The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) Read online

  She supposed some gentleman could come up to scratch, at least providing dependability and a family. But after years of being ignored, she just didn’t think that was likely. “Tonight is peculiar, a one-time oddity,” she said. “I doubt this will encourage anything at all. Tomorrow, Society will go right back to not even seeing me.”

  Aquilla looked at her askance. “I don’t know if I believe that. The Duke of Daring asked you to dance. That’s extraordinary, don’t you agree?”

  He’d only done so because he knew her, not because he was interested in a courtship. “No.”

  Aquilla looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “He never dances!” She placed her finger against her chin in a contemplative pose. “In fact, he rarely attends balls. I wonder what he was doing here.” Her gaze turned expectant as if Lucy might know.

  And of course she did know. He’d been looking for her. She ignored the rush of heat flashing through her. “I have no idea.”

  “He didn’t say when you were dancing? What did you talk about?”

  “Waltzing.”

  Aquilla eyed her with skepticism. “How mundane. You’re a better conversationalist than that.”

  “I might have told him about how we conjure ideas of potential disasters.”

  Aquilla’s gaze filled with horror, but was quickly replaced with humor as she dissolved into giggles. “You didn’t.”

  Lucy smiled, recalling his reaction. “He wasn’t terribly amused. I daresay I needn’t worry about him pursuing me in the future.”

  Aquilla shook her head. “Pity. He’s my favorite of your dance partners this evening. What of the others? Any idea why they wanted to partner you?”

  Her question didn’t offend Lucy in the slightest. It was, after all, very strange, and they both knew it. “I would guess it was borne of male competition. They want what they think they need to battle for.”

  “How primitive.”

  A thought blasted into Lucy’s brain. If Dartford dancing with her could spark interest in Lucy, then surely it would do the same for Aquilla. She decided right then that she’d persuade him to do just that. “Perhaps Dartford will dance with you and then you can bask in all the attention.”

  “Well, that would be lovely. Unlikely, but lovely.” She exhaled. “It’s also probably pointless. You said yourself that nothing would come from your success tonight.”

  “For me,” Lucy clarified. “You, on the other hand, will be a far more engaging dance partner than I am, and you’ll charm them all into calling on you and vying for your hand. It will be a true competition.”

  Aquilla laughed. “I do appreciate your confidence—you’re a darling. Let us not forget that I don’t charm gentlemen so much as drive them away.”

  With her chattiness. Yes, Lucy knew that, just as she knew that the right man, someone who would love Aquilla for all that she was, would come along. “Well, let’s just see what happens, shall we?” She linked her arm through Aquilla’s and swept her back into the ballroom.

  Later, as she tried to sleep, Lucy’s brain was full of ideas and plans. She could scarcely wait until her next appointment with Dartford. Beyond earning more money for her goal, she was excited to learn what he had planned for other activities. And she’d convince him to lend his support to Aquilla. Perhaps he could even do more than dancing. Other gentlemen revered him. Surely if he spoke highly of a lady, their interest would be stirred.

  As she fell asleep at last, she thought of racing in Hyde Park and shooting at Manton’s, not in her men’s costume, but dressed as herself. She imagined Dartford cheering her on and sweeping her into his arms, and she felt something more than protected. Something that would’ve filled her with alarm if she’d remembered the dream in the morning.

  Fortunately, she didn’t.

  Chapter Six

  Having arrived early for their appointment, Andrew waited for Miss Parnell at the corner while keeping an eye on her house. He’d been thinking of her far too much—of how alluring she was in a ball gown, how she felt in his arms, how tempting she’d looked outside on the terrace.

  It was a good thing she’d be dressed as a man tonight. He didn’t think he could see her in full feminine regalia again without doing something he’d likely regret.

  Or not regret. Life was cruel that way.

  At last he saw her come up from the servants’ entry. She hurried toward him, her movements looking more like a woman’s than last time.

  When she reached him, he said, “Your gait is too feminine.”

  She looked down at her boots. “Really? I’ve been practicing.”

