Dare to Risk it All (Daring Daughters Book 7) Page 2

  Ignoring Raphe’s bewilderment, he gave him a hearty hug, slapping his shoulder and laughing as Raphe stared at them both. At twenty-six, Sylvester was only two years younger than Raphe. The two took after their mother, with hair of dark gold and light hazel eyes. They were handsome boys and—though they had dressed with care, everything clean and neatly pressed—Raphe could see their attire was not what it ought to be. The cuffs of Sylvester’s shirt looked worn, and poor Oliver’s coat was rather too small for him. Guilt punched him hard in the gut.

  “It’s been ages,” Oliver grumbled. “We thought you were dead.”

  Though Raphe could tell the boy was joking, he heard the reproach in the words with a bell-like clarity. They had feared for him, and with good reason. He had never been in touch with them. All his brothers could possibly have learned of his existence would have been gleaned from the scandal sheets that he so often starred in, for all the worst reasons. Raphe let out a breath, discomfited by the strange ache in his chest. Oliver looked so different from the last time Raphe had seen him. He could only gape at the brother he’d always thought of as a child. He must have sprouted at least four inches since their last meeting, and was clearly no longer a little boy. When had Raphe seen him last? Six months—no—a year or more! Christ, sixteen, Raphe realised as he did a quick calculation. Oliver was sixteen! How the hell had so much time passed?

  “You’ve grown,” Raphe observed, a peculiar sensation tightening his throat.

  Sylvester snorted. “He won’t bloody stop, the weed. At this rate, he’ll be taller than us both, and Mother already can’t find clothes to fit him before he’s outgrown the damn things.”

  A familiar, prickling sense of resentment crawled down Raphe’s spine, but he remembered his manners and his promise to Rothborn. “How is Blanche?”

  “A pain in my neck,” Oliver muttered, gaining himself a clip round the ear from Sylvester.

  “Mind your tongue, cub,” Sylvester reprimanded him, though his tone was mild. “And I can’t say he’s wrong, to be fair.”

  Raphe gave them a sympathetic smile, knowing all too well how trying their darling mama could be. “I’m sorry to hear it, but tell me, why are you here in Derbyshire?”

  “Well, Mother has her sisters staying with her for Christmas—”

  “And we simply cannot stand it,” Oliver piped up, earning himself another dark look from Sylvester, who tried again.

  “So, we’ve—”

  “Come to stay with you instead!” Oliver finished with a bright grin.

  Raphe’s mouth fell open. “B-But you can’t,” he said, wishing that they could, that there was something he could do to give them a better Christmas than they’d have with their blasted mother. Memories of Christmases past, when his father was alive, sprang to mind unbidden, and he forced them back into the locked box where he kept such things. “I wish things were different truly, but I am only a guest here and—”

  “Oh, that’s no trouble,” Oliver said, with all the insouciant carelessness of a sixteen-year-old boy. “We already asked Lady Roxborough, and she said we were welcome to stay as long as we wanted. So, we’re staying for Christmas!”

  Greer glanced at her friend Aisling, who sat quietly and apparently content beside her, hands in her lap as she stared out of the carriage window. She was Greer’s opposite in every way. Her hair was black, where Greer’s was blonde, her eyes were a very dark brown where Greer’s were a pale green, and Aisling brought calm where Greer brought pandemonium. Despite this, they were the best of friends, and it had delighted Greer when Aisling had accepted her invitation to come for Christmas. Admittedly, she had begged a little—more than a little—but facing Christmas at her married sister’s beautiful home, with Elspeth’s handsome husband and her perfect life, seemed a little daunting. As much as Greer had longed to visit, she knew there was an inherent risk in being here. She did not want to misbehave and cause a row, but she and Elspeth had always bickered and fought. So she hoped that Aisling’s lovely, calming presence would be a beneficial influence. Now, though, Greer fidgeted on the carriage seat, craning her neck to see if she could glimpse Rowsley Hall from the window. Her younger sister, Alana, who sat on her other side, aimed a swift elbow at her.

  “You’re squashing me!” Alana squawked, her dark green eyes glittering with irritation.

