Dare to Love

by Alleigh Burrows

  But this time, he would have the last word. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Father, but Nivea does, in fact, exist. She is downstairs at this very moment. I hesitate to bring her up because I would prefer that she never learn of the depth of your perversion. But if it will help convince you of her existence, I will go fetch her.”

  The marquess waved his hand in dismissal. “No need. Play whatever game you like tonight. Tomorrow, you will marry. Now go. Tell Stevens to bring my dinner and light some more tapers in here. I’m not ready for eternal darkness yet, no matter how hard you all wish for it.”

  Eager to escape, Dare exited the room and headed downstairs. There, he paused to gulp in a few steadying breaths before opening the parlor doors.

  Nivea was sitting on the settee where he’d left her. While her lips formed a polite smile, he could see her fingers gripped together in her lap, a stunned expression in her eyes. When she saw him in the doorway, a look of relief washed over her. “Dare—Lord Landis, how is your father?”

  “He is the same as always.” Walking over, he sat next to her and patted her hand. Before he could say more, his mother drew his attention. Still a handsome woman, with her aristocratic features and neatly coiffed hair, she couldn’t conceal the hardness around her mouth and eyes.

  “Did you have a pleasant visit upstairs?” she sneered.

  “Certainly not, but I expected no less.”

  “Yes, well some things never change. I’m sure the marquess relayed how eager he is for you to marry.”

  He inclined his head, but offered no response. Instead he rubbed his thumb over Nivea’s hand, marveling at its warmth.

  “Do you think you can convince your father of your little charade?

  He jerked his head up. “Charade? What do you mean?”

  “Her.” She waved a hand dismissively in Nivea’s direction. “Surely, you could have picked someone a little more”—she let her eyes pass over Nivea—“believable.”

  His sisters snickered in response.

  He didn’t realize he had started forward until he felt Nivea place a restraining hand on his arm. “What do you mean, mother?” he growled between clenched teeth.

  His oldest sister, Fiona, piped up, “Come now, Adair. I know it was short notice, but I would have expected you to have a number of more suitable looking women to choose from. Imaging trying to pass her off as an earl’s daughter? Just because Father’s dying, do not think he’s a fool.”

  Nivea begin to quiver next to him. He did not dare to look at her, because if he saw the inevitable tears in her eyes, he would no doubt slaughter the entire room. Good God, too much time in their presence and Nivea might decide to back out. That he could not allow.

  He drew in a breath to calm his fury, but before he could respond, a footman entered. “Tea is ready, Lady Raynsforth. Should we bring it in?”

  “Of course you should bring it in,” she snapped, “do you expect us to serve ourselves in the hallway?”

  “No, my lady.” The poor servant bowed in subjugation and retrieved the tray from the hallway table. Placing it on the table in front of Lady Raynsforth, his sleeve brushed against the plate of biscuits and caused one to slide from the plate.

  “Get out, before you dump it all on the floor, ” she shrieked, driving the poor man from the room.

  While Lady Raynsforth poured the tea into the cups, Dare’s youngest sister, Anne, grabbed for a biscuit. “I’d better get one before Adair’s betrothed spots them. I’d wager there wouldn’t be enough left for all of us.”

  They all tittered with amusement.

  Except for Dare. He jumped to his feet and roared, “You will apologize now! Nivea will be the next Marchioness of Raynsforth, although why she would want such a distasteful title, I cannot guess. Regardless, I will be marrying her, and I demand you treat her with respect!”

  Before they were able to form a sentence, he grabbed Nivea’s hand and dragged her from the room.

  Chapter 45

  “Oh, Dare, they were so hateful!” Nivea cried as they raced up the stairs. “They teased each other in good humor, but the things they said about you were so cruel, so blatantly evil.”

  They were traveling at such a quick pace down a long hallway and up another set of stairs, she could hardly breathe. But there was no stopping Dare as he pulled her along, his face hardened granite, and his eyes black with rage. He said nothing until they reached the landing where he spotted a maid in the hallway.

