Dare to Risk it All (Daring Daughters Book 7) Page 3

  Hell!

  That was it. He must ignore her from now on.

  Raphe accepted another serving of roast beef and forced himself to concentrate on it. He would not look up again.

  He looked up. She was looking at him.

  Oh, this was getting ridiculous. Just stop looking at her, you half-wit!

  Yet, as the interminable evening carried on, she drew his gaze back to her repeatedly, as if she contained some magnetic force towards which he was drawn against his will. Over and over again, their gazes collided, giving him a sensation like an electrical shock to the heart each time.

  Right, that was the last time, he swore as they brought in the dessert course. Raphe’s gaze landed on a rich treacle tart, which was his favourite. He hoped this, at least, could keep his attention for five minutes. It might have, too, if not for the decadent moan of pleasure that reached him from the wicked girl’s place at the table. The sound of her unalloyed enjoyment shivered over his skin with such devastating effect she might as well have put her hands on him.

  Despite having promised himself otherwise, Raphe looked up, just as Greer did the same. Damnation, it was as if some bloody puppet master was pulling their strings. He did not know what it was she saw in his gaze this time, but finally the dreadful girl blushed and looked away.

  Raphe let out an uneven breath and returned his attention to his food, but not before he caught the speculative interest in her mother’s expression.

  Greer made her way back to the parlour with the rest of the guests in something of a daze. She had been beyond intrigued to meet the wicked Lord de Ligne. Until recent months, barely a day had gone by without his name appearing in connection with some scandal or disturbance. The stories had become so wild she had worried for him, even though she did not know him at all. His exploits had lost the amusing, kicking-up-a-lark feeling of which she had very much approved. Instead, she’d sensed desperation as his behaviour spiralled out of control, and she’d wondered what drove him to such excess. His reputation had become so dreadful she had been half-expecting horns and a tail. The truth was less extraordinary, but just as compelling.

  She had believed she had prepared herself to meet him and had looked forward to anything from lascivious looks and inappropriate comments to amused disdain from such a notorious rake. She had not expected animosity. Not being what most people would consider a properly behaved young lady, Greer found this behaviour both challenging and intriguing. Why did he stare at her so, as though she had offended and vexed him beyond reason? She had not yet spoken a word to him beyond their murmured introduction, so why on earth should he have taken her in dislike? Perhaps she was not exactly good ton, but he was hardly in a position to throw stones. Besides, his usual company comprised like-minded degenerates and light skirts, so he was not picky as a rule. This had been on her mind throughout the meal, and her curiosity only increased as she discovered his inability to keep his gaze from her. Not that she fared any better. Each time she had promised herself she would not look up at him again, but before she knew it, the two of them were glaring at each other like a couple of combative cats. And then… then… that last look from him had given her the distinct impression he was mentally stripping her naked and perusing what was available to him. Realising far too late—as ever—that she was behaving badly, Greer had felt the blush sting her cheeks as she’d looked away.

  Thoroughly unnerved, it was all she could do to settle herself down in the parlour and try to make conversation. She could feel him prowling around the edges of the room, a dangerous presence lingering in the shadows that made her edgy and nervous.

  “Will you come, then, Greer?”

  Greer jolted, realising she had completely missed the thread of the conversation.

  “Er—” she said stupidly as her sister rolled her eyes.

  “You’ve not listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

  “Yes,” Greer retorted, bristling out of habit, before admitting. “No, actually, I was woolgathering. Sorry. Where do you want me to come?”

  “Tomorrow morning we’re going out to collect greenery to decorate for Christmas.”

  “Oh, of course I’ll come.” Greer brightened at once. She loved Christmas and all the traditions that went with it.

  “Oh, and Aisling can make a kissing bough,” Elspeth said, grinning at the girl. “She’s ever so clever with her hands.”

  Aisling gave a shy smile of pleasure. “Of course. If you would like me to.”

