The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) Page 4

  Dartford arched a brow as he peered at her. “Yes, I seem to recall you like pistols.”

  Lucy swallowed a chuckle at his comment.

  “I’m in need of a new rifle.” Wells put down the four of hearts. “I’ll have a look at Purdey’s.”

  How Lucy wished she could afford such things. But what would she do with it? It wasn’t as if she’d be invited to hunt grouse come August. Perhaps she could set up a target range when they moved to their new cottage. She stifled a smile at Grandmama’s horror if she proposed such a thing.

  At last Dartford offered a friendly wager, which was accepted around the table. The betting was small at first, almost inconsequential, but by the end of the hand, Lucy was ahead ten pounds. She hoped the wagers would increase—and that she’d retain her luck with the cards—in the next round, but she didn’t show it. Father had taught her how to shield her emotions and reactions as well as he’d schooled her in everything else.

  Dartford took over as dealer for the next round. Lucy lost a few wagers and began to worry that she’d suffer her first losing evening.

  Partway through the hand, Henderson squinted at Dartford. “I’ve been thinking about those Purdey guns. I should like to see which one fires better. I’ll put my money on Manton.”

  “How much money?” Lucy asked.

  Dartford shot her a look of surprise with maybe just a touch of irritation. She ought to have censored herself, but why? She was playing the part of a gentleman, and they were allowed to speak their mind.

  Henderson shrugged, then looked around the table. “A hundred quid.”

  Lucy’s heart sank. She didn’t have that kind of money yet. Anyway, she didn’t know what gun maker she’d place her wager on.

  Henderson sat forward in his chair, his eyes gleaming. “We must do this.”

  Wells chuckled. “How do you propose we execute such an endeavor?”

  Dartford looked from Henderson to Wells. “We’ll use a vise to hold the pistol. That’s the only way to objectively compare them. Although I don’t know where we’ll accomplish that.”

  Henderson gave them all a superior perusal. “Manton’s, of course.”

  “He’ll let you fire the other weapons?” Wells asked.

  Henderson laughed but ended by clearing his throat. “’Course he will, because his gun is going to win.”

  “My money’s on the Purdey,” Dartford said.

  “And I’m for the Wogdon.” Wells turned his head to look at Lucy. “What about you, Smitty?”

  How she wished she could afford to participate!

  Dartford cocked his head to the side. “Yes, Smitty, which one?”

  She glared at him for the briefest moment before reining in her reaction. Gritting her teeth, she tried to somehow silently communicate that she didn’t have that kind of money. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to say,” she said, disappointed that she wouldn’t get to see the experiment in person.

  “Then you’ll have to shoot them yourself so that you can form an opinion,” Henderson said. “When we’re finished here, we’ll head over to Manton’s.” He signaled for a young lad, apparently an employee, to come to the table.

  Wells blinked at Henderson, his jaw slack. “What, now? Tonight?”

  “Why not?” Henderson gave the boy instructions to find his coach on the street and send his footman to Manton’s to make the arrangements. “Now, let us finish. I want to make my hundred quid.”

  Lucy doubled her focus, intent on winning. Three tricks later, she and Dartford had won, and she was just shy of a hundred pounds richer. An excellent result, but still not enough to enter the shooting wager. She eyed Dartford, wondering if he’d summon a reason to take her home first. She couldn’t imagine how he’d do that without abdicating his own participation in the wager.

  Henderson stood. “We can ride over to Davies Street in my coach.”

  “Just so,” Dartford said, smiling. He unfolded himself from his chair and stretched his shoulders. “After you, Henderson.”

  Henderson led the way, followed by Wells. Dartford hung back a few paces and sidled closer to Lucy.

  “You’re letting me go?” she asked him as they departed the room.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve accepted that I will decide what you should and shouldn’t do—for your safety, you understand.”

  His audacity and arrogance were aggravating, but she couldn’t deny that he was useful. Or that in his presence she felt, yes, safer. Protected, even.

