Dare to be Wicked (Daring Daughters Book 1)

by Emma V Leech

  “Does Conor know you’ve been receiving gifts from his sister?”

  “No, and don’t you tell him,” Ash said crossly. “She’s a sweet creature and, yes, she has a tendre for me, but I don’t see her from one year to the next so there’s no harm in it. And she has the most amazing skill with a needle and thread. It seemed a shame for such fine work never to see the light of day, and she made me promise to wear it on a special occasion.”

  “Well, you’ll be wearing it while Conor pitches you off the nearest cliff face if he gets wind of it,” Cass said dryly and then his heart gave an uneven thud in his chest as he saw the duchess and Eliza come and take their places.

  Eliza sent him a dazzling smile and the rest of the guests looked expectantly towards the door.

  “Ash,” he said, groping about for his friend’s arm as he could not take his eyes from the vision before him. “Ash!”

  “I know, I know, old man. It’s time for you to do your bit,” Ash said, and Cassius heard a decided wobble to the fellow’s voice. “Ah, and she looks a picture. I take back every word. You’re a lucky fellow, so don’t mess it up.”

  Cassius could neither breathe nor move, and he hardly dared blink. To his astonishment, he felt his throat tighten and his eyes prickle, and he had to fight to keep his composure lest he be teased for the rest of time for blubbing at his own wedding. He felt slightly better as Ashton sniffled and accepted a handkerchief from his twin, who had obviously come prepared in the full knowledge that her brother was the sentimental sort. Cassius was not, and yet… and yet, Lottie was so beautiful, so radiantly happy he wanted to weep. Her happiness shone from her, turning a beautiful girl into something quite beyond description. The force of emotion her joy provoked in him made it hard to breathe. After all, he had the soul of an artist, and did not great beauty stir such men? Beauty of this magnitude had inspired sonnets and odes, operas, and paintings of the kind that made people stare and gasp and wonder at such heights of artistic achievement. She was his heart, his soul, his muse, and he would never grow tired, never grow used to someone who was as both as constant and changeable as the sea or the sky.

  The solemnity with which the duke gave her hand to him did not help his composure. Her father’s green eyes were very bright, though that made Cassius feel better, for if a man like the duke was moved to tears then surely lesser mortals were allowed the same privilege?

  “You look like poetry, or a painting by one of the great masters,” Cassius said, his voice not quite as steady as he would have liked, but he was determined to get the words out. “A work of art.”

  She gave him a fondly exasperated look and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I do hope not, Cassius, for aren’t things like that untouchable? And I was so looking forward to my wedding night.”

  He gave a sudden bark of laughter, for of course Lottie would say such a thing with everyone watching them. Cassius turned towards the priest to discover the fellow’s beady eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. Heat crept up the back of his neck and he shot a glance at Lottie, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

  “Wretch,” he murmured under his breath.

  Happily, the ceremony proceeded peacefully thereafter, except for the odd sniffle as they were reciting their vows. When it was done, Cassius could not have said if it had gone on for hours or was over in the blink of an eye. It seemed to have done both somehow and left him dazed and happy as the priest finally got to the bit he’d been waiting for.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  He grinned at the duke who rolled his eyes, and then Cassius bent and kissed his new wife.

  Though he had meant it to be a no more than a press of lips—they had an audience after all—Lottie threw her arms about his neck and held on. He laughed, knowing that she would always bring joy and merriment into his life, as well as mayhem and madness and heaven alone knew what else, but he was ready, ready for all of it.

  “Oh, you do look divine. What a glorious dress.”

  Lottie beamed at her Aunt Helena. “It is lovely, isn’t it? It’s from Maison Blanchet. Madame Blanchet is so clever, she’s created such beautiful things for my trousseau.”

  Helena sighed and leaned into her husband. “It’s so romantic. Do you remember when we were first married, Gabe?”

  Uncle Gabriel glanced at her father and pulled a face.

  “Vividly,” he said, his tone dry.

