Dare to Cause a Scandal (Daring Daughters Book 4) Read online

  Dare to Cause a Scandal.

  The Daring Daughters Book 4

  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: B0917K85NT

  ISBN No: 978-2-492133-28-2

  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 are 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

  Epilogue

  Dare it all for Love

  To Dare a Duke

  The Rogue

  A Dog in a Doublet

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Want more Emma?

  Family Trees

  Prologue

  I don’t give a damn for your whoring or if you drink yourself to death, so long as you marry and produce your heir before you’re too poxed or insensible to do to your duty. Surprisingly, there are many women willing to overlook your shortcomings for the lure of your money and title. Even your father managed that much, if nothing else. Choose one, marry her and get a babe in her. It’s not as if I expect any more from you. I assume you are capable of impregnating a wife and producing a legitimate heir? The mangiest cur seems to manage reproduction without difficulty. Do you think you could rise to the challenge for once instead of scattering your seed into every worthless, if willing, womb in the country?

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Her Grace, Augusta The Dowager Duchess of Axton, to her grandson, The Most Hon’ble, Lawrence Grenville, The Marquess of Bainbridge.

  Two months earlier…

  29th April 1839, The Countess St Clair’s spring garden party, St James’s, London.

  It was the noise that drew him. Having grown up in a family where arguments resulted in damage to property and person, Bainbridge recognised the sound of a fight brewing. He didn’t know why he was here at this blasted event anyway, except that Dare was hunting down Miss Cadogan and had needed a bit of handholding to gather courage enough to gate crash. Well, the Earl of St Clair might consider telling a viscount to sling his hook, especially one as disreputable as Dare, but a marquess? Oh, that was another matter. A marquess like Bainbridge… good lord, no. Heaven alone knew what he might do if he was pissed off enough to react badly. He might cause a scene, or worse. After all, the family were all barking mad. Everyone knew that.

  So they’d been let in, though the earl had made it very plain that the first sign of unacceptable behaviour would see them both strung up by their bollocks in his wife’s favourite Magnolia tree. Fair enough. Besides, he was only here for Dare, who for some reason was still his best friend, no—only friend—despite all the aggravation that position entailed. Best behaviour then, which meant he’d better not talk to anyone. He’d resigned himself to a couple of hours of boredom and keeping out of trouble, and had retreated to a quiet corner of the gardens, out of sight. At least then he didn’t have to put up with people gawking at him as if he might sprout a tail and horns at the least sign of provocation.

  The quiet corner wasn’t so quiet though, and Bainbridge had moved closer to see what the trouble was. A group of children, all aged roughly between ten and fourteen, were gathered around two boys.

  “Take it back,” one boy said, giving the other a hard shove. It was a brave thing to do, considering his foe was at least three years older and a great deal bigger, too.

  “I won’t. She is a common little guttersnipe; everyone knows it and she ought not talk to her betters like that.”

  The first boy, who Bainbridge recognised now as one of the Duke of Bedwin’s sons—Lord Frederick—went purple in the face at that. “And you think you’re her better, do you, Scrivener?” he sneered in disgust.

  “You’re just a big bully!” This came from a new source, and Bainbridge watched in amusement as a small girl detached from the group and launched herself at Scrivener in a flurry of white lace and blonde ringlets.

  “Argh! Gerroff, get her off me,” Scrivener cried. The fellow might or might not be a bully, but even he knew better than to hit a girl, especially not one who belonged to Montagu.

  “Cat! Cat! Devil take it you mad creature, leave this to me,” Lord Frederick said in exasperation as he tried to prise her off Scrivener whose back sh
e was attached to like a frilly barnacle, her small fists pounding him.

  “Aggie isn’t a guttersnipe,” she said in fury, punctuating her words with another blow from her fist. “She’s—” thwack “my—” thwack “friend!”

  Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  Somehow, Lord Frederick removed the struggling girl and set her behind him.

  “Find Aggie and make sure she’s all right,” he said sternly. “I don’t want her upset. Victoria, you go too, please.”

