Dare to be Wild (Daring Daughters Book 3) Read online

  Dare to be Wild

  The Daring Daughters Book 3

  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: B08W4GZWV6

  ISBN No: 978-2-492133-26-8

  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

  Don’t have time to read but still need your romance fix? The wait is over…

  By popular demand, get many of your favourite Emma V Leech Regency Romance books on audio as performed by the incomparable Philip Battley and Gerard Marzilli. Several titles available and more added each month!

  Find them at your favourite audiobook retailer!

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Dare to Cause a Scandal

  Prologue

  To Dare a Duke

  The Rogue

  A Dog in a Doublet

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Want more Emma?

  Family Trees

  Prologue

  Of course it’s a waste of money but waste it we must, though the boy is an imbecile. For God’s sake, don’t let them expel him. Pay anything. At least he excels at sport or he’d be a damned embarrassment. If he didn’t look so much like me, I’d think his mother had produced a bastard.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Viscount Roxborough to his man of business, regarding his son and yet another threat of expulsion.

  5th November 1824, Eton College, Windsor, Berkshire.

  “Dead, sir?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  Daire Kelburn stared at the headmaster, uncertain what to do with this information. He had the notion that he ought to make some effort towards a show of emotion on hearing that his parents were dead. Both dead. Drowned. A boating accident somewhere in Italy. He considered his mother and father and tried to find something he felt for them… anything. There was a panicky sensation fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird, not at the thought they were dead, but because he realised it didn’t matter, not to him. Surely that was not normal? A fellow ought to feel something, some… sorrow, yet he could not manufacture so much as a sniffle. At the age of thirteen, he had spent so few of those years in his parents’ company that he could barely remember what they looked like. If not for the huge portraits at his home in Derbyshire, he’d probably have no memory of their faces at all.

  “Of course, with your father gone, you’re Roxborough now.”

  Daire blinked at him. Oh, of course. The title. He was Viscount Roxborough. Oh.

  “I must say you’re taking this very well,” the headmaster said, with the first show of approval Daire had ever seen from him. The man got up and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Very well.”

  “Am I, sir?” Daire looked up at him doubtfully.

  “Indeed, indeed. Stoicism, that’s what this country needs. Bravery and determination and endurance. You’ve been something of a thorn in my side, haven’t you, my lad? But I’m glad to see there’s some grit there beneath the frivolity. By the by, congratulations on gaining a century at the weekend. That was a good match, well played.”

  “Thank you, sir. May I go now?”

  “Yes, yes, run along back to class.”

  With a nod, Daire walked to the door and let himself out.

  He stood there for a moment, still puzzled by what he ought to do now. He assumed there would be people to take care of the funeral, and his father had staff to run the estate and such. Well, he must have, as he was never there. So… everything would trot along as normal, then.

  “Dare? You here again?”

  Though his name was Daire—pronounced Darah, to rhyme with Clara—none of the boys had ever called him anything but Dare. It was too apt, as he’d never turn down a dare of any sort. He was usually outside the headmaster’s office for some offence or other, interspersed with regular trips to the infirmary for cuts and bruises, concussions, and even the odd broken bone. He looked up now to see one of the older boys, Bainbridge. Dare swallowed. Most of the boys were afraid of Lawrence Grenville, the Marquess of Bainbridge, who was a glamorous and rather daunting figure in the school, but he’d always been very decent to Dare, and not let the bigger boys trouble him. As Bainbridge often chose to stay at the school during holidays rather than go home, they spent a fair bit of time in each other’s company.

  “Yes,” he replied, aware he sounded a bit odd, his voice faint. “Here again.”

  “Got sent down?” Bainbridge enquired.

  Dare shook his he
ad.

  “Close shave?”

  Dare shook his head again and cleared his throat. “They’re dead. My parents, I mean. They… drowned. In Italy.”

  Why the geography mattered he wasn’t certain, but for some reason he felt it needed saying.

  Bainbridge stared at him. “Oh. Both?”

  Dare nodded.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “That’s… rough.”

