Dare to be Wicked (Daring Daughters Book 1)

by Emma V Leech

  “I always have,” she said, the admission somewhat breathless as she met his gaze, something at once vulnerable and defiant glittering in her eyes. “You just never saw me, Cassius.”

  His heart ached at the truth of that, at the regret he heard in her voice.

  “I see you,” he said. “I see you clearly now, Lottie.”

  “Do you?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  She licked her lips and the desire to close the distance between them and kiss her was so tantalising his skin prickled with the need to do it. Eliza deserved better than that, though, and so did Lottie.

  “You’d best give me my clothes back,” he said, willing her to do it this time. The way she was looking at him was giving his less civilised self some dreadful ideas, which he was far too tempted to give into.

  “Spoilsport,” she said, but she was smiling at him, such a look in her eyes Cassius felt certain she would not deny him a kiss if he chose to steal one.

  Behave, he instructed himself, struggling to hold still and not reach for her as she came closer. Lottie bent down, placing his clothes on the ground before him.

  “There you are, then. I’ll wait for you in the summerhouse,” she said, before turning and hurrying away.

  “So you have three suitors?” Vivien said once breakfast was over.

  She had followed Eliza, who had escaped with a book, intending to sit on the terrace in the sun until her sister was located. They were supposed to be riding out to Bodiam village for a picnic, but Lottie had disappeared.

  “Three?” Eliza set her book down to regard Vivien, who sat beside her. She looked exquisite in a simple white muslin gown embroidered all over with rosebuds. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Vivien tsked at her and shook her head, glossy black ringlets bouncing around her face. “Now, now, don’t be coy, Eliza. Everyone can see the Comte de Villen is paying you special attention, not to mention everyone telling me you are practically engaged to Cassius.”

  Eliza frowned down at her book. The comte had been very attentive, that much was true. Cassius, however, had barely spoken to her. Before he’d left France, he’d written often, telling her how much he was looking forward to seeing her again, how much he had to tell her, and he was now playing least in sight. It was strange and out of character and… and she did not know what to make of it. Had she done something, said something, to make him wish to avoid her? Could she have offended him? Perhaps just as she had offended Mr Demarteau, for she could not understand why the man glared at her so and avoided her. She must have said or done something to make him cut her so obviously.

  “Eliza, are you listening to me?”

  “What? Oh, I do beg your pardon, Viv. No, I was wool gathering, and please don’t tell me that Ashton is my third suitor for I shall laugh in your face. I do not know what he was playing at last night, but it was very clearly a game of some description.”

  A game that had made Cassius very angry. Indeed, he’d given every appearance of being jealous that Ashton was showing her such attention, but if that was so, why—? Oh, good Lord, she was going around in circles.

  “Of course not. My brother’s motives are his own and generally as clear as mud, though I shall discover them, naturally. He cannot keep a secret from me. I did not count him your suitor, though.”

  Eliza looked up, frowning at her friend. “Then I don’t have the slightest notion who you are speaking of.”

  She stared blankly into Viv’s blue eyes, and gaped as one elegantly arched black eyebrow lifted.

  Eliza gaped at her. “You cannot possibly be suggesting that Mr Demarteau is interested in pursuing me?”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Good heavens, the man cannot bear to be in the same room as me. Since we were introduced, he has hardly spoken to me once above a grunt in reply to a direct question and, on the one occasion I tried to engage him in conversation, he practically cut me dead.”

  “Exactly!” Vivien said, clapping her hands together in delight.

  “Your brain does not work the same way mine does, my darling Viv,” Eliza said, shaking her head.

  “Her brain is a twisty thing designed to outwit us lesser mortals, Eliza. It is best you accept that now.”

  Eliza looked up to see Ashton had come to join them.

  “I believe you may be right,” she said, laughing.

  “Of course I am. I am always right. It is a curse I must bear. I do it manfully, as you can see,” he added, smirking at her.

