Dare to Risk it All (Daring Daughters Book 7) Read online

  I should very much like for you to feel at home when you come for Christmas. Tell me, are there any traditions or recipes from your country of origin that you would like to share with us? Something for which you have fond memories, perhaps? Do, please, let me know.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Her Grace, Prunella Adolphus, The Duchess of Bedwin to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

  13th December 1840, Royle House, Derbyshire.

  “Where could they have gone?” Greer asked Raphe as they drew close to the house.

  Raphe shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, but Ollie has a penchant for kicking up a lark. He’s been expelled from two schools for his pranks, and I suspect he’s found a willing accomplice in your sister. Heaven only knows—”

  The sound of excited barking rent the air, followed by a feminine scream coming from inside the house. Greer and Raphe shared an appalled glance and hurried towards the din.

  They entered a scene of recent chaos, with upturned furniture and a short, stout lady weeping noisily as Arabella tried to comfort her.

  “Bella?” Greer asked anxiously as Arabella looked up at them.

  “Poor Mrs Davies has had a nasty shock,” she said gravely, though Greer could see the amusement glinting in her eyes and the way her lips twitched with the effort of not smiling. “The duke’s wretched dogs have escaped and are causing havoc. Sadly, they… they have seduced Mrs Davies' darling little Pekinese into wickedness and she’s g-gone after them.” Arabella’s voice quivered, and she clamped her lips together, surreptitiously jerking her head in the direction the dogs had gone.

  “Oh dear,” Greer said faintly, observing the overturned chair and an upended pot plant with dismay. Drat Alana, the little beast. “Well, fear not, Mrs Davies, we shall return your….”

  “PomPom,” Mrs Davies said thickly, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

  Raphe made a choked sound from behind Greer, which she strove to ignore.

  “We shall return your darling PomPom, none the worse for her adventure.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Mrs Davies wailed, waving the handkerchief in her agitated, bejewelled fingers. “That big brute is sure to take liberties, and my darling Pompom is a delicate creature. She’ll b-be ruined.”

  “Oh, no. Thorn is a gentleman, I assure you,” Arabella said, patting the lady’s hand with every expression of sympathy. “He only appears to be a brute. Really, Mrs Davies, he has impeccable breeding, he’s just a bit excitable and doesn’t realise the effect he has on others.”

  “Runs in the family,” Bainbridge said cheerfully, striding into the room and observing the damage with interest. “It wasn’t me, Bella,” he said with a frown.

  Arabella sighed, sending him a look of exasperated affection. “We know that. It was your father’s wretched dogs. Heaven alone knows what they’ll get up to now, but if they release that wicked bird—”

  An avian shriek of distress echoed somewhere in the distance, followed by: “Murder! Murder!”

  “That’s torn it,” Bainbridge muttered.

  “Oh, Laurie!” Arabella said crossly. “You promised me everything would go smoothly.”

  Bainbridge shook his head, his dark brows drawn together in consternation. “Now, now, Bella. I promised I would try my best to ensure everything went smoothly. You know as well as I do how reassuring that is.”

  “Perhaps we should—” Raphe murmured, gesturing urgently to where the noise had come from as it was growing louder.

  Bainbridge nodded grimly. “Best had. The parrot of doom will have the entire house in uproar if we don’t corral it somewhere. How did those blasted dogs get free, though? That’s what I want to know.”

  Greer glanced at Raphe who gave a tiny shake of his head and they hurried out of the room with Mrs Davies calling after them.

  “Save my darling, PomPom from that big brute!”

  “PomPom,” Bainbridge repeated in disgust as he strode through an ornate music room and on to the next equally lavish salon. “What self-respecting dog wants a name like PomPom, I ask you? The poor devil.”

  “Wait,” Raphe said, stopping in his tracks.

  Bainbridge turned to regard him as Greer caught up with the men, and they all stood still.

  Raphe held up a hand. “Listen.”

  Over the sound of the orchestra and excited chatter, which seemed to rise and fall through the house in waves, there was the distant clatter of claws on marble.

