Dare to Risk it All
The Daring Daughters Book 7
By Emma V. Leech
Published by Emma V. Leech.
Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2021
Editing Services Magpie Literary Services
Cover Art: Victoria Cooper
ASIN No: B09CNVDHTH
ISBN No:978-2-492133-34-3
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.
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)
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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
Prologue
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
Epilogue
The Mistletoe Dare
To Dare a Duke
The Rogue
A Dog in a Doublet
The Key to Erebus
The Dark Prince
Want more Emma?
Family Trees
Prologue
Fifteen years earlier…
22nd December 1825, Eton College, Windsor, Berkshire.
Raphe heard the footsteps hurrying towards him but didn’t look up. He huddled beneath the immense oak tree, head resting on his knees. Though the leaves had long since gone, the branches offered a little shelter from the snow that had been falling for the past half hour. It was bitterly cold. Raphe didn’t care. His fingers and toes hurt, and the frigid ground had frozen his arse numb, but none of that seemed to matter either.
“Raphe! There you are you great pillock. We’ve been looking everywhere.”
This show of affection came from Raphe’s best friend in the world, Daire Kelburn. Everyone called him Dare, though his father had died the year earlier, making him the Viscount Roxborough. Something they had in common now, Raphe thought dully.
“Raphe, what’s wrong, old man?”
This rather gentler enquiry came from August Lane Fox. He was a jolly decent fellow too, and a good friend, if less wild and troublesome than Dare and Raphe and—
“His pa’s gone and kicked the bucket.”
—Bainbridge.
Raphe heard August and Dare gasp in shock at Bainbridge’s announcement.
“Dead, Raphe?” Dare asked, crouching down in front of him.
Eyes burning, Raphe raised his head, meeting his friend’s gaze. The words seemed to stick in his throat, so he just nodded.
“So sorry, Raphe,” August said, leaning down to give his shoulder an awkward pat. “A dreadful blow.”
“Worse than that,” Bainbridge said, and for once it relieved Raphe to be on the receiving end of the older boy’s blunt manner. It saved him from having to explain just how bad this was. “Stupid bastard shot himself in the head and didn’t bother to make it look like an accident. It’s one hell of a scandal.”
Raphe could feel the other boys staring at him in horror and his cheeks scalded with emotion. August was right. It was a dreadful blow. He’d known his father was not a sensible man, not the kind to be relied upon. He’d known most of their fortune had been lost at the card table too, but he was just a boy and he’d loved his father all the same, for he’d been kind and funny, and he was all Raphe had. His mother had died when he was a baby and his father had remarried quickly. His stepmother, Blanche, had not wanted a ready-made family, though, and resented him. She’d always made Raphe feel like the cuckoo in the nest. That he was his father’s heir was something that grieved her bitterly and she never it hid from him. Strangely, even though she had done her best to drive a wedge between them, his stepbrothers had never felt the same and they were very close. Indeed, Sylvester, two years his junior, idolised Raphe, and even baby Oliver lit up whenever he came into the room.
“What will you do?” Dare asked.
Raphe shrugged and wiped his nose on his sleeve, striving for an attitude of careless indifference that he was far from feeling. No use blubbing about it. That sort of thing would see you with your head stuck down the privy for being a cry-baby.
“Stay here for Christmas, I suppose. The cow doesn’t want me, does she?” he added scornfully, when he really wanted to curl up and sob. Though she’d done her best to make him feel like an interloper, he’d always loved Christmas with Pa and Sylvester and Oliver. That was all gone. He was on his own now.
“Well, that’s all right. You can spend it with us,” Dare said, beaming at him. “I’ve got no parents to go home to either, Bainbridge would rather stay here than get in the middle of his ancient ones’ battleground, and August wants to escape all the blasted women in his family. So, we can have our own Christmas here. It will b
e fun.”
“I’ve got tons of food. Brandy, too,” Bainbridge said, grinning at him. “And I’ve made a conquest of a pretty little barmaid who works at The King’s Head. Reckon she’d let us in if we sit in a dark corner and keep our heads down.”
“There, see? It’s not so bad.”
