Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2)

by Emma V. Leech

  “I came to see the show,” she said, somehow figuring out a question from his incoherent words.

  “But….”

  “Nic,” she whispered. “Nic, how extraordinary you are, and I have missed you so.”

  “But….”

  “So, this is where you learnt such remarkable skills. I knew it must be. That’s why I came today. I know it’s silly, but I thought I might feel closer to you in coming here and… and the show was marvellous, and it made me so happy, and so sad that I’d not come before.”

  Nic stared at her. She was alight with excitement and happiness, babbling nonsense, but he was enraptured by the sparkle of joy in her eyes and could not stop her, could not tell her she was talking rubbish.

  “Wasting time, that’s what I’ve been doing,” she carried on, impassioned. “Wasting time, wasting my life on caring about all the wrong things, caring about what people thought of me. That’s going to stop, though. Right now.”

  “You knew?” Nic was still struggling with this concept. She’d known what he was, and she’d still come after him? Was she insane? That blow to the head must have—

  “I didn’t know, but I thought it was likely.”

  “But….”

  “Nic, do stop gaping at me.”

  “But….”

  “And stop saying but. There are no buts. I want to know you. I want to know if what I feel for you is real and… and forever. How can I be certain if you keep running away from me?”

  Forever?

  Forever?

  Nic shook his head.

  “Louis César,” he said, though his voice sounded a bit odd, somewhat unsteady. Well, and why not, when she’d just rocked his world to its foundations? “You’re supposed to marry—”

  Eliza had clearly had enough of his dithering and stammering, for which he could not entirely blame her. He had never been so hopelessly wrong-footed by a woman in all his life, but one slender hand reached up and grasped his neck, tugging him down, and Nic went without a murmur.

  Oh God. He was lost. Sunk. Falling down a hole so deep the impact would destroy him. It was like tumbling down the rope… except he controlled that, no matter how terrifying it looked to the spectators. There was nothing he could do to stop this and there was nothing below him but a sheer drop. He didn’t care. In this moment, he didn’t care. Her lips were soft, so impossibly soft, and she smelled of an English summer’s day, sunshine and roses, transporting him back to that moment on the terrace when he’d first seen her. The kiss lasted barely more than a few seconds and she pulled back, flushed and wide eyed at her own daring. Nic hadn’t even touched her, just stood there like a great lump. Bloody fool.

  “I kissed you,” she said breathlessly, and he was uncertain if she was impressed with herself or horrified.

  “Oui,” he replied, an answer he was quite proud of as his brains had been scrambled beyond saving. He cast around for something he ought to say, ought to do, but he could see nothing but her mouth, taste nothing but her sweetness upon his lips, wanted nothing else but to haul her back into his arms and….

  She’s a lady. She’s a lady. A duke’s daughter. Not for you. Not yours. She’s Louis Cesar’s. You promised Louis!

  “I told you before,” he said, taking a step back and trying to find some anger to cling to. Anger with himself ought to be easy enough to muster. God damn him for messing this up so badly. “I told you, I—”

  “Yes, I know. You cannot love anyone, even me,” Eliza said soothingly. She moved closer again and put one hand flat on his chest. She stared at it, at her gloved fingers splayed against the coarse dark hair on his chest. Nic stared too, disbelieving. “Yet there’s a heart in here, Nic. You can’t deny that. I can feel it thundering against my palm. Why is it beating so fast?”

  “The rope,” he said at once, frowning as a smile curved over her mouth.

  “There was no rope at Mrs Manning’s party, Nic. Yet it was racing then, too, when I was in your arms.”

  “Eliza, stop this. You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

  “I know. Isn’t it exciting? I’ve never felt so alive as when I’m with you. Is this what it feels like to be high above the ground like you just were, to know you might fall if you make the slightest mistake?”

  Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, it’s just like this. You make me feel giddy and alive and like the king of the bloody world.

  “I know you feel something for me,” she said as he failed to answer her, only gazed at her with longing in his heart and the impossibility of it ringing in his brain. “You want me.”