  But it wouldn’t do for him to know that. She stopped for a moment to roll her eyes at him and then exhaled in an exaggerated fashion. “Thank goodness for you.”

  His dark gaze was direct, almost intimate. “Careful, that breathy sound was very womanly.”

  Something about the way he looked at her and the manner in which he said “womanly” made her flesh tingle. She refused to consider that she might find him attractive. “Don’t ask if I can participate in the wager. I don’t have the funds.”

  “I could spot you what you need.”

  A tempting offer, but she’d learned from her father’s mistakes. Never ever borrow, particularly if there was any chance you couldn’t pay it back. What most people failed to comprehend was that there was always a chance you couldn’t pay it back. Nothing in life was certain.

  “No, thank you,” she said, starting toward the stairs.

  He walked alongside her. “It’s only a few pounds.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t borrow.”

  “An admirable characteristic. How about if I give it to you?”

  “A gentleman does not give…me money.” She’d been about to say a gentleman doesn’t give a lady money. But ladies didn’t frequent gaming hells either. Perhaps she was being foolish. She had money at home—her winnings from her other nights of gambling. In this instance, she knew she could pay him back. On the other hand, if she placed the wager and lost…she’d be out a hundred pounds.

  “Think about it on the way,” he said as they followed Henderson and Wells down the stairs.

  Outside, they climbed into Henderson’s coach. He and Wells took the front-facing seat, which left the rear-facing one for Lucy and Dartford. The small space required she sit far too close to him. Dartford was a larger than average man, so their thighs nearly touched. Lucy’s legs were not as padded as her upper body. She wished they were so that she was not so aware of his presence. Or more accurately, of the fact that she was attracted to him.

  Blast.

  As they traveled to Manton’s, they argued as to which gun would fire most accurately. By the time they’d arrived, the wager had increased to a hundred and fifty pounds. Lucy couldn’t bring herself to take that much from Dartford.

  Manton himself, a man who was much the same age as Wells and Henderson, greeted them, and Henderson had to pay him a fee to open at this hour as well as to allow them to shoot the Purdey and Wogdon, which Henderson’s footman had somehow obtained.

  Henderson coughed as he turned from Manton and looked at Lucy. “If you’d care to shoot all three weapons, you can then make a decision about your wager.”

  It wasn’t a question. He assumed Lucy was going to place a bet. She sent Dartford a panicked look. He responded with a subtle inclination of his head and a reassuring stare.

  That feeling of protection rushed over her again. The independent woman she thought herself to be wanted to hate it. But somewhere, in places she hadn’t known existed, she liked it very much.

  Lucy let out a breath and tried to focus on the thrill of being able to fire the weapons. She was inside Manton’s! And she was going to shoot three of the best pistols ever made.

  Manton led them to the shooting gallery. The room was large, easily the size of a grand ballroom, but with a rectangular shape. The ceilings were high, with massive chandeliers that were not currently lit. Instead, lanterns had been placed about the space. It wasn’t a terribly bright environment, but Lucy didn’t care.

  “You’ll sho
ot at the wafer.” Manton indicated a disc hanging at the opposite end and handed her the first gun. “We’ll start with the Purdey. He used to work for me, you know.”

  Lucy took the weapon and hefted it in her hand. She glanced at Dartford, who was watching her intently. His gaze was a mix of concern and anticipation. He didn’t think she could do this. She was going to really have to hide her emotions now.

  She took her place and held the pistol out, marking her aim. She cocked the weapon and fired, hitting the wafer square. Exhilaration rushed through her.

  “Excellent,” Manton said, taking the gun from her and giving her the second one in its place. “My man will change out the wafer. This next one is the Wogdon.”

  As they awaited the new wafer, Dartford moved close to her and murmured, “Was that luck?”

  She turned her head and whispered, “Skill.” A sense of giddiness rushed through her. She never imagined she’d be able to demonstrate her ability to people who would genuinely appreciate it.

  “I see.” He took a step back.

  “Ready?” Manton asked.

  Lucy took aim again and fired. She hit the target, but not as accurately as the first time.

