Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5) Page 6

  He hesitated, clearly not wishing to tell her.

  “What?” she asked, almost breathless.

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tumbling the thick locks into disorder. “I found one on my pillow when I woke up this morning.”

  “Oh, Henry!” Florence rushed forward, too shocked and afraid to think of what she was saying or doing as she moved closer to him, grabbing the lapels of his coat. “You’re in danger. Can’t you see that? Someone was in your bedroom whilst you slept. They killed your sheep already. The hanged corn doll was a warning, a threat…. Oh, please, you must take care.”

  “It was only a sheep,” he said in consternation, making light of it, the wretched man.

  “For now!” she exclaimed, horrified that someone might really mean him harm.

  “Do you worry for me, Miss Knight?” he asked, his voice soft, such warmth in his eyes as he reached out to touch her cheek.

  Florence closed her eyes, shivering under his fingertips. It was barely a touch, feather-light, and yet she felt it to her toes, and felt an answering spark of flame ignite at the question his touch posed… the one he would never speak aloud.

  “Of course I worry about you. Someone means you harm.”

  He dropped his hand but did not step back. Standing close enough to kiss her, he did not move but just stared down at her. Florence was too aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his harsh breath suddenly the only thing she could hear above the thudding of her heart in her ears. The scent of him enveloped her, fresh linen and horses, leather, and the subtle musk of his body, drawing her in, muddling her senses. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her, so badly it was a pain beneath her skin, a longing so profound it hurt to be this close without physical contact.

  “Henry,” she said, too aware that there was pleading in the sound of his name on her lips, that her voice begged kiss me, please kiss me, without her ever uttering the words.

  Something flickered in his eyes, there and gone before she could read it. He took a step back, any emotion wiped from his face.

  “You ought not be alone with me, Miss Knight. Come, I shall return you to the others.”

  She stared at him in shock, at the indifference in the tone of his voice, the nonchalant way he dismissed her.

  “I don’t want to return to the others,” she said, aggrieved that he could ignore the force of whatever it was between them, as if it were nothing. “And I’m only alone with you because it’s what you wanted. You brought me here.”

  “A mistake,” he said crisply. “One that won’t happen again. Come along.”

  Florence glowered at him. “I’m not a child,” she snapped. “I can find my own way outside and, unlike some, I am not a coward.”

  With that parting shot, she turned and stalked away.

  As exit lines went, she was rather pleased with herself, though less so when she discovered she’d gone the wrong way and had to retrace her steps. Muttering crossly about the male of species, she was in a fine temper by the time she made it outside, to find everyone was waiting for her. Her spirits were further lit by the look of amusement in Henry’s eyes as he turned away from her.

  Oh, the fiend. He would pay for that look, and the fact he made her act like a complete lunatic.

  The party made their way the short distance to the pub on the corner, the Henry VIII. It was a handsome property. In traditional Kentish style, the bottom half of the building was made of warm red brick, the upper half tile hung, and the middle punctuated by a half-timbered gable. Impressive chimneys soared into the sky and the leaded light windows shone brightly, promising a clean and well-run establishment.

  The proprietor was a Mr Moon, who was clearly delighted to have such exalted company as the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu, the Earl and Countess St Clair, Lady Helena Knight, and even a glamorous French comte in his pub. Mr Moon greeted them eagerly and showed them to a large, private parlour where they were waited on promptly and their orders taken.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Vivien asked once everyone was settled. “You look positively murderous.”

  Florence tried to rearrange her face, but her mouth felt too stiff to smile, so she doubted it had done much good. She glanced at Ash, who just shrugged.

  Vivien looked between them, her dark eyebrows drawing together. She gave her twin a hard stare. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “N-Nothing,” Ash stammered, doing his best to appear innocent and looking as guilty as hell.

  Florence sighed.

  “Oh, you may as well tell her, Ash,” she said, resting her head on her hand and glowering at the far side of the room.

  Henry was laughing with the earl, the two men chuckling over something amusing. Probably her idiocy, she thought gloomily. Was he telling the earl all about the silly chit who was in love with him?

  Vivien followed her gaze and let out a squeak of triumph. “You are in love with Mr Stanhope.”

  “Good Lord,” Ash exclaimed. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” Vivien asked, swivelling back to look at Ash.

  He had folded his arms, his expression fierce. “I never even got the chance to tell you!”

  Vivien shrugged. “There’s hardly any need when she’s gazing at the man like a lovesick puppy.”

  “I do not look like a lovesick puppy,” Florence objected, sitting up straight again.

  “You do a bit,” Ash murmured, a touch apologetically.

  “I do not!”

  “Well, a kitten, then,” Vivien allowed, patting her hand. “It’s rather nauseating, whichever you choose, love.”

  “Oh!” Florence wailed and put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Vivien considered her with interest. “What do you want to do?”

  Florence snorted, muttering under her breath. “I don’t want to do anything. I want Henry Stanhope to admit he’s madly in love with me and carry me off into the sunset, but he’s far too maddening to do anything of the sort. I think he thinks he’s too old for me.”

  “Well, he is a friend of your father’s, Flo, and your papa is known for being, er… somewhat protective of his girls,” Ash observed, tracing the scarred top of the well-polished table with a finger.

