Dare to Risk it All (Daring Daughters Book 7)

by Emma V. Leech

  During their many dinner conversations she had come to realise Raphe was a complicated man. He spoke knowledgably about any number of subjects, but he most loved literature and poetry. Greer loved novels, but had always found poetry difficult to fathom, yet when Raphe explained it, explained what was being said behind the obvious façade of the words it all seemed so very clear. She suspected there was a romantic soul behind the face of the libertine that had been exposed in so many print shop windows. She wanted to spend more time in his company, not just at dinner, but every time they were together, things got out of hand with ridiculous speed. Well, they must try to remain with others and not be alone together. At least for a while. The ride out this afternoon would be perfect. Yes, that would be a good start, so she must persuade him to go.

  Raphe glowered ahead to where Miss Cadogan was riding with her twin. He’d had no intention of going on this blasted outing. None. Not until he’d received her note, that was. The wicked creature had slid it under his door. It contained a demand that he come with them, or I might be so overcome with remorse for my dreadful behaviour this morning that I confess all to my father. A little illustration, showing her father chasing him through the garden with a shotgun, accompanied the sweetly worded threat. It was cleverly drawn and, despite his irritation, it had made him laugh out loud. She had caught his likeness well and his annoyance had dissipated far too quickly, leaving anticipation in its wake. He wanted to see her again, wanted to spend time with her, even if it was in the company of others. So, here he was, and there she was chatting away to her sister, drat her.

  As if hearing his internal mutterings, she turned her mount and cantered back towards him.

  “Lord de Ligne, how lovely to see you. Dare told us you weren’t coming. What changed your mind?” she asked, all innocence.

  Her eyes were wide, glinting with devilry, and the urge to be wicked with her rose inside him.

  “Blackmail, you dreadful girl,” he said under his breath before adding, so everyone else could hear, “All work and no play makes a fellow dull, so I understand, Miss Cadogan.”

  “Good heavens, has someone accused you of being dull?” She affected an expression of deep shock.

  Raphe’s lips twitched, but he held his composure, replying gravely, “Not so far, but it is bound to happen after so many months of rusticating. I don’t doubt my town bronze is becoming tarnished, my wicked reputation losing its shine.”

  “Ah, yes, you need some polishing up.”

  He gave her a sharp glance, wondering if the image that filled his mind was in hers. No, you blackguard. She was a naughty young woman, but she had no experience, for all her talk of not being ignorant of such matters. Still, the idea of her hands upon his person risked making the ride an uncomfortable one, so he pushed it firmly aside.

  Raphe slowed his mount, allowing them to drop behind the rest of the party and speak privately.

  “What am I doing here, Miss Cadogan?”

  “Oh, do call me Greer,” she said, smiling at him.

  It was not a glorious smile, and it did not make his heart sing, he assured himself. For that would be nauseating and prove that he was in danger of making a great cake of himself.

  “I do not think that wise, Miss Cadogan.”

  She sighed and pulled a face at him. “Well, if you’re going to be stuffy,” she retorted, gathering up her reins as if to ride away from him.

  “No!” he exclaimed, reaching across the distance as if to grab for her.

  She returned an arch look at the sight of his outstretched hand, and he huffed, annoyed.

  “Fine, Greer. What am I doing here?”

  “Having a lovely outing?” she suggested with a shrug.

  “You blackmailed me into being here. Why?”

  She tutted at him, sending him an impatient look. “Why do you think, dolt? I wanted to see you.”

  Despite himself, a warm, happy emotion spread through him at the admission, and he could not help the smile that curved over his lips.

  “But I knew you’d get yourself in a tizzy and refuse to see me if I left you to your own devices,” she added, spoiling his good humour. “So I decided you needed persuading.”

  “A tizzy?” he repeated, askance. “Maiden aunts and small girls get themselves in a tizzy. I have never been in a tizzy in my life!”

  She pursed her lips, staring at him. “Really? Because you seem to be in a tizzy now.”

  “And your idea of persuading,” he went on, doggedly ignoring her comment, “I find terrifying. You could have taught Bonaparte a thing or two, I swear. Just imagine what you might do if you put your mind to it.”

  “Indeed,” she agreed, her expression placid. “I might chase you around the garden with a shotgun… or get my father to do it for me.”

  Raphe narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you threatening me?”

  “No more than you want me to,” she replied, her lips twitching.

  “What the devil do you mean by that? I don’t have the least desire to be threatened by you.”

  She arched an elegant blonde brow at him. “I think you desire a great many things from me, and backing you into a corner is only one of them,” she said with a saucy smile, before cantering off and leaving him on his own.

  Raphe watched her go in astonishment and then gave a bark of laughter. By God, she was a handful, and he wanted her. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life before. How, though? He had no prospects, a property that was little more than a millstone about his neck, and a threat from the only man in the world whose good opinion mattered to him to keep away from her. Her father would laugh in his face if he offered her marriage. Not that he wanted to marry her, of course. A good tumble would get her out of his system.

  “You could marry her.”

  The words made him jump, echoing as they did the thoughts circling in his head. He turned to see his brother watching him with amusement.

  “Marry who?” he asked, striving for nonchalance.