  With nothing further to add to Bainbridge’s statement that seemed the least appropriate, Dare shrugged. Bainbridge frowned, studying him for a long moment before he spoke again.

  “Got a bottle of brandy in my room. Good stuff. French. Want some?”

  For a moment Dare could only gape at him. Bainbridge never… never invited the younger boys and….

  “Yes,” Dare said quickly, realising he’d been too stunned to reply at once and not wanting to lose the opportunity.

  “Right. Come on, then.”

  Dare nodded and hurried after his idol. Just wait until Raphe and August heard about this.

  Chapter 1

  Fifteen years later…

  My dear Nic,

  I write to send you my sincere felicitations on your marriage. A duke’s daughter, no less, and none other than Bedwin’s eldest. You must have balls of steel, my friend. Well, if any man could do it, it was you.

  I thought I’d best put your mind at ease, lest you were losing sleep over how I might call in that favour you asked of me. It will be nothing to cause you undue stress, I assure you. Only a place for a weary traveller to rest his head when I finally decide to set foot upon English soil once more. For you know as well as I, no welcome will be forthcoming anywhere else.

  ―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau, signed… Wolf.

  9th April 1839, Royle House, Derbyshire

  Dare climbed off his horse with a groan of effort. His limbs were cold and stiff, his clothes soaked through despite the greatcoat he wore. It had been a long and arduous journey, mostly in the pouring rain, and everyone was tired and fractious. Not least Lawrence Grenville, Marquess of Bainbridge. Riding to your father’s deathbed was not likely to put any fellow in the best of spirits. If anyone ought to be pleased by the event, it was Bainbridge. His father, the Duke of Axton, was an utter devil, and quite possibly mad, who’d made his son’s life as difficult as possible. Bainbridge would take the title too, of course, making him the duke. Dare wasn’t certain what the fellow thought about any of it, however, other than that he despised his sire, and with good reason. No one ever knew what Bainbridge was thinking, not even Dare, who was the closest thing the man had to a best friend.

  Dare met Raphe’s eye as he handed his horse over to a groom. Raphe looked grim too. None of them knew quite what to do with Bainbridge if he got into one of his black moods; Dare usually became responsible for him, and the results. August hurried over to them and they watched as Bainbridge stared up at the vast building that was Royle House.

  “What now?” August said, as they considered the sombre, dark figure before them who was staring at his home as if facing the gates of hell.

  “God knows,” Dare replied with a shrug. “But let’s get out of this damned rain at least.”

  Raphe nodded his agreement and three of them escorted Bainbridge inside the house. Little more than ten minutes later, they were back outside again.

  “The old bastard,” Bainbridge raged, striding up and down in the torrent which seemed to have gained force in the short time they had been indoors.

  “Not dead, then?” August asked tentatively, for which he was sent an incinerating look from Bainbridge.

  “Why’d he send for you then?” Dare demanded, annoyed at having been dragged away from London where he’d been having a thoroughly nice time for an unpleasant slog through the sodden English countryside, which had taken the best part of four days. All for nought, too.

  “It was that arse, Pennington,” Bainbridge fumed, naming the duke’s steward. “The old man had an apoplexy and couldn’t speak or move, everyone assumed that was his lot. Oh, no. Not he. He rallied, and with strength enough to tell me I was a damned vulture and to get the hell out of his house or he’d shoot me. I swear the devil won’t take the old goat.”

  Bainbridge snatched the reins of his horse from the groom who’d brought the poor creature back round and leapt up into the saddle.

  “Where are we going then?” Raphe demanded.

  Everyone looked to Dare.

  “Well, you’re all welcome, of course, but the place will be all shut up.”

  “Didn’t you write and tell them you were coming?” Raphe looked at Dare in astonishment.

  “No, why should I? I wasn’t coming, I was staying here,” Dare retorted, stung.

  “For the love of God, man,” Bainbridge yelled. “Your property is barely five miles away. You didn’t have any intention of visiting it, at least?”