  Hell, maybe it was him. Maybe he couldn’t see her for a man at all now that he’d seen her other side. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just be mindful.”

  He turned with her toward the main thoroughfare. “We’re not going far. Just to a hell on Piccadilly.”

  “Faro?” she asked.

  “Or hazard if you like.”

  “It’s silly, but hazard seems so much riskier. I know that makes no sense whatsoever because both are games of chance, but I’ve just always been partial to cards.”

  He glanced over at her as they walked. “Why is that?”

  “Probably because my father always seemed to lose at hazard. One night, he lost five thousand pounds, plus our coach.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re in need of funds now.” He cringed, not meaning to be ungracious. “My apologies.”

  She flashed him an artless smile. “It isn’t your fault. We manage the best we can with what we’re dealt, don’t we? Yes, I realize that’s a reference to cards.” She chuckled.

  Andrew had spent the better part of his life managing in precisely that fashion. He took extra care to try to stack the deck, to use another card reference he’d just heard recently, if at all possible. That meant keeping people from getting too close and filling his life with distractions.

  Like Miss Parnell.

  Only, she was a distraction he probably didn’t need. But it wouldn’t be forever, he reasoned. Their association would be over soon enough.

  “What did you come up with regarding other events?” she asked, jarring him from his thoughts.

  He’d given it plenty of consideration. “I think we’ll start with the phaeton racing. The next one is Tuesday.” Three days from now. “You’ll be able to wager on several heats. Just be warned that you won’t win every one.”

  “But you’ll guide me, won’t you? I have no idea who’s a better driver.”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you drive when you race?” she asked.

  “A high-perch phaeton. I’m working with someone to design a new one. There are a few modifications I’d like to make to increase my speed.”

  “Is that wise? It’s dangerous enough, isn’t it?” She waved her hand. “Never mind. I forgot with whom I was speaking. You’re the Duke of Daring. Of course you want a faster vehicle.”

  He laughed. “Don’t move your hand like that. It screams woman.”

  He began to worry that everything she did would signify her sex, but again assured himself that this was his problem based on his knowledge. Knowledge that others would not have.

  “Damn,” she said. “I’ll do better when we get there. I think I’ve become too comfortable with you.”

  Damn indeed. He paused. “Perhaps this isn’t wise in the long term.”

  She stopped a few steps in front of him and turned. “What do you mean?”

  “Only that it’s a risk every time you go out as you are.”

  She frowned. “I haven’t had any problems aside from you.” Her eyes lit. “You’re the only one who’s seen through my disguise. I think this is your difficulty.”

  Just as he’d thought. “I’m sure you’re right.” He started forward again, and they continued along the street.

  “Perhaps I ought to have been born a man,” she said. “I should think that would’ve suited me better.”

  What a shame that would’ve been. “I’m glad
you weren’t.”

  “Why?” She tossed him a quick glance. “Forget I asked. I’m not sure I wish to know.”

  Good because he didn’t want to tell her. Another thought occurred to him. What if her wish to be a man had something to do with why she didn’t want to marry? Maybe there was a more…basic explanation for her attitude. “Is there a reason you’d prefer to be a man? You’ve said you have no wish to marry. Perhaps you’re not, ah, like other women.”

  She slowed and tipped her face toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “Only that if you’re more comfortable as a man, that might explain why you don’t wish to marry. Perhaps you don’t, ah, prefer the company of men.” He regretted saying it almost immediately. Yes, he was flaunting every convention by escorting her around London near midnight without a chaperone, but that didn’t mean there weren’t boundaries.

  She stopped abruptly and said nothing for a moment. When she turned, she eyed him warily. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, but I assure you that I have no preference for either men or women.” Her eyes widened, and he was certain she suddenly understood. “Oh. Well. I don’t wish to marry because I’d prefer to rely on myself. As for the other…” She looked away and started walking again. “I’ve actually kissed a man. It was nice.”

  Andrew stared after her, momentarily unable to speak. When he found his voice—and his feet—he caught up to her. “Whom have you kissed?”

