An Enchanting Dare (Daring Daughters Book 10) Read online

  An Enchanting Dare

  The Daring Daughters Book 10

  By Emma V. Leech

  Published by Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2022

  Editing Services Magpie Literary Services

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN No: B09SJ4ZSMZ

  ISBN No: 978-2-492133-40-4

  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.

  About Me!

  I started this incredible journey way back in 2010 with The Key to Erebus but didn’t summon the courage to hit publish until October 2012. For anyone who’s done it, you’ll know publishing your first title is a terribly scary thing! I still get butterflies on the morning a new title releases, but the terror has subsided at least. Now I just live in dread of the day my daughters are old enough to read them.

  The horror! (On both sides I suspect.)

  2017 marked the year that I made my first foray into Historical Romance and the world of the Regency Romance, and my word what a year! I was delighted by the response to this series and can’t wait to add more titles. Paranormal Romance readers need not despair, however, as there is much more to come there too. Writing has become an addiction and as soon as one book is over I’m hugely excited to start the next so you can expect plenty more in the future.

  As many of my works reflect, I am greatly influenced by the beautiful French countryside in which I live. I’ve been here in the South West since 1998, though I was born and raised in England. My three gorgeous girls are all bilingual and my husband Pat, myself, and our four cats consider ourselves very fortunate to have made such a lovely place our home.

  KEEP READING TO DISCOVER MY OTHER BOOKS!

  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

  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

  Chapter 22

  To Dare the Devil.

  To Dare a Duke

  The Rogue

  A Dog in a Doublet

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Want more Emma?

  Family Trees

  Chapter 1

  Louis,

  Paris grows dull in your absence. I am bored and in need of distraction. Will you not return for a visit and see how your protégé goes on before he does something rash? My empire needs little of me, save for some growling and posturing on the rare occasion people forget with whom they deal. Our foes are all vanquished, on this side of La Manche, at least. I think I shall cross that narrow body of water and see what trouble I can stir up, for life is dull and I shall grow prematurely fat and old if I do not keep my wits and my weapons sharp. I should like to see the ladies gasp and whisper behind their fans. Will I spoil your newly shined and pretty reputation if I come? You think it is a joke, perhaps, but I will make good on my promise one day. I should like to see the place that was my birthright.

  Do you think there are any remaining that would cut my throat for my father’s crimes? My own are of little consequence across the channel, I think. My late, unlamented father’s legacy is such I think I should sleep with one eye open on English soil. I believe I shall look forward to it.

  Damn you, Louis, it is late, and I grow maudlin like a boy without his pa. You were always wise far beyond your years and I need your instincts and your surety to guide me straight, for my path becomes increasingly tangled. I do not truly wish to cause you trouble, but I miss you, and your too kind-hearted brother as well. I miss the days when we caused mayhem together. You are the only family I have known, and I wish to be reunited. Shall you come to visit me soon? Or shall I do something dreadful to demand your attention, like the wicked spoilt boy I know too well how to play?

  ―Excerpt of a letter to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen, from Wulfric ‘Wolf’ De Vere.

  27th April 1841, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

  “D'anam don diabhal!”

  The words she’d thrown out with such frustration were still ringing in Aisling’s ears. Wishing Sylvester Cootes’ soul to the devil might be satisfying, but apparently it didn’t actually achieve anything. The wretched man was still watching her as if she were some newly discovered species, as if he was determined to understand everything about her, to learn all her secrets. Well, he’d said as much, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought? What might he discover, and how might he judge her if he knew? Her st
omach twisted unpleasantly, and Aisling swallowed hard lest the meagre amount of food she’d forced past her lips curdled and her stomach rebelled.

  All around her was merriment and celebration, and Aisling felt like a little dark cloud, hovering about and making everyone uncomfortable. She reached up and gently massaged her throbbing temples.

  Why hadn’t she told him to leave her alone? This, more than anything, troubled her. He’d offered to leave her be, and she’d felt certain the offer was a genuine one, yet she’d not taken it. Why? Why would she not snatch an opportunity to make him go away?

