Dare to be Wicked (Daring Daughters Book 1)

by Emma V Leech

  “Lottie,” he said, though he could not muster the warning note this time, too dazed with longing to protest.

  “Yes?”

  “You are the very devil.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did, you provoking creature.”

  “Did I really?”

  “Yes, dash it. How is a fellow to concentrate when… when….”

  He waved a hand at her.

  “What did I do, Cassius?” she asked, her voice low. “Tell me.”

  “Why? So you can use your wiles on me again in future?”

  She laughed at that, a sound that made little explosions go off inside him, tiny bursts of happiness. “Yes, of course.”

  He groaned and set down the pencil. “You licked your lips for one thing.”

  “Is that provocative?” she asked, and he wondered at the look in her eyes.

  Did she really not understand the power she held over him? Probably just as well… at least, until they were married.

  “It is when you do it, when I want to feel that little pink tongue on me, against my skin.”

  “Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter.

  “Oh,” he echoed, lips quirking, and then realised he also had the power to have a little revenge. “Do you not find my tongue provocative if you think about it trailing over your skin, down your neck… to your breast? Just as an example.”

  She sat very still, her eyes growing wider as her colour rose. As if tracing the same path, her hand went to her neck as it had earlier, imitating the path he’d just described taking with his mouth and tongue. He swallowed.

  “I want to do that, very badly. I want to kiss your breasts and take each little rosy peak into my mouth and suck.”

  Her jaw dropped, which might have been more amusing if he wasn’t now rigid with desire himself.

  “Cassius,” she whispered. “Cass, p-please.”

  He was moving before she’d even got to the please, falling to his knees in front of the day bed where she sat for him and pulling her into his arms.

  “Oh, love. Beautiful girl,” he murmured, his mouth and tongue doing just as he’d promised and painting her beautiful skin all the way to the barrier of her gown. He growled in frustration and she gave a little laugh and then lifted her hands, undoing the buttons at the front of her bodice and giving the fabric a little tug.

  “Oh,” she said in frustration as the corset beneath refused to budge.

  Despite his own desire to remove the blasted thing with haste, he laughed, delighted by her impatience.

  “Wicked girl. You are forever taking your clothes off.”

  “Well, it was a deal easier in a nightgown and wrap,” she retorted.

  Cassius smirked and lowered his head. Slowly and deliberately he ran his tongue over the swell of each breast, the only parts available to him.

  Lottie shivered and gave a little sigh, and he groaned.

  “Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks, only two weeks,” he said, muttering the words under this breath.

  “That’s fourteen whole days!” Lottie wailed.

  “Not helping, love.”

  Feeling a little desperate, he got up and sat on the bed.

  “Come here,” he urged her, getting her to straddle his thighs like she had the other night. “We don’t have long.”

  “I know. Mama will be here in an hour.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he cursed, pulling her down and battling through the copious layers of skirts and petticoats. “Confound these blasted things!”

  Lottie giggled and he huffed, determined to reach skin. Finally… Finally, he put his hands on her warm thighs and tugged, pulling her down so she sat pressed against him and her skirts billowed out on all sides.

  Cassius grinned at her. “You look like you’re emerging from a cloud.”

  “It’s a very hard cloud I’m sitting on,” she said, quirking one eyebrow.

  His breath snagged in his throat as she pressed closer and his head fell back.

  “Oh, God.”

  Lottie gasped, her colour rising as she discovered the pleasure in friction too.

  “Oh!”

  She caught on quickly, thank the Lord, too quickly perhaps, as it was an embarrassingly short time before Cassius had to call a halt.

  “Stop, stop.”

  “But I… I don’t want….”

  He grasped her hips, stilling her movement.

  “Stop,” he said firmly.

  She whimpered and pouted a little but didn’t argue. Cassius drew in a deep breath and then let it out again, slowly.

  “Cass?”

  Lottie squealed as someone knocked on the summerhouse door, calling his name. Cassius grabbed hold of her again as she moved so quickly she nearly went over backwards.

  “H-Hold on,” Cassius called, hastily setting Lottie to rights again and returning to his position at the easel with as much speed as possible. Though he had not yet begun painting, he grabbed hold of his palette and held it discreetly to cover his modesty as his body had not yet caught up with the fact it was to suffer a grave disappointment. “Who is it?”

  “Ashton.”

  “Bloody hell, Ash, come in.”

  Ash stuck his head around the door, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”

  “You will be,” Cassius grumbled. “What the devil do you want?”

  “Well, I’m probably worrying over nothing, but Eliza was supposed to meet with us by the lake. We were going to take a boat out, but she’s not come back from her ride.”

  Lottie sat up straighter, frowning. “But she left ages before me. She said she’d only be an hour.”

  Ashton nodded. “She ought to have been with us almost an hour ago, and I know she might have lost track of time, but Eliza—”

  “Is never late,” Lottie replied, getting to her feet. “Cassius.”

  Cassius went to her, knowing all too well that Eliza was a stickler for punctuality. It was dreadfully bad manners to be late, after all, and Eliza was never rude. Whilst she might have tested that truth a little in the past weeks, he could not believe she would keep her friends waiting.

