Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Yes,” he murmured, unwinding a bit and unable to stop himself from teasing her. “I’ve noticed that too.”

  “Oh! You have not.” She glared at him, looking so outraged Henry could not resist.

  “There, you’re doing it now.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “You, sir, are confused. That was most certainly not adoration.”

  Henry glanced around to see Grace was just about to walk around the corner and out of sight before grasping Florence’s waist and pulling her into his arms. “And what about now?” he murmured.

  Her lovely face coloured a little, her eyes growing dark as she slid her hands up over his shoulders. “Kiss me, and I’ll show you just how much I love you,” she dared him.

  Desire hit Henry so hard it was difficult to breathe. He ought not, not out here in the open, but damnation…. She reached up, clasping his neck and tugging his head down to hers. It was madness, he ought not, not before he’d spoken to Gabriel.

  “Kiss me, Henry,” she murmured, brushing her lips over his.

  “Not here,” he managed, though it was hard to speak.

  His heart was beating too hard, thundering in his ears. Had he ever felt like this before? Even with Lily, had there been this desperate, maddening desire? If there had, he could no longer remember it.

  “Yes, here, now. I want you to kiss me. I think of you all the time, Henry, I cannot sleep for thinking of you.”

  “You think of me at night?” His voice was rough now, husky with need as he imagined her, alone in her bed, thinking of him. Oh, hell. Henry. No. Behave. This was bad. Very bad.

  “Especially at night,” the little wretch admitted, trailing her lips over the line of his jaw. “Alone in my bed, wishing you were with me, touching me….”

  Henry, you dog. Wait. Think. You were coming here to stop her from… from… what the hell had he been coming to do? He couldn’t think of anything but the fact she was near to him. Her lips were warm against his cheek, her breath fluttering over his skin, her body pressing closer to his….

  “Florence, I’ve written to your father. Until then—”

  “He’s not here, Henry. I am, and I need you to kiss me. Just one little kiss. It’s been forever.”

  “It was yesterday!”

  “Forever and ever…” she murmured, tangling her fingers in his hair, staring at him with such adoration, such need….

  “Hell!” Henry gave up. His self-control really was pitiful where this woman was concerned. He took her mouth, overwhelmed by the way she responded at once, opening to him, her desire as blatant as his own, holding nothing back. Her hands moved over him, exploring, enflaming him, and he drew back before things got out of hand. “Florence.”

  “Don’t stop.” She tugged his hand, pulling him towards a huge oak tree just off the path, hidden from view.

  Florence ducked under the low branches, running to the trunk and leaning against it. She was breathing hard, her eyes alight with anticipation. Henry swallowed. God, she was lovely, and he’d wanted nothing in his whole life like he wanted her, but they must wait until they were married.

  “Henry,” she said, her voice low and breathless, full of wanting.

  “You would tempt a saint, Miss Knight,” he said, keeping a few feet of distance between them for he felt his sanity fraying at the edges. “I wrote to your father this morning and I mean to get his permission to court you. There will be no anticipating our vows in the meantime. Do you hear me?”

  Florence pouted at him. “My, how cross and stern you are Mr Stanhope. Is this the kind of husband you will be?”

  Henry’s lips twitched, but he fought to keep his expression serious. “I don’t believe I have actually asked you to marry me yet, Miss Knight. I cannot before I have your father’s permission.”

  “Perhaps there is no need, perhaps I don’t wish to marry a man who won’t give me what I want?”

  She sent him a coquettish glance from under her lashes, teasing him, the wretch.

  “Ah, well. Then perhaps it is just as well we discover this now. I am too serious, too old, and you are too badly behaved, too flighty. A terrible match it would be. Better we forget the whole thing.”

  “Oh, Henry!” Florence exclaimed, looking genuinely cross now. “Just come and kiss me, you horrid man.”

  Henry laughed and moved towards her, leaning over her, one hand on the tree trunk on either side of her head. He stared down at her, smiling indulgently. “You are a spoilt child.”

