Dare to Risk it All (Daring Daughters Book 7)

by Emma V. Leech

  Raphe didn’t flinch. The words made him as wild as they always did, but he’d learned to school his face into an impassive mask a long time ago. He’d fought too many times on his father’s account to allow anyone to know the words still hurt him. Before he could reply, however, Greer flew past him and landed Plummy such a facer that he fell on his arse. His friends roared with laughter.

  Greer yelped and cradled her hand against her chest but remained undaunted, glaring down at the man she’d just felled with a punch.

  “The baron is ten times the man you’ll ever be, you vile creature,” she said in disgust.

  Raphe leapt forward, pulling her away as Plummy scrambled to his feet, wild-eyed. His nose was bleeding, but Raphe understood it had been the shock of the attack that had taken him unawares and he was far from badly damaged, only drunk, furious and humiliated by a girl. A volatile combination.

  “Give her to me,” Plummy growled, murder in his eyes.

  Raphe shook his head, knowing he’d die before he let any of these men lay a finger on Greer.

  “Raphe,” she muttered, clinging to his arm.

  “It’s all right, love,” he whispered, hoping he sounded reassuring, for he knew he was in for a thorough beating. “Let me handle this. As soon as you can, run.”

  “But—”

  “Promise me,” he said urgently.

  He dared take his gaze from Plummy for a moment to look at her. Her eyes were wide behind the spectacles, full of fear. He never wanted to see her look afraid like that again. She nodded. Raphe let out a sigh of relief and turned back, and not a second too soon as Plummy charged at him like an enraged bull.

  The impact stole Raphe’s breath and the two of them crashed into one of the laden tables. Being made of sturdy English oak, it threatened to break Raphe’s back before it splintered, and they went sailing over the top and off the other side as food and cutlery crashed to the floor with them.

  He heard Greer scream and struggled to get to her, but Plummy was a big, sturdy brute and took all his attention. Panicked by what was happening to Greer, Raphe experienced a surge of such rage he could not remember what happened next. All he knew was that the next moment Plummy was out cold, laying in a crumpled heap on the floor and he vaulted over the table to deal with the other two. He blinked, a little astonished to see one man doubled over and clutching his privates, his face contorted into a silent scream of agony. The other was staring at Raphe and Greer with the pugnacious determination of an angry drunk.

  “Go!” Raphe pushed Greer towards the door.

  “But—” she began, staring at the man circling him.

  “Please,” Raphe begged. “You can’t be here. Go!”

  That she did not want to leave him was obvious and made his heart swell with tenderness, but he was too terrified for her to let her stay. The next time, he bellowed at her.

  “Go, for the love of God!”

  She ran.

  With a sigh of relief, Raphe turned his attention back to the brute wanting his blood.

  By the time Greer found Lord Bainbridge, she was breathless and scared out of her wits. The big devil circling Raphe did not appear to be the brightest spark and had been the slowest to anger, but seeing his two friends lying on the floor had stirred him well enough. He’d appeared to want to remove Raphe’s head from his shoulders and his meaty hands and huge shoulders had looked well suited to the task. Greer knew Raphe was no stranger to brawling, but this would cause the most awful scandal if they couldn’t hush it up, for it was not on a street outside a tavern but in a respectable home, and a ball attended by the cream of the aristocracy. Lord Plumpton’s mother would have a fit if she discovered her darling boy knocked out cold, and they’d never hear the end of it.

  Oh, this was all her fault. Raphe would be in trouble again and Rothborn would be angry with him, and if she’d not been so stupid as to complete her dare tonight in a fit of pique, it would never have happened.

  “Bainbridge!” She almost ran into him, her shoes slipping on the polished marble floor as she halted her mad scramble through the ballroom.

  The marquess turned, looking askance at being addressed so informally by a maid. His expression grew troubled as he stared at her, but Greer did not wait for him to recognise who he was speaking to, just grabbed hold of his arm.

  “Raphe is in trouble,” she said, tugging at him, which was akin to tugging on the side of a large brick building.

  He was going nowhere he didn’t want to go. Her words, however, seemed to penetrate, and his gaze fixed on her with more intelligence than she had perhaps credited him before now.