Dare was trying to sound cheerful, and perhaps for him it hadn’t been so bad, for Raphe knew Dare’s parents had forgotten he existed most of the time. But Dare’s father hadn’t been a coward. He hadn’t got himself into such dreadful debt that there was no way out, and then shot himself in the head. Raphe’s stepmother had been the one who found him, and, despite everything, Raphe could only pity her for that. He wondered how Sylvester and Oliver were and wished he could see them. Unlikely now. She would try harder than ever to keep them apart, and Pa wasn’t there to take Raphe’s side.
“Come along, before your bollocks fall off from the cold,” Bainbridge said, offering him a hand up.
Dare stuck out a hand too, and between them they hauled him upright.
“It will all work out. Everything will be fine,” Dare said in an undertone. “You’ll see.”
Raphe nodded, though he didn’t believe it for a minute. Nothing would ever be fine again.
Chapter 1
Louis,
I will not take no for an answer, I’m afraid. You are family now. Your brother and Eliza will be with us for Christmas, so I insist you come and stay, too. You must bring Agatha as well, naturally, as she is most entertaining and ought not miss out on the festivities.
We shall be a merry party and not the least bit dull, I promise.
I expect to see you without fail.
―Excerpt of a letter from Prudence Adolphus, Her Grace the Duchess of Bedwin, to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.
1st December 1840, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.
Raphe peered up at the roof over his head, or rather at the large hole in the roof over his head.
“Needs a bit of work,” Dare mused, tugging at his ear as he looked around at the remnants of what had been a tenant worker’s cottage.
At present, it more closely resembled a pile of stone, with a little thatch clinging boldly to the top.
“A bit?” Raphe repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Well, you ever were the optimist among us.”
Dare laughed and gave a shrug. “Well, no use weeping and wailing about it, is there? Besides, I’ve got someone who wants the bloody place, which is a miracle. Least I can do is get it back in order.”
Raphe nodded, experiencing a stab of guilt as he wondered what condition his own estate buildings were in, never mind the house itself. He had barely enough money to keep himself and his brothers clothed and fed. There was none left over for anything else, and he couldn’t even sell the damn thing, as it and the land were entailed. He’d been forced to abandon his home, sickened by sight of the place falling into disrepair when he could not afford to upkeep it.
“The walls appear to be solid enough,” Raphe said begrudgingly, tugging at a thick ivy branch that had crawled inside the building via the dilapidated roof. “And the timbers look sound, though how is beyond me.”
“Yes, and the windows just need new glass. The bottom of the door has rotted out, but that’s nothing major. So, we just need to strip the old thatch, clear it out, and do some repairs. Not half as bad as I thought it might be.”
Raphe snorted in amusement.
“Oh, come on. I’m sure you’re itching to get started. We did a great job at the cottage over at Upper Ox Pasture. You enjoyed it.”
The look Raphe returned was incredulous. “Did I sound like I was enjoying myself?”
“No,” Dare admitted. “You bitched and complained the entire time, but I could tell you were enjoying yourself all the same. Better than sitting about drunk off your head and bored to death, isn’t it?”
Yes. He could not say it to Dare, but Raphe had to admit—to himself, at least—that it was a good deal better than that. He’d lost his way some months ago, lost himself in a pit of despair so deep he’d not had the strength to climb out again. Thank God his friends had come for him. He owed them a great deal. Dare, August, and even Bainbridge had all stood by him. They’d hauled him down to Dare’s estate and got little thanks for doing it, Dare especially. The poor bastard, newly married and blissfully happy with his new wife, had taken Raphe in.
Raphe had been belligerent and angry and bloody ungrateful, and Dare had heeded none of it. He’d cared for Raphe as if he were his own brother, likely better than Raphe had ever cared for any of his.
Raphe sighed and began taking off his coat.
“What are you doing?” Dare asked, watching him in surprise.
“Well, if you’re serious about sorting this bloody heap of stones out, we’d best get on with it, though why you must do it with your own hands when you’ve got about two hundred workmen on the estate is beyond me.”