  Everyone laughed, as all the family knew Helena and Gabe had eloped to Gretna Green and the duke had chased them all the way there, arriving in the nick of time to stop the marriage. He’d relented in the end, once he’d realised Gabriel was truly in love with his sister, and she with him. Gabriel Knight had a terrible reputation of course, a wicked industrialist, a self-made man who’d come from nothing, who’d had no place in the ton…until he’d made himself a place. With Helena’s help, naturally.

  “I can’t believe you got married before me, Lottie,” Florence grumbled, her beautiful face the picture of consternation.

  Helena and Gabe’s eldest daughter—Lottie’s cousin, Florence—was the same age as her and they’d always been dreadfully competitive.

  “Well, it’s not like I planned it,” Lottie said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, dear, your time will come.”

  Florence made a show of tossing her head with an imperious sniff, her thick black curls bouncing about her face. “Oh, do stop condescending to me, or I shall stamp on your toe.”

  Lottie snorted with laughter, knowing full well Florence was only funning, even if she was a bit jealous.

  “Sorry, Flo, but it’s not like you’re short of suitors,” Lottie said, taking the girl’s arm.

  “Nor short of time to choose one,” Uncle Gabe put in. “So stop being in such a hurry.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Florence said, shaking her head. “And yes, of course, I have suitors. They’re all deadly.”

  Her father frowned.

  “Dull,” Lottie explained hurriedly. “She means deadly dull, and didn’t I see you speaking to Viscount Roxborough at the Hely-Hutchinson party? He’s dreadfully handsome, and charming too.”

  “And poor as a church mouse,” Uncle Gabe muttered, folding his arms.

  “Oh, Papa! Not everyone can be as rich as Croesus,” Florence remonstrated, green eyes flashing.

  “No,” her father replied mildly. “But they could be solvent.”

  “You see,” Flo said, throwing up her hands. “You see what I must contend with?”

  Sensing a row in the offing, Lottie took Florence by the hand. “Do come and see Ash and Vivien. I haven’t properly teased Ash yet for sobbing, and I’ve been so looking forward to it.”

  She towed Florence away, moving through the room and squeaking with surprise as a hand slid about her waist.

  “What mischief are you about, wife?” Cassius demanded, his voice low and intimate as he whispered in her ear.

  Lottie shivered with anticipation, glancing up at him. “I was being a good friend and intervening before Florence got herself locked up in a nunnery for the foreseeable,” she said, finding herself blushing at the intent look in her husband’s eyes. Her husband! Good heavens.

  “She’s trying to cheer me up with the prospect of mocking Ash for snivelling like a little girl during the ceremony,” Florence said with a sigh. “Which might work, to be fair.”

  “Sounds fun,” Cassius said, grinning, and offered the ladies an arm each.

  They paused to speak to his Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Jerry and their three girls on the way. The eldest two were twins, though unlike Viv and Ashton, no one would guessed it as they were quite different despite their blonde hair, having taken after their father.

  “Don’t forget to throw your bouquet,” Greer said, grinning at Lottie. Her sister, Elspeth, who was far more serious, rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t you sneer at me,” Greer said, bristling.

  “I wasn’t sneering, Gee,” Elspeth replied patiently. “It’s just so silly. As if c
atching a bunch of flowers can determine when you marry.”

  Greer folded her arms. “It’s tradition, and how do you know?”

  “Well, for the same reason I know there are no such things as unicorns, or fairies,” Elspeth said, throwing up her hands.

  “Oh, girls, do stop bickering,” their mother reproached them. “Elspeth, if it makes your sister happy to catch the bouquet then don’t spoil it. Must you always be so sensible?”

  “I’m not being sensible, Mother, it just stands to reason….”

  Cassius and Lottie slipped away with Florence in hot pursuit before things could get heated.

  Ashton groaned as he saw them approach.

  “Viv,” he said in a plaintive whine. “Make them stop.”