  “You there! Where has Miss Horsham been placed for the evening?”

  The woman looked startled. “Milord?”

  “Miss Horsham. My betrothed. Which room will she be using?”

  “I believe she’s in the west wing, milord. The Cherub Room.”

  Nivea was unprepared for the violence of his response. He stalked over to the young woman, face livid with anger and bellowed, “You put my future wife in the room my father bedded his whores? You will see to it that her things are moved immediately. I expect her to be settled into the walnut room within the quarter hour. Do you understand?”

  Cowering with fear, the woman nodded before racing down the hallway as though chased by the devil himself. Even Nivea was shaken by the fury emanating from him. Knowing there was nothing she could say to make this better, she waited quietly until he had regained control.

  “Come,” he announced after a moment. He walked halfway down the hall and opened a door on the right. Nivea followed, entering a charming room of green and taupe. The walnut furniture was light and whorled, giving the room the appearance of a forest hideaway.

  “I’m certain you will be comfortable here.”

  “Oh, this is lovely,” Nivea gasped.

  “Good. I’m glad you like it.” He did his best to smile, but his face was strained. “I am sorry about the delay, but it shouldn’t be long before you can get settled. Now, if you will please excuse me, I must take care of a few things. Be assured the rest of the visit will be more accommodating.” He took her hand, kissed it gently, and left.

  Dazed, Nivea collapsed on the bed.

  This was bad. It was so much worse than she could have imagined. It was a wonder Dare was able to function at all growing up in this house. She had prepared herself for an uncomfortable few days, but this was horrific.

  She sat there, trying to sort through the day’s events. Every so often, she could hear snippets of Dare yelling downstairs.

  “…the Cherub Room? How dare you…? If you ever act like that…”

  Then she heard a door slam, his footsteps stomping in the hallway, and then silence.

  She had started to drift off when her maid tapped on her door. “Milady, we have brought your things.” Emma was followed in the room by two footmen carrying her bags. “Oh, this is much more suitable.”

  The other room must have been quite disturbing, judging by the scandalized look on her maid’s face. “Don’t worry, I will just need a moment to set your things out,” she said, bustling about. “In the meantime, you can read this note. Lord Landis asked that I give it to you.”

  Nivea broke the seal and sat by the window to read it. The writing was so like Dare—bold and meticulous, with no unwarranted flourishes.

  Miss Horsham,

  It appears I spend most of my time apologizing to you. I hope you will forgive me once again. I should never have subjected you to my family. I offer you my deepest regrets for their behavior.

  I have asked that a tray be sent to your room for supper this evening. There is no need for you to associate with those cretins any more than necessary.

  I have left for the Billingston’s to negate my father’s agreement. As much as I would like to be with you, it would be best if we stay apart to reduce any hateful gossip my family may chose to spread.

  I anticipate one final meal with them tomorrow and then we can return to London.

  Once again, please forgive me.

  Your devoted servant,

  Dare

  The poor man. She wishe
d she could see him, comfort him, but he was right. Staying apart would be best for now. Eager to return home, she had Emma bring her supper without delay, and then climbed into bed, falling fast asleep.

  The next morning, Emma brought up another missive from Dare, along with her breakfast tray.

  Miss Horsham,

  I trust you had a pleasant sleep. Today we will be taking our mid-day meal with my family where we will bring this matter to a resolution. I assure you, there is no need to worry. By tomorrow, we will have put this behind us and returned you to your loving and supportive family.

  Until then

  All my love,

  Dare

  All my love. How delightful that sounded.

  Nivea could sustain anything, knowing that Dare truly cared for her. It was almost worth facing his family again, just to see him, be with him.

  She took special care getting dressed for lunch. Her heart was racing as she let Emma apply the final touches to her hair. Stepping into the hallway, her heart surged with joy.

  Dare was standing there, waiting for her. Although he was as handsome as ever, his eyes were shadowed. He didn’t touch her, but his voice betrayed his emotions roiling beneath the surface. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you. I won’t ask the same of you.”

