Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2)

by Emma V. Leech

  When she returned to the bedroom bearing the dubious looking sludge of brown liquid in a glass, Nic hadn’t moved. He was huddled against the pillows, head in his hands, the sheets in a tangle about his waist. Despite the situation, she could not help but take a moment to admire him. Good heavens, but he was beautiful, like something sculpted in marble with such glorious definition of muscle and sinew and bone. Her breath caught, and he looked up. Heat flared in his eyes as he stared at her and Eliza realised she wore only a fine linen nightgown. The material was quite sheer and likely he could see a little of what lay beneath. The idea made warmth pool in her belly.

  “Here,” she said, holding out the glass to him. “I know it looks foul, and for heaven’s sake don’t smell it. Just… drink it down fast.”

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice rough and his expression sceptical and appalled.

  “Montagu’s cook’s recipe. Phoebe—Lady Ellisborough—says she’s a witch, and Jules swears by it when he’s… feeling delicate.”

  He took the glass from her, then did just had she had told him not to and smelled it. He reeled back, revolted.

  Eliza smothered a laugh and bit her lip.

  “Just drink it,” she said gently. “I promise it will help.”

  “How? Will it magic you back home to your own bed?” he demanded, the words terse and unhappy.

  “No,” Eliza admitted. “But it might make you better equipped to deal with my devious ploy and the drama that will follow it.”

  He glowered at her and downed the drink. Eliza watched anxiously as he gagged, shuddered, and then settled back with an expression of taut misery.

  “I am sorry, Nic,” she said, wringing her hands.

  It was one thing to know he loved her, that he wished to marry her, and wished he were not low born or illegitimate. It was quite another to put him in such a corner, to force him into marrying her instead of waiting to be asked. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot and she wished she knew what to say to him.

  Nic did not help her out. He said nothing at all, only stared ahead of him, his jaw tight and angry. Eliza noticed a small pitcher of water on his bedside table with a glass and poured some out for him.

  “Here.”

  He took the glass and drank it all, so she poured another, which he also downed. He still didn’t speak to her. Anxious now, she dared to move closer to the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  He made an incredulous sound and returned a baleful look. She wasn’t certain what he meant by it and her stomach dropped.

  “Did… Did I get it horribly wrong, Nic? I thought you were only leaving because you felt you were not good enough for me,” she began miserably, staring down at the bed covers and not meeting his eyes, dreadfully aware that she’d not considered another possibility. “Did I misunderstand, because if that is the case…”

  She stopped as his fingers touched her cheek.

  “Eliza,” he said, his voice as tender as she had ever heard it. “You, mad, impossible little fool.”

  Eliza dared a smile, hoping that this was a positive comment, even if it didn’t sound like one.

  “You do love me, don’t you?” she asked, her voice trembling with anxiety.

  He made a harsh sound of disbelief. “You know I do, you wicked girl. Since the first moment I laid eyes on you. Before that, even.” Nic smiled at her puzzled expression. “Cassius drew a picture of you at my request and… and I have carried the image in my heart ever since. Ma belle rose anglaise.”

  “Your beautiful English rose,” Eliza repeated, enchanted. “Oh, Nic.”

  She flung herself at him, her arms about his neck. He grunted at the impact but did not push her away, instead holding her to him.

  “Eliza,” he said, his voice husky now, his face turning into her hair, breathing in her scent with obvious relish. “You are in my bed, and hungover or no, I am not dead yet.”

  “No?” She shivered in his arms.

  His eyes darkened. “No.”

  Eliza lay back on the mattress, a clear invitation to follow if he wished to.

  “Do you want me so badly?” His hand reached out, a fingertip tracing the curve of her breast through the fabric of her shift. “As badly as I want you?”

  “Yes. Please,” she said. “Please, Nic.”

  He followed her down, his body hard and hot and heavy on hers, and she tugged at his neck, urging him to kiss her, but he resisted suddenly. A frown appeared between his eyebrows.

