Saved by the spell, p.18
No Good Dare goes Unpunished (Wagers and Wallflowers Book 10), page 18
NO GOOD DARE GOES UNPUNISHED
WAGERS AND WALLFLOWERS
BOOK TEN
ALYSSA CLARKE
No Good Dare Goes Unpunished is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
First Edition October 2022
Edited by AuthorsDesigns and Gina Fiserova
Proof Read by Jeanne Olynick
Cover design and formatting by AuthorsDesigns.
Copyright © 2022 by Alyssa Clarke
For my husband, I could not have done this one without you.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Alyssa’s Other Books
About Alyssa Clarke
CHAPTER ONE
Miss Louisa Templeton stared at Sebastian Colfax, the Marquess of Marsden, certain the astonished disbelief on her younger sister and her mother’s faces was reflected on her own.
“I…yes?” Louisa whispered, then delicately cleared her throat.
Her heart pounded in such a frightful manner. Worse, she felt decidedly weak-kneed and breathless. So many curious eyes were upon her and the marquess, a few young ladies already lifting their fans to whisper. It would not do to appear so out of sorts at his ordinary request, even if it was extraordinary for Louisa.
The marquess’s brilliant hazel eyes that held more flecks of gold than green pinned her with an insouciant stare. “Are you uncertain if you wish to offer me your hand, Miss Templeton?”
A frightful blush swept across her cheeks, and she lifted her chin. “I am certain of it, my lord. I would be honored to dance with you.”
A slight titter went through those who stood close enough to overhear their exchange. Her younger and much more ravishing sister had sent her pitying glances for the long night, and Emily had even complained of hurting feet from dancing too much, yet no one had asked Louisa.
Her mother, Viscountess Templeton, gave her an encouraging smile while her sister pouted, no doubt for having her expectations dashed. After all, she too had been declared a rose of the season and it was to her Lord Marsden should have made the request.
The marquess swept a thorough glance over her, and she had the alarming thought that he could sense that he made her heart ache for impossible things with him. Things that were perhaps the fantasies of all debutantes—being swept off their feet in a romantic courtship, stolen kisses in the gardens, beautiful flowers in the morning, and then an offer of marriage.
Silly.
Yet such longings existed, and it embarrassed Louisa to even admit to herself that she dreamed about this gentleman. How she wished she had prettier dresses and earbobs and necklaces like her sister. Only a flower she had picked from her mother’s gardens adorned her hair. The marquess held out his arm, and Louisa placed her trembling fingers atop his sleeve. She felt giddy with secret excitement. This was her fifth ball since the start of the season, yet it was the first a gentleman asked her to dance. Lord Marsden was not just any gentleman but had been declared by several newssheets, matrons, and debutantes as one of the top catches of the season, even if he had a deplorable reputation of a rake about town.
Oh, why has he asked me?
It should hardly matter, but that curious nature her parents often bemoaned prodded Louisa to enquire. The marquess could have asked any of the other eager ladies to dance, ladies much more beautiful, sought after, and who were never called wallflowers to their faces by ladies who were referred to as diamonds and roses of the seasons.
Still, Louisa was not so gauche as to act on that inquisitiveness. Instead, she attempted to smile as they took their positions on the spacious dancefloor. Louisa bit back a wince. The marquess was not looking at her but over her head. He owned the air of a disinterested partner. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed he peered outside the open terrace windows into the darkness.
The orchestra leaped to life, and the beautiful notes of the waltz surrounded them. The marquess swept her into the rousing dance, and when she stumbled slightly, he seamlessly corrected their steps and spun her into another graceful twirl.
“I…I am mortified,” she stammered. “I have not much practiced, and I fear I almost stepped on your toes, my lord. I…I…have never danced the waltz with someone other than my dance tutor.”
Louisa wanted to disappear when the marquess lifted a brow, and a cynical smile touched the curve of his mouth. Still, he made no remarks to her chatter, and they continued dancing. He twirled her past her mother, who stared after them with clear anxiousness, and Louisa winced, directing her concentration on the dance lest she embarrass herself and her family. She pinned her gaze to the marquess, wondering what it was above her head that he stared at. Wasn’t it usual for a gentleman to engage in discourse with a lady when they danced? Louisa had little experience with such matters as she was hardly asked to dance, and this was her first public engagement with the waltz.
“It is a beautiful dance,” she said, “and you are a most elegant and accomplished dancer, my lord.”
There, her mother always mentioned that it was important to flatter the vanity of gentlemen, especially lords.
The marquess’s gaze lowered, resting on her face for several seconds. “Must you speak, Miss Templeton?”
Louisa gasped, stung by the question delivered in such a bored tone. “Is it not customary for a lady and a gentleman to converse when dancing?”
“It is not preferable.”
“I was not aware, my lord.”