  “This way.” Bainbridge led them on, hurrying to the entrance hall from where squeals of laughter were audible. They looked up at the gallery above, to see Ollie and Alana, and Bainbridge’s niece and nephew, Freddie and Bertie. Bainbridge shook his fist at them. “You little devils! What have you—?”

  But he had not time to finish the demand as an indignant squawk split everyone’s ears.

  “Murder! Murder! Infamy!”

  The hall filled with howling and barking as the dogs burst in like an oncoming furry hurricane.

  Greer watched, dumbstruck, as she saw what her diabolical sister had done. If it wasn’t so appalling, Greer would have congratulated her on her cleverness. Alana had made each of the dogs a small jockey, fastened about its chest and back, and fashioned out of scraps of material, stuffed with wadding no doubt from some poor, mutilated pillow. And—was that one of her favourite scarves used for the blue jockey’s silks? Oh!

  “And it’s red jockey in the lead, riding Thorn, who has shown fine form this season,” called Ollie from above, while the children cackled with hysterics. “But blue jockey is gaining fast on Doris with Dot, Daisy, Delia, and PomPom bringing up the rear!”

  The Pekinese was panting, yapping with excitement as its little legs worked nineteen to the dozen to keep up with its big friends.

  “Bloody bird!” Bainbridge raged at the parrot as it swooped low over his head with a taunting shout of ‘Cock!’ before turning and sailing out of the room.

  Abruptly, the dogs changed direction to follow, skidding and sliding on the polished marble and knocking into Bainbridge, who staggered and fell, landing on his arse with a muttered oath.

  Shrieks of mirth came from the gallery above, and even Raphe gave a bark of laughter at seeing his friend fall on his backside.

  “Alana!” Greer shouted, exasperated, but her sister was so breathless with hilarity she was beyond hearing, clutching at Ollie to keep herself upright as tears streaked down her face. “Little beast,” Greer muttered, running after the dogs.

  She turned to see Raphe at her side, grinning at her. “Lord, that was funny, but we’d best stop them before they get to the ballroom, or they’ll cause a riot.”

  “You there!”

  They both skidded to a halt at the sound of the imperious voice bellowing at them. Greer’s eyes widened at the sight of the rather magnificent man before them. Built on the same impressive lines as his son, with imposing features and steel grey hair, he was lavishly dressed and leaned heavily on a gold-topped cane. This could only be one man: the Duke of Axton.

  Greer quailed, having heard much of the duke’s eccentricity and violent temper.

  “I’ll have ten pounds on red,” he said. “Clever little chit, that Miss Alana. Diabolical, but clever.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Raphe replied calmly, apparently used to the duke, who waved his cane at them before limping off again.

  Greer heard him chuckling as he went.

  “Heavens,” she said, relieved.

  Raphe took her hand, curling his warm fingers about hers and setting off dozens of tiny, prickling explosions beneath her skin as she reacted to his touch. “Come on,” he whispered.

  They hurried off after the dogs, following the distant echo of barking as they moved farther into the grand house, but soon everything was quiet, and they did not know which way to go. They ran through room after room, changing directions when a ghostly bark tempted them down a different path, but there was no sign of either the dogs or the b
allroom.

  “Are we lost?” Greer asked anxiously. It felt as if they were the only people in the world, let alone the house, which was even bigger than she had realised.

  “Not lost, exactly,” Raphe replied, though his voice was taut.

  “What exactly, then?” she pressed, very aware of the night and the quiet enveloping them, and the fact they were all alone.

  “Not where we’re supposed to be,” he said tersely.

  “Raphe.”

  His name was a soft whisper of sound in the darkness, and though she knew she ought not, the temptation to take advantage of their solitude was unbearable… irresistible.

  “No,” he said, increasing his speed as they exited yet another room.

  “But I’m tired. Give me a moment to catch my breath, please,” Greer protested, though she was aware it was not running through the house that had made her heart thud with such ferocity.

