The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) Page 12

  Andrew nodded. “As you say.”

  He and Miss Parnell walked to his phaeton. “Can you climb in by yourself? I can’t help you without drawing notice.”

  “I’ve been scaling trees my entire life. This is easy.” And so it was as she vaulted up into the vehicle.

  He joined her on the seat and picked up the reins. “Do you know how to drive?”

  “I do.”

  He handed her the ribbons. “Then you drive over.”

  She turned her head, blinking, her mouth open in shock. “You’ll allow me?”

  He leaned back in the seat. “Why not?”

  “I’m… Thank you.” She clutched the reins for a moment before guiding the pair of horses forward. She proved a sure and steady hand as she drove them to the starting area.

  As they drew near, the next race started. His team didn’t flinch as the gun sounded, and neither did Miss Parnell.

  They watched the race, and she cheered as her driver won. She turned her head toward him, laughing. “I’m doing well today. Thank you. I needed to make up for the other night when I lost money.”

  “Well, that is our intent, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She touched his sleeve, and he pretended the movement didn’t send a jolt of desire straight through his belly. “But you’ve given me so much more. These are experiences I never would’ve been able to have without you. I’ll remember—and treasure—them forever.”

  He stared at her, thinking they were far too close, but realizing he couldn’t move away without falling from the vehicle. Was she speaking of everything they’d done together or just this—the racing, the shooting, the gambling?

  She turned her head, but he saw the blush creeping up her neck.

  Hell. They’d done a good job this morning of ignoring that the other night had ever happened. And yet now there was a…thing between them. What he didn’t know was if she regretted that event or if, like him, she secretly hoped it might happen again.

  Which it bloody well could not.

  They sat in mostly awkward silence as they waited their turn. The next two races ran. She lost the first wager and won the second. Finally, it was time for him and Greene to pull up to the starting line.

  Nevins’s younger brother started each race by firing a shot into the air. He asked them if they were ready. Andrew nodded, then looked over at Greene, who nodded too.

  Andrew tipped his head over toward Miss Parnell but kept his gaze on his team. “Lean with me on the turns, and hold on.”

  She gripped the side of the phaeton just before the gun fired.

  Andrew drove his team forward, and they leapt from the line to an early lead. The course wasn’t terribly long and featured two turns, the second of which was quite sharp. It had tripped up many a less-experienced driver.

  At the first turn, he miscalculated slightly, and they lost a bit of their lead. On the straightaway, Greene nearly caught up to them.

  “Faster!” Miss Parnell yelled.

  He realized he wasn’t driving quite as fast as he would if she weren’t with him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Greene pull up alongside him.

  Gritting his teeth, he decided he didn’t want to lose. Not that he ever did, but especially not today. He wanted to win—for her. As she’d said, she would likely never have the chance to do this again, and he wanted it to be a memory that made her smile. “Hold on.”

  He increased their speed as they approached the second turn. “Lean into me!”

  Her body came up against him, and he took the corner perhaps faster than he ever had. The wheels of the phaeton creaked, and he thought that the far side had lifted off the ground—an inch or two at least. His muscles clenched, and he sent up a silent prayer as they came around.

  With the turn behind them, she sat straight again and cheered. “Magnificent!” Her laughter filled the air, and he couldn’t help but grin.

  They’d pulled ahead of Greene through the turn, and now Andrew widened their lead. When they crossed the finish line, it was a clear win.

  Beside him, Miss Parnell gulped air. “That was absolutely exhilarating. Thank you.” Her eyes were glossy with excitement, her lips curved into an enchanting smile.

  “You don’t look remotely like a gentleman right now.” No, she looked like a beautiful woman he wanted to kiss. “Pull yourself together, because we are about to be mobbed.”

  Sure enough, gentlemen rushed toward the phaeton shouting and laughing. “Damn me,” Charles said, grinning. “That was the finest corner I’ve ever seen.” He looked at Miss Parnell. “It’s a testament to his driving that you didn’t fall out.”