  “I’ll look for her,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Perhaps her horse threw a shoe and she’s walking it back.”

  “Yes,” Lottie said, nodding, though her face betrayed her worry. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”

  An hour later, Cassius was not feeling so confident. He returned to the house to see if anyone else had seen her, if perhaps she’d returned in the meantime, only to discover Lottie preparing to ride out too. Ash had also returned and gone out again with his sister. Eliza’s father, as well as his own, and the marquess of Montagu, had all ridden off in different directions with many of the groomsmen accompanying them.

  “Oh, Lottie,” her mama said, standing with her other children gathered close about her. “Where can she be?”

  “Try not to worry, Mama,” Lottie said, though she too was pale and anxious. “Eliza is a terrific horsewoman. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  Her mother nodded as she held her two youngest daughters close to her.

  “Find her,” she implored them, and Cassius nodded.

  “We won’t come back without her,” he promised, feeling anxiety coil about his heart.

  They set off and found that they were instinctively heading in the same direction, away from where the grooms had said she’d ridden out.

  “Bayham Abbey?” he called to Lottie, who nodded.

  “You know she’s always loved it there, and she’s been visiting often of late. It’s romantic and peaceful there. She says it helps her to think.”

  It was less than twenty-five minutes ride to the abbey, but the hour was growing late, and they would not have much more daylight to search in. There was no question now that something had befallen Eliza, and everyone was sick with dread. He could only admire Lottie’s quiet determination to find her sister, despite the terror she must be feeling.

  They rode up
to the abbey’s ruins, which were indeed romantic, especially now with the sun sinking lower in the sky as dark clouds tumbled over one another, promising more rain. The abbey’s lonely Gothic arches were overgrown with tumbling ivy and dog roses. Birds chattered among the thickly green clad walls and bees hummed about their work, but other than that there was no sign of life.

  “Eliza!” Lottie called, a desperate note to her cry that pierced Cassius to the heart.

  “Eliza!” he shouted, steadying his horse when it shied in agitation, disturbed by their raised voices. He prayed Eliza would hear them and reply. “Let’s ride the perimeter.”

  Though the ruins were not vast, they were so thickly overgrown with ivy and trees that it was impossible to see through to every nook and cranny. Cassius hoped to discover some sign she had been here before they took the time to search the ruins. A shriek from Lottie gave him the answer.

  “Cassius!” she cried, pointing to Eliza’s horse, peacefully cropping grass close by the ruins.

  Cassius leapt down and secured his mount before running to Lottie and helping her dismount. She was trembling, and tears glittered in her eyes but the moment her feet touched the ground she picked up her skirts and ran into the ruins.

  “Eliza!” she screamed, running pell mell through the broken walls and arches.

  “Eliza!

  “Eliza!”

  Long shadows cast them into obscurity as the sun sank lower still and the birds fell silent. Their voices echoed about the shadows, like some ghastly Gothic horror, until Cassius stopped in his tracks, a chill running down his spine on seeing the slight form crumpled on the ground.

  “Eliza,” he said, his voice thick.

  Lottie was right behind him and saw a second after he had. She screamed and ran to her sister, falling to the ground beside her.

  “Eliza! Eliza!”

  Cassius joined her, desperately relieved to see the rise and fall of Eliza’s chest.

  “She’s breathing,” he said, his voice sounding too loud in the growing gloom as Lottie stroked her sister’s hair.

  “Cassius!” she said, showing him her trembling hand and her glove, which was dark with blood.

  Cassius felt as if his heart was squeezed within his chest.

  “She… She must have fallen,” he said, looking up at the low, crumbling walls beside her and not comprehending how on earth she could have hit her head with such force otherwise.

  But surely, she could not have been so reckless, so very foolish as to have climbed up them alone?

  Whatever the cause, they did not have time to discover it and it was with huge relief that he heard his father’s voice, calling out to him.

  “Father! Father, we have her. Come quick!”

  Chapter 19

  Nic,

  You are now deep in my debt, for this favour was by no means easy to arrange. Even for me.

  Do not forget it.

  ― Excerpt of letter to Monsieur Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau, signed… Wolf.

  20th August 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.

  Lottie stared down at her sister in despair. She looked to be sleeping, her chest rising and falling steadily, but she was like the princess in a fairy story who had pricked her finger and slept for a hundred years. It was more than a month now since that dreadful day, and Eliza had not stirred. Her frantic parents had brought every doctor from every corner of the country and, though some of them had waffled on with confidence about this or that condition. and had tried various remedies, still Eliza slept.

  The one man they truly wanted and needed was a French neurologist, but the devil was caught up in some ground-breaking experiment and had such calls on his time that no amount of money or bribery could induce him to voyage across the Channel. Their father had even gone to see the man himself, to plead his case, and Dr Archambeau had been unmoved. He had patients of his own, the man said, each of whom were beloved and important in their own right, and an English duke’s daughter had no more call on his time than anyone else. Their father had returned, shattered and at his wits’ end.