  He grimaced. “No, I’m afraid it was an uncomfortable evening. But today will put it all to rest.”

  He took her hand to escort her downstairs and then stopped. “Where is your ring?”

  Confused, she stared at him.

  “Your engagement ring. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “I didn’t think it proper. Not until everything is resolved.” After the ugliness with his family yesterday, she had taken off the ring and tucked it into her reticule. Much as she loved it, she was afraid it might set off a firestorm if his sisters spotted a family heirloom on her hand.

  Dare glared at her. “That issue has been thoroughly resolved. I asked for your hand, you gave it to me, and you will wear my ring. At all times.”

  Flustered but pleased, Nivea hurried into her room, placed the ring back on her finger, and dashed out. When she held up her hand for him to see, he brought it to his lips for a kiss and flashed her a smile so full of heat, her knees went weak.

  “That’s much better. Come, let us brave the lions together.” Taking her arm, he guided her down to the dining room.

  To say lunch was a strained affair would be exceedingly generous. Dare’s father sat at the head of the table, slowly and painfully spooning broth into his mouth. He refused to acknowledge either of them as they entered.

  Lady Landis sat at the foot of the table flanked by Dare’s sisters. They were slender, poised, and dressed to the height of fashion. Nivea sighed, feeling awkward as usual. Dare gave her hand a comforting squeeze before taking his seat at the opposite end of the table.

  The marquess wasted no time dominating the conversation. In between spoonfuls, he railed against everything from the cost of livestock to the weather. But his favorite topic was disparaging his son.

  It was difficult to look at him; his disease had left him so disfigured. His face and hands were swollen with boils. His eyes, black and fierce, glared out from beneath untamed brows. His cravat was dotted with stains, as a lack of teeth permitted soup to spew forth with every pronouncement.

  Fortunately, he did not expect a response, so Nivea followed the lead of the others and concentrated on her meal. Her nerves destroyed her appetite, so she toyed with her plate while listening to the ranting of a madman.

  “I received a note from Billingston today. I see you defied me once again and forfeited your marriage contract. Made me a laughingstock, of course. He was quite eager to tie his daughter to a title such as ours. And no wonder. His other chit married a baron, if you can imagine.” Agitated, he waved his spoon in the air, before taking another mouthful.“He expected better, but I guess everyone has children that disappoint them,” muttered the marquess. “Damn shame. Good, sensible fellow, Billingston is.”

  Silence fell as he turned his attention back to his meal. It didn’t take long before he was waving his spoon again. “I suppose I was too soft on you. Never was able to break that stubborn streak of yours.”

  Enraged at that proclamation, Nivea chanced a glance around the table. She noticed Dare’s sisters smirking at each other. Dare sat there, seemingly unaffected, methodically cutting his food and placing it into his mouth. He never acknowledged he even heard his father.

  But there was no stopping the man. “Don’t expect an inheritance now, boy. I know you’ve been counting on it, no doubt frantically putting off creditors for years, waiting for me to put my spoon in the wall. You’ll be in quite a corner now. You’ll get the title, nothing I can do about that, but not a single groat if I can help it. I was willing to change things if you’d finally married, but you shot yourself in the foot with that one, didn’t you? No Billingston girl, no inheritance. Maybe poverty will teach you a valuable lesson.” He let out a wheezy sound that Nivea assumed was a laugh.

  She was startled when Dare suddenly spoke up. “Father, have I ever asked you for a shilling?” His eyes were black and focused. When no response was forthcoming, he continued. “Truly, have I ever given you the slightest indication that I am in need of your money? Because, I assure you, I am not. I want nothing from you. You distribute your precious money as you see fit, and I can promise you, your death will bring me nothing but peace.”

