Dare to Risk it All by Emma V Leech

Chapter 3

Monsieur le Comte,

Please, please, please, may we go?

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Agatha Smith to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

 

2nd December 1840, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.

“I’ve had the most beautiful gown made for Arabella’s ball next week,” Elspeth said the following morning, as they walked through the gardens at Rowsley and on towards the woodland.

“Oh, so have I. What colour is yours?” Greer asked with interest, linking arms with her twin.

“A yellow gold. It shimmers in the light. I’m so pleased with it.”

“My gown is a sort of blue Almost violet, but not quite,” Greer mused, wondering how to describe the colour that had caught her eye and wondering at the quirk of fate that had made it the same shade as Lord de Ligne’s eyes.

She had never seen a colour like it before and it was hard to be certain, but his eyes were an unusual shade of blue that had looked almost but not quite violet in the glimmering candlelight of the dining room. It was the reason she had stared at him so hard. Liar. Well, one of the reasons. She watched him now, walking ahead of them with his brothers and Dare. He was tall and athletic with long, strong limbs and broad shoulders, and the desire to run after him and demand to know why he was ignoring her gnawed at her patience.

“No.”

Greer looked around to find Elspeth studying her with a frown.

“No, what?”

“You know exactly what,” Elspeth said with a touch of impatience. “He’s turned over a new leaf, I grant you, and he’s worked very hard these past few months, but he’s still a man and one with a dreadful reputation for womanising. You are not to encourage his interest, Greer. I warned Mama it was a risk bringing you here. You know I only agreed because you promised to behave. You must not pursue him.”

Greer scowled at her sister, irritated. “Don’t tell me what to do just because you’re married now. You’re still only five minutes older than me. I don’t take orders from you.”

“Well, it’s not like Mama will stop you,” Elspeth retorted. “Someone has to make you see sense, and getting involved with a man like that is a recipe for disaster.”

Greer withdrew her arm from her sister’s. “And, if it is, it’s my disaster to make, not yours.”

Elspeth rolled her eyes, which only annoyed Greer further. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m trying to look out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. He’s not the kind who marries and settles down.”

“How do you know? People would have said the same thing about Dare, and he trapped you into marriage!”

“No, he didn’t! Well, not on purpose, and that’s entirely different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

“Oh! Leave me alone,” Greer said, exasperated, and stalked off ahead.

She was thoroughly vexed now, and her twin’s words had the usual effect of making her do the complete opposite of whatever Elspeth wanted her to do.

“My lord,” she called out, hurrying towards the men.

Lord de Ligne turned, and she was unsurprised to see irritation flash in his eyes. Surely, they were violet, not merely blue?

“Miss Cadogan,” he said, his tone as cool as the crisp December air.

“I wish to speak with you.”

“Why?” he demanded with obvious suspicion.

Greer quirked an eyebrow. “Because I have something to say?”

His expression was not encouraging. “Well, I suppose I cannot stop you,” he said, though he looked very much as if he wanted to.

“No, you can’t,” Greer agreed amicably. “And really, we’d best get it over with.”

He frowned. “Get what over with?”

Greer gestured between them. “This. Whatever it is.”

She saw him stiffen, the frosty atmosphere plummeting several more degrees. “I do not know—”

“Oh, yes you do,” Greer said, too annoyed to put up with any dissembling. “You’ve been looking at me like I crawled out of cheese since the moment we met. Yet, you’re not a snob and you’ve been getting on wonderfully well with Mama, so it’s only me you treat with such disregard. Yet you couldn’t keep your eyes off me last night, so… why are you behaving in such an odd manner?”

The baron stared at her, clearly shocked. Greer didn’t blame him. That had been bold and outrageously improper, even for her. She had let her temper get the better of her again and was about to reap the consequence, but it was too late now. She watched as he wrestled with some inner conflict, and awaited the set-down she richly deserved. From his expression, it was obvious there was a large part of him that wanted to tear her off a strip and leave her with her ears burning. The other part, though….

He muttered a curse and stamped his feet on the frozen ground.

“Come on,” he said irritably. “We’re getting left behind.”

Surprised he’d not taken the opportunity to rake her over the coals, Greer hurried after him. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“It’s not the sort of question a proper young lady ought to ask,” he said, giving her a sideways glance. His tone was terse, but she did not think he was annoyed, only trying to be.

“I’m not very good at being a proper young lady,” Greer admitted. “But I suspect you know that.”

Another measuring glance flitted over her, and Greer hurried to keep up with his long strides. He noticed and slowed his pace, proving he had some gentlemanly instincts after all.

“Any young lady with a grain of sense ought to realise to stay as far from me as she can get,” he returned, and there was a grim set to his jaw.

