The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (11 page)

Ivy turned toward the door. “I need to check on Lady Dunn. I settled her in the gaming room. She’ll likely want refreshment soon.”

“We’ll all go,” Lucy said. They departed the room together.

Ivy left them to attend her employer, while Lucy and Aquilla went back to the ballroom—slowly.

“Marriage wouldn’t be so bad, you know,” Aquilla said softly. “My parents are quite content.”

Content, yes, but Lucy didn’t think they could be described as happy. They certainly didn’t engender a sense of love or family, which made Aquilla’s eternal optimism and charm a curious thing. If Lucy was going to bother with marriage, she wanted those things—family and love. She also demanded trust. She needed to know she could depend on a husband. That was paramount. She refused to end up like her grandmother, scraping for a comfortable retirement.

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

H
aving 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.