  “Where?” he asked succinctly.

  “The refreshments room. Oh, please hurry.”

  He strode off, with Greer now hurrying to keep up with him.

  “Dare, with me,” he barked as he passed, and Dare did not hesitate. He simply turned and followed Bainbridge without question.

  They got to the refreshments room just in time to see Raphe’s opponent crash through the door, slide over the marble floor, and smash into a small console table. A porcelain figurine set atop the table fell on his head and then to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The noise inevitably drew attention. Raphe staggered out, his nose bleeding and the sleeve of his coat torn away from the shoulder seam. A roar of sound from behind him was the only warning he got before Plumpton appeared behind him and leapt upon his back, punching him in the side of the head.

  “Bollocks,” Bainbridge said, and lunged for the fellow.

  Between him and Dare they strong-armed a flailing Plumpton against the wall.

  “What are you doing to my boy?” screamed an alarmed female voice as a big-boned woman with protruding eyes and a prominent chin sailed through the gathering crowd, elbowing people out of the way left and right. “Plummy, darling, you’re bleeding!” she wailed, hurrying towards her son.

  “Mama, this brute attacked me,” Lord Plumpton said, pointing at Raphe, who by now looked thoroughly disreputable.

  “De Ligne?” she said, staring at Raphe in outrage. “How dare you! Bainbridge, I demand to know why you allowed this… this revolting reprobate in among civilised people.”

  “He’s my friend,” Bainbridge replied, giving Plumpton a look of deep distaste. “I have no idea what’s he’s doing here, however. Didn’t invite him. Wouldn’t. Snivelling little rat.”

  “He came with me,” his mother said, looking outraged.

  “Well, I don’t like him,” Bainbridge said, folding his arms. “And I never invited him. What’s he mean by coming here and causing trouble?”

  “I-I never did,” Lord Plumpton stammered.

  “Yes, he did!” Greer piped up.

  Before she could say more, Raphe shushed her and tugged her behind him.

  “Let me go!” she insisted, struggling against his grip.

  “If anyone recognises you—” he hissed, but Greer was beyond listening to him.

  Raphe was being blamed for something which was entirely her fault, or at least hers and Lord Plumpton’s, but certainly not his. He’d been doing the honourable thing and protecting her. She would not allow him to suffer for that.

  “Lord Plumpton pinched me and tried to… to take liberties,” she shouted to Bainbridge, over the general hubbub.

  “Is that so?” Bainbridge said, his scowl growing ferocious.

  “The chit’s lying,” Lord Plumpton said, his colour deepening. “I never laid a finger on the little tart.”

  “I’m not lying!” Greer said, her cheeks blazing.

  Her heart thudded unpleasantly as more and more people gathered, all of them riveted by the shocking scene. Now everyone was staring at her, and she knew full well she was risking her reputation. It would only take one person outside of her family and friends to recognise her and spread the tale, and it would ruin her beyond saving. Someone had to explain what Raphe had been doing, though, that he was the honourable man here, not the troublemaker.

  “
The bitch is lying. No doubt she’s his doxy,” Plumpton said, puffing himself up with righteous indignation. “Everyone knows De Ligne is a vile libertine and a drunk. He attacked me with no provocation whatsoever!”

  Gasps of shock and a low muttering of disapproval moved through the ever-increasing crowd and Greer’s panic grew by the moment. They would blame Raphe for this. It wasn’t fair!

  “You’re a horrid liar, and I bet any of the other maids here would have endured the same experience!” she retorted with fury.

  There were calls of shame and disapprobation from the crowd, but to Greer’s shock many of them were against her, not against the loathsome man who’d treated her so badly.

  “Enough,” Raphe said, his voice gentle as he took her arm and guided her out of the spotlight.

  She stared up at him, her eyes burning with tears, but he only gave her a regretful smile and shook his head. Her throat closed up as she struggled to hold back a sob, her chest aching at the injustice of the situation. It wasn’t over yet, though.

  “Shame indeed, but it’s none of that young woman’s.” Bainbridge took a step forward, his voice low and menacing. “I don’t like men who take advantage of women, and neither do my friends. Do we, Raphe?”