  “Christ. Your father is coming. Here!” he said, as if this had just occurred to him. “Mon Dieu.”

  He pushed away, getting to his feet and sucking in a breath as one hand went to his head. Eliza stared as the bed sheets fell away. She had seen him half-dressed at Astley’s but… but never naked. The sight of him did extraordinary things to her body. Her heart beat so hard she could hear it pulsing in her ears, and it was suddenly quite difficult to breathe. Heat bloomed upon her skin which tingled all over, needing to feel his hands, his body against hers and… and that marvellous sensation that had begun deep inside her when he had touched her yesterday began once again, a low, insistent throb of longing that seemed to call out his name.

  “Oh, Nic. You… You are quite magnificent.”

  His eyes snapped to hers whilst her gaze travelled over him, drinking him in.

  “Stop… looking at me like….” he protested, but he was breathless, his eyes dark, and his body showed every evidence of desire for her.

  “I can’t,” Eliza replied, her attention riveted. “I want you.”

  Nic closed his eyes. “The Duke of Bedwin,” he said savagely. “The Duke of Bedwin, the Duke of Bedwin. The Duke of Bedwin. Putain!”

  He repeated it like a chant and, much to Eliza’s dismay, it seemed to cool his ardour quite efficiently.

  “But, Nic—”

  “Your father is coming here!” he exclaimed, before snatching his shirt from the floor and tugging it over his head.

  “He won’t be here for a while,” Eliza said hopefully, but Nic just glared at her and hunted about for his trousers. She smothered a wistful groan when he bent over to pick them up from the heap they’d been left in and wished he was just a tiny bit less honourable. “Well, you know, if you want to make a good impression, you might want to put something clean on.”

  “Ha!” Nic said wildly. “Ah, oui, he’ll not cut off my balls if I have a clean shirt and a neat cravat. Ha!”

  “Nic, do calm down, there’s no reason to fly up into the boughs over—”

  “If you say over nothing, I will not be responsible for the consequences,” he growled.

  Eliza sealed her lips and decided not to finish the sentence.

  Nic frowned. “And where the bloody hell is…?”

  He paused.

  Oh, dear.

  “Louis!” he exclaimed with obvious wrath. “You couldn’t have known, couldn’t have got in… Louis helped you!”

  Eliza hesitated, unwilling to get Louis into trouble, but uncertain how to explain how she’d known of Nic’s plans and got in without his help.

  “I’ll bloody kill him!” Nic fumed, stalking towards the dressing room and tugging his crumpled shirt off again as he went. Eliza could only give a helpless sigh as she admired the view from the back. His voice bellowed out from behind the half-closed door.

  “If you have a care for my sanity, put your damn clothes back on. I feel like my head has been sliced open and I must face your father yet. Christ, he’ll bloody castrate me, and with good reason.”

  “No, he won’t,” Eliza promised, though she had to admit she was a little dubious on this point.

  Hopefully, if she explained she had taken advantage of the situation, her father would see that Nic was not guilty of seducing her. She did not want her father to believe the worst of him, especially as it was far from true.

  Nic made a sound of disbelief from the dressing room, and Eliza decided she had best g
et dressed before he worked himself up into a lather. He had, after all, been thoroughly provoked, the poor man. Well, she had created this situation by design, and so it was up to her to take control of it and make sure everything worked out as it was supposed to.

  So, she took a deep breath and readied herself to face her father.

  Chapter 12

  Dear Cat,

  No, I won’t lend you The Ghosts of Castle Madruzzo. I read it last week, and it’s ghastly. Certainly not fit for a girl. It will give you nightmares. Never mind the wretched book, though. There is something afoot here. My father flew out of the house this morning looking like he was going to commit murder, and no one will tell me what is going on.