  “We should like it above all things,” Mr Sylvester Coote replied, a tone to his voice which implied kissing Aisling would be what he’d like above all things. Well, he was about to be disappointed, Greer thought, for Aisling had a tendre for Ashton Anson, which had endured since they were children.

  “I should be glad to help with the decorations,” Aisling said, ignoring Sylvester and addressing her comment to Elspeth.

  “Are you coming tomorrow, Master Oliver?” Alana asked, her eagerness for the boy’s company obvious.

  Oliver’s eyes widened at being sought out. “Oh, I’m not sure. That is… I should think… I mean… Yes.”

  “Jolly good.” Alana beamed at him, and Oliver’s ears turned red.

  “Well, that’s all settled, then,” Elspeth said with satisfaction. “May the festivities begin.”

  Chapter 3

  Monsieur le Comte,

  Please, please, please, may we go?

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Agatha Smith to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

  2nd December 1840, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.

  “I’ve had the most beautiful gown made for Arabella’s ball next week,” Elspeth said the following morning, as they walked through the gardens at Rowsley and on towards the woodland.

  “Oh, so have I. What colour is yours?” Greer asked with interest, linking arms with her twin.

  “A yellow gold. It shimmers in the light. I’m so pleased with it.”

  “My gown is a sort of blue Almost violet, but not quite,” Greer mused, wondering how to describe the colour that had caught her eye and wondering at the quirk of fate that had made it the same shade as Lord de Ligne’s eyes.

  She had never seen a colour like it before and it was hard to be certain, but his eyes were an unusual shade of blue that had looked almost but not quite violet in the glimmering candlelight of the dining room. It was the reason she had stared at him so hard. Liar. Well, one of the reasons. She watched him now, walking ahead of them with his brothers and Dare. He was tall and athletic with long, strong limbs and broad shoulders, and the desire to run after him and demand to know why he was ignoring her gnawed at her patience.

  “No.”

  Greer looked around to find Elspeth studying her with a frown.

  “No, what?”

  “You know exactly what,” Elspeth said with a touch of impatience. “He’s turned over a new leaf, I grant you, and he’s worked very hard these past few months, but he’s still a man and one with a dreadful reputation for womanising. You are not to encourage his interest, Greer. I warned Mama it was a risk bringing you here. You know I only agreed because you promised to behave. You must not pursue him.”

  Greer scowled at her sister, irritated. “Don’t tell me what to do just because you’re married now. You’re still only five minutes older than me. I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Well, it’s not like Mama will stop you,” Elspeth retorted. “Someone has to make you see sense, and getting involved with a man like that is a recipe for disaster.”

  Greer withdrew her arm from her sister’s. “And, if it is, it’s my disaster to make, not yours.”

  Elspeth rolled her eyes, which only annoyed Greer further. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m trying to look out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. He’s not the kind who marries and settles down.”

  “How do you know? People would have said the same thing about Dare, and he trapped you into marriage!”

  “No,
he didn’t! Well, not on purpose, and that’s entirely different.”

  “How?”

  “It just is.”

  “Is not.”

  “Is so.”

  “Oh! Leave me alone,” Greer said, exasperated, and stalked off ahead.

  She was thoroughly vexed now, and her twin’s words had the usual effect of making her do the complete opposite of whatever Elspeth wanted her to do.

  “My lord,” she called out, hurrying towards the men.

  Lord de Ligne turned, and she was unsurprised to see irritation flash in his eyes. Surely, they were violet, not merely blue?

  “Miss Cadogan,” he said, his tone as cool as the crisp December air.

  “I wish to speak with you.”

  “Why?” he demanded with obvious suspicion.

  Greer quirked an eyebrow. “Because I have something to say?”

  His expression was not encouraging. “Well, I suppose I cannot stop you,” he said, though he looked very much as if he wanted to.

  “No, you can’t,” Greer agreed amicably. “And really, we’d best get it over with.”

  He frowned. “Get what over with?”

  Greer gestured between them. “This. Whatever it is.”