  “And Smitty’s balance,” Andrew said, laughing. “Charles, you would have fallen out regardless of who was driving.”

  Charles’s smile didn’t fade. “True.”

  Andrew climbed out of the vehicle and watched as Miss Parnell did the same. She was quickly surrounded, and Andrew grew nervous as men slapped her back and jostled her. He didn’t like their proximity and started toward her to provide a buffer.

  Greene approached him before he could reach her. “Congratulations. That was an incredible turn.”

  Andrew didn’t take his eyes from Miss Parnell. She was smiling, but in that reserved way with her lips pressed together. “Thank you. You put up an excellent race.”

  “I tried.” Greene’s brow furrowed. “Did you hear anything odd? I swear I heard a woman laughing.”

  Andrew stopped cold, ice coating his neck. He pulled his gaze from Miss Parnell for a moment and looked at Greene as if he’d sprouted another nose. “No.”

  “Ah well. Next time, I’ll choose someone closer in size to your passenger—though I was hard-pressed to find someone of Smitty’s short stature.”

  Because for a gentleman, Miss Parnell was small. At least in height, and even though she padded herself, she didn’t appear very large. Another conversation he didn’t care to have today and more scrutiny he’d rather she didn’t receive. He glanced at Greene before taking his leave. “Please excuse me.”

  He cut through the crowd and finally reached her side. He whispered next to her ear, “You need to go.”

  She nodded. “My coach is waiting.” She started to turn, but that bloody Greene had caught up to them and stopped her, his hand catching her elbow. Andrew miraculously stopped himself from slapping his hand away. Touching her like that was precisely what had led Andrew to realize she wasn’t what she seemed.

  Miss Parnell extricated herself quickly and efficiently, however. Andrew hoped she’d been fast enough to prevent Greene from discerning anything.

  “Smitty, I hear your shooting is something to be seen,” Greene said. “Perhaps you’d care to demonstrate?”

  Hellfire. She needed to leave, but he didn’t think she would, not with the temptation of shooting dangling before her.

  She coughed. “I shall sometime.”

  She started to turn, but Greene said, “Why not now?”

  “Because I didn’t bring my weapon.” Her tone was dark and clipped—both manly and haughty.

  Andrew stifled a smile, unsurprised that she could hold her own. “We’ll arrange a shooting exhibition soon.”

  “Next Tuesday after the racing,” Greene said. He pinned Miss Parnell with a direct stare. “I shall look forward to it.”

  She made a sound that was a sort of grunt of agreement. Yes, she was becoming quite an accomplished man.

  She collected her winning from Nevins and searched Andrew out with her eyes. Once their gazes connected, she inclined her head toward where her coach stood.

  Andrew nodded slightly and left the crowd, joining her on the way to her coach. “Who loaned you their vehicle?”

  “Lady Satterfield.”

  Andrew nearly tripped. “She knows of your charade?”

  “Heavens, no. My friend Aquilla is her ward. She arranged it.”

  “How enterprising.”

  “When are we going out again?” she asked as they neared the co
ach.

  “I don’t know. The other night has given me pause.” He realized as soon as he said it that she could interpret that one of two ways.

  She looked at him sharply. “You don’t mean to end our agreement prematurely, do you? I still require more funds.”

  He was relieved—but maybe also a trifle annoyed—when she didn’t mention him kissing her. He didn’t like thinking that she was so unaffected while he had been just the opposite. “No, I said I would help you reach your goal, and I shall. Tonight?”

  “Half past eleven at the corner.”

  He stopped a few feet from the coach. “Perhaps we should go tomorrow night to give your poor face a respite.” When she blinked at him, he clarified. “So you don’t have to wear the facial hair again.”

  She looked away. “I appreciate your concern, but I shall be fine.” She turned and walked away without another word, leaving him to wonder if he’d annoyed her.

