Page 29 of Dare to Risk it All

Dare grinned at him as he settled opposite him in the carriage. Raphe snorted.

“I’ve forgotten how to behave in polite society,” he admitted. “I’m sat upon thorns wondering if I’ll spoil everyone’s evening by doing or saying something reprehensible.”

“Don’t be foolish. You’ve been a delightful guest since my family arrived,” Elspeth surprised him by saying. “So long as you treat all the young ladies with the respect they deserve, I am confident it will be a wonderful evening.”

She smiled at him warmly, but he did not miss the glint of steel—and the unspoken message—in her pretty green eyes.

Touch my sister and I’ll make you sorry you were born.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said carefully, noting the amusement in Dare’s expression as he too heard the threat.

They arrived at Royle House in good time, the lengthy road to the entrance lit by hundreds of torches. Raphe looked up at the familiar leviathan that sprawled over the countryside like a giant gilded elephant. It was a vast and imposing building, built to impress upon the viewer just how wealthy and powerful its owner was. The Dukes of Axton had never been subtle. The heir apparent, one of Raphe’s oldest friends, the Marquess of Bainbridge, was rather less concerned than his ancestors about showing off his assets, but was also about as subtle as a rhinoceros, so there was no doubt whatsoever about his bloodline.

Dozens of liveried footmen peopled the enormous area before the magnificent house as carriages arrived one after the other and lavishly dressed guests made their way inside.

Dare guided their party indoors, to where Bainbridge and his marchioness were greeting their guests.

“Raphe, you devil!” Bainbridge exclaimed, his voice booming across the entrance hall as he caught sight of him.

Rather to Raphe’s surprise, Bainbridge hauled him into a bear hug and slapped him on the back several times, so hard that Raphe almost staggered. An affectionate Bainbridge often left bruises.

“You look well,” Bainbridge observed, letting him go to give him a critical once over. “Off the booze?”

Raphe sighed and nodded, too aware of the guests queuing behind them, listening with avid interest. “Yes, dry as the damned Sahara.”

“Good man, well done,” Bainbridge said approvingly. “Had us worried there. Didn’t know who I was when we came for you.”

Raphe felt a stab of regret as he heard what his friend did not say aloud: Bainbridge had feared he would die.

“Darling, not here,” his wife murmured reproachfully before greeting Raphe with surprising warmth considering his reputation, but then she had been married to Bainbridge for some months now, so perhaps she was unshockable. “It is good to finally meet you, Lord de Ligne. I hope you enjoy the evening.”

“I am sure I will. Thank you for your kind invitation.”

He went to move on but glanced back as the Marchioness gave a squeal of delight. “Greer, darling!”

The two women embraced warmly, exclaiming and chattering, before Lady Bainbridge gave another squeal and fell on the neck of Lady Aisling. Raphe watched, amused to see Bainbridge watching his wife with a proprietary, indulgent expression. He had never seen his friend so relaxed and obviously happy. Raphe looked away and walked through the immense entrance hall, noting Dare and Elspeth moving up the stairs in front of him as Dare leaned into whisper something to his wife. Elspeth laughed, throwing her head back with delight at whatever Dare had said, and Dare beamed at her. Raphe swallowed down an unwelcome surge of jealousy and carried on walking towards the ballroom.

Like the rest of the building, the ballroom was a ridiculously opulent room, gilded to within an inch of its life. Ornate plasterwork covered the entire space, which was flanked by towering marble columns, lit by glittering chandeliers, and lined with acres of mirror that reflected the incredible scene back on itself, making it appear even larger and grander than it was. Footmen carried endless trays of crystal glasses filled with champagne back and forth, and silver platters of delicate little hors d’oeuvres, while an orchestra played, inviting people to dance.

“Where’s Ollie?” Raphe asked Sylvester, an hour later. He was doing his best to be the model guest and big brother, and he hadn’t seen his youngest sibling for some time.

“I don’t know,” Sylvester said with a shrug. “Probably bored stiff and smuggling sweetmeats to Miss Alana. They have given us all a lavish suite of rooms upstairs, but it did not mollify the young lady. She was vexed to death at not being allowed to attend the ball.”

“Lord,” Raphe cursed. “He ought to know better than that. He’ll get her into trouble.”

“They’re just children,” Sylvester replied, laughing.

Raphe shook his head. “He’s sixteen, Sy. Remember what we were like at that age?”

Sly hesitated. “Perhaps you’d best find him, then.”

With a snort, Raphe strode off.

Greer had been making her way to the refreshment room but diverted at the last minute, dashing behind a large potted palm. She held her breath as a young man strode purposely past her without noticing where she’d hidden herself. Thank heavens. He’d been intent on asking her for the next country dance.

She had not missed a single dance since the moment she had arrived, and she was already red-cheeked and out of breath. The young gentleman had been nice-looking and perfectly amiable, but she did not wish to dance with him. The truth was, there was only one man she wanted to dance with, and the devil hadn’t yet asked her, though she had given him every opportunity to do so. She knew he was on his best behaviour, and she appreciated that, but surely dancing with her wasn’t the first step on the road to perdition? Their attraction to each other might be a little out of control, but she did not think it would reduce them to ravishing each other in full view of the ballroom. Now, though, the wretched man had disappeared entirely.

After she had drunk two large glasses of lemonade with more haste than was seemly, Greer made her way back to the ballroom and found Sylvester watching Aisling dance with a tall, elegant, fair-haired fellow. He was scowling.