  “Indeed you do,” Eliza replied, deadpan. “We are all deeply impressed.”

  “Speak for yourself,” his sister retorted.

  Ashton flashed a dazzling grin and sat down beside them. “Are we all ready, then? I thought we were riding out somewhere?”

  “Yes, but Lottie has disappeared, and no one can find her,” Eliza said with a huff. “Perhaps I should look for her too. I thought she must have gone for a walk and would be back by now. I suppose she might have gone down to the summerhouse to find Cassius. He wasn’t at breakfast either, and—”

  “No need,” Ash said, pushing to his feet at once. “I’ll go.”

  “Oh,” Eliza said, a little startled by the force of his declaration. “Well, that’s very kind of you, Ash, but—”

  “No trouble at all,” Ash said briskly, giving her no further chance to protest as he strode off towards the gardens.

  Cassius dressed hurriedly and made his way back to the summerhouse. Lottie was there as she’d promised, waiting for him. She was inspecting the canvases stacked up against the walls of the building. He waited, his heart thudding nervously, wondering what she would make of his work. Though she must have been aware of his presence, she did not hurry, lingering on a painting of women working in a field.

  “These are marvellous, Cass. You truly are an artist.”

  He let out a breath, only in the moment realising how important her opinion had been.

  “There is something exciting happening in France, in art,” he said, suddenly bursting with the desire to tell her, to explain. “It is a rejection of all the old men of the art world and the lies they tell by idealising and perfecting that which was never ideal nor perfect. It is a desire to paint the truth, Lottie, to paint life as it is, even if it is not always pretty, not always as we might wish to believe it.”

  Lottie looked again at the painting of the women and he saw what she saw: dirty hands and soiled clothes, backbreaking work under an unforgiving sun that baked the earth dry, the women sweaty and worn out. He felt anxiety lance through him, a fear that she might not see the beauty in such a rural scene. It was far from glamorous, after all. Eliza understood his desire to see the world as it was. It was one of the reasons he had believed they were so well suited, for she had never shied away from the realities in life like some of her station. Eliza wanted to make the world a better place for those who had nothing, and Cassius wanted those who had everything to confront the truth.

  “It is honest,” Lottie said at last. “An honest representation of what you saw. It is not an imagined depiction of an historical event, in no way contrived. You are making no comment on what it means, nor guiding the viewer to think as you do. It simply is.”

  His breath caught, an exclamation of delighted surprise in his throat that she had understood, accepted so easily what men were arguing about in heated exchanges all over Europe.

  “I can feel the heat of the sun,” she said, staring at his painting as though he had opened a window between worlds. “I can smell the parched earth and imagine how hot and tired they are, how their backs must ache. It is a marvel, Cassius… and this one of the lavender fields! Oh, I wish I had seen them with you for they look to be glorious. Was the perfume lovely?”

  “It was,” he said, too stunned to say more. He could only watch her with his heart swelling in his chest, touched more than he could say by her enthusiasm, her excitement at what he had achieved, her delight in everything she saw. She flicked through canvas af
ter canvas, exclaiming over each one and Cassius was so enraptured by her he did not think to stop her before she reached those hidden at the back.

  “Oh,” she said, staring down at a nude painting of a woman reclining on a day bed.

  She looked up, meeting his eyes.

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  He wanted to tell her the truth, that there was no one on earth he found as beautiful as she was, but he was not free to do so yet. Damnation, why had he left this ridiculous situation and not dealt with it at once?

  “Was she your lover?”

  Cassius hesitated, a beat too long by all accounts.

  She smiled and turned back to the painting. “I shall take that as a yes. Well, she looks to have been well pleased by the experience, the lucky girl.”

  “Lottie!” he said, his voice rough, stunned by the words that had reached inside him and lit a fuse that threatened to burn too hot and fierce. “Lottie, I….”

