Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Please,” she whispered. “No one is looking.”

  He tsked and looked around him, as if expecting a crowd to leap out from one of the empty rooms. Swiftly he ducked his head and pressed his mouth to hers, too fleeting, too delicious for words, sending her pulse soaring and igniting a desire for more.

  “Another,” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “One day, Eliza, you’ll discover this fine coat gives me the illusion of a gentleman, and what lies beneath is not quite so civilised.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said breathlessly.

  “Wicked girl,” he said, sounding quite as though he was finding it hard to breathe too.

  This time he took her chin in his gloved hand, tilting her head up to his, sipping at her mouth, delicately kissing her upper lip and then the lower, and with such tenderness that Eliza’s breath caught.

  She grabbed at his sleeve, as he moved away again.

  “Are you well?” he asked at once, concern in his eyes.

  “Yes,” she said dreamily. “Kissing you makes me giddy, that’s all.”

  He made a disparaging noise but did not sound altogether displeased by this comment. A knock on the door behind them made Eliza look around. Nic turned around and opened it to find the footman Eliza had spoken of.

  “Excuse me, my lady, but there is quite a queue forming. Shall I start sending them in?”

  “Oh, yes, please, Thomas. We are ready for them.”

  Thomas ducked out and Eliza turned back to Nic with a grin. “Let us begin!”

  Taking his hand, she dragged him along behind her.

  Chapter 9

  Dear Em,

  I am so cross! We too have a copy of The Ghosts of Castle Madruzzo. I found it in Papa’s library and was enjoying it very much – it is exceedingly horrible – but Papa found me reading it and scolded me most severely. He took the book away and forbade me to look for it. Then he demanded to know who had left it lying about for everyone knows I may not read such things. Well, no one has admitted to it! Papa says that books do not just walk into houses of their own accord, but this one must have done, for my brothers and mama all swear it was not them. It is far too expensive a copy for one of the staff to have left out either. So our very own mystery! I am exceedingly vexed all the same. I was not even halfway through and had fallen most thoroughly in love with the villain. Isn’t he delicious? Why are wicked men always far more interesting than the heroes?

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

  7th April 1839, The Phoenix Charitable School for Young Ladies, London.

  Nic sat silently through the interviews, a fierce presence that he became aware was intimidating some of those being interviewed. Good. It was as well that they knew Lady Elizabeth had friends who were not as sweet-natured as she, and that she was therefore not someone to toy with.

  “Must you scowl at everyone?” Eliza asked after the sixth applicant had left. “If they’re too terrified to speak freely, how am I to know if they are suitable for the job?”

  “I’m not scowling,” Nic protested. He’d been aware of looming a little, but not scowling. “I always look this way.”

  “I know,” Eliza said, lips twitching and with far too much affection in her voice.

  Nic noted Vivien’s obvious amusement at this fact, and her maid’s expression, which was far more intimidating than his own. That woman did not like or approve of him. Finally, someone with a bit of sense.

  By eleven-thirty, they had a cleaner, two maids of all work and a cook, but not any teachers. They had dismissed two because they could barely read or write themselves. Eliza did seem impressed by the letters of recommendation the woman before them had brought with her, though. Indeed, on the face of it, Mrs Carter seemed a brisk, efficient woman who could do just as Eliza wished with one hand tied behind her back. There was something about her Nic did not like, however. He could not put his finger on it, but she made some sixth sense prickle with awareness and everything told him that her mild appearance hid something cold and unpleasant.

  “Well, Mrs Carter, your references are certainly exceptional,” Eliza said, looking up.

  The woman inclined her head a little. She was trim and spare and in her early fifties. Her dark hair contained not a trace of grey and was swept back in an uncompromising bun.

  “May I ask why you would seek to teach in a charitable school? With references like these, I’m certain you could find a position as a governess for a good family.”

