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

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 everything. 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.

L
ucy 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.”

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.”