Dare to be Brazen
The Daring Daughters Book 2
By Emma V. Leech
Published by Emma V. Leech.
Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2021
Editing Services Magpie Literary Services
Cover Art: Victoria Cooper
ASIN No: B08W4H8WRG
ISBN No:978-2-492133-23-7
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred.
Other Works by Emma V. Leech
Daring Daughters
Daring Daughters Series
Girls Who Dare
Girls Who Dare Series
Rogues & Gentlemen
Rogues & Gentlemen Series
The Regency Romance Mysteries
The Regency Romance Mysteries Series
The French Vampire Legend
The French Vampire Legend Series
The French Fae Legend
The French Fae Legend Series
Stand Alone
The Book Lover (a paranormal novella)
The Girl is Not for Christmas (Regency Romance)
Audio Books
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Acknowledgements
Thanks, of course, to my wonderful editor Kezia Cole with Magpie Literary Services
To Victoria Cooper for all your hard work, amazing artwork and above all your unending patience!!! Thank you so much. You are amazing!
To my BFF, PA, personal cheerleader and bringer of chocolate, Varsi Appel, for moral support, confidence boosting and for reading my work more times than I have. I love you loads!
A huge thank you to all of Emma’s Book Club members! You guys are the best!
I’m always so happy to hear from you so do email or message me :)
[email protected]
To my husband Pat and my family ... For always being proud of me.
Table of Contents
Family Trees
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Dare to be Wild
To Dare a Duke
The Rogue
A Dog in a Doublet
The Key to Erebus
The Dark Prince
Want more Emma?
Family Trees
Prologue
N’écris pas. Je suis triste, et je voudrais m’éteindre.
Les beaux étés sans toi, c’est la nuit sans flambeau.
J’ai refermé mes bras qui ne peuvent t’atteindre,
Et frapper à mon cœur, c’est frapper au tombeau.
N’écris pas!
Do not write. I’m sad and pensive, burning up my fire.
Bright summers without you are like a darkened room.
My arms clasped tight again, but not with their desire.
Beating at my heart is like beating at a tomb.
Do not write!
―Marceline Desbordes-Valmore 1786 -1859
12th November 1825, Perigueux, France.
Nic curled his hands about his mouth and blew to revive his numb fingers. The house had been quiet for at least an hour, but that was no guarantee every occupant was asleep.
He looked up, muttering a filthy curse as soft white flakes tumbled from the inky skies above. The night was perishing cold as it was; all he needed was for every surface to be slick with ice. The weather did not care about the days he’d taken to get here, nor his carefully laid plans, and the snow fell with delicate insistence, forcing him to a decision. Either he acted now, or he must come back another night. Everything he’d discovered to date told him he could not wait. Whatever it was in his gut that had guided him out of more trouble than one twenty-year-old had a right to survive told him this was his only chance.
Nic stood, his limbs protesting the movement after crouching in the freezing temperatures, motionless for hours on the roof of the building opposite his target. It had been a grave disappointment that he could not find an easier way in, but the house was locked up tight, with a heavy front door, and the few windows were secured with shutters. In the middle of the small town of Perigueux in southwest France, and with houses on all sides, there was no way of breaking in without being seen. His best chance was to access the back of the house opposite, climb over the roof and then enter via the inner courtyard which was bound to be less well secured. There was just one problem. Nic padded to the edge, looking down at a drop which guaranteed broken limbs at best, and at worst a death sentence. Perhaps that ought to be the other way around, he mused, reaching for the thick coil of rope. What life for a man of his talents if his body was broken beyond repair? He’d not think of that. Nic had been taught from a very young age that fear was normal, but something he could ignore if he focused. If he was prepared, if he knew what he was doing and did it with a clear head, with absolute concentration, then fear simply… went away.
He took a deep breath, swung the grappling hook around and around, and flung it towards the building opposite. It hit with a crack that seemed to Nic to sound like gunfire in the still of the night. A dog barked somewhere down the street and a voice yelled to silence it. He crouched down again, waiting for someone to sound the alarm, to come out and investigate, but the snow kept drifting down and smoke from the chimneys kept coiling up. All was silent. Letting out a breath of relief, Nic secured the rope. He undid his heavy boots and tied the laces together, draping them over his neck, then pulled on the soft leather slippers, tying the laces firmly up around his ankles. It took longer than he liked to test and retest the tension and security of the rope, to convince himself the thing would hold, but he was no use to anyone with a broken neck. Usually the rope was secured on all sides to keep it still, but there were no such precautions here, and he would need all his skill to cross the gap before him.