  Bainbridge had to smile as he heard the echo of the boy’s father—the duke, in his commanding tone. The girl scowled at him but did as he asked, whirling with a swish of petticoats and stomping off again. The older girl, who Bainbridge suspected might be the boy’s sister, sighed and trailed after her.

  Lord Frederick turned back to Scrivener.

  “Bit pathetic getting your sweetheart to fight your battles for you,” Scrivener taunted.

  Bainbridge had to admit the speed of the fist that struck out at Scrivener and connected firmly with his chin was impressive. There was a howl of rage and the two boys fell upon each other, fists flying.

  Bainbridge sighed and was about to intervene when there was a rustle of silken skirts and a… a goddess entered the scene. His breath caught. She was petite and slender, with curves in all the right places, and her hair was a tumble of coppery curls that seemed to be intent on escaping the confines of her pins on all sides.

  “Fred! Fred! Stop this at once. Stop it now. Oh, what on earth…”

  Bainbridge watched, delighted, as the young beauty took each boy by the ear until they winced and squawked, separating, and pleading for her to let them go.

  “Are you going to behave?” she demanded.

  The boys agreed with alacrity, and so she released them.

  “Now,” she said, looking from one boy to the other. “What were you fighting about?”

  Lord Frederick rubbed his ear and glowered at Scrivener. “He was rude to Miss Smith and said she ought not have been invited, then he told me he thought she was a common little guttersnipe.”

  The goddess turned her cornflower blue gaze on Scrivener, whose colour deepened from a slight flush from the excitement of their scuffle to a startling shade of scarlet.

  “Mr Scrivener?” she said, her voice gentle, and Bainbridge suddenly knew how the boy felt at seeing the disappointment in her eyes. A man would do anything not to have that look cast upon him, anything at all. The idea of disappointing this heavenly creature would crush anyone, let alone a mere mortal of the male variety.

  “I… I…” Scrivener stammered helplessly.

  “I think you know a gentleman would never speak, or even think such an unkind thought about a young lady, don’t you Mr Scrivener? Indeed, a better man would make it his duty to see they made her welcome, and that she did not feel the least bit out of place. A better man—a true gentleman, would ensure that he guided her through any awkwardness she might feel at an event which she has little experience of and few friends to call her own. After all, Miss Smith is a lovely girl, so kind and vivacious, and funny too. Isn’t she?” She directed this last at the other children, who immediately agreed with the goddess’s every word. Christ, Bainbridge didn’t know who the hell she was talking about, but he would have sworn it too.

  Stunned, he watched as Scrivener managed a halting apology to Lord Frederick and promised he would find Miss Smith and apologise to her too.

  “I’ll fetch her an ice,” he offered, gazing up at the young woman, who smiled at him with approval. The poor boy looked dazed by the impact of that smile, his colour rising again as she smoothed down his hair and straightened his lapels.

  “That is the action of a gentleman, Mr Scrivener. We all make mistakes, but it takes a big man with a generous heart to own them. Well done.”

  Scrivener strode off, head held high, as he went in search of Miss Smith.

  All the other children crowded around the girl, talking at once, and she laughed and sat down on the grass, there and then, heedless of her beautiful skirts. Each of them got their fair share of her attention and Bainbridge watched, entranced, with some strange ache growing in his chest, as she pulled a very small girl into her lap and hugged her close, listening to some long, rambling story about a fall from an apple tree.

  He wondered if she would scold him and tell him how he ought to behave if given the chance, so he might know what it was he had to do to win her approval. If he’d known the child, he would have sought this Miss Smith out and plied her with ices, and bought her a puppy or a pony, or whatever the hell else she wanted if this woman would turn her attention his way. He would have done anything this astonishing creature asked if he could be a better man, a man she would look at with pride and approval.