  “I know, and you adore me anyway,” she retorted. “Now kiss me, please.”

  “Just one kiss,” he warned her, or perhaps it was himself he was reminding. It didn’t matter, the moment their lips touched again he was engulfed in heat, in wanting so profound and overwhelming he did not know how to contain it. His kisses burned hotter, devouring her, his hands seeking skin, needing to touch, to possess. Henry could no longer think, driven by instinct, by the primitive need to take what was his. His hands grabbed at her skirts, finding his way beneath what seemed to be dozens of layers until his fingers felt the soft skin of her upper thigh.

  Florence gasped against his mouth, and he realised he had surprised her, shocked her even. No. He must keep control, he must not take any more, but her skin was like silk, so warm and he wanted her so much.

  “Tell me to stop,” he begged her.

  If she said the word, this would be over. She had the power he had let slip from his grasp.

  Florence shook her head, staring up at him, her eyes glassy with desire. “Touch me.”

  Henry groaned and rested his head against the rough bark of the tree.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “Please.”

  She was trembling against him, aching with the need for his touch. Well, it would be cruel to leave her like this. Surely, he could give her this much and not go any further. He could. He must.

  Henry turned his head into her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her until he felt giddy with it. His fingers stroked up and her breath hitched.

  “So soft, so lovely,” he whispered, feeling the shiver that ran over her. “Are you mine, Florence?”

  She nodded, her breathing becoming erratic as his fingers skimmed higher, finding the delicate crease between thigh and torso.

  “Is this what you think about, at night, when you are alone in your bed?”

  Florence nodded again but he would not let her get away with it a second time.

  “Tell me,” he insisted.

  “Yes. Yes, I think about this.”

  “Then what should I do next? Where do you want me to touch you?”

  A blush of such vibrant pink rose over her neck, colouring her cheeks, he could feel the heat of it.

  “I… c-can’t,” she said.

  Henry chuckled and nipped at her ear. “Oh, I think you can, but I’ll be kind… this time.”

  He stroked through her curls and her hips canted towards his touch, eager for more. Henry’s pulse was racing, hardly able to believe she would allow him this, never mind that he’d been devil enough to take it. He’d always considered himself a gentleman, had never dallied with innocent girls, not even as a young man, but Florence had a way of driving him on, of getting what she wanted that overrode all his hard-won control and made him act like a damned schoolboy. Well, this far and no farther. He would bring her pleasure, and then… and then he’d remember what the hell it was he’d wanted to talk to her about and take her back to the house.

  “Henry.” Her voice was full of anguish as he teased his fingers back and forth, so close to where she needed him but not close enough.

  “I know, love,” he murmured, dragging his mouth across her cheek to her lips.

  He kissed her, deep and hard, their tongues tangling, stroking, and Florence gasped as he finally sought the little nub of flesh buried in that secret place and pressed. Her head fell back, and Henry kissed her neck as he caressed and toyed with her. His hand delved deeper between her thighs, one finger sliding i
nside her wet heat as she cried out, burying her face against his shoulder.

  “Yes, like that, my beautiful Florence. God, you’re lovely. I cannot wait to marry you.”

  She clutched at his shoulders, trembling, her eyes squeezed shut as he stroked and caressed her delicate flesh until he felt her the pleasure building, felt her muscles tense and quiver. He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her moan of pleasure as she broke under his touch. She shuddered and jolted, with soft little sounds of surprised delight as he eased her through the final tremors.

  He stared into eyes of green, thickly lashed and with that beguiling feline slant, utterly bewitched.

  “I love you,” he said, his voice hoarse, hardly believing he was uttering the words he’d sworn never to say again.

  Florence blinked up at him, looking a little dazed, but her eyes filled with tears at his words, and she reached up and touched his face with her hand.

  “Oh, Henry, I love you too.”

  “You bastard!”