  “Damn me,” Henderson said. “You’re not bad.”

  Pride burned in Lucy’s chest. She longed to rip off her disguise and show them that she was a woman. She’d have to settle for imagining their shocked reactions. “Thank you.”

  Manton took the Wogdon from her and eyed her fingers. “Most gentlemen remove their gloves when they shoot here.”

  Lucy curled her hand into a fist and dropped it to her side. She couldn’t think of an appropriate response—which was an unnerving and singular sensation—so she said nothing.

  “Finally, here’s mine.” Manton handed her the pistol he’d designed.

  It felt familiar, even though it was different from her father’s. Or maybe she just wanted it to feel that way. But why? It wasn’t as if she missed her father. That wasn’t precisely true. She missed the man who’d taught her to play cards and to shoot. It was the only time in her life that she’d been interesting or important to him.

  She raised the weapon and took aim. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger. Again, she hit the wafer in the center.

  Manton chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to face you at dawn. Why haven’t I seen you here before?” He studied her face for a moment, and Lucy began to feel uncomfortable. Coming here had been a folly, no matter how wonderful.

  She shrugged and looked away.

  “Well, be sure to come in. You need your own Manton.”

  Lucy turned her head to Dartford. He looked rather pleased.

  “What’s your wager, then?” Henderson asked.

  In her excitement over shooting, she’d almost forgotten how she’d been cornered into placing a wager she couldn’t afford. “Ah…”

  Dartford stepped toward her, his gaze encouraging. “The Purdey, right?”

  “Actually, I would say the Manton.” And she wasn’t just choosing that because its manufacturer was standing a few feet away, nor was it due to nostalgia. She’d liked the feel of it best. Which meant nothing about accuracy, she realized.

  Manton gave the pistol to one of his men to stage it for the experiment. “If you’ll just give us a moment.”

  Henderson rubbed his hands together. “All right, if the Manton wins, Smitty and I will each take home an extra hundred and fifty quid, and if one of the others wins—which they won’t—one of you gents will take home an extra three hundred. Not bad.”

  Cold sweat chilled the back of Lucy’s neck. If she lost… She couldn’t think of it.

  After another few minutes, during which Lucy’s nerves bundled into tight masses all over her body, and her insides churned like boiling water, Manton declared the experiment ready.

  Each pistol was fitted into a vise and carefully aimed at a wafer. Manton pulled the trigger on each in succession, and every one hit the wafer. His man went and pulled them down, then brought them to Manton.

  Manton laid them on a nearby table in the order in which they’d been shot, which was the same order as Lucy had done. The Purdey was shot near the edge, and the Wogdon came closer to the middle. The Manton, however, had hit dead center. It was the clear winner. Which meant Lucy had won.

  Her tension became elation, and this time she couldn’t help the smile that crested over her lips. She didn’t even realize until Dartford stared at her, his eyes wide. He moved his head from side to side, slowly, almost imperceptibly. Lucy pressed her lips together and grimaced.

  “Well done, Smitty,” Wells said. He pulled the money from his coat and handed it to Henderson before turning to Dartford. “I’ll let you pay Smith.”

  Dartford nodded. “Of course.”

  Henderson cleared his throat. “Shall we return to Jessup’s?”

  “Thank you, but we’ve somewhere else to be,” Dartford said, much to Lucy’s relief.

  “Another time, then. Evening.” Henderson and Wells left together.

  “Come, we’ll get a hack.” Dartford thanked Manton, who urged Lucy to come back and shoot anytime she wanted.

  Lucy was noncommittal. She was just eager to leave. She was weary of playacting, and her throat felt ragged from affecting a masculine voice for so long.

  Once they were outside, Dartford let out a whistle. “I see the pistol you carry isn’t just for show. You’re a hell of a shot, Miss Parnell. How do you explain that?”

  “My father.”

  Dartford hailed a hackney coach and directed the driver to Bolton Street. They climbed inside, once again sitting beside each other.