  “No.” Dare was getting irritated himself now, not least because he knew he was in the wrong. He ought to have written, ought to have gone back and seen how everything and everyone was going on, only…. “No, I dashed well didn’t.”

  “Bloody buggering bollocks.” Bainbridge turned his furious blue eyes upon Dare, looking very much as though he’d rip his head off at the least provocation, and then, in typical Bainbridge fashion… he burst out laughing. It could have gone either way, as they all knew, and their collective relief was palpable. Bainbridge threw his head back, letting the rain fall on his face. “For the love of God, Dare, you’re a pain in the arse and no mistake. Let’s see this blasted house of yours, then, for I need a drink and soon and there’s nothing closer.”

  Dare sighed, but there was little point in remonstrating. For one, Bainbridge was right and Dare’s estate, shut up as it was, still seemed preferable to spending any longer in this miserable weather. So he mounted and led the way back to his home.

  Rowsley Hall was one of the oldest grand houses in the country and had been the Roxborough family home since its first incarnation in the twelfth century as a Norman hall. Now, as Dare approached it on a dreary, wet April afternoon, it looked as if every one of its seven hundred years sat heavy and burdensome upon its crenellated walls. It stood on a raised platform of limestone, above the western bank of the River Wye. Their horses’ hooves rang out as they crossed the picturesque bridge over the river, and Dare’s stomach tied itself into a knot. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But no matter how many times he told himself so, coming home made him feel all on edge. Returning made him feel like a boy again, rattling about in the great house all by himself and afraid of the many ghosts that lurked in the darkness.

  There was no one to greet them, no one to take the horses, and Bainbridge make a sound of disgust as they walked their tired mounts around to the stables themselves and saw to their care. Everywhere there were signs of neglect, piles of rubbish and debris left to moulder. The place appeared deserted, ghostly as the light waned and the grey afternoon sucked what brightness remained into an early twilight.

  The interior of the building was not the least encouraging either. All the furniture was shrouded, carpets rolled up, and it seemed even colder inside the great walls than it did outside.

  “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” Raphe murmured, and Dare had to suppress a shudder, for that was exactly how he felt every time he set foot inside the door, as though all life and hope had been drained from him.

  “Christ, Dare, how could you let it come to this?” Bainbridge demanded. “When was the last time you were here? Do you never speak to your steward?”

  “I… er. No,” Dare replied with a surge of guilt, remembering all the unopened letters on his desk at home. “At least, not for a while.”

  There really wasn’t any point. Each letter was just an account of Dare’s dwindling finances and the increasing demands of an ancient building that needed more money than he could even conceive of simply to keep it standing.

  “Defin
e ‘a while,’” August said, peering into a corner and then leaping backwards as a rat scurried out and darted across the floor.

  “Sometime last century judging on the state of the place.” Bainbridge shook his head. “For the love of God, is there at least something to drink in this pit of doom?”

  “The study,” Dare suggested, and led the way through a series of dark rooms until they reached the impressive oak panelled room.

  This too was shrouded with dust covers and cold, and a shiver ran down Dare’s back as he took note of the immense oak desk and the chair behind, swathed in a white cloth. The last time he’d seen his father, he’d been sat behind that desk. Not that his sire had seen him, or known he was there. Dare had peered around the corner to catch a glimpse of the great man, and had remained unobserved, but that was how it always was. He suspected his parents went months at a time without even remembering the fact they had a son. So long as he was alive and capable of carrying on the line when he was mature enough to do so, that was really all they expected of him. Perhaps once his father had hoped for more, but he didn’t think so. His father despised him for almost killing his mother when he was born and made no secret of the fact. As for his mother, she couldn’t even bear to look at him. Dare could not remember a time when they’d been anything other than a grave disappointment to each other.

  The decanters were empty, and so Dare hurriedly lit a candle and went off to the cellars to find provisions, leaving his friends to remove the dust covers and light the fire. As he reached the kitchen, he noticed a slight rise in the arctic temperature and the aroma of meat cooking. With some relief, he discovered the place had not been wholly abandoned. This room was as neat and shiny as it had always been in his memory… quite unchanged, in fact.