The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) Page 9

  How Lucy longed to join them. But how would she get herself to Dartford’s seat in Kent? It was a good twenty-five miles away. Plus, Dartford wouldn’t be happy to see that she’d come, not without his company. She inwardly frowned. It wasn’t up to Dartford to dictate her actions. She’d go if she wanted to. Except she still didn’t have a means of travel. She realized, rather belatedly, that it was past time to involve her friends in her scheme. They would provide support and suggestions—one of them would have an idea to help her participate in this balloon excursion so that she could wager on the outcome. If she could win the pot, it might be enough to reach her goal.

  “Sounds like fun,” she said.

  “You’ll join us, then?”

  “I’ll try.” She’d do everything possible.

  He arched his brows at her. “Just remember it’s a secret.”

  She nodded and wondered how Dartford would react to the surprise. Hopefully, she’d find out.

  Beaumont threw back the rest of his whiskey. “I’m going to the faro table.”

  Lucy was itching to increase her purse. “I’ll join you.” She tossed a glance at Dartford, but he appeared to be deep in conversation with Charles, who was still fidgeting agitatedly with his glass.

  The faro table was about to start a new round, so their timing was impeccable. Soon, Lucy was caught up in the game. She didn’t notice when Dartford came into the gaming room, but sensed his presence when he moved behind her, just a moment before she saw him from the corner of her eye.

  He sidled up to the table, taking a position to her right, while Beaumont was on her left. “You shouldn’t do that,” he murmured.

  She glanced his way. “What, leave your sight? That’s absurd.”

  “It isn’t. We had an agreement.”

  “I was only in the next room, and I wasn’t alone.” She’d kept her voice low, but now she pitched it even softer. “Do I need to be concerned about Beaumont?”

  “No.” The answer came swiftly. “Never mind. You’re doing well,” he said. “After this, we can return to Jessup’s to play whist if you’d like.”

  “Actually, there’s a hell I wanted to visit further down Jermyn Street. They allow deeper play.”

  He looked at her intently, and she feared he would refuse. In the end, he nodded. “You’re a judicious gambler, but then I should expect nothing less.” Was there admiration in his gaze? She wasn’t certain. Nevertheless, she appreciated his words. She had no wish to become like her father, not that she believed she would.

  After two more rounds, they left. Beaumont and the others went another direction, and Charles went home.

  As they walked to Jermyn Street, Lucy inquired about Charles. “Beaumont said he was asking you for money. Is that true?”

  Dartford exhaled. “Yes. Unlike you, he is not a judicious gambler.”

  “I see. And did you give him money?”

  “No.”

  She suspected he hadn’t, but hearing that she wasn’t wrong about him made her belly flutter. It was an odd, new sensation, but not at all unpleasant.

  As they approached the hell, Dartford’s tone turned serious. “I see where we’re going. This is not like the other hells we’ve been to. In this instance, I will expect you not to leave my sight, and the moment I indicate we should leave, we will leave. Those are my terms, and they are not negotiable. Do you agree?”

  She trusted him. As much as she’d probably ever trust any man. “Yes. But I need to win. At least a hundred pounds.”

  “I understand. We’ll leave after that, and I’ll hail a hack to take you home.”

  She wasn’t certain of his intent. “Alone?”

  His brow furrowed. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”

  No, he wouldn’t. She was stuck with him whether she liked it or not.

  She liked it.

  They entered the hell, and right away she noticed the difference. Not everyone was as well dressed as they were. Or as clean. There was an odor of sweat and liquor. It was louder, more raucous.

  Dartford guided her toward the nearest faro table, using his body to both cut through the throng and as a shield to protect her. They both played the next hand. This game moved faster than the others in her experience. It would be easy to lose track, especially if you were drinking whiskey or gin, as so many of the men around her were doing.

  As the final card was turned, the man next to her grew upset at his loss. He leaned over the table, sneering at the dealer. “I’ll come back tomorrow with my friends, and we’ll see if you cheat me again.”