  “Most fathers don’t instruct their daughters on how to shoot a gun or how to gamble. I take it he wanted a son?”

  “Probably.” Lucy had come to realize that Gerald Parnell simply didn’t know how to treat a daughter.

  He shifted on the seat, angling toward her. “You’re an interesting woman. And wealthier than when we started tonight—I’ll send the funds over tomorrow. Will that satisfy your needs, or are you going to make me do this again?”

  She laughed softly, glad she didn’t have to censor herself any longer. “Was it that bad?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I rather enjoyed myself. Did you?”

  Immensely. “Yes.” Not for the first time, she thought she ought to have been born a man. “Thank you for your help. I, ah, I don’t have quite enough money to stop.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and let out a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t suppose you’re ever going to tell me why you need it.”

  She rather thought he’d earned the right to know, especially since he’d proven so helpful. Her gaze found his in the dim light provided by the coach’s lantern. “My grandmother wishes to retire to the country, and I need to go with her. Only…there’s not enough money for that.”

  “I see. You seem to have at least some money? You had to have started this gambling scheme with something, and I know you’ve won a bit since then.”

  Yes, she’d scraped together about twenty pounds to start. But that had been difficult. They didn’t have as much as Grandmama had led her to believe the past few years. Grandmama was nearly down to her marriage settlement, the interest from which she needed to live on. And it wasn’t enough to support them both without living very frugally. Grandmama had made it clear that Lucy needed to marry. Except Lucy didn’t really want to. And anyway, no one had ever shown any interest. She offered her opinion too freely, had a very small dowry—and now none—and to call her beautiful would be an exaggeration.

  “We have just enough to finish the Season. But if I can raise the necessary funds, I’ll find a cottage near Bath as soon as possible.” The sooner she could remove herself from the pointlessness of London Society and see Grandmama settled, the better.

  He sat back against the squab and was quiet as they wound their way through the streets of Mayfair. They were nearing Bolton Street when he turned toward her once more. “Here’s th
e problem. I’m not sure you should do this again, and certainly not more than once or twice more, and absolutely not without my company. I must insist that you agree, or my earlier threat will stand.”

  “I’m so glad you recognize it as a threat.”

  He chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the shadowy coach. “Yes, let’s be direct with one another, shall we?”

  Lucy blinked at him. “I am always direct.”

  “Unless you’re trying to fool people into thinking you’re a man.” His sarcasm was simultaneously annoying and charming.

  “Yes, that. A necessary transgression, I’m sure you agree.”

  His brow arched. “I hardly think you care whether I agree.”

  He had her there. She grinned. “Maybe a little. I mean, I do care. A little.” She’d come to like Dartford during their brief acquaintance, in spite of his moments of arrogance and imperiousness. She looked forward to another adventure or two with him. “You have my word that I won’t venture out without your assistance. Shall we set our next appointment?”

  His eyes widened briefly. He seemed a bit surprised at the ease with which she’d agreed. “Excellent. Tell me when, and I’ll meet you as I did tonight.”

  “Four nights hence, at half past eleven.”

  The hackney drew to a halt on Bolton Street, but not in front of her house. They stepped out of the cab, and Dartford paid the coachman.

  With her house in sight, weariness seeped into Lucy’s frame. She longed to pluck all the padding from her body and scrub her face clean after discarding the fake sideburns.

  Dartford walked with her toward the house. “What would your grandmother say if she knew you were doing this?”

  Lucy suffered a pang of guilt. “She’d be horrified.”

  “What does she think you’re going to do once she retires?”

  They’d reached her house. Lucy stopped and turned toward him. “She expects me to marry.”

  “And is that a possibility?” he asked. Shadows played across his face, but she could see his eyes clearly. They were dark, intelligent, often filled with humor. His cheekbones gave definition, while his chin, square with a slight cleft, provided character. He bore an appealing countenance. No, that wasn’t at all fair. He was exceptionally handsome. And an earl. Precisely the kind of man her grandmother had hoped she would marry but who’d consistently ignored her the past five years. An Untouchable.