  Mrs Carter nodded. “Indeed, I could. However, circumstances make it necessary for me to stay in this part of London for the foreseeable future and this is local. It is a comedown, to be frank, and the income is not what I am used to, but perhaps we can negotiate that, as my abilities are rather superior to those necessary for such a school. French, Latin and Geography and watercolour painting will hardly be required.”

  “Oh,” Eliza said, clearly a little taken aback. “I… well, yes, that is true, I suppose. We were thinking of more practical skills, though I think it might be good to have the option for those who show aptitude….”

  Mrs Carter gave a firm shake of her head. “It is cruel to give people ideas, if you’ll forgive me saying so, my lady. It’s dangerous to fill their heads with such information. You will only make them dissatisfied with their lot, always wanting more.”

  Eliza opened her mouth, but Nic beat her to it, too annoyed to keep silent a moment longer.

  “Ah, oui, a heinous crime indeed, to want more,” he said softly.

  “It leads to no good, sir,” the woman said, her gimlet eye taking him in with cool interest. “It’s unnatural to elevate those whose place is already set. Causes trouble.”

  “I see,” Nic said. “And how do you deal with trouble, Mrs Carter? You strike me as an efficient woman, one as does not give second chances.”

  “I do not,” the woman said, putting up her chin. “Charity is all well and good and I applaud what you are doing here, my lady, but there are always those who take advantage of a kind heart. If you do not have rules and order, chaos wins. Break my rules and there are consequences.”

  Nic nodded thoughtfully. Though there was some truth in her words, he did not like the gleam in her eye that made him wonder if her rules were the kind he would believe neither just nor necessary. “I imagine that is why the children you teach are so very well-behaved,” he said, nodding towards the pile of letters recommending Mrs Carter’s services.

  “Naughty children get punished,” she said with satisfaction.

  “And good children?”

  “Good children go to sleep knowing that they are Christian souls who need not fear the fiery pits of Hell that await the wicked.”

  “Of course,” Nic said smoothly, glancing at Eliza, who had paled somewhat. “You are quite right, of course, that rules are most important, and bad behaviour ought to be punished, sometimes severely. We cannot have Lady Elizabeth’s kind heart being taken advantage of, can we?”

  He felt rather than saw Eliza turn to look at him, and hoped she’d hold her tongue for now. Mrs Carter, too, had been watching him cautiously. He knew that she did not know what to make of him. He was dressed as a gentleman, but Nic knew very well he did not look or behave quite like most gentlemen, despite learning his lessons as rigorously as Louis. He’d begun too late for it to come naturally to him. He was also a foreigner, his accent faint but discernible, which he did not doubt was enough for the cold-eyed Mrs Carter to look on him askance. However, she unwound at the approval in his voice, preening a little.

  So when he asked, “How do you punish bad behaviour, Mrs Carter?” the woman answered him honestly, assuming a kindred spirit.

  “I keep a cane for such unpleasant duties, sir. A minimum of ten strikes on the back of the legs or their behind, sometimes ac
ross the palm of their hand. Of course, some children are born defiant, and it takes a good deal of beating before they learn what it is to behave as they ought, but I always prevail in the end.”

  “Even if it takes a good deal of beating?” Nic asked courteously. “It must be very wearing?”

  “Indeed it is, sir. I broke a cane once, on a most recalcitrant child, but I won in the end. She didn’t dare cheek me again, I can tell you. Meek as a little dove she was then, sir, and all the better for it.”

  Nic glanced over to see both Vivien and Eliza looking somewhat shaken. Martha did not look nearly so surprised but turned and met his eyes, giving him a little nod of approval.

  Mrs Carter waited patiently, unaware of the tension thrumming through the room, her confident demeanour implying she thought she had done enough to win the position on offer.

  Nic sat back and turned to Eliza, asking her silently if she wished him to deal with the woman. She shook her head, a tiny movement but a firm one.

  “Mrs Carter,” Eliza said, her voice quieter than before but steady. “I thank you for taking the time to come here today and for speaking to us so candidly.”

  “’Twas a pleasure to do so, my lady.”