  A brawny footman was on him in an instant. But the angry man wasn’t small and put up a fight. He jostled into Lucy, sending her sprawling. In the process, her hat slipped from her head.

  Before she could reach for it, Dartford had slammed it back onto her scalp. He hauled her to her feet, his hands coming under her arms and clasping her sides. His fingertips crushed into her breasts, but she had enough padding that it didn’t hurt. What it did do was jolt her into a very specific, very provocative awareness.

  “Let’s go.” He kept one hand on her side and turned her toward the door.

  She stepped away from him—it wouldn’t do for anyone to see him touching her. Plus, his touch was doing that fluttery thing to her belly again.

  As soon as they were outside, Lucy tried to turn back, but he urged her down the steps. “I have winnings to collect.”

  “Not enough to make going back in worth it. Things were about to erupt in there.” He kept his hand on her side. “I told you we’d leave when I said so. The situation was precarious enough as it was.”

  Lucy tried to plant her feet on the bottom step. She desperately wanted to go back inside. “I need to collect my money.” Not only did she not win the hundred pounds she’d hoped, she’d laid out everything she’d won earlier in the evening and a bit more. She glowered up at him and tried to move away. “I’m at a loss as it stands.”

  He looked down at her, frowning. “I said it wasn’t negotiable. I’m sorry you lost money, but you knew this was a risky endeavor from the start.” He pulled her away from the hell. “Actually, you didn’t, otherwise you never would’ve done it, especially without help.”

  Yes, she’d known it was a risky endeavor, and if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that if she’d gone into that hell alone tonight, she would’ve turned right back around and left.

  She exhaled loudly, trying to expel the frustration of losing money. “Yes, yes, you’re a bloody hero.” She twisted her body away from him, and he finally let her go.

  He slowed his pace. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. However, you were very nearly exposed when you lost your hat. It’s quite evident you are not a gentleman when you lose that accessory.”

  She’d considered adopting a wig. Perhaps she’d been foolish not to. “I’ll invest in a wig.”

  His brows drew together, darkening his countenance. “I’m beginning to think you should cease this activity entirely.”

  She bristled inwardly. “No. We’ll just stick to hells you know are acceptable.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She stopped and threw him a mutinous glare. “This is not your decision. I don’t need you to continue.”

  “You do if you want your grandmother to remain ignorant of your activities.”

  “You’re a beast.”

  He hailed a passing hackney coach. “I am merely adhering to the terms of our agreement.”

  He spoke as if they had some signed contract. Like a marriage.

  She adopted her most imperious tone. “Perhaps this agreement has run its course.”

  The coach stopped, and he gave directions to return them to Bolton Street. He held the door while she stepped inside. Again, they had to sit beside each other on the only seat.

  He sat next to her, stretching his legs out in front of him as much as the confined space would allow. The lantern hanging outside th
e window offered meager illumination, but she could see the stern set of his features—his mouth drawn, his brows dipped low.

  She straightened on the seat, worried that their association might be at a premature end.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her. “When I saw you hit the floor, I was…concerned.”

  She had the sense he was tempering his words. But that would mean he was something more than…concerned. “I said I’m fine.”

  He turned his head toward her. “I understand that. Now.” He removed his hat and tossed it on the floor. He raked his hand through his hair, tousling the dark locks. “All right. We needn’t terminate our arrangement. We’ll limit ourselves to hells that are more…sedate.”

  Lucy giggled, drawing his sharp attention.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s rather amusing to utter the words ‘hell’ and ‘sedate’ in the same sentence, don’t you think?”

  He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dipping. Then he grinned. “Yes.” He collapsed back against the seat. “Good God, that was alarming. You sure you’re all right?” He looked over at her and waved his hand. “Of course you are. You’re made of better stuff than most of the men I know.”

  Lucy immediately thought of at least one gentleman of his acquaintance. “Such as Charles?”