Dare grinned at him and followed suit, stripping off his own coat and waistcoat. Thankfully, they’d both worn old clothes to visit the dilapidated property. The crisp December day was chilly, but the sun glowed through the hole in the roof, turning the interior of the little cottage to gold and warming Raphe’s back through his shirt.
“I don’t know. Like to feel useful. It’s all Elspeth’s money getting the place back in order and… well, it makes me feel less of a parasite, I suppose. Besides which, I’ve found I enjoy it. Strange, isn’t it, to enjoy hard work?”
Raphe snorted. “Madness is what it is, and you’ve infected me with the same peculiar disease.”
Dare laughed, a familiar sound from the jovial fellow and Raphe’s conscience pricked. He was lucky to have such a friend. He owed Dare so much, more than he could ever repay.
“Dare,” he said, and then stopped when Dare turned to him. Heat crept up the back of his neck and the moment stretched out with increasing awkwardness, but he had to say something. Anything. “Thank you,” he managed, frowning down at the flagstones beneath his feet so he could avoid Dare’s penetrating gaze.
His friend stared at him, perplexed. “For bringing you down here to work in this dirty old hovel?”
Raphe rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, aware that Dare knew damn well what he was trying to say and was just being obtuse for the fun of it.
“No,” he said with exaggerated patience. “For — Oh, hell, for not abandoning me to myself. For putting up with me at my most disgusting. You’re a true friend, Dare, and I promise I’ll not make such a spectacle of myself again.”
Dare laughed and waved this off. “You’d better not. Rothborn will have your guts for garters, I reckon. Scary devil, isn’t he? He always makes me want to check my boots are shiny and adjust my cravat.”
Raphe returned a wry smile. “I know just how you feel. He said he’ll wash his hands of me next time and he’s been very good to me over the years. I won’t repay him by making an even bigger mess. I’ll not let him down again, or you.”
He grimaced, ridiculously uncomfortable with the conversation, but Dare only strode over and clapped him on the back.
“We’ve all got our demons, Raphe. Gifts from our estimable parents. You’ve got to fight them, is all. Took me a while to realise what I needed, but then Elspeth was there and… everything became clear.”
With a huff of laughter, Raphe strode out of the cottage with Dare at his heels.
“Well, you may have needed the love of a good woman to turn your life around. All I need is a bit of peace and—” He turned and stared up at the tumble-down cottage. “—a challenge.”
Later that day, filthy and exhausted, Raphe and Dare made their way back to the vast, sprawling estate that was Rowsley Hall for a well-earned wash and some dinner. Raphe’s stomach was already protesting vociferously. It relieved his mind to note that his desire to lose himself in the nearest bottle of brandy was no longer the God-awful temptation it had been. The last three months of sobriety and hard work had changed him inw
ardly as well as out. He was calmer and less likely to fly off in a temper; he had gained weight, and muscle, and he no longer looked like a three-day-old cadaver. An improvement, that.
As they approached the hall, Elspeth appeared, waving at them. Dare grinned and yelled a greeting, making his wife smile. Raphe squashed a surge of irritation. He did not like Elspeth around. Seeing her and Dare together made him uncomfortable and unaccountably annoyed, though he could not understand why. She was a pleasant young woman, and she had been very kind to him. She’d been a great deal more patient and understanding than he deserved. Most women would have been screaming at their spouses to have him out of the house months ago, but she had never reproached him.
As they got closer, Raphe realised she was looking at him.
“You have guests,” she said, her green eyes alight with amusement.
“Guests?” he repeated, wondering who the hell was visiting him. Only his friends knew he was here. Bainbridge lived just up the road and August was away dealing with the aggravating females in his family. Lord and Lady Rothborn, perhaps?
“Come along,” Elspeth said, leading him into the building.
“I can’t greet guests like this,” he said, gesturing to his dust-covered person.
“I don’t think these will mind,” she said as they reached the comfortable parlour where she had left whoever wanted to see him.
Raphe frowned as she opened the door and then gaped in astonishment as he caught sight of his stepbrothers.
“Sylvester!” Raphe exclaimed, hurrying into the room. “Oliver! What the devil are you doing here? Is anything wrong?”
“Yes, of course, the only reason we’d wish to see you was if something was wrong,” Sylvester said wryly.
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