  Vivien only snorted. “They haven’t yet begun, Ashton, dear. And, really, what did you expect? You really ought to have remembered to bring a handkerchief. You knew you would weep, surely. I certainly did. I never knew anyone so tender-hearted.”

  Ash scowled.

  “It was moving, seeing two of my closest friends speak those vows—forsaking all others.” He sighed putting his hand over his heart. “I could not help but think—you poor fools.”

  Lottie smacked him with her fan, and he grinned at her.

  “Just funning, Lottie. You know I thought nothing of the sort. I’m so pleased for you both. You’ll be idyllically happy, if I’m any judge. It’s just now the rest of us know what’s possible we’ll never be satisfied. You’ve set an impossibly high standard.”

  “Oh,” Lottie said with a huff. “I was so looking forward to tormenting you for being a watering pot and now I can’t because that was such a nice thing to say.”

  “I know,” Ash said smugly.

  “Where’s Eliza?” Cassius asked, scanning the room.

  “She’s gone outside for some air,” Lottie said, leaning into him. “She’ll come back for the wedding breakfast. The poor thing was finding all the noise too much.”

  “She’s still very weak,” he said, frowning.

  Lottie nodded, her heart squeezing a little as she remembered how fit and healthy Eliza had been when they had first come to Holbrook. So much had changed in such a short time. Before her accident they had planned to travel for their honeymoon, but neither of them felt happy leaving until Eliza was fully recovered.

  “Yes, but she is determined to be well again, so she shall be,” Lottie said, reminding herself of that fact. “She may be quiet, but she’s single-minded when something matters to her.”

  Cassius laughed. “That’s true. No doubt she’ll set her sights on a duke or a marquess now, like she always said she would. I’m sure she was always disappointed I was a mere viscount. A duke would be much more the thing. All the better to enforce her plans to make the world a better place.”

  “If anyone can do it, she can,” Lottie said, smiling up at him with such adoration that he did as she had hoped he would, and leaned down to kiss her.

  They broke apart at the sound of a discreet cough as a footman approached them.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” he said to Cassius. “But the Comte de Villen is here. He is waiting in the yellow saloon. Should I tell him the family is not receiving today?”

  “Oh, no,” Lottie said. “We’ll go and see him, won’t we, Cass?”

  Cassius nodded his thanks to the footman and dismissed him. “He can’t have known we were marrying today. It’s not been announced yet. Only the family and a few of our closest friends knew.”

  Lottie followed him out of the room. “That’s true. I wonder what he wants,” she said. “Papa won’t be pleased.”

  “Neither will mine, but they need not know. Come along, let’s go and find out before we’re missed. They can’t have a wedding breakfast without the bride and groom, after all.”

  Chapter 21

  Dear Aunt Minerva,

  Thank you for your kind letter. I am indeed faring much better and am determined to be well again by next season. Pray do not listen to Mama and Papa, who are fussing far too much. It is true I get tired, but they exaggerate the matter, Papa especially, and they get all worked up over nothing. Mama at least has an excuse, for it is her condition that makes her fret so. I shall be glad when my newest brother or sister arrives, and their attention is diverted.

  We shall be so sorry not to see you at the wedding, but we all understand how important Uncle Inigo’s work is. I do hope you enjoy your time in Scotland. It is very beautiful at this time of year.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Elizabeth Adolphus to her mother’s cousin, Mrs Minerva de Beauvoir.

  22nd September 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.

  Nic stared up at the vast building that was Holbrook House. He half-expected the earl, if not the duke himself, to come storming out of the front door and throw him bodily from the premises. Not that they ought to know Nic was here. He’d kept out of sight, allowing Louis César to go in alone. It was his part to play, after all. He was supposed to be the respectable brother, the one courting Eliza, if the duke let Louis within a mile of her again after Madame Lafitte had done her best to ruin everything. Nic ought have known she was determined enough to follow him here, not that it would do her any good.