  But that was preposterous. She was merely keeping their relationship to what they’d agreed upon—him helping her to make the money she needed to retire to the country with her grandmother.

  He suddenly realized London was going to be rather dim without her in it.

  Chapter Nine

  As Lucy left her house that night, she wondered if she shouldn’t have heeded Dartford’s suggestion. Despite applying generous amounts of cream to the area, her skin still felt a bit raw.

  No, it was good they were going tonight. Grandmama had informed her that they would attend a dinner party tomorrow evening. Lucy hoped the redness on her face would fade by then.

  Dartford leaned against a streetlamp, his features cast in seductive shadow. She didn’t need to see him to picture the lines of his face—the strong angle of his nose, the cleft in his chin. He presented an attractive figure, a handsome gentleman lounging carelessly, just waiting for Something Exciting.

  And yet he was only waiting for her. She was not exciting.

  She’d worried that this morning would be uncomfortable given how their last meeting had ended, so she’d made a calculated effort to avoid the subject. He’d clearly done the same, which was for the best. Still, here they were together again, at night, in the same situation that saw them kissing several nights ago.

  Not precisely the same. If he suggested they take a hack, she would firmly refuse…

  He pushed away from the lamppost. “I thought we’d return to the hell where I met you.”

  She nodded, uncaring where they went so long as she could make money. If she could do well tonight and again on Saturday with the balloon excursion, she could stop this. However, after the exhilaration of this morning’s race, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Especially since next week there would be a shooting exposition, and she was expected to participate. It was too good to pass up.

  They turned down Piccadilly and made their way to the hell.

  “You had a good time this morning?” he asked.

  “Quite. I look forward to next week.” Whether she had enough money or not, she decided in that moment she wanted to go. At least once more.

  “Since you know of the plans to shoot, you’ll need to bring your pistol.”

  She slowed, realizing what he was implying. “You know I don’t have a proper one.”

  “I do. You can borrow one of mine.” He glanced at her. “How did you leave your house without notice this morning?”

  “My maid and I watched for the street to be clear, and I left as stealthily as possible. Aquilla and Ivy told me not to overthink it, and I daresay they were right. Lady Satterfield’s coach was waiting for me on the corner.”

  He sent her an approving glance. “You needn’t bother with Lady Satterfield’s coach next week. I’ll pick you up in the same place.”

  They’d be alone together again in a coach. She wasn’t sure that was wise, but she was even less sure she should mention that fact. So she didn’t.

  Instead, she sneaked quick looks at him and recalled the feel of his mouth on hers and the way her body responded…

  “Miss Parnell?”

  Had he said something? “Yes, what?”

  “I asked what pistol you wanted me to bring—the Purdey or the Manton?”

  She shrugged. “Whichever you prefer. Although, I am partial to the Manton.”

  “The Manton it is, then.” They neared the hell, and he reminded her of his “rules.” “Stay in my sight please, and when I say it’s time to leave, we leave.”

  “I know.”

  “You understand why I demand these things, don’t you? You see how our last excursion could’ve ended in disaster?”

  She stopped and turned toward him. “It did.”

  He nearly tripped. “I beg your pardon?”

  She gave him an indignant stare. “I went home without my winnings, if you’ll recall.”

  He coughed and smoothed his hand over the front of his coat. “Ah. I thought you meant…never mind.”

  She hushed her voice low even though there was no one on their side of the street. “You thought I meant the kissing.” The last word came out like a hiss.

  He averted his gaze from hers. “I, ah, yes.”

  “I did not. I’m quite content to behave as though it didn’t happen. I thought that’s what we were doing.”

  “Yes. Just so.” He turned away from her without looking her in the eye. “Let’s get to the hell.”

  When they arrived at the hell, they went directly to a faro table where Lucy lost nearly every turn of the card. It was her most crushing defeat yet. She grew irritable, and Andrew urged her to take a respite. They went to the salon, where she took a glass of port and Andrew gin.