  She saw him stiffen, the frosty atmosphere plummeting several more degrees. “I do not know—”

  “Oh, yes you do,” Greer said, too annoyed to put up with any dissembling. “You’ve been looking at me like I crawled out of cheese since the moment we met. Yet, you’re not a snob and you’ve been getting on wonderfully well with Mama, so it’s only me you treat with such disregard. Yet you couldn’t keep your eyes off me last night, so… why are you behaving in such an odd manner?”

  The baron stared at her, clearly shocked. Greer didn’t blame him. That had been bold and outrageously improper, even for her. She had let her temper get the better of her again and was about to reap the consequence, but it was too late now. She watched as he wrestled with some inner conflict, and awaited the set-down she richly deserved. From his expression, it was obvious there was a large part of him that wanted to tear her off a strip and leave her with her ears burning. The other part, though….

  He muttered a curse and stamped his feet on the frozen ground.

  “Come on,” he said irritably. “We’re getting left behind.”

  Surprised he’d not taken the opportunity to rake her over the coals, Greer hurried after him. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “It’s not the sort of question a proper young lady ought to ask,” he said, giving her a sideways glance. His tone was terse, but she did not think he was annoyed, only trying to be.

  “I’m not very good at being a proper young lady,” Greer admitted. “But I suspect you know that.”

  Another measuring glance flitted over her, and Greer hurried to keep up with his long strides. He noticed and slowed his pace, proving he had some gentlemanly instincts after all.

  “Any young lady with a grain of sense ought to realise to stay as far from me as she can get,” he returned, and there was a grim set to his jaw.

  “Is that why you were rude to me? Were you trying to frighten me off?” Greer asked, brightening as she realised it made a good deal of sense. Especially if he’d turned over a new leaf.

  He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “Look, Miss Cadogan. You are lovely and I am sure you’re charming company, but I am not. I am the farthest thing from an appropriate companion that you’re likely to find and, if I were a better man, I’d leave Rowsley and let you and your family enjoy Christmas in peace. However, I am not, and I’ve nowhere else to go, so let us just agree to give each other a wide berth and perhaps we’ll survive the next few weeks.”

  “You think I’m lovely?” Greer repeated, grinning at him and disregarding the rest of what he’d said entirely.

  Lord de Ligne stared at her and let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “Hell,” he muttered, and stalked off.

  Greer watched him go, feeling far happier than when she’d awoken that morning until she realised what he’d said. He had nowhere else to go. That thought had sympathy swelling inside of her, and she resolved to ensure that this Christmas was one the baron would not soon forget.

  Raphe hefted another armful of fir branches and carried them over to the waiting dog cart.

  “Is that enough?” he asked Dare, who was eyeing the growing pile with a speculative gaze.

  “Almost. I think most of the ladies are heading back to the house now, before they freeze, but Elspeth wants some holly, with berries on,” he added.

  Raphe nodded, glad to have something to do. He needed to return to the cottage and carry on removing the old thatch, but this would do for now. Anything to keep himself occupied and away from the beguiling Miss Cadogan. “I can get that, if you want to go with them.”

  “Good man. I’ll get that last lot tied on the cart and meet you back at the house. I’ll leave you that hand barrow, shall I?”

  Raphe nodded and strode back into the woods. His feet were like ice and his fingers were numb with cold, but it seemed safer to stay outside and freeze his bollocks off. Actually, it seemed like punishment. What the devil had he been thinking earlier? He had once again handled the situation all wrong, and he the notorious ladies’ man! What was wrong with him? Except that she had called him out on his behaviour without so much as batting an eyelid, and that had been as surprising at it had been refreshing. Women did not speak plainly, at least not the ones he dallied with. It was all double meanings and implications, flirtation and games. To have a woman ask him to his face what he was playing at had shocked him more than he wished to admit. It had intrigued him, too. Miss Cadogan was a brave woman—one who played by her own rules, it would seem—and now the wretched creature had made him more curious about her than ever.