  He kept to the shadows, something he was used to and adept at. It was still remarkably hot, even under the trees, though there was the scent of autumn in the air already, and a tinge of gold creeping over the countryside and burnishing the trees. It was something he was not entirely accustomed to, having spent most of his life in one filthy, stinking city or another. The countryside, especially this pleasantly manicured, green, English countryside, was a foreign land for him. He moved towards the garden, drawn by the sound of water splashing and the scent of roses. That scent would always make him think of her, of that day on the terrace when he’d seen her for the first time. Well, outside of a little pencil sketch Cassius had shown him, and his too vivid imagination, at least. She’d been all too real, surrounded by pretty china and crystal bowls of perfumed sweet peas and roses, and she’d turned his life inside out and upside down without even knowing it. Why, and for what? For some silly chit of an English girl, when society believed him not fit to kiss her hem, let alone any other part of her.

  A girl destined to marry his brother.

  Bloody fool.

  Yet he could not bear to keep away. He had been beside himself when he’d heard of her accident. His fault. His damned fault. Why had he done it? Performing tricks he’d learned in his youth, like a trained dog, like some idiot boy, showing off to the girl he was besotted with. He’d barely been in her company yet, somehow, he’d influenced her enough to climb those bloody walls, and she… and she….

  His throat tightened.

  Don’t think of it.

  All the reports said she was well, and getting stronger. Yet he’d needed to be certain, to see, if not with his own eyes, then through Louis César’s. Louis had not wanted to come. He had written to her and her family, and sent flowers every week, as a concerned and respectful beau ought to, but he had not wished to visit. Neither of them understood why the family were still here and had not returned to their own home. Nic worried that Eliza was not as well as they were making out and could not yet travel. Louis had shrugged and just reminded him the two families were close, but Nic refused to be reassured. Louis had protested, certain he would be met with cool civility at best. His brother would be furious with him now, as it had become clear that they were intruding on some family event and their visit was ill-timed. Louis had believed it better to wait until the next season, when tempers would have cooled, and he could ease his way back into the family’s good graces. Nic had persevered, though, wearing down each argument but never giving himself away, never letting Louis know why they must go back, why he must go back. Just to be near her, just for a moment, just until he knew….

  “Monsieur Demarteau?”

  He stilled. That voice. That familiar cool English voice pronounced his name, clippin
g the syllables and making them sound so different, odd to his ear, and yet strangely charming. His heart skittered about in his chest and he told himself not to be such a stupid bastard. He was no schoolboy infatuated with his first girl, yet he might as well have been. He’d been infatuated with her before he’d even met her, beguiled by the description Cassius had given of her, and by that little sketch he had shown of the lovely Elizabeth.

  Nic’s ideal.

  His perfect English rose.

  No. Not his. Never that.

  “Lady Elizabeth.”

  He bowed, aware that his manner was stiff and awkward but unable to do a thing about it. No matter how he had learned to ape the manners of a gentleman, he felt clumsy and brutish before her, unrefined. Unworthy.

  “I did not expect to see you here,” she said, and Nic hardly heard the words for he was drinking in the sight of her.

  His heart clenched, worry making his chest tight as he noted how pale she was, how fragile she looked. She had lost weight, far too much, and those green eyes—which had promised him he was in far over his head—were too large in a face as delicate as that of a china doll. A protective instinct rose in him, so overwhelming he had to clench his fists to stop himself from picking her up and carrying her off. He wanted to care for her, to keep her safe, to wrap her up in tissue paper and ensure the world could never harm her again. Mon Dieu, that was a great joke, was it not? It was likely his fault she’d been hurt, and being anywhere near him would cause her more harm than anything else.

  “Monsieur?”

  He realised he’d not answered her question. He had only stood looming over her, glowering at her, though she did not back away.

  “My brother was worried for you,” he said gruffly. “He came to see how you fared.”

  Those green eyes studied his face, assessing him. He fought to hold her gaze, when he wanted to turn away in case she saw too much.

  “You were not worried for me, then?” she asked, still scrutinising him, too perceptive.