Page 44 of Dare to Risk it All

“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 be 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.

He had to make Rothborn see he would do anything to make her happy, to be a good husband to her. Her parents might approve the match—her mother, at least—but the idea of marrying the woman Rothborn had warned him to stay clear of and losing his approval for good… well, that made Raphe feel ill. There had been few men in Raphe’s life whom he’d admired and wished to emulate, but Rothborn had stood out like a shining beacon of everything a man ought to be. He was strong and honourable, a war hero, a loving husband and father, a good friend, and a man you could depend on, come what may. If Rothborn washed his hands of Raphe, his one anchor in the world would fall away.