  “Probably. I can tell your opinion of him diminished when you learned of his penchant for gambling. Don’t judge him too harshly.”

  She considered removing her hat as he’d done. What would be the harm? They were done for the evening, and she could put it back on before departing the hack. “You’re kind to defend him, but I don’t know that I can help myself. My father’s habit all but ruined me and my grandmother.”

  Dartford nodded. “I do understand, but Charles isn’t a bad sort. Besides, he’s young yet. He may come around before he has a family.”

  Lucy pulled her hat from her head and set it in her lap. “I pray that he does, but it’s none of my concern.”

  Dartford straightened, his attention fixed on her. He reached out and touched a lock of her hair that must have come loose. “Perhaps you do need a wig,” he murmured. “I’m happy to procure it for you and have it delivered.”

  It would make things simpler if he could do that. But right now she was thinking that nothing about this was simple. Sitting here with him touching her hair was…complicated. “That would be exceptionally helpful. Thank you.”

  He didn’t release her hair. If anything, he moved a bit closer. “Sometimes I forget there’s a beautiful woman hiding beneath this disguise.”

  Heat rushed up her neck and flooded her cheeks. “You flatter me. I am not beautiful.” No one had ever called her that. “My chin is too pronounced, and my eyes are squinty.”

  His mouth curved up. “Your eyes are lovely. They remind me of a forest—all dark and mysterious—just waiting to be discovered. And your chin”—his gaze dipped to her mouth—“is just the right size to support that incredible mouth of yours.”

  Oh dear, the fluttery feeling returned tenfold. “You shouldn’t say such things.” She whispered the words, but they sounded deafening in the dim cocoon of the coach.

  “I shouldn’t do many things. Probably.” His head lowered and before she could think about his intent, his lips covered hers in a delicate, delicious kiss.

  The sheep farmer’s son’s kiss had been nothing like this. Her heart raced, her stomach cartwheeled over itself, and her flesh tingled.

  He released her hair and cradled the side of her neck as his mouth played over hers, coaxing, teasing, arousing. He pulled back slightly. “Like that,” he murmured. “I definitely shouldn’t do that.”

  She let go of her hat and pulled at his lapel. “No.” She kissed him this time, surrendering to the forbidden urge inside her. One or two kisses didn’t matter. One or two kisses were nice. Didn’t she deserve one or two kisses?

  His hand curled around her neck, and he tilted his head, slanting his lips over hers. She sighed against his mouth, and he took advantage, sliding his tongue along her lower lip. She vaguely remembered tongues being part of that long-ago kiss and suddenly wanted to revisit that sensation.

  She gripped his coat tighter as she opened her mouth, inviting him inside. A deep groan sounded from somewhere in his chest, firing her excitement. She slid her hands up and clasped his neck as his other hand came around her waist. His hand splayed over the top of her hip, and he pulled her toward him, turning her on the seat. Her hat slipped to the floor.

  His tongue swept into her mouth in deep, lush strokes. A singular and unexpected thrill swirled through her—it was desire. She held tight as he kissed her, and she supposed she kissed him back. She copied his movements, sliding her tongue against his, moving her lips, and clutching him as if she would float away and drown if he let her go.

  The coach came to a sudden and shocking stop. They broke apart, both of them breathing heavily. Dartford blinked at her and swore under his breath.

  “I apologize,” she said, covering her mouth in horror. How fast he must think her—

  “Do not apologize,” he said sharply, but not in anger. “I was just surprised… I forgot that you look like a man right now.” He snatched his hat from the floor and crammed it on his head. “I’ll be damned if you feel like one, though,” he muttered.

  The heat that had fled when the coach had stopped rushed back over her. He’d said she was beautiful. He’d kissed her as if she was beautiful.

  He reached down and plucked up her hat, then thrust it toward her. “Here. I need to pay the driver.” He bounded out of the cab as if it had burst into flames.