  She slid him a sly look. “No one you know.”

  “You might be surprised.” He was also surprised. By the fervor with which he wanted to learn this man’s identity and smash his face in. Which was wholly ludicrous.

  “No, really. He was a sheep farmer’s son. This was years and years ago. Before my debut.”

  Andrew’s shoulders relaxed. He laughed.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  Because he’d been an idiot. And because he’d stepped into a steaming pile of sheep manure with this conversation. “The idea of you with a sheep farmer. My apologies. I don’t mean to offend.”

  “He was a well-mannered boy. Joshua.” She wrinkled her nose. “But he did smell like stale hay.”

  Andrew laughed harder. “Stop, please.”

  She blinked at him. “Perhaps you should tell me of your lady loves.”

  Andrew instantly sobered, his laughter turning into a cough. “Yes, well, no. I don’t think so.” He wasn’t a rake by any means, but neither was he a monk.

  “Is that why you don’t wish to marry? Perhaps you’re not like most men.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He stopped and turned toward her. She halted a step in front of him and pivoted.

  He pinned her with an exacting stare. “I assure you, Miss Parnell, I am exactly like other men. I like to gamble and race, and I like women.” He edged toward her. “Emphatically.”

  She stared up at him, her hazel eyes enticing and mysterious at the same time. Her tongue peeked from her mouth and licked her lip, an action he’d never seen her do before and wasn’t sure he wanted to see again. Certainly not when she was costumed as a gentleman.

  “Don’t do that.” He didn’t explain, nor did she ask. “We’re here.” He’d never been more relieved to arrive at a destination. “Ready?”

  She inhaled deeply and smoothed her fingertips over her fake facial hair. “I am.” She’d lowered her voice and flattened her lips, looking more like Smitty than she had all evening, thank God.

  “That’s disturbing,” he said softly. “How quickly and easily you do that.” He shook his head, then turned to take the stairs up to the door.

  They were greeted by a footman and then made their way to the main gaming room, where faro and hazard tables were set up.

  Charles waved from a faro table in the corner. “Dartford! Come here.”

  Andrew leaned close to Miss Parnell. “I sought to avoid them the other night, but if you’re going to make a go of this, we must join them.”

  “Let’s go.” She started without him, but Andrew easily caught up.

  They waited until the round was over, and then Charles stepped away from the table. “I need a respite,” he said. “The others are at hazard.” He inclined his head toward Beaumont and a few others from their group. He gestured to a doorway leading from the room. “Have a drink with me.”

  Andrew glanced at Miss Parnell. He didn’t know if she could drink. But given everything he knew about her, he expected so. She didn’t return his gaze. Instead, she followed Charles into the parlor where a footman offered them whiskey, gin, or port.

  She took the port, which surprised him.

  “Not a whiskey drinker?” he asked.

  She eyed the glass he’d taken from the tray. It contained gin. “Neither are you, I see.”

  Charles chuckled. “Not Dart. He typically goes for blue ruin. He lives like a man who doesn’t have a tomorrow, isn’t that right, Dart?”

  Miss Parnell eyed him quizzically but was quick to mask her perusal.

  Charles sipped his drink. “Smitty, I hear you’re quite the marksman.”

  “So it would seem,” she said, pitching her voice as low as Andrew knew it could go.

  “I should like to see you take aim at the wafer some time,” Charles said. “We’ll have to arrange a shooting day.”

  “Indeed.”

  Andrew liked that she was noncommittal. They needed to take this slowly. “I’ve invited Smitty to join us for racing on Tuesday morning.”

  “Capital idea,” Charles said. He looked at Miss Parnell, scrutinizing her a little more than Andrew would like. “Do you race?”

  “I do not, but I should like to try.”

  Charles rocked back on his heels. “You’re a driver, then. What’s your vehicle?”

  She glanced at Andrew, and he lightly shrugged. She’d need to maneuver these sorts of conversations.