  “Well, you ought not to take up so much space,” Greer retorted, gesturing to the books, sketchpads and pencils that cluttered the scant inch of room remaining on the seat.

  She had borne with it for most of the journey, for it was far better fourteen-year-old Alana did not suffer an uncontrollable urge to do anything rash. Not that she was a naughty child, she was simply a magnet for trouble. Well, she was a Campbell like their mother, like Greer and her twin sister Elspeth. The respectable Cadogan blood on their father’s side tried to keep them all in order, but mostly it failed. As Papa was the wildest of the Cadogans, it was probably fighting a losing battle. Elspeth was the only one who kept propriety in mind and behaved properly, and even she attracted trouble, though unwillingly. Greer looked for it, and Alana—well, bad things happened when she grew bored. Greer was far too excited to reach the Hall. She wanted no unforeseen disasters to delay them.

  “Don’t squabble, girls,” their father said, blue eyes glittering at them from over the top of a racing journal. “Not long now.”

  “How long?” Alana and Greer cried in unison, waking their mother, who had been dozing peacefully against their father’s shoulder.

  “What! What? What did you do?” she demanded, sleepy and disorientated.

  “There, there, Bonnie, love,” Papa soothed, setting aside his journal to put his arm about his wife. “No one did anything.”

  “Really? No explosions?” she asked, blinking at him in surprise.

  “Not one.”

  “No furious innkeepers?”

  “Not even a mildly disgruntled one.”

  Their mother turned her keen gaze upon them both, narrowing her eyes. “They’re saving it up. I bet they are. They’ll do something dreadful and embarrass the family,” she said thoughtfully. Then, instead of giving them a warning to behave, as most mothers would, she grinned. “Oh, I am so looking forward to this.”

  Greer heard a soft chuckle from Aisling whilst Papa snorted and kissed their mother’s head of unruly dark curls.

  “Dreadful creature,” he murmured affectionately.

  Greer sighed. That was what she wanted. She wanted a man to still look at her with adoration after so many years of marriage, even if she was a handful. More of a handful than most men seemed to want, at any rate. Though Greer and Elspeth were twins, they were very different. Elspeth had always been well-behaved, which was why it had been such a shock when she had become embroiled in a scandal. Everyone had always assumed it would be Greer, not practical Elspeth. Things had worked out marvellously, though. She had married Dare, Lord Roxborough, one of the wildest young men in the ton. The family had immediately recognised a kindred spirit, and he had fit right in with their chaos without blinking an eye.

  Greer was pleased for her sister. She really was. Terrifically pleased. It was so lovely that Elspeth was so blissfully, marvellously, revoltingly happy. Though if she were being completely one hundred percent honest, it was possible she was the teeny, tiniest bit jealous. Just a smidgen. A—oh, drat it all, she was green with envy. Dare was handsome and funny, and he clearly loved Elspeth to her bones. Greer was terribly afraid no one would ever love her that way. After all, men like her father and Lord Roxborough simply did not come along every day. Most men wanted a placid, biddable bride, a woman who would agree with their every word, have acceptable hobbies, be an elegant hostess, and do nothing to embarrass them in public. Greer knew she could do none of that. She didn’t want to do any of that. Well, she would never deliberately embarrass her husband in public, but she knew herself well enough to realise it would happen eventually.

  “Oh! There it is,” Alana exclaimed,
bouncing on the seat with a flurry of skirts and sending pencils and books tumbling to the floor.

  “Thank heavens!” Greer muttered under her breath and watched with growing anticipation as they drew closer to Rowsley Hall.

  Chapter 2

  Monsieur le Comte,

  For heaven's sake, don’t be difficult. You cannot spend Christmas alone. Surely you want to see your brother, and if that is not incentive enough, I will be there too.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (Daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

  1st December 1840, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.

  Raphe and his brothers looked out the window as the sound of wheels on gravel reached them from the front of the house.

  “Who is it, Raphe?”

  Raphe peered down, rubbing the windowpane clear as his breath fogged the cold glass. “Must be Elspeth’s family. She said her parents were coming and her sisters.”