  His nearness was tantalising, his big body calling to hers in some primal fashion she did not entirely understand, but reacted to insistently. She wanted him. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to press herself to him and kiss him, to feel the weight of him upon her.

  Reluctantly, Raphe stopped, letting go of her hand and stalking to the window to stare out at the silvered countryside beyond, glowing with moonlight. Greer looked about the room, finally settling herself down on a silk-covered chaise longue and stretching out her legs. It was difficult to do with any elegance as her large skirts billowed out, but she shifted and tugged, arranging them modestly, and subsided with a sigh of relief. Raphe turned, watching her, though she could not see his expression, his face shrouded in darkness.

  The room was eerily silent and Greer far too aware of the sound of her own heart beating. She willed him to come to her, to take her in his arms, and knew he wanted to. He was waging a silent battle over there by the window. She ought to help him win it, for he was trying so hard to be good, but she longed for him to be close to her. She did not understand what it was between them, but she needed to know, needed to know him. If only he would trust her, but he didn’t even trust himself yet. Was she a fool for wanting him so? Was this merely infatuation, or was it more than that? Could it become more than that, at least?

  “Don’t look at me like that, Greer.” His voice was hard, almost angry.

  “Like what?” she asked, wondering what he saw in her gaze.

  “Like I’m worth something. Worthy of you.”

  She smiled at that, compassion filling her chest. “Of course you are.”

  He made an unhappy sound, muttering words she could not hear. “You don’t know me at all.”

  “I do.”

  Though she could not see his expression, she heard the sneer behind the words. “Is that so? What do you know of me that makes me worth your time, your reputation, by God? For if anyone discovers us, you’ll be ruined.”

  “Then you’ll marry me,” she said placidly.

  “Ah, yes. A fine match we’d make, and everyone will believe I did it on purpose, to get my hands on your dowry.”

  Greer shrugged. “Who cares what people think? I shall know the truth.”

  “Will you? Will you really?” his voice was bitter, as dark as the room. “How? How do you know I’ve not had this in mind all along? I’ve no money, remember, and I know you’re plump in the pocket, like your sister. A quick wedding would solve all my problems. Indeed, I should do very nicely to compromise you and get you wed. I told Rothborn I’d take a punt at you, marry you for your money.”

  “Ah,” she said, understanding now. “That’s why he warned you away from me.”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled, feeling her heart hurt at how hard he was trying to make her hate him, as much as he hated himself, apparently. “But you didn’t mean it.”

  He laughed at that, shaking his head. “How damnably naïve you are.”

  “I’m not, though.”

  “Yes,” he ground out, and it sounded as though he spoke through clenched teeth. “You are, if you think I’ve not considered it.”

  “You’re a good man, Raphe. An honourable one and I—”

  He moved before she could finish the sentence, and suddenly he surrounded her, possessed her just as she’d wanted to be possessed. His mouth found hers in the darkness, his weight pressing her down upon the chaise as his body covered hers. Greer gasped, shocked and excited at once, wanting him with a ferocity she could not contain. His kiss was hot and domineering, and he took her mouth as if he was starving for the taste of her, as if it could never be enough.

  Greer sank her hands into his thick hair, holding on, and he groaned against her lips, his hands moving over her.

  “Darling, darling, I’ll run mad,” he murmured, scalding her flesh with kisses that marked her very soul as his.

  “Yes,” she whimpered beneath him.

  Giddy with longing, she ran her hands over his chest, his back, enraptured by his large frame and wanting to be even closer. Though her own proportions were ample, he made her feel fine and delicate, his hands at once reverent and demanding.

  His mouth coasted down her neck, licking and nipping a path to her breasts. His hot breath fanned over the generous curves where they swelled above the neckline of her bodice.

  “Mercy,” he muttered feverishly, licking her like a cat lapping cream as she shivered beneath him. His hands went to the neckline of the bodice, and he tugged and pulled until the edge of her nipples became visible. Raphe let out an uneven breath and slid his thumb beneath the fabric, teasing the flesh into a taut little nub. Greer could hardly breathe, electrified by the feel of his hands upon her and the ability left her entirely as he eased her breast free of the confines of corset and bodice and she felt the touch of cool air upon her.