  Henry jolted, realising too late that he had failed to notice the sound of someone approaching, or that they were not quite so hidden as they’d believed.

  Gabriel Knight looked about as angry as a man could look, and no wonder, considering Henry had his hands up his daughter’s skirts.

  Shit.

  Gabriel lunged for him. Henry sidestepped, darting just out of reach, and ducking out from under the low branched.

  “Papa! Papa, don’t! Don’t!” Florence shouted, to no avail.

  Gabriel was far beyond listening in this moment. He wanted Henry’s blood and nothing else would do. All Henry could do was try to stay alive until someone came and restrained him. The devil of it was Henry was ten years younger than Gabe and could hold his own in a fight, having done so often enough on his travels, but he could not fight back when he knew he was very much in the wrong, and that Florence would never forgive him if he hurt her father.

  “Gabriel, we need to talk,” he said, dodging a vicious upper cut that would have dislodge teeth and likely broken his bloody jaw if it had made contact. Gabriel clearly didn’t spend all his days sitting on his backside either.

  “I’ll talk when you’re dead,” Gabriel growled, delivering a swift upper cut that Henry barely avoided the full force of, and which sent him stumbling backwards.

  “Papa!” Florence yelled in fury. “I love him!”

  “You’ll get over it,” Gabriel snarled, bearing down on Henry like one of the bloody trains he was so fond of.

  “I will not fight you,” Henry said, holding his hands up.

  “Good. Makes it easier to rip your damned head off,” Gabriel said, flashing the kind of grin any sane man would have nightmares about for years to come.

  “Mama! Mama! Stop him!”

  With one eye still on the raging bull that was his opponent, Henry noted the slight figure of Lady Helena hurrying towards them with a burst of relief, thank God… Ooof!

  His attention divided, Henry was too slow to dodge the next blow and Gabriel’s fist snapped his head back. He staggered and went down, and Gabriel followed. He took hold of Henry’s cravat, keeping him in place and Henry watched with a sick sense of inevitability as his right fist drew back.

  “Gabriel Knight, you will stop this nonsense at once, you great oaf!”

  Gabriel stilled at once, breathing hard. With what appeared to be a herculean effort, he turned his head to stare at his wife. “He… He… with Florence…”

  Gabriel bit the words out as if they tasted vile.

  Helena however just threw up her hands and glared at her husband in exasperation. “Well, of course. The poor man is courting her. Did you think I didn’t know? Did you not read the letter I sent you?”

  “What letter?” Gabriel demanded, his expression creasing into one of confusion. “I got a letter telling me this bastard was seducing my daughter. And what the devil do you mean he’s courting her? He’s my age!”

  “No, I’m not!” Henry retorted at once. Damned if he’d let the bastard age him by a decade.

  “You shut up!” Gabriel growled.

  Henry shut up, though the urge to break his future father-in-law’s nose was beyond tempting. He supposed it wouldn’t help matters, though.

  “You mean to say you knew about this?” Gabriel asked his wife. “You… You let this depraved monster—”

  “Well,” Helena said, glancing from Henry to Florence, who was red-faced and mortified. “I’m not entirely certain what this is—though I could take a guess—but firstly, I doubt he’s any more depraved than you were when we were courting and, secondly, I know Florence is in love with him. She has been pursuing poor Henry mercilessly from the moment we got here. Frankly, I’m surprised he held out this long. He didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid.”

  Gabriel gaped at his wife who gave a nonchalant shrug.

  “What can I say, darling? She takes after me.”

  “Oh, Mama!” Florence ran to her mother who enveloped her in a hug.

  “There, there, sweetheart. I ought to have known you would get poor Henry into dreadful trouble. I know I always did with your father. Didn’t I, Gabriel?” she added, a note to her voice any sensible man would heed.

  Gabriel’s expression darkened, no doubt as he remembered all the trouble Helena had got him into. “I still want to kill him,” he growled, his fist still tangled in Henry’s cravat.