  “She has a twin, doesn’t she?” Oliver piped up as the three of them crowded about the window.

  “That’s not her, then,” Sylvester observed. “Her hair’s black. She’s—” He broke off and Raphe smiled as he saw a rather glazed expression cross his brother’s face.

  “Lovely,” Raphe finished for him, his amusement growing as Sylvester shot a rueful glance at him. “And out of bounds, unless you’ve marriage on your mind.”

  Sylvester snorted. “Oh, yes. I can consider marriage, can’t I? The women will queue up for us, desperate to join us on our merry way down the River Tick.”

  Raphe frowned, disliking his brother’s cynical tone, and that their prospects were so grim. Perhaps if he’d not given up all hope, he might have done something, but what? If he’d worked for a living—supposing he could find something he was good at—he’d put them beyond the pale. How strange that all his whoring and gambling and drinking would eventually be forgiven and forgotten if he behaved himself from now on, yet working for a living would see the family shunned by polite society. What a nonsensical load of bollocks. Still, he was going to prove to Lord Rothborn that he was a changed man. He was a changed man. No more wickedness, no more debauchery, no more—

  Holy mother of God.

  “Who’s that?” Oliver asked in awe.

  Raphe tried to speak, but for one awful moment no sound escaped. His brain had jolted to a standstill. He thought perhaps his heart had stopped beating too. How very peculiar. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Must be Greer. The sister—twin sister. They’re twins,” he mumbled, realising too late he’d said the same thing twice. Sylvester gave him a significant look and Raphe scowled, straightened, and turned away from the window. He didn’t need to see, anyway. Her image had imprinted itself on his mind like he’d engraved it on silver.

  She was clearly Elspeth’s sister, and yet they were nothing alike. Superficially yes, blonde and with an echo of familiarity in their features, but Greer was far more voluptuous than Elspeth and there was something… something….

  Whatever the something was, he forced himself not to think about it. Rothborn had told him in no uncertain terms to keep away from Greer Cadogan. He was to sort his life out. Certainly, he was in no position to have any involvement with a respectable young woman. Mind you, if the rumours about the family were true, she might not be as respectable as she ought to be. The inner demon that he had locked in a cage, right next to the heavily chained box of things he wasn’t thinking about, perked up and gave the bars an experimental rattle.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Raphe muttered to himself.

  “What?” There was curiosity in Oliver’s big hazel eyes.

  Raphe cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, who’s that?”

  Returning to the window, Raphe looked out to see what Oliver was sounding so pleased about. “The other sister,” he said, little interested in the girl who could be only fourteen. Despite his best intentions, his gaze returned to Greer, but she was walking inside now, out of sight.

  “What’s her name?” Oliver demanded.

  “Greer, I told you already,” Raphe said absently.

  Oliver huffed at him. “No, the other one. The girl!”

  Oh. Raphe forced himself to attend his brother. “Er… Alice? Anna? No, Alana, that was it.”

  “Alana,” Oliver repeated to himself, giving the girl a speculative glance. “I wonder if she’s any fun, or if she’s the kind to weep and tell you you’re beastly.”

  “She looks fun,” Sylvester said, his tone far too nonchalant. “Her sister looks a great deal of fun,” he added, with a more suggestive tone that made Raphe want to hit him.

  “No.”

  Sylvester returned an innocent expression Raphe was not buying for one second.

  “No?”

  “No! We are guests and, for once in my wretched life, I’m going to behave like a gentleman, and you two are going to help, not make my life difficult.”

  “Oh, Raphe!” Oliver complained, folding his arms so tightly in annoyance that Raphe thought he heard a seam tear. “We came here to have fun. If we’d wanted to behave all the time, we could have stayed with Mother.”

  “Then go back to her, and with my blessing,” Raphe said, heading for the door. “Because if you stay here, you’ll be on best behaviour, or you’ll have me to answer to. I’m going to get cleaned up for dinner. If you’re staying, I suggest you do the same.” And with that, he left them to bemoan him in his absence.