  Nic sucked in a breath, reminding himself of the truth, of the reality of their situation. “I do,” he said, the words low and harsh. “I want you. I want you in my bed. You’re beautiful and you’ve shown your interest in me brazenly enough, have you not? I’m a man, Eliza, and not a particularly good one. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “Liar,” she said softly.

  Before he could ask her what the devil she meant by that, she’d reached up and grasped his hair in both hands and tugged him down again. Nic groaned, but was too bloody weak to fight her when he wanted her so badly. To hell with it. He was damned anyway. He may as well have a taste of her if she wanted him so much.

  This time he put his arms around her, hauling her against him, and it was no soft press of lips. He sank one hand into the silky warmth of her hair, supporting her head as he kissed her, seeking entry as his tongue traced along her bottom lip. She gave a little squeak of surprise, which was all he needed. He drove inside and plundered her mouth, aware of her shock, more so of the fact she was not retreating. She clung to him, her soft body pressing against him and sending his thoughts in directions he couldn’t allow them to go. Tentatively, she mimicked his questing tongue, stroking and coiling against his. Nic groaned, desire thrumming through his body. A shout from somewhere outside the circle and the clang of metal as some piece of equipment was dropped brought him back to his senses. If anyone saw them….

  He let her go as if she’d scalded him. Perhaps she had, for his body was alight, his flesh hot and aching.

  “Nic,” she said, gazing up at him, her eyes hazy and soft, full of need.

  She lifted her fingers to her lips, touching the place where his mouth had been. A jolt of lust shot directly to his groin.

  Oh God. Oh God. This was a disaster.

  “You… need to go,” he ground out, clenching his fists against the desire to reach for her again.

  The little fool shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes, damn it. Get the bloody hell out of here and stay away. If you want to live dangerously, marry Louis, for the love of God. He’s everything you want, but he’ll not disgrace your name, he’ll not have people laughing behind your back for being so bloody stupid as to throw yourself away on a nobody.”

  “You’re not nobody,” she said, indignation flashing in her eyes.

  Nic snorted. “I am as far as you’re concerned. You’ve got some damn fool romantic notions about me, but they’re all wrong, Eliza. I’d shame you before your friends, your family. Is that what you want?”

  “I could never be ashamed of you!”

  Nic had to laugh at that. “Ah, and will you bring your parents to see me work, ma petite sirène? Will you tell all your friends that your beloved is performing at Astley’s tonight?”

  She hesitated, as well she might. The very idea of a duke’s daughter involved with a man like him was beyond anything. She’d be ruined. Merde, if anyone even saw them speaking together alone, she’d be ruined. He had to get her out of here.

  “But you don’t perform anymore, not for fourteen years. I heard you say so.”

  “It doesn’t change what I am, what I have been, and that’s only the start of it, Eliza. There’s so much more. If you knew—”

  “I want to know. I want to know it all. Tell me,” she said, moving closer to him.

  Nic’s heart thudded. He felt sick, overwrought. What he wanted wa
rred with what he knew the world was like. It would destroy her, her friends would destroy her, and he could not bear that. He would not be responsible for that. He’d rather rip out his own heart than see her hurt or embarrassed, which was just as well as he’d need to do just that.

  “Non. I’m not for you. I ‘ave no place in your world.” Emotion brought out his accent, softening the words in the wrong places even though they were so hard to say, and made his guts roil. He forced them out all the same, making himself say it aloud. “Marry Louis, Eliza. My brother can give you what you’re after if a well-behaved, respectable Englishman is not to your taste, but leave me out of it.”

  The fragile creature he had spent far too much of the last months fretting over seemed to transform in front of him. Her green eyes flashed, as cool as emeralds, and her shoulders went back, her chin up.

  “Damn you, Nic!” she said, and the anger he heard there was also a shock. He had not believed her capable of such a fierce show of fury. “You listen to me, you thick-headed, stubborn, idiotic lobcock. I will never marry Louis César. Never! Not if hell freezes over. I want you, Nic, you infernal, maddening, beautiful man. So you’d best get used to the idea for I warn you, I shall not give up and next time…next time… well, just you wait and see, Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau.”

  Nic stared at her, horribly aware that was a threat of some kind. She’d do something reckless, something unspeakably stupid. She’d bloody ruin herself.