“Is that why you were rude to me? Were you trying to frighten me off?” Greer asked, brightening as she realised it made a good deal of sense. Especially if he’d turned over a new leaf.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “Look, Miss Cadogan. You are lovely and I am sure you’re charming company, but I am not. I am the farthest thing from an appropriate companion that you’re likely to find and, if I were a better man, I’d leave Rowsley and let you and your family enjoy Christmas in peace. However, I am not, and I’ve nowhere else to go, so let us just agree to give each other a wide berth and perhaps we’ll survive the next few weeks.”

“You think I’m lovely?” Greer repeated, grinning at him and disregarding the rest of what he’d said entirely.

Lord de Ligne stared at her and let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Hell,” he muttered, and stalked off.

Greer watched him go, feeling far happier than when she’d awoken that morning until she realised what he’d said. He had nowhere else to go. That thought had sympathy swelling inside of her, and she resolved to ensure that this Christmas was one the baron would not soon forget.

Raphe hefted another armful of fir branches and carried them over to the waiting dog cart.

“Is that enough?” he asked Dare, who was eyeing the growing pile with a speculative gaze.

“Almost. I think most of the ladies are heading back to the house now, before they freeze, but Elspeth wants some holly, with berries on,” he added.

Raphe nodded, glad to have something to do. He needed to return to the cottage and carry on removing the old thatch, but this would do for now. Anything to keep himself occupied and away from the beguiling Miss Cadogan. “I can get that, if you want to go with them.”

“Good man. I’ll get that last lot tied on the cart and meet you back at the house. I’ll leave you that hand barrow, shall I?”

Raphe nodded and strode back into the woods. His feet were like ice and his fingers were numb with cold, but it seemed safer to stay outside and freeze his bollocks off. Actually, it seemed like punishment. What the devil had he been thinking earlier? He had once again handled the situation all wrong, and he the notorious ladies’ man! What was wrong with him? Except that she had called him out on his behaviour without so much as batting an eyelid, and that had been as surprising at it had been refreshing. Women did not speak plainly, at least not the ones he dallied with. It was all double meanings and implications, flirtation and games. To have a woman ask him to his face what he was playing at had shocked him more than he wished to admit. It had intrigued him, too. Miss Cadogan was a brave woman—one who played by her own rules, it would seem—and now the wretched creature had made him more curious about her than ever.

Forcing the captivating young woman from his mind with difficulty, Raphe moved quickly, striding through the woods until he found what he was looking for. At last, he tracked down a large holly bush, studded with ruby berries and bristling with sharp green leaves, and carefully began cutting off branches.

“Oh, you found some.” Miss Cadogan’s voice cut through the peace of the woodland and Raphe jolted in surprise as a holly leaf stabbed him viciously through his leather glove, deep into the tender part of his thumb.

“Christ!” he muttered, tugging the glove off and sucking hard at the end of his thumb to ease the pain.

“Here, let me see.”

“It’s your fault I stabbed myself in the first place,” he retorted, aggrieved that his nemesis was here at all. “I thought you’d gone back to the house with the other women.”

“No,” she said, giving him a puzzled glance. “I said I’d stay and find the mistletoe.”

“Of course you did,” Raphe said, wondering if the universe was having a laugh at his expense. He supposed he deserved as much.

“Stop being such a baby and let me see,” she insisted, tugging at his sleeve.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but allowed her to look at his thumb where a small drop of blood welled on the surface.

“Such a fuss for a little prick,” she said, shaking her head.

Raphe bit his lip, reminded himself sternly that he was a reformed character, and swallowed down the obvious remark bubbling inside him.

“Here.” Tenderly, Miss Cadogan took out her handkerchief and wrapped his thumb in it. With deft fingers, she tied the ends to hold it in place. “All better,” she said, and though there was amusement in her eyes, her tone was soft and worked upon him in an oddly intimate manner, like being stroked with a fur glove.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, unsettled by the pleasure he’d taken in her attention, and by the craving for more. Nobody ever took care of him. His stepmother couldn’t have cared less, so he’d learned to care for himself. His friends had cared, most recently, by ensuring he didn’t drink himself to death, but their care was of the friendly bullying and manly insults variety. They were hardly tender and sympathetic.

“I’m freezing,” she said, and he noticed her cheeks were bright pink, as was her delightful little nose. If she stayed out here much longer, she’d catch a chill.

“Did you find the mistletoe?”

She nodded and gestured to the basket at her feet, which he’d not noticed before. Raphe eyed the collection of green and white berries and his devilish nature perked up at once, urging him to make use of it. His gaze lifted to her mouth, pink and soft and inviting.