  He didn’t know what it was he wanted to say, but he stepped closer, so close the scent of her reached him. It was faint and feminine, that hint of jasmine and something fresh and tantalising that made his chest tight with longing.

  Lottie looked up at him and he was caught, held fast in eyes of such blue he was transported back to the Mediterranean.

  “Lottie,” he said again, dazed now, drunk on her proximity, foolish with desire.

  “Cassius.” She breathed as much as said his name and he moved a fraction closer, drawn as if tugged by some invisible string but she looked away, breaking the spell.

  “You must paint me,” she said, her voice a little too loud, the colour in her cheeks telling him she was as aware of the tension simmering between them as he was. “Exactly as I am. Warts and all,” she added, glancing back at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “No one will believe I paint the truth if I come close to capturing you. They shall think me a romantic, for nothing could ever be so lovely.”

  She opened her mouth, her blush rising, and he was torn between wanting to kiss her and the desire to capture that exact shade of rose pink.

  “There is no need to flatter me,” she said, but the words were breathless. “You must paint me as I am, as you see me. Will you?”

  Sunlight slanted through the window, gilding the elegant curve of her neck, highlighting the straight little nose and burnishing her hair so it shone like old gold.

  “Yes,” he said, helpless to do otherwise.

  “Cassius!”

  They leapt apart, and though they had only been talking, their reaction proclaimed them guilty of some heinous crime. Cassius turned around to see Ashton glaring at him.

  “Damn you, Cassius. Everyone is waiting for you two and you’re damned lucky I thought to come and find you both. What would your mama say if she found you alone down here, Lottie, or your sister?”

  Cassius turned back to see Lottie blanch at the idea.

  “I had better go,” she said, hurrying to the door. “Thank you, Ash.”

  She touched his sleeve as she passed, and Ashton sighed, his expression softening.

  “You’re welcome. I just don’t want to see you hurt, love. You know that.”

  Lottie nodded and cast Cassius a guilty glance before she hurried away.

  “Bloody hell,” Ashton swore, the moment Lottie was out of earshot. “You’re playing with fire, Cass.”

  “We were talking,” Cassius retorted. “Nothing more. I was explaining about my work and—”

  “And that’s why you both leapt two feet in the air when I came in, was it? You could cut the atmosphere with a knife, you pillock.”

  Cassius bristled, irritated. “What’s up, Ash? Are you jealous? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after the way you were pouring the butter boat over her last night.”

  “To provoke you into sorting this situation out, you stupid devil. My God, it’s like watching a carriage accident. You know it’s going to happen and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Cassius said, waving away the comment like an annoying insect. “I shall speak to Eliza this afternoon and sort things out with her.”

  “Be sure that you do. She’s our friend, Cass. I won’t have her upset or embarrassed.”

  “She’s my friend!” Cassius retorted, stung. “I’ve not said anything because I can’t bear to see her hurt. I feel wretched about the whole blasted situation. It was absurd of us to believe I could go away for two years and come back as if nothing had happened, but we did believe it, which is no fault of mine.”

  Ash let out a breath and patted Cassius on the shoulder. “I know that. I would just hate for the two of you to lose that friendship. I know she means the world to you. I’m just anxious on your behalf. I would hate to see you upset too, you know.”

  Cassius snorted. “If that were true you’d never have worn that waistcoat. Good God, Ash, what is wrong with you?”

  Ash looked down at the offending article and stroked it lovingly. “Very few men could get away with wearing such a thing, I’ll have you know.”

  “There are so many responses to that statement I hardly know which to choose,” Cassius muttered. “But I suspect those few men are probably confined to Bedlam, driven there by that lurid pattern.”

  Ash shrugged, regarding his reflection in one of the windows and considering the geometric pattern in red black and gold that was making Cassius feel quite giddy.

  “I like it,” he said, before turning back to Cassius. “And a man standing in a rumpled shirt which looks like he slept in it, and who hasn’t bathed or shaved, really ought not have any opinion on matters sartorial. You look an utter wreck, Cass.”