  Florence glowered at him. “Not helping.”

  Vivien considered her with a frown of concentration, which was a little unnerving as she was always so intense. Being the centre of her attention was a bit like standing in the heart of a storm, just waiting for the chaos to begin around you.

  “What was your dare?” she asked, her tone thoughtful.

  Florence regarded Viv warily, her senses prickling. “Tell a lie for love.”

  Vivien grinned.

  “Oh, God,” muttered Ash.

  “I don’t like it,” Florence admitted. “The idea of telling a lie to someone I care for is… it’s just not right.”

  Ash nodded sympathetically. “It does sound rather unpleasant.”

  Vivien gave an impatient tsk and shook her head. “You’re both missing the point. You must remember the spirit of the dares, what our mothers did it for. They were written in the spirit of hope and expectation. It’s not that you must tell a lie to cause hurt or to cover a secret. It’s more a lie that you know will be found out, a little deception to get what you want.”

  “Like what?” Florence asked, not quite understanding.

  Vivien pursed her lips and studied her nails with an expression that was far too innocent to sit easily on her stunning features. “Oh, like… making out your horse has bolted, or… falling off and pretending you’ve sprained your ankle and can’t ride, so you can be alone with a certain fellow who’s been playing hard to get.”

  Ash groaned and put his head in his hands. “Viv!”

  “What?” she demanded, wide-eyed. “It’s quite brilliant if you ask me, but I suppose it’s up to you, Flo. What do you think?”

  Florence grinned at her.

  Chapter
5

  Dear diary,

  It is always such fun to be at Holbrook House, especially this summer, for Aggie is here too. She really is the dearest creature and my very best friend. I feel sad that she lives in an orphanage, not that she seems to mind, for she says it is a palace compared to her life before. She says the teachers are all lovely and kind and she likes being with all the other girls. Of course she also has the Comte de Villen as her guardian, who is very glamorous and spoils her a good deal.

  I asked Papa if I might give her one of my new gowns, as I know she won’t have anything so fine, and I have lots to choose from. He kissed me and said I was just like Mama, which I think means I may do as I please, for he loves Mama above all things.

  Lord Fred bought Aggie more books too, so I think she is having a splendid time.

  I saw Grace Weston crying this morning. She was all by herself in the orchard and looked so desperately unhappy I did not like to intrude. I wonder if I ought to tell someone. I don’t want to be a tattletale.

  ―Excerpt of an entry to the diary of Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington, (youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

  Still the 15th of August 1839, en route from Hever Castle to Holbrook House, Sussex.

  “Are you going to tell me about her, then?”

  Henry slowed his horse as Jasper Cadogan, the Earl of St Clair, rode up beside him.

  “About whom?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He had the uncomfortable suspicion he would not enjoy this conversation.

  “Don’t be thick, Henry. I’ve known you since you were in short trousers.”

  Henry returned a quelling expression, which only made Jasper snort.

  “Miss Knight, you dolt, and stop pretending ignorance.”

  Henry glanced about them to see if they could be overheard.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” he replied, aware he sounded terse. “The silly chit has a tendre for me, that’s all.”

  “Really?” Jasper replied, raising his eyebrows. “I always found Miss Knight to be a well-educated, sensible young woman, not the least bit silly. Not surprising, really, with Lady Helena for a mother. She’s very keen on the education of women. A fan of Mary Wollstonecraft, I believe. Don’t get her started on A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, for you’ll be in for a long evening. Not that I disagree, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” Henry replied dryly.

  Jasper laughed. “Well, really, Henry! I am married to your sister, and we’d both need to be exceptionally witless not to realise she’s got more brains than the two of us put together.”

  Henry muttered an oath of exasperation and raised his eyes skyward. “Is there a point to this conversation?”

  “Naturally there’s a point.”

  “Well, do you think we might get to it via a more direct route?”

  “You know, I have noticed that men who deny they are in love when all evidence is to the contrary are remarkably bad-tempered.”

  Henry glowered at the man who had been his best friend since boyhood. “That would be a no, then.”

  Jasper grinned at him, quite unrepentant.

  “I am not in love with her.”

  “Well, you’re something,” Jasper observed with a smirk.

  Henry felt his temper flare.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice harsh. “She’s beautiful, and I want her. Every time I see her, I want to drag her into a quiet corner and….”

  He broke off, disgusted with himself. “I’m sure Gabe wouldn’t mind,” he added viciously, in case Jasper was in any doubt of his predicament.

  “If all you wanted was to indulge your lust, I don’t doubt he’d hunt you down like a dog,” Jasper remarked, studying Henry with interest. “But that’s not all you want, and that’s why you’re in such a lather. Admit it, man, you’re running scared.”

  “Oh, I’ll admit I’m running scared. I’m terrified I’ll give into temptation, which is all too possible when the girl so obviously wants me to kiss her. What scares me the most is that the moment my lips touch hers I may as well post the blasted banns and have done with it.”

  Jasper gave a little huff of laughter and returned a look which was one part sympathy, two parts pity. “Henry, you’re a jolly good fellow and a great friend, despite abandoning us all for a decade, but you’re also being deliberately obtuse.”