“Right, well….” Raphe cleared his throat. “We’d… er….”

Do it, do it, urged the devil.

“What?” Miss Cadogan asked, gazing up at him.

Her eyes were such a lovely shade of green, like the first glint of springtime, and those thick lashes, a darker shade of gold than her hair. Her skin was like cream, smooth and soft, and he wanted to press his mouth to the sweet place beneath her ear and breathe in the scent of her. She was staring up at him. Waiting. She wouldn’t resist him if he….

Kiss her, you dolt!

No. No. Don’t you dare. Rothborn will castrate you and use your balls to decorate his mantelpiece.

You’re alone. No one will know….

Wait.

They were alone.

“What in blazes are you doing out here by yourself?” he demanded, retreating into anger rather than force himself to choose between right and wrong.

She blinked at him, clearly believing that he’d been going to kiss her and startled by the turnabout.

“I-I….” She rallied after a moment, putting up her chin. “I’m not alone, you’re here.”

“That’s worse!” he exclaimed, trying to tug his gloves back on and realising the handkerchief wouldn’t let him. Annoyed, he tugged it off and put it in his pocket, then pulled on his gloves and picked up the prickly bundle of holly. He held it against him like a talisman against unwanted advances. Good God, this was ridiculous. He was not afraid of a sweet little innocent. What was she going to do, wrestle him to the ground and have her wicked way with him? Oh, Christ. Shouldn’t have thought that. Now the image burned behind his eyes. He held the holly tighter, feeling it prickle against his coat and waistcoat.

“Come on,” he said irritably. “Before anyone misses us and calls for a search party.”

“Mama knows I’m here,” she said, sounding a little annoyed herself.

“With me?” he demanded, outraged.

“Yes.”

Raphe remembered Mrs Cadogan’s keen gaze on him last night and wondered at that. Was she mad, dangling her daughter in front of him like a piece of meat before a starving wolf? Surely, the entire world knew he didn’t have a feather to fly with. If she was looking for an eligible husband for her little darling, she was barking up entirely the wrong tree.

“Your mama should know better,” he grumbled. To his annoyance, she greeted this comment with a peal of laughter.

“Mama should know better?” she repeated and went off into whoops. “Oh, that’s funny.”

Raphe snorted, remembering what he’d heard about the Cadogan family. “Well, a fair point. Your sister, though—”

“Mama told her to leave me be.”

“Why?” Raphe demanded in outrage. “Does she want you to be ruined?”

Miss Cadogan shook her head. “Oh, no. Of course not. Mama said that we’re all friends here and there was no danger to me, and that you were far better behaved than people gave you credit for.”

Raphe made a choked sound, unable to believe his ears. “She said what?”

He stared at Miss Cadogan, assuming he’d heard wrong.

“Mama says that you’re a good man who has endured many difficulties and that, as you’re trying to reform, we should give you the benefit of the doubt.”

She gave him a warm smile, full of understanding. Yet she could not possibly understand what those words meant to him. Raphe frowned and walked on, trying to marshal his thoughts with little success.

They reached the handcart that Dare had left and thankfully the disconcerting young woman did not attempt to make conversation with him, for he was too… too something to converse. Him—a good man? The words rebounded back and forth in his mind as he tried to make them fit. He wanted to make them fit, but it couldn’t be right. He’d made a mess of everything, just as his father had done. Two peas in a pod. That’s what Blanche had said to him the last time he’d seen her. She’d been in a temper—worse than usual—as she was being dunned by her modiste and Raphe had no extra funds to help her this time.

Your father was hopeless and useless and you’re even worse that he was, for you’re wicked with it. He broke every promise he ever made and ruined everything he touched. He certainly ruined me. Do the world a favour, Raphe. Never marry. You’ll end up with a wife who despises you and children who will inflict more misery and destruction on those who care for them. Bad blood, that’s what it is, and yours is the worst of all.

Try as he might to pretend her words away, to ignore them and put them down to the unhappy ranting of a dissatisfied woman, there had been too much that rang true. It had tipped him over into the abyss and he’d barely climbed out again before he’d hit the bottom. And then there had been Rothborn’s furious words when Raphe had made a comment about Miss Cadogan.

If you so much as look in that girl’s direction, I’ll give you a thrashing you won’t forget in a hurry.

Admittedly, Raphe had not spoken politely, suggesting he marry Miss Cadogan for her money, but all the same, Rothborn’s anger had surprised him. It had hurt too, to realise he’d sunk so low that the one man in the world who gave a damn for him saw him in such a light. Well, what did he expect? He’d whored and drunk and gambled himself through the past years. Hardly model behaviour for a prospective bridegroom, was it?