  Sylvester made a sound of amusement. “Try the other one, it’s got bells on.”

  “Sod off,” Raphe growled.

  “No. Don’t think I will.”

  Raphe was about to canter off and leave his brother behind when Sylvester pre-empted him by riding into his path and forcing him to a halt.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Having a conversation with you if it kills me… or you, come to that.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “What utter bollocks. For heaven’s sake, Raphe. You’ve got to stop taking the world upon your shoulders and making everything your fault. We’re not children anymore. I’m certainly not. We don’t need you to protect us any longer. It was never your job in the first place.”

  “A good thing, considering the mess I made of it,” Raphe retorted with a bitter laugh.

  “Raphe, you were barely older than we were. You did your best. You spent money that was yours by right on keeping us all afloat, with damned little thanks for it, when you’d have done better abandoning us. You’ve always done your best. Well, until recently. What happened? I know you rowed with Mother. Was it because of her? What did she say that threw you into such despair?”

  Raphe shook his head. He would not talk about that. He’d been a selfish fool to let himself wallow as he’d done, pissing what little funds he had up the wall. “Nothing. It wasn’t anything to do with her.”

  “And I say again, bollocks! She’s my mother and I love her, but she’s got a tongue like a damned razor blade and she’s selfish to boot. She may never have appreciated everything you did for us, but Ollie and I do.”

  “What is it you imagine I did for you?” Raphe demanded, turning on Sylvester as his temper lit. “I threw a few shillings your way now and again, those left over that I’d not spent on drink and debauchery. Lord, I deserve a knighthood for that, surely.”

  Sylvester’s expression grew taut. “You know as well as I do it was
far more than just money, but I can’t speak to you when you’re like this.”

  “Fine. Don’t bother. I don’t need your damned gratitude, and I certainly don’t deserve it. So, sod off and leave me alone.”

  Greer covertly watched the furious exchange between Raphe and his half-brother, wondering what it was they were arguing about. Too curious about Raphe to leave it be, she joined Sylvester Cootes just as Oliver did the same.

  “Is everything—?”

  “Fine, Miss Cadogan, thank you,” Mr Cootes said sharply.

  “Don’t take it out on Miss Cadogan,” Master Oliver said, his expression reproachful.

  Mr Cootes glared at his young brother and then sighed. “No. You’re right, of course, Ollie. Forgive me, Miss Cadogan. I had no business taking my frustration out on you.”

  “Yes, you did when I was being so awfully nosy,” Greer said, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Only I’m dreadfully curious about your brother, but he seems the sort of person who is hard to know well.”

  Mr Cootes gave a short laugh and nodded. “Well, you’re not wrong there.”

  “He’s not at all like the man you read about in the papers,” Oliver said, his young face earnest.

  His brother gave him a look of patent disbelief and Oliver coloured.

  “Well,” he said, hesitant now. “He isn’t, Sy, not really. I mean, yes, all right, he is a devil with the ladies, and yes, he gets into dreadful scrapes when he’s been drinking, but…. Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. He’s a jolly good sort. The best.” Oliver glowered at him, and Mr Cootes returned a smile.

  “Yes. He is.”

  “Tell me about him,” Greer asked, knowing she was being awfully indiscreet, for surely they would correctly interpret her interest, but she didn’t care. “Please, Mr Cootes.”

  “Sylvester,” he said, thawing somewhat towards her.

  “And you may call me Ollie, if you like,” Oliver offered.

  “Thank you, I would be pleased to.”

  “I’ll tell you about Raphe,” Ollie said, butting in before Sylvester could speak. “When I was seven, I got sick with scarlet fever. It’s a disgusting disease, you know. Mama couldn’t bear to look at me when my skin peeled off. She tried it once and swooned, but Raphe came every single day. He read to me and even made up stories for me, and drew me pictures, and never ever complained about me being a nuisance or whinging, and I did make a frightful fuss, didn’t I, Sylvester? And he never forgets our birthdays, or Christmas, and even when he’s got no money, he always makes it seem special, you know. Doesn’t he, Sy? You know what I mean.”

  Sylvester nodded.

  “He sounds like a paragon among brothers,” Greer said, smiling at them.

  They both laughed at that.

  “Raphe isn’t a paragon among anyone,” Sylvester said with an expression of fond exasperation. “But he’s far better than he realises, and not half so bad as he might be, given the circumstances. He blames himself for everything, but he inherited the mess from our father. It was none of his doing.”

  Greer had suspected as much, but it was still a relief to hear her judgment had been reasonably sound.

  “Are you going to marry him, Miss Cadogan?” Oliver piped up.

  “Ollie!” Sylvester exclaimed, glaring at the lad. “For heaven’s sake, have you forgotten all your manners?”

  Oliver blushed scarlet but, despite her own embarrassment at the question, Greer could not help but laugh. “I do not believe your brother has any intention of marrying, so the question is moot.”

  Oliver scowled and urged his horse on, closer to Greer and farther away from Sylvester. “But you’d consider him, if he asked you, even if he hasn’t any money?”

  “Lord above, Oliver!” Sylvester exclaimed in despair. “You cannot go about asking young women questions like that!”