  Eliza nodded.

  “A pleasure, yes,” she said faintly, and Nic frowned at the how pale she had grown. “I wish I could say the same.”

  “My lady?” Mrs Carter looked a little confused now and glanced at Nic to see if he was surprised too.

  He folded his arms, offering nothing.

  “I have no place for a woman who would beat the children in her care with such impunity, not to say enjoyment. You are placed in a position of trust, a position that ought to be one of guide and protector, and you mete out punishment like these children are hardened criminals. I… I fear I have been somewhat naïve, but I assure you this has opened my eyes wide. Your methods sicken me, and I’ll have no part in it. Good day to you, Mrs Carter.”

  Mrs Carter stood, chin up, cold eyes glittering with defiance. “Ah, and just you wait until those sweet little moppets are running rings about you, my lady. Just you wait until you realise they’re stealing from the kitchens and selling anything that’s not been nailed down for anything they can get, the dear little bastards.”

  “Don’t!” Eliza said furiously, getting to her feet so suddenly her chair toppled over behind her. “Don’t you dare use that word. I won’t have it. Get out now, before I have you removed.”

  Mrs Carter stalked out, not that Nic saw her go. His attention was on Eliza, on the blaze of colour high on her cheeks and the way she was breathing too fast. That anger was for him, because she hated hearing the word that described him so aptly.

  “I think perhaps Eliza would profit from a little fresh air,” Vivien said. “I will dismiss the rest of the applicants for today. We can try again another day.”

  “I can take my lady outside,” Martha began, her indignation obvious, but Vivien overrode it with a haughty wave of her hand.

  “No, you can’t. I am afraid I need you to come and help me deal with those still waiting. They are schoolteachers, remember. Mr Demarteau will only frighten them. I must apologise to them, though, and ask them kindly to return, and I should like someone to bolster my confidence, if you would be so good, Martha.”

  Martha scowled, being as aware as Nic that Vivien’s confidence needed bolstering about as much as a mountain range needed a gentle push.

  “Do go, Martha. I’m quite all right, I assure you,” Eliza said, though she looked far from all right to Nic. “I shall just sit down for a moment. Perhaps Mr Demarteau would open the window for me and let some air in.”

  Martha huffed, and quite rightly so, but she could hardly refuse a viscount’s daughter her request. Not when her mistress had seconded the demand.

  “Very well, then, but don’t you sit too long before the window, my lady. There’s a cold north wind today and you know how easy you catch a chill. Just a breath of air, no more or you’ll be sneezing before the weekend, mark my words.”

  “Yes, Martha,” Eliza said meekly, biting her lip.

  “Jolly good, come along, then, Martha. Oh, and I’ll take the notebook and pencil,” Vivien said, picking them up off the table. “I think it best we take all their names and addresses so we can invite them again personally, if I think they look suitable.”

  “But that will take ages, Miss Anson,” Martha protested.

  “Yes,” Vivien said with a sigh, giving Eliza a surreptitious wink. “I’m afraid it will.”

  Nic watched them go with mixed feelings but moved to the window and opened it as requested.

  “Your friend is determined to see you ruined,” he groused, but moved a chair beside the open window and Eliza sat down, letting out a breath of relief as the cool air stirred the loose strands of her hair. Nic crouched down, watching her carefully.

  “Are you well?”

  Eliza nodded.

  “I am. I’m only…. Oh, Nic, what an awful woman, and I might have engaged her if you’d not intervened.” She looked horrified by the prospect, as well she might. “I didn’t see. I had no idea, and when I think about what she might have done, and in my name!”

  Nic smiled. “The trouble is with you, sweet Eliza, is that you take everyone at face value. You do not see wickedness and cruelty in others because you do not recognise it. Why should you? I am glad of it, glad you’ve never come across such malice.”

  “But you have,” she said, compassion in her voice.

  “From time to time, though, I was lucky, I swear. Louis, though… Louis would have seen through her before even I did. He is an excellent judge of character.”