  “Am I, indeed?” Henry replied through gritted teeth. “And what is it I’m being so dull-witted about, pray tell?”

  Jasper shook his head, looking like he too was holding onto his patience now. “Very well, and I say this as your oldest friend, and someone who wants to see you happy. The fact is, you want to get caught, to have the decision taken away from you so you need not admit it’s really what you want and need above all things. For God’s sake, man, just court the girl, will you? Gabriel won’t kill you if your intentions are honourable. Knowing the trouble she’s just endured with her last suitor, he might even be pleased.”

  “What suitor? What trouble?” Henry demanded at once.

  Jasper only laughed at him, his amusement too obvious.

  “Why don’t you ask her?” he said, still laughing under his breath as he rode away.

  Henry scowled at his friend’s back.

  “Idiot,” he muttered. It was fine for Jasper, he’d been in love with Harriet since he was a boy. He’d always known his lot in life would be to settle down and take on the earldom with a suitable wife. Whilst Harriet had not given him an easy time of it—to say the least—Jasper had known what he wanted, and what was expected of him, from the start.

  Henry had thought he’d known once, too. His father had been a brilliant academic who travelled the world, studying ancient civilisations. As a boy he’d assumed he’d follow suit. His father had certainly wanted that. Except it had soon become clear that Henry was not suited to academia. Sitting still, writing lengthy essays had driven him to distraction when he wanted to be out of doors, exploring and discovering the world. Whilst his love of travelling was certainly a trait required for such a future, learning history in the depth required was simply beyond him. His father had made no secret of the fact Henry’s less than pristine school record caused him great disappointment. Not that he took any pride in Harriet either, who was far cleverer than he’d ever been… simply because she was a girl. Indeed, the late Mr Stanhope had been forthcoming about the fact his children were useless and hopeless until the day Harriet had married Jasper, the Earl of St Clair. He’d looked on her with pride for that, much to Harry’s contempt. Henry did not think she’d ever forgiven her father, and he did not blame her in the least.

  Henry had thought that he might have done the right thing when he’d begun courting Miss Lily Johnson, the daughter of a viscount. His father had been thrilled by the connection with another powerful family and had, for once, looked upon Henry with something approaching pride. Then his father had died, and they’d had to delay the wedding whilst Henry was in mourning. Henry had wanted the wedding to go ahead, but Lily said she did not want a dull, gloomy affair and had insisted they delay. At least his father had never seen what had happened next, when Lily had jilted him, and not gently either. Henry had often wondered what would have happened if his father had lived and he’d married Lily. He suspected it would have been the greatest mistake of his life, but perhaps that was because he’d become old and cynical in the years that had followed.

  When she’d eloped with the Earl of Nettlebury, just days before their wedding, the scandal had been far greater than Henry could have imagined. He’d been humiliated and he wasn’t certain his pride had ever recovered. It was why he’d stayed away for so long. Longer than he’d wanted to, if he were honest, for he’d been homesick. Coming back to face everyone again had been hard. But here he was, hardly back in the country for a couple of weeks and he had some young woman making doe eyes at him and the man he’d always considered his best friend encouraging him to court her.

  Well, there was no way on G
od’s green earth he was walking down that same path once more. He’d die a lonely old man before he let himself get hurt like that again. He’d guard his heart this time, so there was no way some wretched woman could pluck it from his chest and throw it down in the dirt before grinding it beneath her heel. Never again. No matter how temptation beckoned, or how lovely the woman was. This time, he’d listen to his head, not that idiotically flawed and tattered organ that passed as his heart.

  “Are you quite sure about this?” Ash asked Florence quietly. “We can stop it if you’re not.”

  They had already dropped far behind the others, dawdling and pretending to chatter and admire the scenery. The rest of their party had now moved out of sight, having passed a thick copse of trees.

  “I think so,” Florence said, when in fact she wasn’t the least bit sure. Her dare needed completing, though, and this was the only idea that might give her a chance to be alone with Henry. She was certain he was attracted to her now, after that scene in the castle, not to mention this morning. If only she could induce him to kiss her, she felt certain things would go her way. This was her best chance to make that happen.

  “Right then, this looks perfect. Florence, you’d best dismount and arrange yourself as though you’ve taken a tumble,” Vivien said, gesturing imperiously for her to get on with it.

  “Do you need help?” Ash asked.

  “No, I can do it.” Florence kicked her stirrup free and slithered to the ground, not altogether elegantly.

  “Right, well, lay down over there, like you’ve fallen from your horse.”

  Florence looked at the patch of grass Vivien indicated and did her best to organise her skirts and limbs in an appropriate pose. “Like this?”

  “Hmmm, I think you should put your hand up behind you—yes, like that—and the other over your heart… oh, jolly good. Now close your eyes. Yes! That’s perfect. You look lovely, like a tragic heroine. Ophelia, perhaps.”

  “Didn’t she drown?” Ash asked sceptically.

  “Don’t split hairs,” Viv retorted, waving this away. “Ophelia, once she’d been hauled out of the river and dried off, if you insist.”