  For him.

  Too late, he shook himself out of his stupor. She was striding away from him, out of the circle.

  “Eliza! Eliza, wait….”

  She just raised a hand and waved without turning around or slowing down. Nic went to run after her but was suddenly aware of the fact he could not chase Lady Elizabeth Adolphus through Astley’s wearing nothing but a pair of trousers.

  “Merde!”

  Nic scrambled across to the seating area where he’d left his belongings and lunged for his shirt, yanking it over his head and thrusting his arms through so hard he nearly ripped the seams, and then he ran for the exit. There was no sign of her. He turned left, towards the main entrance, pushing through the stagehands clearing up after the show and getting ready for the next day’s performance.

  When he finally glimpsed her, she was arm-in-arm with Ashton Anson, his twin sister Vivien on her other side. There were two other young, fashionable women with them and Eliza’s younger brother, Jules. They all looked exactly what they were, young, well-bred, and fresh-faced. They had the world before them, wealth and beauty and position, and every reason to hope for the future. All at once Nic felt every one of his thirty-four years. He would never belong with them. His world had not been safe and carefree. It had not been as bad as for some, he knew, which made the things he’d done even more reprehensible. He’d not needed to do what he had, but he’d made a promise, and Nic never reneged on his promises.

  He’d not had much when his father had found him, but he’d had honour… of a sort. Not the kind of honour that would stop him breaking the law or doing whatever it took to find his brother and return him to his rightful place in the world, though. Well, he’d almost succeeded. All he needed to do now was see Louis married and secure, and he’d be able to fade out of his world. Louis wouldn’t need him any more then. Nic’s job would be done, his promise kept.

  He would be free.

  Nic watched as Eliza walked out of the door with her brother and their friends, and he did not try to follow.

  Chapter 6

  Dear Cat,

  Did you read The Ghosts of Castle Madruzzo? Everyone is talking about the story for its marvellous and utterly terrifying! I haven’t slept in three days. Every time I try, I see the bloodshot eyes of the mad monk coming to murder poor Clementina and I have to get up and light all my candles again. I almost fell asleep in my breakfast yesterday. My rotten brother Felix was going to tell on me, but I know who cut up Florence’s best blue silk. Do you know he made a parachute and threw a pineapple off the roof? It was a marvellous trick, I admit, for it floated to earth quite spectacularly but he’d be in the basket if anyone found out. Besides, I lent him the book and now he can’t sleep either. It’s brilliant!

  Are you coming to town soon? Everything is so dull. I haven’t seen Fred Adolphus in weeks, have you? He wrote to me eight days ago, and replied the same day, but not a word since. Boys are such hopeless correspondents. I might as well write my letters and send them to his cat – no offense meant.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Emmeline Knight (youngest daughter of Lady Helena and Gabriel Knight) to Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington (youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu.)

  23rd March 1839, Mrs Hunt’s Soirée de Musique.

  Louis sighed. Of all the things he did not wish to spend his evening doing, it was watching the lovely unmarried daughters of the ton displaying their musical talents. It put him in mind of nothing less than a cattle auction with the poor beasts lowing their distress. He could not help but feel any girl with an ounce of pride would feel the same. Not that they had a choice, any more than he did. Was he not here, hook baited, to catch himself a respectable wife? There was no romance, no love… not on his part, at least. It was a damned cold-blooded affair, and he despised it. Yet he had promised Nic who had in turn promised their father and so… and so, here he was. He owed Nic everything, his very existence, and he would do whatever it took to repay that debt. So… an evening’s musical entertainment it was, God help him.

  The beautiful Miss Vivien Anson was singing now, a duet with their hostess’s daughter. Arabella was a slender redhead like her mother, and the two young women made quite a picture. Miss Anson’s voice was lower, with a breathless quality that had transfixed every man in the audience, Miss Hunt’s was lighter and clear as a bell—apt, considering her name. She could only just be out, perhaps eighteen years of age, though he recognised the look in her eyes whilst she sang well enough. They were trained almost exclusively on him, the silly chit. Nic would not approve. Her father was Nathanial Hunt, owner of Hunter’s, an exclusive gambling club. Hardly the sort of thing Nic would favour of when he’d forbidden Louis to go anywhere near Rouge et Noir for years now. God, but life had become dull. Louis dragged his attention back to the singing and avoided Arabella’s eye. The two women were competently accompanied by Miss Florence Knight, whose concentration on the music was absolute. Yes, in fairness, it was an exceptionally good recital.