  By the time Raphe had washed and made his way down the stairs, the guests were all congregating in the family parlour. It was a cosy room despite its grandeur, and everyone had gravitated to the immense stone fireplace where a half a good-sized tree burned merrily and cast a golden light about the room.

  “Ah, here he is,” Dare said, grinning broadly as he spotted Raphe enter the room. Sylvester and Oliver were already chatting with the new arrivals, Raphe noted with a grimace. “Raphe, old man, come and let me introduce these lovely creatures. This is Lady Aisling Baxter, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Trevick, and my sisters-in-law, Miss Cadogan and Miss Alana Cadogan. Ladies, this dashing fellow is my dear friend, Lord de Ligne.”

  Raphe was rivetingly aware of Greer Cadogan watching him with alert interest, almost as if she’d been waiting for him to appear. His heart gave an odd kick in his chest as he took her in. Her eyes were a far paler green than her sister’s and full of mischief. She looked to be exactly the kind of woman he would very much enjoy a naughty romp with. Out of bounds! yelled an anxious voice in his head, whilst the devil in him rattled its chains, excited to recognise one of its own. Hell, this was going to be a challenge. He’d best start as he meant to go on.

  Raphe executed a very formal bow, murmured a few cool words that impressed upon them his polite indifference, and walked away. He was unsurprised when Sylvester pounced on him moments later.

  “What crawled up your arse and died?” he demanded.

  Raphe sighed and returned a quelling look, which had no effect whatsoever. “You’ve always had such a pretty turn of phrase, Sy.”

  “Well?” Sylvester prompted, apparently not diverted by this sally.

  “For God’s sake,” Raphe said in an undertone. “Rothborn warned me off Miss Cadogan on pain of death. He’s the only friend this family has, and I swore I would not let him down again.”

  Sylvester’s expression warmed a degree in sympathy. “Oh, well. I understand that, but there was no need to be so damned rude. The ladies think you’re a proper stick-in-the-mud now, which is not at all your reputation.”

  “The less they know about my reputation, the better,” Raphe muttered.

  “Unlikely, that. You’re the print shop’s darling. Especially since Bainbridge has started behaving himself. Come on, surely you can be polite and endure a conversation?”

  Raphe dared another glance at Miss Cadogan and stiffened as he found the bold chit studying him in return. He looked away at once, cursing under hi
s breath. To his further irritation, Sylvester noticed the exchange and chuckled.

  “Ah,” he said, his tone far too knowing. “I see it is not that simple.”

  Raphe glared at him. “Just do us all a favour and keep her away from me.”

  Sylvester mimed tugging at his forelock. “Yes, my lord,” he replied gravely, and returned to the far more convivial conversation buzzing about the young ladies.

  Raphe endured dinner. He simmered with irritation, wishing Miss Cadogan to the devil with increasing enthusiasm. If only she were not here, or at least were not so very intriguing, then everything would be lovely. He was more touched than he wanted to acknowledge to discover his brothers wished to spend Christmas with him, especially after he’d neglected them for so long. Dare was convivial company and his in laws were the kind of people with whom Raphe most enjoyed conversing. Amusing and irreverent, they did not give a fig for propriety and wished only to live life to the full. Mrs Bonnie Cadogan had a wicked sense of humour that he much appreciated and, if only her eldest unmarried daughter were elsewhere, it would have been a perfect evening. She was not elsewhere, however; she was here, seated to his left on the opposite side of the table. He could feel her gaze upon him and realised now that he had mis-stepped. By treating her with such indifference, he had only piqued her interest. Dammit. Perhaps he should try again.

  On feeling the weight of her stare, Raphe looked up, met her eyes and returned a frosty glare. Instead of blushing and looking away like any normal girl, she merely continued her perusal of him, as if he was an interesting specimen of some variety she’d not seen before. Unsettled, Raphe returned his attention to his plate.

  Wretched girl.

  Forcing himself to concentrate on the marvellous meal before him, he ate in silence for a while as an increasingly lively conversation shuttled up and down the table. There was a great deal of laughter, but Raphe found himself unable to catch the thread of whatever was being discussed. Instead, he dared another glance at Miss Cadogan—just as she looked up at him.