  Cassius looked down at himself and rubbed a hand over his bristly chin.

  “A fair point,” he conceded. “Come on, then, you can escort me back to the house. Just walk ahead of me, will you? That way I can’t see your waistcoat.”

  “Idiot,” Ash grumbled, but led him out of the door.

  Chapter 8

  Dear Phoebe,

  I hope this letter finds you all well. As you know we are staying with the St Clair’s for some weeks ahead of the grand ball they give each summer. Will you be coming? I do hope to see you.

  We have the company of Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen and his brother Mr Demarteau. Of course we all remember your stories about meeting them in Paris at their infamous club. I admit they are everything you indicated. What do you know of them, though? The comte has made no secret of his desire to court me, and he is indeed very charming. His brother, however, is rude and surly and… utterly fascinating. I must know more about him, and why on earth he has taken me in such dislike. Before you protest, I must tell you that he truly has, and I am not the only person to have remarked it. I assure you I am not the kind of woman who expects to be universally adored, but he seems unable to bear being in the same room as I. It is vexing and frustrating not to understand what it is that makes him revile me. So please, Phoebe, tell me everything you know.

  ―Excerpt of letter to The Right Hon’ble Phoebe Carmichael, The Countess of Ellisborough, from Lady Elizabeth Adolphus.

  1st July 1838, on the way to Bodiam Castle, Robertsbridge.

  “Lottie, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “What?”

  Lottie turned to see her sister riding beside her, exasperation written all over her face.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Eliza demanded. “You’ve been in such a strange mood of late, and now you can hardly concentrate for two minutes together. I’ve asked you twice where you were this morning, and I still don’t have an answer.”

  A knot of anxiety settled in Lottie’s throat and she tried to swallow past it to no avail.

  “I went for a walk,” she said, feeling like the worst, wickedest creature in the world. What kind of woman flirted with the man who was supposed to be marrying her sister?

  “Lottie.”

  Lottie turned, filled with shame to see
the concern in Eliza’s green eyes.

  “Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you, love?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a headache is all,” Lottie lied, before urging her horse into a canter, desperate to put distance between her and Eliza. To her frustration Eliza only followed her, so she slowed again, turning to see that Louis César, his brother, and the Anson twins, Ash and Vivien, were close behind them.

  “What do you think of Louis César now?” she asked Eliza, still desperately hoping her sister might have begun a passion for any man who wasn’t Cassius.

  Eliza smiled, which made Lottie’s heart leap with hope.

  “He’s very charming, funny, and I suspect a great deal more intelligent that he wishes anyone to know. I asked to play him at cards, but he won’t,” she admitted. “He must know what Phoebe told us about her trip to Paris and how easily he beat her, and everyone knows how clever Phoebe is at cards.”

  “He wants to marry you,” Lottie said, watching for her sister’s reaction, but Eliza only laughed.

  “Of course he does. I’m the daughter of a duke, with a large dowry,” she said, with only a trace of bitterness.

  “I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”

  Eliza shrugged. “He needs a respectable match to establish his family name back in society. There is some scandal there, I’m sure, and not just the infamous club he runs with his brother. Not that I can get his brother to speak more than two words to me. Oh, wait, he did say, ‘yes, Lady Elizabeth,’ when I asked him if the hat I’d picked up was his. I swear I almost swooned at his condescending to speak to me at all.”

  Lottie felt her eyebrows raise at the repressed fury in Eliza’s voice. Her sister never lost her temper with anyone. She could say no more, though, as suddenly the brothers were beside them, with Ash and Vivien close behind. Louis César flashed Eliza a dazzling smile and winked at her.

  “Race you to that big oak on the far side of the field,” he challenged, before urging his horse forward without waiting for her to accept.

  “Oh!” Eliza exclaimed, and then laughed, springing her own mount to pursue him.