  Because you don’t truly wish him to, taunted a little voice in her head. She rejected it, irritated. Why would she not wish a man she could not stand to go away? Perhaps because she felt brave in front of him, in a way she never did with anyone else. Not any longer. He made her so furious she forgot her nerves, her doubts, and her own failings. She let her temper rule her and… and that felt good after so long. It was also dangerous. He was dangerous.

  “Are you well, mademoiselle?”

  Aisling turned to find a pair of startling blue eyes regarding her with concern. The Comte de Villen was too beautiful to sit comfortably beside and, much to her consternation, Aisling felt a blush climb her throat.

  “Just a h-headache, monsieur,” she managed, struggling to meet his worried gaze.

  “Is there anything I can do? Should I fetch the countess to—”

  “Oh, no, th-thank you. Some fresh air, I think, if… excuse me—” Aisling got up and hurried off, relieved to be away from the man, though he’d been nothing but kind and patient, trying his best to converse with her when he got little more than a word or two in reply.

  Aisling pushed through the house, past busy servants bearing trays, and burst out into the garden to drink in the cool, sweet air. Her temples throbbed harder, and she wished she could go home. Not to the elegant town house her parents owned here in London, but home to Trevick Castle. She wanted to walk and walk until her legs ached, to find her peace in the woodlands, to bury herself in the little corner of the world where she could be herself and shut out everything and everyone else. Soon, she promised herself. No one here would ever offer for her, and that would be another season over and done. In another year or two, maybe she could give up the pretence that she was even trying to find a husband, for it became increasingly difficult to keep up the facade.

  “Aisling? Are you well?”

  Aisling looked up, relieved to see Vivien’s twin brother, Ash. She had loved Ash since she was a very little girl, and he was one of the few men she did not feel uncertain around. Once upon a time, many years ago, she had hoped he might offer for her, but he regarded her as a sister, nothing more, and she had long since come to terms with that. She could never marry, not now, and even if things were different, she could not imagine ever trusting another man enough to give herself into his keeping.

  “Just a headache,” she said, accepting the arm he offered her. “I needed some fresh air.”

  “Shall I take you to Nani Maa and have her mix one of her foul potions?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

  Aisling stared up into his handsome face, feeling some of her anxiety drain away. Ash always made her feel calmer, safer. “I don’t think so. Just a turn about the garden and some quiet for a moment should do it.”

  Another male voice cut through Aisling’s fragile peace and set her nerves jangling. “Then you ought to have a chaperone. I’m happy to oblige.”

  She turned, scowling, though she knew well enough who had appeared behind them.

  “Mr Cootes, I do not require your chaperonage for a stroll in the garden in broad daylight with my friend, and you hardly qualify for the role in any case.”

  Mr Cootes shrugged and strolled closer. “When your friend is such a handsome and eligible young fellow, I’m afraid I must beg to differ, and I am better than nothing.”

  Ash beamed, the rat. “He has a point, Aisling,” he said with mock gravity. “It seems unlikely any young lady could spend five minutes alone with me without wanting to tear my clothes off. It’s for your own good.”

  “Ash!” Aisling exclaimed, mortified.

  Ash only winked at her, a friendly, teasing smile at his lips before he turned to Mr Cootes. “Do join us for a stroll about the garden. The spring colour is very fine, and this poor lady has a headache and needs some air.”

  “With pleasure,” Mr Cootes replied, offering Aisling his arm so she was sandwiched between them.

  Aisling narrowed her eyes at him, but could hardly refuse. Reluctantly, she placed her hand on his sleeve.

  They strolled around the extensive grounds, arm in arm, with Mr Cootes and Ash exchanging pleasantries whilst Aisling simmered in silence.

  “This is a lovely spot,” Mr Cootes observed as they came across a large ornamental pond. It was round with a three-tiered fountain at the centre and sheltered from the wind by hedges with openings that gave out onto prettily framed views of the garden. Aisling sat down on a bench, strategically positioned to give a glimpse of an antique statue of some naked male through the fountain’s spray.