Finally it was done, and he stood on the edge of the building, the rope stretched out before him. H
e steadied his breathing, emptying his mind of anything but the rope and his own body, sliding one foot out along the taut length, and then the other. It was child’s play really, even with the disconcerting sway: a far shorter distance than he walked daily, delighting the crowds with what they considered an astonishing, death-defying talent. The tightrope creaked as he reached the middle, and Nic’s heart gave a little jolt, but he kept moving forward. Movement was his friend, and any hesitation could see him fall. At last, the roof opposite was within reach. He stepped off and allowed himself a moment to breathe, then he grasped the grappling hook and threw it back to where he’d come from. He’d not be able to escape this way if he was successful, and he could not risk leaving evidence. Once again, the clatter as the hook hit the tiles seemed loud enough to wake the dead, but the fates were kind tonight, and a catfight in the street below was enough to make anyone believe the furious felines were responsible for anything that sounded like a crash.
Five minutes later and Nic, as sure-footed as the hissing creatures in the street below, had crossed the roof and climbed down into the inner courtyard. Cursing the snow that left his footprints visible, he crouched beside what he guessed might be the kitchen door and got out his lock picks. Too easy, he thought with a smirk, glad he’d taken the time to learn how before turning the well-oiled knob and silently easing inside the house. He closed the door and stood for a moment, accustoming himself to the sleeping house and listening for anything that might signal danger. The silence pressed down on him as he moved through the scullery and on to the kitchen. The fire was dying, the embers still glowing but devoid of flame, giving just enough light to see the slight figure curled on the floor in front of the hearth. Nic’s heart contracted, pity and fury mingling together, but there was no time now, neither for sentiment nor explanations. He moved closer, crouched down, and put his hand firmly over the boy’s mouth.
The body jerked awake, hands coming up to grasp at Nic’s wrist, but he was skinny and weak and no match for a man of Nic’s size.
“Quiet,” Nic said, his voice stern. “I’ve come to help you. Do you want to get out of here?”
The boy stilled, and Nic moved around to face him, startled by eyes of such brilliant blue that there was no doubting the colour, even in the dim firelight.
“I’m not going to hurt you. If you come with me, I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again. D’accord?”
The boy stared at him, and then gave a sharp nod.
“I’m going to take my hand away now. If you shout for help, this will be your life, sleeping on a kitchen floor, working for that miserable bastard who treats you worse than a dog. Understand?”
The boy stared at him, unblinking, and nodded again. Nic took his hand away.
“Will you come with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” the boy said at once.
Nic smiled. “Don’t you care where we’re going?”
“No.”
“You trust me?” Nic said, unsure whether to be pleased or horrified by the nod that followed, that this boy should put himself into the care of a man he didn’t know from Adam without a word of protest.
“Yes.” The answer was fervent, determined.
Nic frowned, and despite their need to escape at once, he could not help but ask, “Why?”
“Because you’re my brother.”
Chapter 1
Dearest Eliza,
I hope you are feeling better now. Mama told me how ill you were last week, and that the megrim did not subside for several days. Do you not think that perhaps they are correct, and you ought not attend the season this year? Perhaps the south of France? The sunshine might do you good. Cassius and I would happily accompany you.
―Excerpt of a letter from of Lady Charlotte Cadogan, Vicomtesse Oakley, to her sister, Lady Elizabeth Adolphus – eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin.
5th March1839, Beverwyck, London.
Nic looked up from the book he was reading as his half-brother, Louis César, walked into the room. Louis strode to the cabinet that held a decanter of brandy, poured himself a large measure and came and stood by the fire, one arm on the mantel.
Nic withdrew his watch, frowning down at the timepiece. “You’re back early.”
“Elle n'était pas là,” Louis said irritably.
“English, Louis.” Nic sighed at the glittering look Louis sent him. “We agreed. If we are to be accepted by the ton and make our lives here, it must be as natural as our mother tongue.”
Louis rolled his eyes.
“She was not there,” he repeated, enunciating each word with a precise, measured accent that illustrated his impatience. “Taken ill, I believe.”