  “He was ill-treated as a boy?” she guessed. “That is why you protect him so.”

  Nic frowned. “Who said I do?”

  Eliza smiled. “It is obvious, Nic, but Louis told me. He said that you would make any sacrifice to protect those you love.”

  “I suppose,” he said grudgingly, avoiding her eyes in favour of staring at the floor, uncomfortable with being looked at with such undeserved admiration.

  “That’s why you sent Dr Archambeau to me, or had the poor man blackmailed or intimidated into coming.”

  Nic’s head came up at that. How the hell…?

  Bloody, Louis!

  He let out a breath of frustration. But there was little point in denying it if Louis had betrayed his secret. The devil would pay for that.

  He frowned, annoyed that she knew and uncertain how he felt about that look in her eyes. There was such warmth and affection, and he couldn't believe he deserved that.

  “You were not supposed to know that, but I did not know what else to do. I needed to do something before I went mad,” he admitted, and it was a relief to say it aloud. “I knew your father had gone to see him and been refused and… and I couldn’t do anything, Eliza.”

  The words were hard and angry and revealed too much, but there was nothing he could do about that either.

  Eliza reached out and touched his hair, her fingers stroking him as if he was an amiable dog. She had taken her gloves off to take notes during the interview and it was all Nic could do not to move, not to turn into that gentle hand and press his mouth to her palm. Perhaps likening himself to a cat was a more accurate metaphor, for he would have purred if he could. It would make a change from growling at her, he supposed.

  “So soft,” she marvelled. “Like warm silk.”

  She sank her fingers in deeper, and Nic closed his eyes, biting back a groan of pleasure at her touch. The temptation to rest his head in her lap and let her do as she wished with him was tantalising, but he held still, enduring her gentle ministrations stoically, until her hand slid over his cheek, her thumb smoothing over his lower lip, and his thoughts took a more dangerous turn.

  “Stop this,” he said, though it was a breathless growl rather than words, a warning. There was only so much a man could take. He swallowed, his eyes flickering open to stare at her mouth.

 
“I don’t want to stop,” Eliza said, and he watched the colour rise over her fair skin as she spoke. “I want to touch you everywhere and have you touch me in return. I cannot stop thinking about it, about you, about the night at Astley’s when you held me in your arms and kissed me, the warmth of your body against mine….”

  “Christ, Eliza,” he managed, his entire body taut and aching as her words sunk into him, her desire for him feeding his own needs like throwing fuel onto a naked flame. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “Why not? So you can pretend it isn’t real, so you can make out there is nothing between us, that you don’t want to touch me too?”

  “Of course I want to touch you, you little fool. You just don’t—”

  “If you tell me I don’t understand what I’m doing, I shall hit you,” she warned him.

  Nic laughed at that, helplessly charmed and maddened. “Do you understand, then, what it is I want?”

  She nodded, a defiant tilt to her chin. Well, at least she didn’t look so pale and fragile now, far from it. Her chest rose and fell quicker, and she licked her lips, her desire for him to kiss her blatant, the invitation in her eyes unmistakable. Nic’s resolve, what little of it there had been, crumbled. He knelt and slid his hands beneath the hem of her gown and petticoats and curved them around her dainty ankles. She gasped as his rough hands moved over fine silk stockings and he met her gaze.

  “Still want me to touch you, Eliza?” he asked, his voice husky now.

  “Yes,” she said, though he heard the tremor behind that one word. Well, good, perhaps if he showed her what kind of man he was she would run away screaming and realise how foolish she’d been. That would be for the best.

  He told himself that was why he did it, to shock her into her senses, though his own wits scattered as his hands slid higher and higher, up her calves to the tender place behind her knees.

  “Well?” he asked gruffly, though he could hardly breathe let alone speak. His tongue felt thick and his brain had turned to some kind of syrup sodden sponge, slow and heavy, drowning in her sweetness.

  “Yes.”