  She cleared her throat in a thoroughly masculine fashion. Andrew nearly applauded. “A phaeton.”

  “High perch?” Charles asked.

  “No.” Her tone was that of disappointment. Damn, she certainly seemed to crave excitement as much as he did. How extraordinary. And yet troubling at the same time. He didn’t want to like her more than he already did.

  Beaumont and the others joined them. “If it isn’t the mysterious Smitty,” Beaumont said. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Everyone wants to see you shoot.”

  Miss Parnell wore a high, stiff cravat to shield the slender, alluring column of her neck, but it didn’t cover the blush that spread up her face. She turned her head slightly and brought her hand up to smooth her sideburn, likely in an effort to mask her reaction. She liked the praise. Who wouldn’t?

  “He’s coming to the races on Tuesday,” Charles said. “Mayhap we can set up a target so he can demonstrate his skill. I’ll still wager Dart can outshoot him.”

  Beaumont narrowed his eyes then grinned. “I’ll take that wager! Fifty pounds.”

  “Fifty pounds,” Charles agreed.

  Charles looked toward Andrew and inclined his head toward the corner. “Dart, might I have a word?”

  Andrew didn’t want to leave Miss Parnell, even if it was just to move across the room. He preferred to hear what was said to her and what she said in response. But he couldn’t think of a reason to decline Charles without drawing attention to their situation. So he went along with him but kept his body positioned so he could see Miss Parnell with the others.

  Charles threw back the rest of his whiskey and rotated the glass several turns in his hands. “I’m a bit short tonight, Dart. Will you loan me a hundred pounds?”

  Andrew flicked a glance at his friend but kept his focus on Miss Parnell. “How much have you lost?”

  Charles tugged at his collar. “Ah, five hundred.”

  Andrew looked at him fully. “Hell. It’s early yet. What happened?”

  “Just got caught up. But don’t worry, I’m done with faro.”

  “You should be done with everyt
hing. Why not take the role of spectator for the rest of the evening?”

  Charles’s dark brows knitted as his mouth formed a pout. “That’s never fun.”

  He thought of the losses Miss Parnell’s father had suffered and the impact it had on others. Charles didn’t have a family, but he likely would someday. “It’s better than losing in excess of five hundred pounds.” Andrew slapped Charles on the shoulder. “You’ll thank me.”

  “I could just go home and fetch more blunt. Aye, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Andrew saw that Beaumont was talking to Miss Parnell. He wanted to go back and hear their discussion. “Careful, Charles. Don’t get in over your head.”

  “I won’t.”

  Now Beaumont led Miss Parnell back to the gaming room. Time to go. Andrew turned to Charles. “Do what you must, but I don’t wish to contribute to your downfall. Sorry, chap.”

  He hurried to join the others in the gaming room.

  Lucy sipped her port as she watched Dartford speaking with Charles, who looked a bit nervous. “What’s that about?” she asked the nearest gentleman, who happened to be Beaumont.

  The viscount looked over at the pair in the corner and shrugged. “Charles is probably asking for funds. Sometimes he gets caught up and loses his allotment for the evening.

  “Allotment?” she asked.

  “His father keeps him on a tight rein. It’s a good thing, else he’d likely be in debtor’s prison already.”

  Lucy hid her scowl behind her glass. She didn’t like Charles, she decided, despite his geniality.

  Beaumont turned to face her. “Did Dart also invite you to the balloon exhibition this Saturday?”

  Lucy gave Beaumont her undivided attention. “What balloon exhibition?”

  “Sadler’s ascending from Burlington House, and Dart is riding with him.”

  He meant to fly? Lucy had never seen a balloon ascent. She measured her tone, lest she sound overly interested. “How extraordinary.”

  “We’re not going to the ascension. We’ll be waiting for him at Darent Hall, where they’ll descend.” His blue eyes lit with excitement. “But don’t tell him—it’s a surprise. Charles is already wagering on where the balloon will land. We plan to arrive early and choose landing sites. Whoever comes closest will win the pot.”