“Now you do,” he said in that dry tone.
He spun her into a few sweeping arcs, and Louisa swore when he pulled her in, they were much too close for she could feel the rousing heat emanating from his body.
“Why did you ask me to dance if you have no wish to engage in a conversation,” she asked, more curious than offended.
“I happen to enjoy dancing upon occasion,” he said with indifferent civility. “It is a pity one cannot simply do so without being bombarded by ceaseless prattling. It is not charming for my ears to be assaulted with vapid muttering about the weather and other nonsense I have no interest in. You will do us both the courtesy of simply enjoying the waltz.”
Louisa felt the flush of embarrassed heat burning the tip of her ears. “You are abominably rude, my lord,” she whispered, shaken at his unpardonable and ungentlemanlike response.
He lifted an arrogant brow. “To speak the truth?”
She bit her lower lip, uncertain how to reply to that caustic remark.
A slight sneer tugged at his mouth, and she hated that she found him so dashingly handsome when he was so…so…deserving of being kicked really hard. For a moment she considered the effect her walking boots might have on his anatomy, if she kicked with force. Their dance ended, and he escorted her to her mother, dipped into a courteous bow, and slipped from the ballroom.
“Oh, my,” Emily said, her eyes sparkling, “the marquess has danced only with you, Louisa. It is most remarkable. I wonder at his reason for singling you out.”
Louisa sighed, hating that she even felt a niggle of excitement at her sister’s words. Even if his actions were decidedly odd, they meant nothing. “I am certain Lord Marsden was only being…” she meant to say kind but could not push the words from her throat. He had been boorish.
“Perhaps he felt pity for you,” Emily said brightly.
A knot tightened in Louisa’s stomach. “Pity?”
“No one has asked you to dance in ages, and you were looking so forlorn just standing there by the sidelines with that hopeful countenance.”
“Emily!” Their mother scolded, unfurling her fan to waft it before her more vigorously than she would allow her children. “Do not prod your sister so. We should be grateful for the marquess’s marked attention. Surely it will now improve Louisa's chances, and while it is unflattering to say so, my dear, you need all the help you can get to make a match of your own.”
Irritation burned through Louisa that simply because a gentleman had danced with her, it might now mean that perhaps she was eligible to be asked by others. “I need some air,” she said softly.
Neither her mother nor sister offered cautionary words as Louisa weaved deftly through the crowd. Of course the viscountess would not be alarmed, for she would not dream that any gentleman, highly sought after or a wicked libertine, would accost the daughter everyone called ‘a mousey wallflower.’ Louisa swallowed down the lump in her throat, hurried to the terrace window and took a gulp of fresh air deep into her lungs.
“You seemed decidedly irritated to be dancing with Miss Templeton,” an amused voice said.
Louisa stiffened. Cursing her luck to happen upon this conversation but her curiosity was so piqued that she remained rooted. She glanced toward the darkened pathway, unable to see the person who spoke.
“I merely wanted to dance with a society chit, one my mother would not get excited about,” came the dry reply of the marquess’s unmistakable voice “Once we dance with an eligible lady of quality, those damn busy bodies start hearing courtship bells and start dreaming of marriages. Bloody annoying.”
The other voice laughed. “That is the very reason I am thinking to start avoiding these balls. How was dancing with Miss Templeton…she is so very…”
“Mousey?”
“I was about to say plain; I am surprised you chose her, even though now I understand the rationale.”
Louisa slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Mortification burned through her. The marquess made no remark, and she whirled to dash inside, but not before she heard him say, “I daresay it is more engaging to chat with my cat. That should tell you how tedious it was to even engage in mild conversation with the chit.”
She fled, hating the ache of tears burning inside her throat. Louisa stumbled outside the countess’s townhouse, grateful to see her friends, Lady Victoria and Harriet.
“Louisa,” Drusilla called, waving gaily. “We are sneaking away to 48 Berkeley Square. Do you mean to join us?”
Unable to smile or speak, she went with the ladies into the carriage and leaned her head against the squabs, unable to understand the awful sensations piercing her chest. The marquess thought her plain…mousey…and had only danced with her because no one would dare to think he could ever be interested in a lady like her.
“Louisa?” Harriet said, leaning forward. “You are awfully silent…what is—”
She shocked herself and her friends by bursting into raw tears. Though she was embarrassed to unravel so, Louisa could not stop the stream of tears. By the time she was bundled into the lower drawing room of their secret ladies’ club, her friends had pried the entire story from her. She felt silly being so affected, but somehow Louisa felt as if hot coals had been pressed to her heart.
“His cat!” Agatha cried, her golden brown eyes flashing with her ire. “How dare he be so boorish, the handsome lout!”
Her friends nodded.
“A handsome lout, indeed,” Louisa sniffed, hating the raw ache in her throat.