“What?” Nic sat up straighter, making a futile attempt to still the panic that made his heart knock about in his chest.
“A headache, I am told, and before you ask, yes, I said all the correct things, ensured I looked suitably bereft, and I will send flowers in the morning. What I would not do was endure the rest of the evening, bored out of my mind, when it was to no purpose.”
Nic glowered at his brother but said nothing. Eliza was ill again, or at least suffering yet another headache, which was not merely a headache but a megrim that would leave her pale and wan for days after. He must get that idiot doctor back again. She ought not be suffering like this after all she’d been through. Guilt rose in his chest, so heavy and smothering it was hard to breathe around it. His fault. His bloody fault. He ought never have put himself in her way. What a bloody selfish fool he’d been. Well, that was done. Now he needed to stay away from her. Far, far away.
“I’ve been thinking,” Nic said, the words as nonchalant as he could make them. “I ought to go back to Paris for a while, to check on things.”
Eyes of shocking blue turned upon him, fierce with intelligence and burning with annoyance. “So, you try to think of a reason to abandon me, do you, brother?”
“I’m not abandoning you,” Nic protested. “For the love of God, Louis, you’re not a boy any longer.”
“No, and I never was a fool. We both know Rouge et Noir is in good hands. Jacques does not need you breathing down his neck and acting like we don’t trust him. You’ll only put his back up. So, why don’t you tell me why you have been acting so strangely of late?”
Nic’s ground his teeth. The trouble was, Louis knew him too well. It was a miracle he’d not figured out what the problem was weeks ago. He knew it was only because it was so damned unlikely it would never occur to his brother that Nic had become infatuated with a woman he barely knew. A duke’s daughter, no less. If it weren’t so damned painful, it would be hysterical.
“I’m not acting anything,” Nic replied, aware he sounded like a sulky boy.
Louis snorted.
“I think you are bored,” his brother said, studying him critically. “In Paris you were occupied with the club at all hours of the day and night. The life of an idle gentleman does not agree with you.”
Nic turned an incredulous look upon Louis. “And it does you?”
Louis waved an impatient if elegant hand. “I have always been better at dissembling than you. Besides, a fellow can find occupation enough if he puts his mind to it.”
Nic made a disgruntled sound but said nothing.
“Why not go ahead with the new club you mentioned?”
“Because you said—” Nic began, but Louis silenced him.
“I know what I said, and I was correct.”
“Naturally.” The word dripped sarcasm, which Louis ignored.
“You cannot possibly be responsible for a club like Rouge et Noir here in England. It would damage us both. You could, however, try something different. Something exclusive and respectable.”
“Respectable?” Nic regarded his brother’s amused expression, aware he had exclaimed the word in the same way one might shriek ‘plague!’
“Is it really such a reprehensible idea? We have come here to be respectable, have we not?”
“You have,” Nic grumbled.
He might be illegitimate, but his sire had recognised him for Louis’s sake. If Louis married well and, if they avoided any scandal, Nic might… well, he might not cause his half-brother too much trouble by his continued association. Nic had tried to suggest he stay away completely on several occasions. The results had not been pretty. Louis believed he owed Nic his life, certainly his liberty, and he refused to accept any version of the future where Nic was not fully present in it. For some reason Nic could not fathom, Louis idolised him. Such love and loyalty touched Nic deeper than he cared to admit. Louis knew that, though.
Nic sighed, aware of his brother’s continued scrutiny. “All right, all right. I’ll look into it.”
Louis smiled, an expression that made people catch their breath, for it was devastating to behold.
“Oh, stow it,” Nic said, belligerent now.
“Very good, Nic. You sound like a native!”
Nic glowered. It was time for bed.
Two weeks later. Cheapside, London.
Eliza turned to look at her maid, Martha, who was standing, rigid with disgust, in one corner of the dingy room. A sensible, solid woman of perhaps thirty something years, Martha was not used to such distasteful surroundings, having been Eliza’s lady’s maid for almost a decade now. The woman’s gaze darted from the door to the filthy window at increasingly short intervals. Something scurried in the shadows on the opposite side of the room, and Martha flinched.
“Do relax, Martha dear. We have two burly footmen waiting outside the front door, and there is no other entrance… which I admit might not be a good thing, now I come to think of it. What if there were a fire?”
Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2) Page 1