  Torie said that Eliza must have crept out last night because she wasn’t in her bed this morning, but that’s plain silly. Eliza would never do something like that. Lottie would, but not Eliza. She’s just making up stories again. I expect Eliza just went out early. I wish I knew what everyone is in such a twitter about, though.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Lord Frederick Adolphus (younger son of the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington (youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu.)

  4th April 1839, Hans Place, Knightsbridge.

  Louis approached the fine address where they had taken rooms with no small amount of trepidation. He’d wondered if he ought to stay away for longer, but decided against it. On the one hand, Nic might need some moral support by now and be pleased to see him, or Eliza might need it equally badly and be glad of his presence, or Nic might just throw him out of the window and have done with it. That last one seemed the most likely if he were honest, but… well, he’d just have to see what had happened. If Eliza had not braved the lion’s den after all, he needed to have one last go at talking sense into Nic and, if that didn’t work… then it would be his only chance to bid his brother goodbye. Sorrow weighed heavily in his chest at that idea, but he told himself he was being a selfish devil and did his best to shrug it off. Nic’s future was what mattered right now, and Louis had to find out about last night before he could decide what to do for the best.

  His thoughts stalled as a plain black hired carriage drew to a halt and out stepped the Duke of Bedwin. That was an incongruous sight as the duke’s own carriages were lavish and emblazoned with his crest. Ah. He had a face like thunder, and Louis needed no other clues to decide that his faith in Eliza had been well placed. He let out an uneven breath and wondered just how badly his brother wanted to kill him, and if Nic would get the chance before the duke ripped his head off. To his surprise, the duke was followed by his wife, and Eliza’s sister, Lottie, and her husband, Cassius… no doubt to provide a story in case anyone noticed their early morning visit.

  Deciding he had better step up and help out, Louis took a breath and moved to greet them.

  “Good morning, your grace, Lady Oakley, Cassius,” he said, greeting the two women and his friend, and bracing himself for the onslaught as Bedwin took note of his arrival and swung around.

  “Where the bloody hell is the blackguard?” the duke growled.

  Louis opened his mouth, uncertain whether to play the innocent party at this point or not. The duchess intervened before he was forced to decide.

  “Robert, not in the street, dear,” his wife said, giving Louis a wide smile which did not meet her eyes. “Would you be so good as to show us in?”

  Louis nodded. “At once, this way, please.”

  He cast a glance about the street, relieved to see there was no one about, and hurried them all inside.

  Once at their front door, Louis deliberately fumbled with the key, hoping Nic had heard them arrive and giving him time to prepare for the onslaught.

  “Get that bloody door opened now,” Bedwin said, his voice controlled, but barely.

  Louis nodded, turned the key and pushed it open. Bedwin moved past him before he could step forward, for once not bothering with gentlemanly manners and allowing the women to follow after him.

  “You bastard!”

  “No! Papa, Papa, stop!”

  Louis moved, pushing past the duke to stand between him and his brother but Eliza was already there, hands out before her as if she could hold back the furious tide that was her father.

  “Papa, he’s done nothing wrong. I came here. He didn’t even know I was here until it was too late. I trapped him, Papa, it was my fault, my doing. Not his!”

  Louis watched Eliza with pride and knew he had done the right thing. She was pale and anxious, but she’d come out fighting. This woman loved Nic. She would always fight for him, stand up for him, no matter what… even against her own father.

  “Eliza, hush,” Nic said sharply, trying to drag her back, his need to protect her just as fierce, but the duchess intervened before anyone else could speak.

  “Robert, I think we all need to calm down and discuss this like adults. Come along and sit down and we can act like reasonable people,” she said imperiously.

  Louis turned to the duchess and was just about to agree with this statement, when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He tensed, knowing what was coming. His brother spun him around and took hold of his lapels in both hands.

  “Comment pouvais-tu?” Nic growled, and Louis caught his breath, never having seen his brother so angry with him before. “How could you, Louis?”