“We should teach the arrogant lord a lesson,” Drusilla said, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.
“I agree,” Victoria said, fisting a hand at her hip. “But what?”
“We should steal his precious cat for a few days,” Harriet murmured, a diabolical gleam in her dove gray eyes.
Louisa gasped, then a laugh spluttered from her. “You ladies are outrageous. There is no need to enact any revenge for me. Lord Marsden is…he is not important, and we should not give him another moment’s thought.”
As if she had not spoken, Drusilla plucked up the chalk and strolled over to their prominent wager board perched on the wall. Below a few other dares, she scrawled,
Who dares to steal Lord Marsden’s cat for a couple of days until the wretched scoundrel is worried?
“Why do we assume he would even be worried?” Louisa said fretfully. “Ladies, I assure you this is not necessary.”
“At the very least we will deprive him of those supposed scintillating conversations,” Victoria muttered.
That drew an appreciative chuckle from Drusilla. Agatha hurried over to the board and wrote ‘dare accepted.’ The ladies cheered raucously, and a warning rippled over Louisa’s shoulders, even as she laughed, delighted with her friends’ love and loyalty.
CHAPTER TWO
A few weeks later…
Lady Clarice’s masquerade ball was everything it was reputed to be and much more. The interior of the grand townhouse was dimly lit and bedecked with oriental drapes and lush carpeting. Ladies wore jewel-studded masks on their faces, elaborate wigs atop their heads, their gowns owned plunging necklines with diaphanous materials which revealed much of their legs and bodies.
Having been carefully instructed in the rules governing the social conduct of young ladies, Louisa was well aware of the impropriety of her conduct in attending such a scandalous gathering. She was often warned about the sin and decadence in the secret belly of the ton that could lead sheltered young misses like her to ruin.
Everything her eyes beheld this night was most assuredly wicked. Couples danced the waltz far too intimately, some salaciously embraced and kissed on chaise longues, another lady in a black-and-blue mask sitting astride a young lord of society with her mouth mashed indecently to his. Yet none of this public display of wanton behavior tempted Louisa to misbehave or even roused her curiosity.
She hadn’t daringly traipsed where no debutante dared before for fun, but to stand by one of her dearest friends. Louisa hesitated in the hallway, wanting to run away yet knowing she must enter the room her friend, Agatha, had just rushed from, her eyes swimming with tears. Louisa had never felt so uncertain about anything in her life. Yet no amount of sensible arguments could convince her to turn back. Upon the heels of that thought, the door flung open and a large shadow framed the doorway.
Louisa took a steadying breath as she peered up at the handsome and intimidating presence of the Duke of Ranford. Stepping forward, she jabbed a pointed finger at his chest. “How could you betray your wife in such a manner?”
The duke appeared as if he wanted to throttle her, but she jutted her chin and met his cold glare with what she hoped was an unafraid stare on her part. One of her dearest friend’s hearts had been broken because of this man, and Louisa was determined to blister his ears even if he would crush her for the temerity. Hopefully, her words would force the duke to see how his actions had wounded Agatha’s pride and heart.
“I have no compunction about tossing you aside,” the duke snapped, disbelief widening his gaze.
Though her fingers trembled she clasped them tightly before her. It had taken such tremendous courage to come here tonight, it would not do to falter now. Louisa jutted her chin even higher and held his annoyed glare. “Agatha deserves to have faithfulness in her marriage and—”
“I am damn well faithful to her,” the duke snapped, clearly offended by her accusation. “I want no other woman but my damn duchess, so take your nonsense elsewhere.”
A wonderful thrill went through Louisa’s heart at his passionate declaration. “But…but you took the lady in red to that door behind you!” And she suspected he had thoroughly ravished Agatha too. But had he really known it was his wife and not a courtesan?
Thunderclouds formed in the duke’s eyes, and Louisa truly worried for her neck.
“I knew the lady in red was my bloody duchess!”
Oh! His voice rang with passionate sincerity. That meant…that meant…Louisa smiled, relief scything through her heart. That meant Agatha’s marriage was saved and surely the duke also loved his wife. The duke blinked, looked over her head before rushing away, bounding down the stairs two steps at a time, no doubt to chase his wife.
How wonderfully romantic!
Louisa clapped and twirled in the hallway, uncaring she was dancing her happiness.
“Well, what do we have here,” a far too dangerous voice drawled.
She stumbled, righted herself, and whirled toward that voice, staring at the other end of the hallway, but she could only see the shadowy outline of a gentleman.
“Who is there?” she called tremulously, feeling like a heroine in one of the gothic mysteries she loved to read.
Louisa reached up and patted the dark wig atop her head and face mask. All was in place, not that she believed anyone would recognize her here when she remained unnoticeable at balls and soirees. The shadow moved forward, and the Marquess of Marsden revealed himself.
