate.

Wretched girl.

Forcing himself to concentrate on the marvellous meal before him, he ate in silence for a while as an increasingly lively conversation shuttled up and down the table. There was a great deal of laughter, but Raphe found himself unable to catch the thread of whatever was being discussed. Instead, he dared another glance at Miss Cadogan—just as she looked up at him.

Hell!

That was it. He must ignore her from now on.

Raphe accepted another serving of roast beef and forced himself to concentrate on it. He would not look up again.

He looked up. She was looking at him.

Oh, this was getting ridiculous. Just stop looking at her, you half-wit!

Yet, as the interminable evening carried on, she drew his gaze back to her repeatedly, as if she contained some magnetic force towards which he was drawn against his will. Over and over again, their gazes collided, giving him a sensation like an electrical shock to the heart each time.

Right, that was the last time, he swore as they brought in the dessert course. Raphe’s gaze landed on a rich treacle tart, which was his favourite. He hoped this, at least, could keep his attention for five minutes. It might have, too, if not for the decadent moan of pleasure that reached him from the wicked girl’s place at the table. The sound of her unalloyed enjoyment shivered over his skin with such devastating effect she might as well have put her hands on him.

Despite having promised himself otherwise, Raphe looked up, just as Greer did the same. Damnation, it was as if some bloody puppet master was pulling their strings. He did not know what it was she saw in his gaze this time, but finally the dreadful girl blushed and looked away.

Raphe let out an uneven breath and returned his attention to his food, but not before he caught the speculative interest in her mother’s expression.

Greer made her way back to the parlour with the rest of the guests in something of a daze. She had been beyond intrigued to meet the wicked Lord de Ligne. Until recent months, barely a day had gone by without his name appearing in connection with some scandal or disturbance. The stories had become so wild she had worried for him, even though she did not know him at all. His exploits had lost the amusing, kicking-up-a-lark feeling of which she had very much approved. Instead, she’d sensed desperation as his behaviour spiralled out of control, and she’d wondered what drove him to such excess. His reputation had become so dreadful she had been half-expecting horns and a tail. The truth was less extraordinary, but just as compelling.

She had believed she had prepared herself to meet him and had looked forward to anything from lascivious looks and inappropriate comments to amused disdain from such a notorious rake. She had not expected animosity. Not being what most people would consider a properly behaved young lady, Greer found this behaviour both challenging and intriguing. Why did he stare at her so, as though she had offended and vexed him beyond reason? She had not yet spoken a word to him beyond their murmured introduction, so why on earth should he have taken her in dislike? Perhaps she was not exactly good ton, but he was hardly in a position to throw stones. Besides, his usual company comprised like-minded degenerates and light skirts, so he was not picky as a rule. This had been on her mind throughout the meal, and her curiosity only increased as she discovered his inability to keep his gaze from her. Not that she fared any better. Each time she had promised herself she would not look up at him again, but before she knew it, the two of them were glaring at each other like a couple of combative cats. And then… then… that last look from him had given her the distinct impression he was mentally stripping her naked and perusing what was available to him. Realising far too late—as ever—that she was behaving badly, Greer had felt the blush sting her cheeks as she’d looked away.

Thoroughly unnerved, it was all she could do to settle herself down in the parlour and try to make conversation. She could feel him prowling around the edges of the room, a dangerous presence lingering in the shadows that made her edgy and nervous.

“Will you come, then, Greer?”

Greer jolted, realising she had completely missed the thread of the conversation.

“Er—” she said stupidly as her sister rolled her eyes.

“You’ve not listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

“Yes,” Greer retorted, bristling out of habit, before admitting. “No, actually, I was woolgathering. Sorry. Where do you want me to come?”

“Tomorrow morning we’re going out to collect greenery to decorate for Christmas.”

“Oh, of course I’ll come.” Greer brightened at once. She loved Christmas and all the traditions that went with it.

“Oh, and Aisling can make a kissing bough,” Elspeth said, grinning at the girl. “She’s ever so clever with her hands.”

Aisling gave a shy smile of pleasure. “Of course. If you would like me to.”

“We should like it above all things,” Mr Sylvester Coote replied, a tone to his voice which implied kissing Aisling would be what he’d like above all things. Well, he was about to be disappointed, Greer thought, for Aisling had a tendre for Ashton Anson, which had endured since they were children.

“I should be glad to help with the decorations,” Aisling said, ignoring Sylvester and addressing her comment to Elspeth.

“Are you coming tomorrow, Master Oliver?” Alana asked, her eagerness for the boy’s company obvious.

Oliver’s eyes widened at being sought out. “Oh, I’m not sure. That is… I should think… I mean… Yes.”

“Jolly good.” Alana beamed at him, and Oliver’s ears turned red.

“Well, that’s all settled, then,” Elspeth said with satisfaction. “May the festivities begin.”