  Hearing this, delivered in a tone so casual and calm as to be almost bored, turned the marquess apoplectic. He banged on the table with his fist, causing all the women to jump. “I will not be talked to in my house like that! Of course you need money, you frivolous fool. Billingston would have seen that you had a proper dowry, and then I would have kept you in my will. But now, I will be stripping you of all funds. You will be penniless. You will never find a woman to marry you once you’re thrown into debtor’s prison,” the man crowed in victory.

  Dare laid down his fork, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and in a very controlled voice responded, “Sir, you are mistaken. As I have explained, Miss Horsham has agreed to be my wife. She is not interested in my title or my wealth, although I’m certain she will be relieved to hear that she will lack neither. The very thought of holding your title fills me with revulsion, but fortunately for her, nothing can be done of it.”

  Nivea couldn’t help but smile in response. It never occurred to her that either would matter. She just wanted him. More so now than ever. Noting her response, he quirked a slight grin in her direction and turned his attention back to his father.

  “I know you have no confidence in my abilities or intelligence, but I assure you, I am a shrewd investor and quite comfortable. Best of all, I managed to achieve my wealth without treating people like animals. So, you and your money can go straight to Hell.”

  Then he picked up his fork, speared a tender carrot, and popped it into his mouth.

  The response was so explosive, Nivea’s heart nearly jumped from her chest. The marquess flung an arm in her direction and bellowed, “Surely you don’t mean to marry her. Look at her, boy—she’s God awful. She’s plain, obviously overly fond of biscuits, and timid as a church mouse. You think to make her the Marchioness of Raynsforth? You think she’s worthy? I couldn’t think of a less worthy prospect. If you are doing this simply to spite me, than I will get the last laugh. You will be stuck with her and I will be long gone. What a fool you’ll be then.”

  Nivea went pale. What if he were correct? Maybe Dare had concocted this scheme as a way to irritate his father. That would explain why he’d asked her to marry him. Then she glanced down at the beautiful, sapphire ring, sparkling on her finger. He’d had it in his desk, waiting for her.

  She raised her head and all doubts were erased. Dare was quivering with rage. He gave her a quick shake of his head, placed his napkin on the table, and rose from his seat. Standing to his full height, he locked eyes with his father. “Plai
n? You think Miss Horsham plain. And timid? Unworthy to be a Raynsforth? You, sir, are as blind as you are stupid. Of course she is pale here, where one’s very life is squashed from their soul. But when she is with her family and friends…when she is happy, she is the most beautiful woman imaginable. Her eyes glitter like sapphires, her warm smile lights up a room. Yes, she can be quiet and respectful, but she is also strong in spirit, and has more love in her than anyone I know.”

  But that did not cow the old troll. “Bah,” he mocked, “that just proves what I said. She is weak, soft. Trust me, you could not be making a worse choice.”

  “Soft? Nay, sir, her love is not soft. It is fierce and burning and has made me a man.”

  Nivea could not have been more proud of him. But he was not finished. He took a breath and hissed, “You are absolutely right about one thing, sir. You would have selected someone completely different. Nivea comes from a kind and loving family who could not fathom the type of horror we’ve experienced in this house. Frankly, if you feel she is a mistake, then marrying her will be the best decision I’ve ever made.”

  That was one of the most romantic declarations she’d ever heard. She wanted to leap across the table and kiss him senseless. Instead, she pressed her ring to her lips, and he winked at her in return.

  Now that the yelling had stopped, the room had become deathly still. The women were all staring at the head of the table.

  The marquess’s mouth hung open, as though shocked into silence. Then he began flailing his arms and ripping at his throat as though being choked.

  Dare didn’t move. “Don’t pretend to die. I shan’t believe it.”

  But before he could return to his seat, his father collapsed in his chair, unconscious.

  “Good God, you’ve killed him,” screeched Fiona.

  “Call the doctor,” screamed Anne.

  Two footmen rushed into the room. Lady Landis ordered them to carry her husband upstairs. Before she followed them out, she turned to Dare and said, “Don’t look quite so guilty, darling. This has happened before, and he has always returned. Odds are the bastard will outlive us all.” With a swish of her skirts, she left the room.