  Louis faced him, refusing to regret what he’d done. “She loves you, Nic, and you’ll never be happy again if you leave her.”

  “What the bloody hell is going on?” the duke demanded, glaring at the brothers.

  “Everyone, sit down!” the duchess said, her voice calm but firm enough that everyone took note of it.

  Louis was more than relieved to do as she asked and stared at Nic. His brother gave a grunt of disgust and let him go. The look in his eyes was not encouraging, though, and Louis knew he would not forgive him easily for what he’d done.

  Everyone took their seats as instructed, creating an awkward tableau about the fireplace. The duke, too angry to sit still, stood leaning on the chimney mantel, staring at the empty grate. Of course there had been no servant to light it this morning, and the room was chilly. Nic sat hunched over, his head in his hands, staring at the floor and refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

  “Eliza, I suggest you tell us what this is all about,” her mother said, her face serious, but her eyes full of kindness and understanding.

  She would see her daughter through this, Louis felt sure.

  Eliza nodded. She was huddled on the love seat between Cassius and her sister. Cassius was watching Nic with an unreadable expression, and Lottie was holding Eliza’s hand in both of hers, determination to support her sister showing in every line of her tense posture.

  “I fell in love with Monsieur Demarteau last summer,” she said quietly, glancing at her father. She looked pale and fragile, but her chin was up, a gesture Louis suspected they all recognised. “I tried to get to know him then, but… but despite our mutual attraction, he kept running away from me, because he believes himself to be below me.”

  “He—” her father began tersely, only to snap his mouth shut on receiving a glacial look from his wife.

  “Go on, Eliza,” the duchess said.

  Eliza nodded.

  “Wait.” Everyone looked up as Cassius spoke. He cleared his throat and addressed the duke. “I think you ought to know that Nic only attacked me last summer because he found drawings I’d done of Lottie. He guessed that we were in love. Quite rightly, he was furious with me. I think perhaps you did not believe me when I told you he was provoked, but it was true. He was protecting Eliza, sir. In truth I have seen him do nothing else but protect Eliza. I have known him and his brother for some time and I believe they are both good men, honourable men. I believe Nic sincerely cares for Eliza, and we both know she is in love with him.”

  The duke frowned but nodded, apparently considering his son-in-law’s words.

  Eliza smiled at Cass. “Tha
nk you.”

  Cassius let out a soft huff of laughter.

  “The least I can do, Eliza. I only want you to be happy. If….” He glanced at Nic. “If you’re sure?”

  Eliza grinned. “I think I had better be, don’t you?”

  Her father cleared his throat impatiently and Eliza blushed, hurrying on. “We met several times since the summer, mostly by accident but… but Nic has helped with the school, Mama. The building I found is his, and he is renting it to me at a pitiful rate. He is a good, honourable man….”

  The duke snorted with disgust and Eliza got to her feet.

  “He is!” she said angrily. “He was going away today, Papa, because he was in love with me, but he believed he could never marry me. Nic was afraid I would do something foolish, and so he was leaving to protect me. I stopped him. I arrived here late last night whilst he was out and, when he came home, I… I got into bed with him. He was drunk. He never stood a chance.”

  A muffled snort, somewhere between shock and admiration, came from her sister and everyone glared at Lottie, who bit her lip and stared at her toes.

  “If that is true,” the duke said, his voice low and angry. “How did you get in? You expect me to believe you broke into his house too? And if he was so honourable as to go away to stop you from behaving like a fool, why the devil did he tell you beforehand, when he clearly knew you were idiotic enough to do something reckless?”

  “I helped her,” Louis said, less daunted by the duke’s look of disbelief than by Nic’s unhappy presence. He’d said nothing to defend himself, only sat in silence. “I wrote and told her what Nic was planning, and I left her a key to get in.”

  “You helped my daughter ruin herself,” Bedwin said, the words calm but doing nothing to dispel the man’s obvious fury and distress at his daughter’s predicament.