  “No, Laurie,” Raphe said, once he was certain Greer was out of sight. “We do not.”

  “Dare?” Bainbridge asked, his tone conversational.

  “Lowest of the low,” Dare agreed, eyeing Lord Plumpton with disfavour.

  His lordship’s colour segued from a florid dark red to chalk white before their eyes and he moved to stand behind his mother.

  “Bainbridge, you’ll not hear the last of this,” she said, her eyes flashing hellfire. “I had believed you to have turned over a new leaf, but this is not to be borne. You’re as wild as ever, and that… that sorry excuse for a man—”

  Raphe stiffened but said nothing and Greer surged forward again, only to find her route blocked by all three men. Bainbridge and Dare must have cottoned on to who she was. A familiar voice spoke in his defence, though, and Greer relaxed, flooded with relief as she realised Lord Plumpton’s mama had just met her match.

  “Good evening, Anne,” Greer’s mother said politely. “I hear your son has been bothering the maids again. Dear me, I hoped he might have outgrown such vile behaviour. I remember him being a dreadful nuisance to my poor Susan. She was so upset. Really, my dear, you ought not to let him attend such events if he cannot behave like a gentleman. Perhaps he should seek treatment, because I’m certain Lord de Ligne isn’t the only right-thinking gentleman who would be willing to step in a deal a little of their own kind of medicine, and rightly so.”

  “I’m happy to give him a taste,” Bainbridge remarked with an evil-looking grin.

  Plumpton took a step back.

  Bonnie patted the marquess’ arm affectionately before carrying on. “It isn’t just the maids he bothers, though, is it dear? Do you remember that little incident I told you about? I should hate for it to become public knowledge.”

  The crowd almost shivered with delight at this tantalising bit of information dangling before them and Plumpton’s mother paled, her complexion closely resembling a cold milk pudding, her lips thinning into a tight line.

  “Should we discuss that little scene now, dear, or would your son like to offer the baron and the young lady an apology?”

  “Mother!” Lord Plumpton said in outrage when his mother did not immediately refuse the offer.

  “Silence, Cuthbert,” she said sharply.

  Her bosom rose and fell in dramatic fashion, and she stared at Greer’s mama as if she wanted to scratch out her eyes. With a swell of pride, Greer saw her mother waiting for the woman’s decision, serene and unruffled.

  “Cuthbert, apologise,” the woman said, her voice tight with disapproval.

  “But Mama!”

  His mother glared in fury at her son, and then her nemesis. “You’ve not heard the last of this, Bonnie.”

  “Do you worst, Anne,” Bonnie replied with a sweet smile. “Now, Cuthbert, please apologise for your disgusting behaviour.”

  “Yes, do, Cuthbert, or your mama might need to spank you,” Bainbridge drawled, looking as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  “My apologies, Lord de Ligne, Miss,” Plumpton said, his face flushed.

  He executed a stiff bow and hurried away as the crowd buzzed like a swarm of gossipy wasps.

  Bainbridge summoned a footman with a casual gesture. “Get this rubbish removed, please, Jones,” he said, gesturing to the man Raphe had thrown across the hallway.

  “At once, my lord.”

  “A discreet exit, methinks,” Bainbridge muttered to Raphe, sotto voce, giving Greer a meaningful glance.

  “We need a distraction,” Raphe said, eyeing the crowd with misgiving. There were still people gathered about, hoping for an encore.

  “Oh, I think we can deal with this, can’t we, Bainbridge?” Greer’s mama said cheerfully. “Shall we dance?”

  Bainbridge grinned at her and executed a marvellously theatrical bow. “A pleasure, dear lady.”

  “Laurie, what on earth—” Arabella demanded, having finally pushed her way through the crowd.

  “Bella,” Greer whispered, grabbing at her arm. “Help me.”

  “Oh, good heavens!” Arabella blanched and turned her back on Greer, shielding her as the others were doing. “Bainbridge?” she said, panic in her voice.

  “I’m going to dance with her mama, and make a bit of a spectacle of myself, love,” he murmured.

  Arabella sighed and looked up at him adoringly. “Oh, thank you, Laurie.”

  Bainbridge glowed, but before he could reply, the soft sweep of wings fluttered overhead, effectively stealing his thunder.