  “I don’t know how you can drink that,” she said.

  “Have you tried it?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He grinned. “Well, then. What kind of guide am I if I don’t ensure you sample it?” He handed her the glass despite her lack of agreement.

  She gave him her port to hold, which he took from her fingertips. “What if I don’t want to try it?”

  “I won’t believe you. You’ll try anything once, I think.”

  She felt an imprudent pride at the admiration in his tone. She had to quash the urge to arch her brow in a saucy fashion. She couldn’t flirt with him when she was dressed as a man. She couldn’t flirt with him ever! She sipped the gin and coughed at its tang. “Damn.”

  Better prepared, she tried it again. She didn’t cough this time, but she still didn’t particularly care for the taste. She handed him the glass and took her port, which she promptly used to banish the lingering taste of juniper from her mouth.

  “Well, you tried it,” he said, toasting her with his glass.

  She looked up at him, cocking her head to the side. “Satisfied?” She realized—a bit too late—that she was flirting with him anyway. She straightened and took another drink of port.

  He seemed to recognize her foolishness when he didn’t answer. Or maybe he was distracted because at that moment, several members of his set entered the salon—Beaumont, Charles, and Greene among them.

  “Dart and Smitty,” Charles said. “I was certain we’d find you tonight.” He looked at Dart. “I’ve noticed you don’t meet us at the club on the nights we run into you with Smitty. Where do you two start your evenings?”

  Charles’s gaze lingered on Lucy. She lifted her glass to shield her face. She didn’t like it when anyone looked at her too closely, and unfortunately that was bound to happen the more time she spent with these gentlemen. Perhaps she should count herself lucky and skip next week’s races.

  “It varies,” Dartford answered casually. He looked at Lucy, perhaps reading her discomfort. “Shall we return to the table?”

  Yes, she had losses to recoup. “Let’s.” She tossed back the rest of her port and set her empty glass on the tray of a passing footman.

  Greene stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”

  Lucy glanced over at Dartford, who gave an infinitesimal shru
g.

  At the table, Greene took up a place beside her. “How did you meet Dartford?”

  “Here, actually. We, ah, have a few things in common.” She looked at Dartford, who stood on her other side, and hoped he would provide assistance.

  “Such as shooting and driving,” Dartford said. “Smitty likes exciting things.”

  She tried not to think that he was flirting with her, because of course he wasn’t. Still, she could imagine that he was. She internally shook herself—this entire flirting nonsense had no place in her plans and deserved none of her attention.

  Greene’s mouth curved up. He was attractive, with dark blue eyes and a wide smile that invited you to talk with him and trade stories. “Then you are peas in a pod,” he said.

  They turned their attention to the table to place their bets. As with the previous round, Lucy lost far more than she won. By the end, she was fuming and more than a little distressed. She couldn’t afford to keep losing like this. She was already quite behind. This was precisely the sort of wagering that led one down a path to ruin.

  But Lucy wouldn’t do that. Her situation was completely different—she didn’t wager for amusement. She looked around at the gentlemen at the table, realizing that they all did, as far as she knew. She suspected some of them might need the extra funds for one reason or another, but couldn’t imagine them being as desperate as she was.

  How she hated that word. Damn her father.

  Her lip curled as she turned to Dartford. “I’m ready to move on.”

  He nodded, his expression surprisingly grim. He, of course, knew she was losing, and she noticed he hadn’t been doing as well as usual. Even so, he was still ahead of her.

  Dartford collected his meager winnings, and they left. Greene came along, and Lucy noticed the entire group was leaving with them.

  “Where are we off to next?” Greene asked pleasantly.

  For some reason, Lucy wished they would go their own way. She was just feeling grumpy over her losses and was eager to turn her night around.

  “Let’s go to Turner’s,” Charles suggested as they descended the front steps.

  Beaumont scrunched up his nose. “I was thinking Polton’s.”