  The idea lanced through him, shaking him to his core. For everyone knew Lawrence Grenville, the Marquess of Bainbridge was anything but a good man. He was unreasonable, unstable, bad tempered, and quite likely as mad as the rest of his misbegotten family. His blood might be as blue as the eyes of this lovely woman, but the idea of him being the better man… oh, that was funny. Or it might be if it didn’t make him want to throw things in frustration. He wanted to crawl into her lap like that child had done, and lay his head down, and see if she could bring him the peace he craved. Surely, she could untangle the writhing mass of… of whatever crawled beneath his skin that made him drink too much and behave outrageously, and drove everyone away from him. Well, everyone except for Dare, the poor bastard who was just as alone as he was.

  Bainbridge watched as the young woman got up, the children following her with the promise of ices. Bainbridge held his breath as the woman turned in his direction. He moved back into the shadows and out of sight, uncertain of why he’d not taken the chance to speak to her. Perhaps one of the children would have introduced them. No one else in their right mind would offer him an introduction. His reputation preceded him and no one who cared for her would risk her in such a way, marquess or no. She would be too well guarded for that, and rightly so. He would never get close to her, never see that smile turn his way. Bainbridge would only ever be able to watch her from a distance, and he knew it. He knew it was for the best too, for her at least. So she walked past him, never knowing he was there, and the opportunity was lost.

  Bainbridge stared after her, stared at the way the sun glinted on her fiery curls like a halo of flame. Emotion rose inside him, a longing so profound it hurt, stealing his breath, stealing what little remained of his sanity. Thoroughly shaken by the experience, Bainbridge did the only thing he could do, and headed for the front door with one thought in his mind.

  To get as far away from her as he possibly could.

  Chapter 1

  Dear Florence,

  I am so utterly blue devilled. I am hopelessly in love with the Comte de Villen, and he doesn’t seem to know I exist. Or at least, if he does, it’s even worse, for I’m certain he is running away from me.

  Something must be done about it. I’m so tired of being ignored. So to that end I have borrowed the hat of dares from Cat. Yes, that hat. The Peculiar Ladies all found their way to happiness because of it. Mama was so shy she couldn’t even speak to a man without stammering before she took her dare and look how that turned out. Oh, how romantic, to kiss a man in the moonlight when you don’t even know who he is. I should do such a thing in a heartbeat if I might end up with someone as good as Papa.

  I must do something, though. Either something to make that wretched man notice me, or to find me another that will take my mind off him for good, for I cannot carry on this way. Vivien says she never took a dare the last time Cat brought the hat out but promises she will this time. Say you’ll do it too? I propose that the Peculiar Ladies should ride again, but with a new name, of course.

  What do you think of—The Daring Daughters?

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Arabella Hunt (daughter of Mrs Alice and Mr Nathanial Hunt) to Miss Florence Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Gabrie
l Knight).

  12th June 1839, Half Moon Street, London.

  “I call this inaugural meeting of the Daring Daughters to order,” Arabella said, striking her teacup with a little enamelled spoon to get everyone’s attention.

  “What does inaugural mean?” Lady Catherine Barrington asked.

  The child turned her great blue eyes upon Arabella, who wondered if Cat ought to be here. The girl did not need any encouragement to get into trouble. Still, she wouldn’t be allowed to take a dare, so there ought to be no harm done. As it was Cat who had smuggled them the hat, they could hardly deny her the excitement of seeing them take a dare. She had been sworn to secrecy, naturally.

  “It means the first one,” Vivien said. “Though if we are going to eat this many cream cakes at every meeting I’m going to explode before we have many more.”

  Arabella laughed as Vivien flopped back against the pillows and huffed out a breath. She was a stunning creature, though it was odd to see her without her twin brother. The two of them were inseparable. Viscount Cavendish’s marriage to his beautiful Indian viscountess had caused quite a stir in the ton back in the day, and Vivien seemed determined to keep the beau monde on their toes. Outspoken and challenging, she defied convention wherever possible. One never knew what she would do next, so it was hardly surprising she was ready to take a dare. The only surprise was that she hadn’t done it before.

  “Oh, but they were delicious,” Florence Knight said, licking the last remnants of cream from her fingers. “I regret nothing.”

  “Easy for you to say. You won’t have to get your gowns let out again,” her younger sister, Evie, said with a sigh as she regarded her empty plate. “And Madame Blanchet always looks so disappointed in me.”