  “Cock!” screeched Macintosh. “Oooh, what a big one.”

  Among the crowd, several ladies fainted.

  Chapter 12

  Monsieur Le Comte,

  I am in a horrible mood, so I am writing to you to vent my spleen, for only you know how cross and dreadful I can be. It is such a wearisome business to appear in a good humour all the time, especially when one is thoroughly vexed. If I were a man, I could swear and stamp about. How liberating that must be. Would you do a little swearing and stamping on my behalf, please? I shall enjoy it by proxy.

  And what causes my temper fit, I hear you ask. Well, I went for a dress fitting today—and yes; I know that alone is usually enough to give me a fit of the dismals but truly, today was worse than usual. Madame Blanchet is such a wonder at dressing my sister and Mama, but they are relatively tall, and slender and I am not. I am short and dumpy, and Madame resents dressing me; I am certain. She is always cross and impatient because I am so difficult to design for and do not show her designs at their best. She has made the most breath-taking gowns for Flo and Mama and the one I have for the Christmas ball makes me look like a great pink meringue, and I hate it. Even Mama wasn’t best pleased and said as much, which naturally made Madame more furious than ever. Not that she was anything but polite to Mama, to whom she promised she would try to think of something different for me, but I doubt she’ll make anything better, for she dislikes me so.

  I know what you will say, but I cannot tell Mama how awful she is and how much I hate going there. She will be furious and leave the shop and there will be a scene and I cannot bear it. Also, Madame does great work with Eliza’s school, and I won’t have everyone all unsettled and cross just for me. I shall just have to put up with it. It’s not like anyone will look at me, anyway.

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

  Still the night of the 13th of December 1840, Royle House, Derbyshire.

  Raphe hurried Greer out of the ballroom and up the stairs with Arabella accompanying them for propriety. He escorted the women to the corridor that led to Greer’s room.

  “I’d best leave you here. I appear to b
e wearing most of the refreshments,” he added, trying to smile, though he felt more like banging his head against the nearest wall. Repeatedly.

  “Oh, Raphe, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault,” Greer said, wringing her hands, her face the picture of misery.

  “Don’t say that.” The words were angrier than he’d intended, his jaw taut with the effort of not saying more. “It’s not your fault that bloody satyr can’t keep his hands to himself.”

  “No,” Greer agreed, frowning. “He is a despicable man and I loathe him, but still, if I’d not been there—”

  “What were you doing there dressed as a maid?” he demanded, too curious not to ask.

  “It was a dare,” she said with a sigh, as if that explained everything.

  “Perhaps you had best speak in the morning,” Arabella said gently, eyeing Greer with concern, for she seemed to droop with fatigue.

  Well, it was late, and it had been an eventful evening by anyone’s standards.

  “Yes, that would be best,” Raphe agreed with every appearance of enthusiasm, though he did not want to leave Greer alone. “I shall bid you goodnight, ladies.”

  Greer looked as if she wanted to argue, but he gave a polite bow and walked away before she could. For as much as he wanted to know what mad scheme she’d been intent upon, it was best he didn’t find out. He was already besotted with her, far too enamoured of her particular brand of joyful exuberance, and it would only make leaving harder to do… but he must leave.

  Rothborn would hear of tonight’s events, and even if the truth of what had happened reached his ears, it was still a dreadful scandal. It would only confirm that Raphe was up to his old tricks again. If he was to have any chance with Greer, he must prove to Rothborn that he had changed. The thought of leaving whilst she was still here, of not spending Christmas with her, tore at his heart, hurting far more than he had expected. The pain of it shocked him deeply. What the devil had she done to him? Surely it was just an infatuation? Yes, a fascination with a glorious girl who had brought such happiness into his life without him even seeking it. Except it was more than that, or it could be more, if fate gave him the chance. For she had slipped beneath his skin when he was not looking. Greer Cadogan was like no woman he had ever met before, a beguiling mix of innocence and devilry, a bright, mischievous bundle of energy and fun who had swept him up into her world, leaving everything dull and colourless in her absence. He did not want to leave her, not for a moment, for he feared he would slip into melancholy without her, but there was no choice now.