  Again she felt a pang of distress. He’d said she shouldn’t apologize, and he’d seemed to like kissing her… But he seemed to regret it just the same.

  Lucy made sure her hair was tucked up into her hat. She straightened her coat and pulled her already-high collar up beneath her jawline. Her knuckles brushed the faux beard, which she could feel even through her gloves. Yes, she looked like a man. How odd that must have been for him.

  His face appeared in the doorway. “Are you coming?”

  She half expected him to offer her his hand, but of course he couldn’t. She came up off the seat. “Yes.”

  He stood to the side as she stepped down. The coach pulled away almost immediately.

  “I’m afraid I’m the one who must apologize,” Dartford said. He looked everywhere but at her. “I don’t know what came over me. You may be assured that won’t happen again.”

  Yes, he regretted it. She was certain. And while she knew he shouldn’t have done it, she was glad that he had. Not that she planned to tell him that. “Thank you. We’ll go on as if that didn’t happen.” She picked at an invisible speck on her coat—anything to divert her attention from his horrid awkwardness. “Do you think you can procure a wig tomorrow so that I may have it before the phaeton races?”

  He nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll make it a priority.”

  He looked at her then, his gaze dark and intense, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to regard him the same way. She hoped so. She didn’t want to develop a tendre for any man, let alone this one. She simply needed to keep her focus. Maybe she ought to think of him as a brother. She nearly laughed out loud at that thought. Then she wanted to cringe. No, definitely not a brother.

  “I’ll just stand here until you’re inside.” He turned his head, once again moving his focus to anything but her.

  “Of course. Thank you again for your assistance this evening.” She pivoted to go into the house, but stopped when he spoke.

  “We race in Hyde Park at nine o’clock. How do you plan to leave without your grandmother seeing you?”

  This was where Lucy needed to involve her friends. She’d tell her grandmother that she was visiting Aquilla. “She never rises that early. I’ll be able to meet you in the park.” She’d sneak out of the house in her costume with her maid’s assistance.

  He looked at her again, an
d it seemed the seductive haze of their kiss had dissipated. He was all business and concern. “How?” He arched a brow at her. “I should like to know how you will accomplish the feat of leaving your house in broad daylight without anyone noticing you’re dressed as a man.”

  Lucy wasn’t entirely sure. Which was why she needed her friends. She edged toward the house, eager for this evening to be over. “I’ll manage. Thank you.”

  He frowned. “You’ll let me know if I can assist in any way?”

  “I shall, but I daresay you’ve done enough.” She hadn’t meant it to sound as if he’d done too much but wondered if he’d taken it that way.

  He looked away and stiffened. “I see. I’ll send you the wig tomorrow.”

  She resisted the urge to make sure he knew how much she appreciated his help and his concern. She’d never known a man like him before. Couple that startling realization with his intoxicating kisses, and she feared she was in far more trouble than she’d been at the gaming hell.

  “Good night.” She turned and practically dashed inside, eager to toss away her gentleman’s costume and, for the first time, relish the fact that she was a woman.

  Until she recalled that, for the first time, she’d come home with less money than she’d left with. She needed to regain what she’d lost and more. As much as she hated losing money, she was glad to have something to focus on besides kissing Dartford.

  Tuesday’s phaeton races couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Seven

  Andrew waited until Miss Parnell was safely inside her house before starting up the street. He walked with purpose and speed, his mind churning over the foolishness he’d perpetrated in the hack. He’d never meant to kiss her. If he could take it back, he would.

  Would he?

  Perhaps not, he realized somewhat grimly. Still, it couldn’t happen again. Not that he expected it to. She’d seemed utterly horrified afterward and had practically run inside to escape his company. He didn’t blame her. He’d behaved in a reprehensible fashion. He was supposed to be her protector—like an older brother. He shuddered at the thought, both because of the implications of being related to her by blood while also being attracted to her and because he couldn’t imagine having family again.