Page 31 of Dare to Risk it All

He nodded, bemused. “I have. That was Maxwell Drake, Earl of Vane. He’s supposed to be dead. Murdered, actually.”

Greer frowned. “The Earl of Vane? Oh, he’s the one that disappeared, isn’t he?” She remembered the story now. He’d been last seen months ago, leaving a tavern much the worse for drink and had disappeared. A friend, leaving a little after he had, had found his signet ring in a pool of blood in a dark alley. Everyone had assumed the worst.

“How do you know him, and if he’s dead, what’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Raphe replied. “We were drinking companions before he disappeared. He’s a regular devil—and that’s coming from me, you understand. I would never keep company with him usually, only… well, I didn’t much care what I was about until recently.”

Greer nodded her understanding and reached up to touch his cheek. “You’ve changed,” she whispered.

Raphe’s breath caught in an audible gasp, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like a large, friendly cat. A hungry panther, perhaps, she thought ruefully.

“Greer,” he said, sounding pained. “Don’t touch me, love. I… I can’t….”

Though it took a great effort of will, Greer dropped her hand and put some distance between them. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

He let out an uneven breath. “Come along. If we’re caught out here, there will be hell to pay. Let’s find our dreadful siblings and get back to the party.”

Greer nodded regretfully, and Raphe surveyed their surroundings to ensure no one was watching before escorting her to the house.

Chapter 9

Monsieur Le Comte,

I should very much like for you to feel at home when you come for Christmas. Tell me, are there any traditions or recipes from your country of origin that you would like to share with us? Something for which you have fond memories, perhaps? Do, please, let me know.

―Excerpt of a letter from Her Grace, Prunella Adolphus, The Duchess of Bedwin to Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.

13th December 1840, Royle House, Derbyshire.

“Where could they have gone?” Greer asked Raphe as they drew close to the house.

Raphe shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, but Ollie has a penchant for kicking up a lark. He’s been expelled from two schools for his pranks, and I suspect he’s found a willing accomplice in your sister. Heaven only knows—”

The sound of excited barking rent the air, followed by a feminine scream coming from inside the house. Greer and Raphe shared an appalled glance and hurried towards the din.

They entered a scene of recent chaos, with upturned furniture and a short, stout lady weeping noisily as Arabella tried to comfort her.

“Bella?” Greer asked anxiously as Arabella looked up at them.

“Poor Mrs Davies has had a nasty shock,” she said gravely, though Greer could see the amusement glinting in her eyes and the way her lips twitched with the effort of not smiling. “The duke’s wretched dogs have escaped and are causing havoc. Sadly, they… they have seduced Mrs Davies' darling little Pekinese into wickedness and she’s g-gone after them.” Arabella’s voice quivered, and she clamped her lips together, surreptitiously jerking her head in the direction the dogs had gone.

“Oh dear,” Greer said faintly, observing the overturned chair and an upended pot plant with dismay. Drat Alana, the little beast. “Well, fear not, Mrs Davies, we shall return your….”

“PomPom,” Mrs Davies said thickly, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

Raphe made a choked sound from behind Greer, which she strove to ignore.

“We shall return your darling PomPom, none the worse for her adventure.”

“How can you be so sure?” Mrs Davies wailed, waving the handkerchief in her agitated, bejewelled fingers. “That big brute is sure to take liberties, and my darling Pompom is a delicate creature. She’ll b-be ruined.”

“Oh, no. Thorn is a gentleman, I assure you,” Arabella said, patting the lady’s hand with every expression of sympathy. “He only appears to be a brute. Really, Mrs Davies, he has impeccable breeding, he’s just a bit excitable and doesn’t realise the effect he has on others.”

“Runs in the family,” Bainbridge said cheerfully, striding into the room and observing the damage with interest. “It wasn’t me, Bella,” he said with a frown.

Arabella sighed, sending him a look of exasperated affection. “We know that. It was your father’s wretched dogs. Heaven alone knows what they’ll get up to now, but if they release that wicked bird—”

An avian shriek of distress echoed somewhere in the distance, followed by: “Murder! Murder!”