  Forcing the captivating young woman from his mind with difficulty, Raphe moved quickly, striding through the woods until he found what he was looking for. At last, he tracked down a large holly bush, studded with ruby berries and bristling with sharp green leaves, and carefully began cutting off branches.

  “Oh, you found some.” Miss Cadogan’s voice cut through the peace of the woodland and Raphe jolted in surprise as a holly leaf stabbed him viciously through his leather glove, deep into the tender part of his thumb.

  “Christ!” he muttered, tugging the glove off and sucking hard at the end of his thumb to ease the pain.

  “Here, let me see.”

  “It’s your fault I stabbed myself in the first place,” he retorted, aggrieved that his nemesis was here at all. “I thought you’d gone back to the house with the other women.”

  “No,” she said, giving him a puzzled glance. “I said I’d stay and find the mistletoe.”

  “Of course you did,” Raphe said, wondering if the universe was having a laugh at his expense. He supposed he deserved as much.

  “Stop being such a baby and let me see,” she insisted, tugging at his sleeve.

  “It’s nothing,” he muttered, but allowed her to look at his thumb where a small drop of blood welled on the surface.

  “Such a fuss for a little prick,” she said, shaking her head.

  Raphe bit his lip, reminded himself sternly that he was a reformed character, and swallowed down the obvious remark bubbling inside him.

  “Here.” Tenderly, Miss Cadogan took out her handkerchief and wrapped his thumb in it. With deft fingers, she tied the ends to hold it in place. “All better,” she said, and though there was amusement in her eyes, her tone was soft and worked upon him in an oddly intimate manner, like being stroked with a fur glove.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly, unsettled by the pleasure he’d taken in her attention, and by the craving for more. Nobody ever took care of him. His stepmother couldn’t have cared less, so he’d learned to care for himself. His friends had cared, most recently, by ensuring he didn’t drink himself to death, but their care was of the friendly bullying and manly insults variety.
They were hardly tender and sympathetic.

  “I’m freezing,” she said, and he noticed her cheeks were bright pink, as was her delightful little nose. If she stayed out here much longer, she’d catch a chill.

  “Did you find the mistletoe?”

  She nodded and gestured to the basket at her feet, which he’d not noticed before. Raphe eyed the collection of green and white berries and his devilish nature perked up at once, urging him to make use of it. His gaze lifted to her mouth, pink and soft and inviting.

  “Right, well….” Raphe cleared his throat. “We’d… er….”

  Do it, do it, urged the devil.

  “What?” Miss Cadogan asked, gazing up at him.

  Her eyes were such a lovely shade of green, like the first glint of springtime, and those thick lashes, a darker shade of gold than her hair. Her skin was like cream, smooth and soft, and he wanted to press his mouth to the sweet place beneath her ear and breathe in the scent of her. She was staring up at him. Waiting. She wouldn’t resist him if he….

  Kiss her, you dolt!

  No. No. Don’t you dare. Rothborn will castrate you and use your balls to decorate his mantelpiece.

  You’re alone. No one will know….

  Wait.

  They were alone.

  “What in blazes are you doing out here by yourself?” he demanded, retreating into anger rather than force himself to choose between right and wrong.

  She blinked at him, clearly believing that he’d been going to kiss her and startled by the turnabout.

  “I-I….” She rallied after a moment, putting up her chin. “I’m not alone, you’re here.”

  “That’s worse!” he exclaimed, trying to tug his gloves back on and realising the handkerchief wouldn’t let him. Annoyed, he tugged it off and put it in his pocket, then pulled on his gloves and picked up the prickly bundle of holly. He held it against him like a talisman against unwanted advances. Good God, this was ridiculous. He was not afraid of a sweet little innocent. What was she going to do, wrestle him to the ground and have her wicked way with him? Oh, Christ. Shouldn’t have thought that. Now the image burned behind his eyes. He held the holly tighter, feeling it prickle against his coat and waistcoat.