Wait.

Bridegroom?

Who the hell was talking about getting married? Certainly not him!

“Are you quite well, my lord?”

Raphe blinked, realising he had been staring at the handcart for some time without saying a word.

“Er… yes. Yes, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Not happy thoughts by the looks of it,” Miss Cadogan offered, her tone careful.

Raphe let out a huff of laughter. “Nothing to concern yourself about. Come along, we had best get back.”

They walked in silence for a while, with Raphe pulling the handcart behind him. Thankfully, the frozen ground allowed it to roll easily enough, bumping over ruts in the narrow path that led back to Rowsley. They were making their way through a small copse of trees with the birds singing about them—and Raphe was just considering how pleasant walking through the wintery countryside with the lovely Miss Cadogan was—when she had to go and spoil it.

“Are you going to the ball?”

“Lady Bainbridge’s?”

She nodded, watching him.

“Yes, of course. Bainbridge is an old friend. He’ll have my hide if I don’t turn up.”

“Will you dance with me?”

Raphe stared at her, wondering why the devil he was shocked. She was outrageous, that much was clear. He had known, of course. The Cadogan family, or at least Jerome Cadogan’s branch of it, was wild. Everyone knew that. The girls were hoydens… well, all but Elspeth, but even she’d got herself embroiled in a scandal with Dare which had forced their marriage. Yet, he was startled all the same to find the wretched girl asking him to dance.

“Young ladies must wait to be asked,” he said, hating the pompous sound of his own voice. Like he gave a good goddamn for propriety.

“Oh, pooh.” Miss Cadogan waved this away with an impatient hand. “What nonsense. I want to dance with you, and if you’re going to be all silly about even talking to me, no doubt you’ll believe you need to be noble and not dance with me, either.”

“Well, it won’t do your reputation any good, will it?” he said irritably, setting the cart down for a rest.

She gave a laugh at that, and Raphe could not help but turn to look at her. God but she was lovely, so bright and lively and… sweet. Longing swept over him. It was as though he’d spent his life eating sweetmeats until he was sick, and she was a tart, green apple. His mouth watered.

“I don’t think a dance or two will make a sea change in people’s opinions, my lord. They already think me a hoyden. Besides which, who cares? There are limits to how far I can push my luck, but I will push it as far as I can. Life is too short to live in fear of censure, to let other people’s opinions stop you from being happy.”

Raphe stared at her, his admiration for her growing despite his best efforts to hold her at arm’s length. How the devil was he to get through the next weeks in her company when she had already got beneath his skin? Words burned on his tongue, and he knew he ought not speak them aloud, but the devil was rattling his cage.

“Dancing with me would make you happy?” he asked, aware that the timbre of his voice had dropped to something low and intimate.

She was standing too close to him, the scent of her reaching for him and pulling him in as surely as if she’d taken hold of his cravat and tugged. It was fresh and inviting, pure, and the wickedest temptation ever offered him in his entire life.

“Yes,” she said, staring up at him with a look in her eyes that he recognised all too well, and that one word had held a breathless quality that seemed to Raphe to give him permission.

Somewhere, in the very far distance, an alarm bell was ringing. It was faint, though, so faint he could not hear it over the rushing of blood in his veins, over the inner demon who was urging him on and chanting, mine, mine.Mine.

“What else would make you happy, Miss Cadogan?” he asked, moving closer to her. “For you’ve made no secret of your interest in me since the minute you arrived. I’d go as far to say that you are pursuing me. You sought me out, alone, when you knew you ought not. Is there something in particular you want?”

Her breath hitched, and Raphe’s pulse accelerated.

“I…” she began, the crests of her cheeks pink now, but she did not turn away from him, nor take a step back. “Want?”

“Mm-hm.” Raphe reached out a hand and traced a lazy finger down the line of her jaw. Miss Cadogan gasped but still did not move away. “What do you want, my sweet little innocent? Do you want a taste of danger, is that it? Do you have a secret desire for something you ought not have?”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, her gaze never leaving his, as if he’d hypnotised her. A snake charmer, that was what he was, he thought in disgust, and yet he could not make himself move away either. He was caught too, just as much as she was, captured by her green gaze, by the lure of something he ought not to want and had no right to but was wicked enough to take anyway. She was the kind of girl you married, not the kind to dally with.

Walk away, he told himself, but his heart was thundering now despite his outward calm.

Walk away, but he wanted, wanted like he had wanted nothing in his life before.

Walk away, you wretched excuse for a man.

“Raphe,” she said, her voice as much of a whisper as the breeze rustling the leaves at their feet.

Too late now.