  In fact, it was becoming a tad difficult to breathe.

  “I know, darling,” Helena said, her expression full of sympathy. “You may vent your feelings to my brother, I’m sure he’ll sympathise.”

  Henry snorted, remembering all too well when Bedwin had discovered Gabriel had been courting his sister in secret. The duke had wanted nothing less than to castrate Gabriel Knight and hang his bollocks over the mantelpiece as a warning to others. The fist in his cravat tightened a bit more.

  “I love her,” he managed, though the pressure on his throat made the words somewhat strangled. “I wrote to you this morning, asking to speak with you. Want to marry her.”

  Gabriel lent down, getting up in Henry’s face.

  “You’re too old,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Gabe, my love, I know there is a significant age gap, but I ask you, how old was I when we eloped?” Helena asked him, and Henry noted she was tapping her foot impatiently now. Never a good sign.

  Gabe stiffened. “That is neither—”

  “I was barely nineteen,” Helena supplied for him. “Florence is almost twenty-three.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact—”

  “And how old were you? Is the age difference so very much greater than ours?”

  Gabriel’s jaw was very tight.

  Helena’s expression softened, her voice full of understanding. “Let the poor man up, Gabe. I know she’s your little girl, but she is no longer a child. She is a grown woman, and she loves him. She’s made her choice, and I for one think it is a good one. Perhaps you would not have chosen him, but he is a good man and I believe he loves her. He’ll take care of her, you know that.”

  Gabriel turned and glowered at Henry, the desire to sink his fist into Henry’s face shining in his eyes all too clearly. He glared for a moment longer, and then let out an uneven breath and climbed off Henry, getting to his feet.

  “Henry!” Florence cried, running to him. “Oh, darling, are you hurt?”

  “Mostly my pride,” Henry muttered, rubbing irritably at his jaw which was throbbing.

  “You don’t go near her again without a chaperone,” Gabriel said, pointing a threatening finger at Henry who could do nothing else but nod in agreement.

  “Probably best.”

  Gabriel looked like he wanted to murder him all over again.

  “And it will be a very long engagement,” he said through his teeth.

  Henry had known this was coming and had enough sense to realise this was not the moment to argue. Sadly he was unable to communicate this to Florence.


  “That’s not fair! Papa, Henry did nothing wrong, and I want to marry him as soon as possible.”

  “Well, when I feel less like dismembering him and chopping the sections up into small pieces, and then the pieces into bite sized chunks, we’ll talk about it,” her father said, still vibrating with anger. “I had a brief spell working for a butcher in my youth,” he added for Henry’s benefit, and quite unnecessarily in his opinion.

  Helena dragged her furious husband away by the arm. “Come along, we shall all return to the house and take tea like civilised people and discuss it properly,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

  Gabriel made a noise that sounded very much like a growl but allowed her to propel him back in the direction of the house. Helena glanced over her shoulder to Florence and mouthed, I’ll talk to him, before sending them both an encouraging smile.

  Henry sighed, and they followed them back up the path. He turned to see Florence watching him anxiously.

  “Are you cross with me?”

  “With you?” Henry frowned in consternation.

  “Yes, for getting you into trouble. It’s just like Mama said, isn’t it? It’s all my fault. You didn’t stand a chance. I’ve chased you and tormented you and forced you to kiss me. If I hadn’t, you’d have never…”

  She blushed then and Henry’s heart felt as if it was being squeezed in his chest. She was utterly delicious, and he would marry her if it was the last thing he did. Even if Gabriel made him wait for years.

  “Yes, indeed, it is undoubtedly all your fault, you wicked girl. You made me fall head over ears in love with you and tempted me beyond reason. I shall never be the same… and I’ve never been happier about anything, you little nitwit.”

  The look of relief in her eyes made Henry smile and he reached out, taking her hand.

  “Keep your distance, Stanhope!” Gabriel yelled.

  Henry sighed and let go of her hand.