  “Oh, but Sy, it’s only us,” Oliver said impatiently. “And we want her to marry Raphe, so we’d never tattle or say anything against her.”

  Greer looked between them in surprise, realising they’d discussed her between themselves.

  “I—” she began, and then stopped herself. She had got herself into trouble too many times by speaking without thinking, and this was too important. “I like your brother very much, but I do not know him well, and I do not think he is contemplating marriage. He may never take a wife, but… but if he did, I would certainly consider his offer carefully.”

  Oliver beamed at her, as pleased as if it were a foregone conclusion. “I should like to have you as a sister,” he said, his expression so warm and hopeful that Greer could not help but blush.

  “As would I,” Sylvester admitted, much to her surprise. “And I should like to see Raphe happy and settled, for I fear how he will end up if he returns to his old habits.”

  “Do you think that likely?” Greer asked, anxious now.

  Sylvester shrugged. “I hope not. He seems determined to behave himself, for Rothborn’s sake if no one else’s.”

  “Rothborn? You mean Solo, Baron Rothborn?”

  Sylvester nodded. “He took Raphe under his wing when our father died. Raphe thinks the world of him, but Rothborn threatened to wash his hands of him if he didn’t sort himself out.”

  “Do you know him then?” Ollie asked.

  Greer nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, of course. He and my father are good friends.”

  “Rothborn warned Raphe to keep his hands off you,” Sylvester said, watching her reaction with interest.

  “What?” Greer turned to him in alarm. “But why?”

  Sylvester shrugged. “I don’t know, but they had words about you, I think.”

  Greer puzzled over that, wondering what reason they would have had to discuss her at all.

  “Perhaps we ought not to have told her,” Ollie said, chewing at his lip anxiously.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Greer said, though she wasn’t certain she believed it herself. “Rothborn is dreadfully protective, you know. Whenever we went out with his daughter, Grace, he was always on pins because I was such a hoyden. I’m sure he believed he’d have to carry my lifeless body back to my parents a dozen times over the years.”

  Ollie laughed, delighted by this. “Because you’re a bruising rider?” he guessed.

  “Among other things,” she agreed, seeing the glint in his eyes.

  “Race you to the stone!” he called, before springing his mount and galloping away.

  Never one to resist a challenge, Greer charged after him.

  Chapter 7

  Dear Georgie,

  Is it true? Will you be at Beverwyck for Christmas? Oh, I was so excited when I heard. I cannot wait to see you again.

  Oh, I am so looking forward to it!

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Lady Georgina Anderson (daughter of Gordon and Ruth Anderson, Earl and Countess of Morven).

  12th December 1840, The Nine Ladies, Stanton Moor, Derbyshire.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Aisling observed as she took Greer’s arm.

  They had been walking around the standing stones, which privately Greer had thought a bit disappointing. They were nothing like the great hulking stones of the henge in Devon, though she had to admit they did seem rather mystical. Aisling certainly seemed enchanted by them.

  “Just thinking,” Greer said.

  “Yes. It is a good place for thinking, isn’t it? You can feel the energy here.”

  Greer shot her a puzzled glance. “Energy?”

  Aisling laughed at her bemused expression. “Of course. That’s why the stones are here. It’s nothing to do with dancing ladies, I promise you. The ancients knew this was a power source for magic. They likely held their rituals here.”

  “Virgin sacrifices?” Greer asked, interested now.

  She smiled as Aisling shot her a quick grin. She was such a quiet girl, rather shy, but she often had the most interesting opinions and seemed to kn
ow things other people didn’t.

  “I’m not sure about that, but I suppose it’s possible,” Aisling said.

  Greer looked at the stones in a new light and suppressed a shiver.

  “There, now you feel it.” Aisling sounded pleased with herself.

  They walked in silence for a bit and Greer watched Raphe, who was walking outside the circle, frowning down at the ground. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Greer wanted to go to him and smooth the furrow she knew had settled between his brows.

  “He’s very handsome,” Aisling observed, a teasing light in her eyes.

  Greer stiffened. Lud. Did everybody know? She really was hopeless at being discreet.

  “Handsome is as handsome does,” she replied with a sniff.

  Aisling only made a sound of amusement. Greer scowled at her.

  “Sylvester is also very handsome,” she retaliated, seeing Aisling's lovely face cloud.

  “He’s annoying.”

  Greer felt her eyebrows go up. Aisling was the sweetest natured creature on earth and never had a bad word to say about anyone. She always seemed to see the good in people. Coming from her, that was damning indeed.

  “Why?”

  Aisling shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I ought not judge him so harshly perhaps but, he’s so big, and full of himself and… and he’s always there!”

  “Where?”

  “Where I don’t want him to be,” Aisling shot back, exasperated.

  Greer considered this. Sylvester and Raphe were much alike, except for their colouring. They were both tall and athletic, very good-looking, and though he could be a little brusque, she liked Sylvester. He seemed a decent fellow, and he had clearly found a great deal to like in Aisling.

  “He admires you.”

  Aisling’s cheeks grew pink. “I can’t help that. I never asked him to,” she returned, sounding flustered. “He doesn’t know me at all.”