  Lottie let out a breath and grasped her sister’s hand, her voice low as she spoke.

  “We still don’t know who your admirer is. But every day a new bouquet comes. Your room cannot hold them all, and they fill the house. We’ve had everything. Roses mostly, but also chrysanthemums, gardenias and….” Her voice quavered and she paused to take a breath, to steady herself, for she must not cry. “So, you simply must wake up, or I shall die of curiosity.”

  Lottie winced, wishing she had not said that.

  “Please, Eliza. I cannot get married without my sister. Indeed, I feel I can never be happy again without you. I know Cassius feels the same. We are both utterly heartbroken, and poor M-Mama and P-Papa….”

  Though she had promised herself she would not cry in front of Eliza, she lay her head in her hands and sobbed. A moment later, noise and raised voices in the corridor caught her attention and she wiped her eyes and nose and got up, moving to the door, about to reprimand whoever it was who was making such a racket when her father strode in, his face alight with hope.

  “Dr Archambeau,” he said, hugging Lottie fiercely. “He’s here.”

  “H-Here?” she asked, stunned. “But he told you he wouldn’t come. Not in any circumstances.”

  “Oui, and I meant it,” replied a terse voice before her father could speak, and the fellow strode in. “However, there are some forces even I cannot resist. You have some unpleasant friends, monsieur le duc.”

  Her father frowned at the doctor in consternation.

  “But….” he began, only to hush as his wife grasped his arm and shook her head.

  Lottie agreed with her mother. Let the man think they had unpleasant friends bringing undue influence to bear, if it got this apparent miracle maker to Eliza’s side. For the first time in weeks, Lottie felt her heart lift.

  He was a man in his forties, prematurely bald but with monstrous white eyebrows that gave him a dreadfully fierce appearance. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, though, and compassionate, if she was any judge.

  Please, oh, please. Let this man be the one.

  “Sortez!” said the doctor, waving an irritable hand at them all. “Everyone out. You may station a footman beside the door to attend to my requirements. Other than that. Go away!”

  The doctor remained with Eliza for most of the next three days, refusing to give them any information as to his diagnosis, though much to Lottie’s relief, he did not recommend further bloodletting. Eliza was so pale, so terribly fragile, that the very idea of taking more blood from her made Lottie want to weep.

  By the time he eventually deigned to speak to them, her parents were in a state of high agitation, not that you would have known it when they faced the man. Mama sat straight-backed and still with Father standing beside her, one hand on her shoulder, which she grasped with all her might. Lottie sat at her side, willing herself not to fidget, weep, or fall into hysterics, though she felt like doing all three.

  “Your daughter is in a coma state due to a severe blow to the head,” the doctor said, his English precise and clipped. “However, it is my professional opinion that she will make a full, if slow, recovery.”

  Mama made a desperate sound, clapped a hand to her mouth and got to her feet, flinging herself into Papa’s arms.

  “Robert, Robert,” she wept, laughing and crying all at once.

  “Yes, yes, my love.” Her father’s voice was very thick as he held his wife close.

  Lottie watched them, able to draw a proper breath for the first time in what felt like months, tears streaming down her face.

  “How?” she asked, hardly daring to believe him. “How can you tell?”

  “She is responding to light and sound and pain.”

  “Pain?” her mother cried in horror.

  “Just a pinprick to the fingers and toes, your grace, do not fret. The reactions are slight, no more than a flickering of her eyelids or a tiny jerk of r
esponse. Easily missed, but they are there. Indeed, they have become more apparent in the past twenty-four hours. This is an excellent sign and should become more pronounced over the following days. There is still the concern as to whether any permanent damage has been done, but I believe we have cause to be optimistic. I hope to tell you more by the end of the week.”

  Lottie hardly heard the rest of the conversation as the doctor gave her parents detailed instructions on Eliza’s care and ongoing treatment. She was too overwhelmed with relief. A tiny voice in her head told her not to get excited, that other doctors had been wrong, had promised and failed to deliver, but her heart told her this one would bring Eliza back to her.

  As soon as she was able, she ran to find Cassius.

  He was down in the summerhouse, staring bleakly at an unfinished canvas, when she burst through the door. She had not questioned him when he had put the portrait of her aside, the one he had begun the day Eliza had fallen. Lottie felt the same way: their happiness must wait.

  “Cassius,” she said, as he stood in alarm, staring at her.

  “What? What is it? Is Eliza…?”

  Lottie flung herself at him, trying to get the words out. “Archambeau s-says she will g-get better. He says she will recover.”

  Cassius made a strangled sound and clung to her, holding her tight. “Oh, thank God, thank God.”

  They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other and wiping away tears.

  “Do we still not know who sent him?” Cassius asked.

  “No, and he won’t say anything more than that he was forced. Blackmailed, Papa says.”

  Cassius frowned, shaking his head. “I wonder who would go to such lengths for her, and why?”

  “I do not care who or why, though I should dearly love to thank whoever it was, with all my heart.”

  She sighed as Cassius kissed the top of her head. “As would I. Come along, though. I bet you’ve not eaten a thing all day. I’ll take you back to the house.”