  “My mother’s favourite spot,” Ash agreed. “Oh, and speaking of the same, there she is. Well, there are plenty of people coming out to enjoy the garden now, so propriety is served. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Ash bowed to Aisling and hurried away before she could protest, leaving her alone with Sylvester blasted Cootes. Aisling glared at her friend’s retreating back, wondering if she could be rude enough to follow him and abandon Mr Cootes without another word.

  Before she could decide, Mr Cootes sat down beside her. “Is it true you are in love with him?”

  Aisling gasped at the bold question. She glared at him, but he just watched her placidly. Deciding this might be a good way to be rid of his attentions, she didn’t prevaricate.

  “Yes. It’s true,” she said, chin up and defiance in every word.

  He nodded, as if it were no surprise. “I thought as much.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, hearing the amusement in his words.

  He sat back, crossing his long legs and stretching one arm along the back of the bench. He looked totally at ease, and she noticed his eyes were a light hazel, flecked with gold.

  “Only that he is the kind of man you would form a tendresse for.”

  “How so?” she demanded, too irritated by the observation to tell him his opinions were of no consequence to her, which would have been the sensible thing to do.

  His expression was serene, his gaze upon her unwavering. “You’ve known him a long time?”

  Aisling nodded. “All my life,” she admitted, for she saw no reason to deny it.

  “He’s been a good friend to you?” he guessed, and Aisling nodded again. That much was obvious.

  Sylvester just smiled at her, his gaze direct, as if willing her to figure it out for herself.

  “You think it’s a childish crush, that I’m being foolish,” she said, her voice curt, irritation simmering as it always did in his presence.

  “I don’t think loving a dear friend is foolish,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m only pointing out the possibility that you have mistaken the love you have for a dear friend for something else.”

  “You do think me a fool!” Aisling folded her arms, her cheeks flaming. The arrogant devil. How dare he tell her what she thought, how she felt?

  Sylvester sighed, shaking his head. “Perhaps I’m wrong. Only you can decide the truth, but I have watched you together on several occasions and I do not see any spark in you. You do not light up when you are with him as you might if you were deeply in love. I’ve had a chance to observe that emotion at close hand of late, and even you, as secretive as you are, might struggle to hide such a deep regard. You love him as a dear friend, as a brother, not as a man. There is no passion in your regard for him, no desire.”

  Aisling’s mouth dropped open, but she was too
stunned to say a word. She wanted very much to give him a scathing set down that would leave his ears ringing and his ego in tatters. The trouble was, she recognised the truth that rang in his words. Aisling knew why she had accepted the fact that Ash would never offer for her with such acquiescence. She just hadn’t wanted to examine her own feelings. Her emotions had been too troublesome, so she had buried them deep, had become too used to ignoring them. Now, she took her love for Ash out and inspected it in the bright light of Sylvester’s observations. It was so apparent she did not trouble herself to wonder how he’d noticed. It was obvious. She loved Ash very much, but it was not the passionate desire of a woman for a man she wanted to be her lover, her husband. Not that she was about to admit it to Mr Cootes, the arrogant devil, though she could admit it to herself. For she knew in her heart she could not feel that kind of passion for any man. Those feelings were dead and gone, and she was glad of it.

  “You do not know what you’re talking about,” she said, once she had wit enough to speak again. “You know nothing of my feelings.”

  “Perhaps not, but I suspect I understand more than you think. You could trust me.”

  Aisling snorted. An unladylike sound, but the idea of trusting the man beside her was so outlandish she could not help her reaction.

  He returned a smile that managed to be both boyish and wolfish at the same time. Oh, he was not to be trusted.

  “I know you think that a ridiculous idea, but it is true. Why don’t you just unburden yourself of whatever keeps you apart from the world, from life, even from your friends? Sometimes it is easier to confide in a stranger than someone close to you.”

  “From my friends?” she echoed, stunned by the suggestion. “What—”