Page 18 of Dare to be Wicked

“Yes. Really.”

Cat held the hat out in front of her and Lottie took a breath before plunging her hand in. The little bits of paper were yellowed with age and the hat smelled musty, but Lottie’s heart was beating hard and fast as the contents rustled around her fingers. With closed eyes, she snatched at a slip of paper and pulled it free.

“What does it say?” Cat squealed with excitement as everyone else echoed the sentiment.

Lottie swallowed hard and carefully opened the paper, which seemed at risk of disintegrating at any moment. She squinted at the writing, brown and blurred with age. It was almost illegible, faded, and rubbed away in the places the paper had been folded.

“I… I can’t quite make it out. It says ‘dare…’ What does that word say, Vivien?”

Vivien took the paper from her and stared at it, holding it this way and that. “Wicket, witches… wicked! Dare to be wicked.”

“Oh, no,” Eliza said in horror. “It can’t say that. Give it here.”

She peered at the writing, her frown deepening. “Well, it does look like that but… but it can’t be. The dares were all specific things to do. Dance in a garden at midnight, say something outrageous to a handsome man….”

“Bet something you don’t wish to lose,” Vivien said with a grin.

They all giggled, having heard one of the most scandalous of the stories and still finding it hard to believe that Cassius’s mama, Harriet—of all people—had been caught with the Earl of St Clair in the summerhouse. They had been forced to marry, not that either of them had wanted to do anything else. The Earl of St Clair was still a magnificent looking man, and his son had certainly inherited his good looks. Lottie couldn’t blame Harriet in the least. Indeed, she could only envy her good fortune.

“Perhaps we ought to write new ones?” Eliza mused.

Lottie gave a snort. “If we do, you’re not having a go. You’ve not got a daring bone in your body.”

“Yes, I do!” Eliza retorted. “I do!”

Lottie snatched up the hat and held it out to her sister. “Go on then, prove it.”

Eliza hesitated. “There’s no point, they’re illegible.”

“It’s clear enough. My dare is to be wicked,” Lottie said, something wicked indeed stirring to life inside her and making her reckless.

“Oh, no, Lottie, you can’t. What does that even mean?”

Eliza pinched her mouth closed at whatever she saw in Lottie’s eyes and huffed.

“Very well then,” she said, putting her chin up.

Lottie grinned and thrust the hat towards her again.

With a nervous intake of breath, Eliza dipped a trembling hand into the paper slips.

“Oh, dear,” she said, and pulled out a dare.

Cassius leaned against the window of the summerhouse, staring out at the darkness beyond. A thin sickle moon cut the sky, like a tear in black velvet, the dark water of lake glinting here and there beneath. His insides were in a knot, probably not helped in the least by the bottle of cognac he’d snuck out of the house and was currently keeping company with.

Blasted Ashton had flirted shamelessly all evening. Not just with Lottie, to be fair; Eliza got her fair share of attention too. In fact, Ash and Louis César had been vying for the title of ‘most charming’ all blasted evening, damn their eyes. The only person who’d looked more revolted than he had was Louis’s brother. Nic had excused himself as early as he could without looking abominably rude, and Cassius had seen him sneaking out in the direction of the pub. He could hardly blame the man.

Cassius had assumed the duke would put his foot down and tell them not to make such cakes of themselves over his daughters. He hadn’t. Instead he’d looked on in with an amused glint in his eyes and didn’t appear to have the least notion of murdering anyone. It was a terrible disappointment.

He sighed and stared up at the sliver of moon. There was no escaping the truth. He loved Eliza, but as a friend, not as he would hope to feel for a wife. He could not marry her. The world was calling to him, begging him to come and discover it. He’d seen such a tiny corner and he was already restless, desperate for more. Yet that kind of nomadic life would make Eliza miserable, just as spending the rest of his days in England would make him. It would be as unfair to her as it was to him. She was a beautiful, wonderful woman who deserved no less than adoration from her husband, and he could not give her that. He lifted the bottle of cognac to his lips and took another swig. The sooner he told her so, the better. It wasn’t as if she would be angry with him. No, Eliza would be kind and understanding, and ensure he felt no anxiety for having let her down… which was far, far worse than her being angry with him.

Bloody hell.

Chapter 7

Louis César,

I received your letter at last. It took some time to reach me as I was in the South of France when you departed, and missed all the excitement. I admit I was surprised by your flight from Paris. I assume there is a woman involved in there somewhere, and the tale delicate enough that you would not give any details to your old friend in writing. Not another jealous lady threatening to shoot your lover, or you, I hope? Was it you at the heart of it this time, or shall Nic take the blame?