  Their lovely hostess, Mrs Hunt, an elegant and petite woman, had greeted him politely when he’d arrived, but he’d sensed she did not entirely trust him, as if she’s feared she was inviting a wolf into her home. That thought made him smile. An eminently sensible woman, that. He wondered if Nic had noticed the exquisite parure of emeralds she wore and snorted with amusement. Of course he’d bloody noticed. Nic had a particular fondness for emeralds. Still, Mrs Hunt appeared to have had the good sense to gently dissuade those who were setting themselves up for scorn and ridicule to desist during the rehearsals. He’d been to some of these affairs which had been positively barbaric, both on the sensibilities of the audience and those taking part. Naturally, this evening’s event was in a good cause, all proceeds going to Mrs Hunt’s charitable foundation. He wondered if Eliza had thought of doing something similar for her charity school project. Perhaps he ought to suggest it?

  Though, she was a bright young woman, so no doubt she had lists of events as long as her arm. Still, it would show that he was taking an interest in her and her projects, so that was all to the good. He wished he could find it in himself to take a real interest in her. Nic had insisted from the start that she was the one. Nothing less than a duke’s daughter was good enough for his little brother, it seemed. Yet, as beautiful and talented and engaging as she was… Louis sighed again. Damn, but he was bored.

  Perhaps it was him.

  Perhaps he was lacking in some way. It wasn’t as though he’d had much experience of love or tenderness,
or affection of any kind. Did one need practise to know how that sort of thing worked? Perhaps he’d just never learned the knack. He’d trusted no one until Nic had come for him. Why should he? He’d lived the life of a dog, worse than the damn dog. Kicked around and living off scraps, treated like something less than human by a man who believed the aristocracy ought to be eliminated. This egalitarian man believed all men were made equal, and yet it amused him to treat the son of the Comte de Villen like he was less than human. Why Louis had trusted Nic on sight he could not say, except that he was a shrewd judge of character and he’d seen the reflection of something familiar in those dark eyes. They did not look alike, not exactly. Nic was the image of their father, dark, and with the Mediterranean blood of the southern regions, whereas Louis favoured his fair-skinned mother, yet that they were siblings was not in doubt. He had only known in his bones that Nic was his brother and that he would follow him to the ends of the earth if that was where he was going. He loved Nic, at least. Not that he’d ever said as much out loud, though he ought to.

  He hoped Nic understood that he did, that he was doing this for him, to make him proud. He would do anything for Nic. Louis did not care for his father’s legacy, for his sire’s last desperate plea to keep the bloodline going and to restore their family to greatness. He didn’t give a bloody God damn, but Nic did, and so… here he was.

  Louis shook off the troubling memories, aware that he would sink into despondency if he allowed the past to get its claws into him. He took a deep breath, and pasted a smile to his face, slipping into the part of the Comte de Villen. It felt like a part, like a role he played, even now, even after everything. It was a mask, like the greasepaint he had once worn to charm an audience and make them love him. A pretty face that covered up an ugly truth. Yes, he was the Comte de Villen. Yes, his blood was as blue as the damned duke’s, but in his heart, the Comte had died years ago. He was another man, one altogether different.

  The singing came to an end and everyone clapped with enthusiasm, more so because there was only one more performance before the interval. Louis looked around, wondering where the devil Nic had got to. His brother was acting very strangely of late, and Louis had resolved to keep a close eye on him. Whatever the trouble was, Nic was keeping secrets from him and Louis did not like that one bit. When Nic kept secrets, it was usually to protect Louis from knowing he was doing something reckless and stupid that might end with his neck in a noose. He’d believed that part of their lives was over, but one could never be certain with Nic. He was so restless of late it was hard to know what the cause was.