  “Oh God,” he moaned, shaking his head. “Oh God, I’m going to hell, and I don’t give a damn. You’re so lovely, Greer. I must—just a taste. Only a—”

  He lowered his head and took the little bud in his mouth, sucking gently, and Greer cried out in surprise, arching into him. Raphe made a feral sound of approval and sucked harder, circling her breast with his tongue, and nipping with his teeth before sucking again.

  “Oh—oh my,” Greer panted, her hands in his hair, holding him to her, demanding he continue. He did, but not before releasing her other breast and lavishing that with equal attention.

  I’m wicked, Greer thought dazedly. I must be, but I don’t care. This is splendid.

  She was so entranced by this new, sinful delight that she barely noticed him tugging at her skirts, at least not until his warm hand slid between her legs, tickling the soft curls in her most private place. Greer jolted in shock, and he lifted his head, looking for all the world like a big, sleepy cat, his eyes heavy lidded with lust. A great, hungry predator. She shivered with anticipation.

  “Tell me to stop, Greer,” he warned her. “Make me stop.”

  Greer shook her head, a jerky motion but clear enough.

  He groaned, his fingers sliding into the damp heat of her as she gasped in surprise. How strange it was, and yet when he circled a particular little spot, pleasure rolled over her in a delicious wave, making her lift her hips, seeking more.

  “Yes, darling,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “I know you like that. I know every immoral desire simmering beneath your skin. Shall I show you? You’ll like them all, I swear.”

  Oh, she did. She liked that far more than was good for her. Greer swallowed, trying to find words to demand he do it again, but she had no need. His clever fingers slid and caressed, circling and dipping inside her wet heat to circle again until she was writhing beneath him, maddened by the inciting pleasure that only made her want more and more and more. It was never enough.

  “Shall I show you something truly wicked?” he murmured, nipping at her ear.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, please,” she whimpered, wondering what on earth could be more wicked than this.

  Raphe moved down her body, pushing her skirts a
nd petticoats higher, until she felt cool air against her oversensitive flesh.

  “Oh, love. I have wanted this so badly,” he moaned, before lowering his head and licking that delicate place.

  Greer cried out, the feel of his hot, silky tongue upon her unbearably good. He chuckled, probably the most lascivious sound she’d ever heard in her life as he gripped her hips, holding her in place, and settled to feast upon her. He was utterly shameless, glorying in her, murmuring against her skin, telling her how sweet she was, how good she tasted, how he wanted to lap up every last drop of her desire. His outrageous words, as much as the sensation of his tongue and mouth working her tender flesh, had her clutching at the chaise beneath her. She wailed with a sensation so overwhelmingly wonderful it was almost too much as it grew and grew, taking her over until she was nothing but a mass of oversensitive nerve endings.

  The climax shook her to her bones, taking her so hard and fast she could do nothing to muffle her cry, to modify her reaction. She was undone, given over to his sinful mouth and everything he’d made her feel and even when it was over, when he had coaxed the last tremor of delight from her boneless frame, he continued, toying with her, teasing with his wicked tongue and questing fingers. Impossibly, the pleasure rose again, sweeping over her in an urgent wave and she curled her fingers in his hair, holding him there as the desperate joy took control of her body, so shattering it was almost painful as she cried out.

  Raphe rose over her, his eyes glinting as he stared at her beneath him. His expression was uncompromising, fierce, and resigned as he braced on one hand, undoing his trousers with swift, practised motions. Greer watched him in something of a daze. She was drowsy, her entire body fizzing like champagne, pliant and open to him. In some far-off part of her mind, she wondered if this was really what she wanted, but she was drunk on him, too caught up in his dark spell to consider clearly. So she reached up, coiling her arms about his neck.

  “Raphe,” she whispered.

  “I told you I was no good. I warned you,” he growled, but she heard something else in his voice, the aching loneliness, the desperate need to be close to her.