The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (18 page)

“Well, you tried it,” he said, toasting her with his glass.

She looked up at him, cocking her head to the side. “Satisfied?” She realized—a bit too late—that she was flirting with him anyway. She straightened and took another drink of port.

He seemed to recognize her foolishness when he didn’t answer. Or maybe he was distracted because at that moment, several members of his set entered the salon—Beaumont, Charles, and Greene among them.

“Dart and Smitty,” Charles said. “I was certain we’d find you tonight.” He looked at Dart. “I’ve noticed you don’t meet us at the club on the nights we run into you with Smitty. Where do you two start your evenings?”
 

Charles’s gaze lingered on Lucy. She lifted her glass to shield her face. She didn’t like it when anyone looked at her too closely, and unfortunately that was bound to happen the more time she spent with these gentlemen. Perhaps she should count herself lucky and skip next week’s races.

“It varies,” Dartford answered casually. He looked at Lucy, perhaps reading her discomfort. “Shall we return to the table?”

Yes, she had losses to recoup. “Let’s.” She tossed back the rest of her port and set her empty glass on the tray of a passing footman.

Greene stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”

Lucy glanced over at Dartford, who gave an infinitesimal shrug.

At the table, Greene took up a place beside her. “How did you meet Dartford?”

“Here, actually. We, ah, have a few things in common.” She looked at Dartford, who stood on her other side, and hoped he would provide assistance.

“Such as shooting and driving,” Dartford said. “Smitty likes exciting things.”

She tried not to think that he was flirting with her, because of course he wasn’t. Still, she could imagine that he was. She internally shook herself—this entire flirting nonsense had no place in her plans and deserved none of her attention.

Greene’s mouth curved up. He was attractive, with dark blue eyes and a wide smile that invited you to talk with him and trade stories. “Then you are peas in a pod,” he said.

They turned their attention to the table to place their bets. As with the previous round, Lucy lost far more than she won. By the end, she was fuming and more than a little distressed. She couldn’t afford to keep losing like this. She was already quite behind. This was precisely the sort of wagering that led one down a path to ruin.
 

But Lucy wouldn’t do that. Her situation was completely different—she didn’t wager for amusement. She looked around at the gentlemen at the table, realizing that they all did, as far as she knew. She suspected some of them might need the extra funds for one reason or another, but couldn’t imagine them being as desperate as she was.

How she hated that word. Damn her father.
 

Her lip curled as she turned to Dartford. “I’m ready to move on.”

He nodded, his expression surprisingly grim. He, of course, knew she was losing, and she noticed he hadn’t been doing as well as usual. Even so, he was still ahead of her.

Dartford collected his meager winnings, and they left. Greene came along, and Lucy noticed the entire group was leaving with them.

“Where are we off to next?” Greene asked pleasantly.

For some reason, Lucy wished they would go their own way. She was just feeling grumpy over her losses and was eager to turn her night around.

“Let’s go to Turner’s,” Charles suggested as they descended the front steps.
 

Beaumont scrunched up his nose. “I was thinking Polton’s.”

Charles’s face reddened. “I can’t, ah, go to Polton’s.” He glanced away as his voice trailed off.

Dartford slapped Charles’s shoulder. “No problem. Turner’s it is.” He nodded toward Beaumont, who nodded in response.

Lucy had no idea where Turner’s was located so she waited for Dartford to guide her. They hung back and walked at the back of the pack.

“It’s not far,” Dartford said softly. “Don’t worry, your luck will turn around.”

“And if it doesn’t?” She didn’t have to work very hard to make her voice sound hard and gruff.

He clapped her shoulder in much the same way as he’d done with Charles, but she imagined it must have felt different. His hand lingered just a second too long, his fingers caressing her as he let go.

A shiver danced up her spine, and her inclination for them to be alone returned with greater force. She almost asked him if they could go to Polton’s anyway.

When they arrived at Turner’s, Charles didn’t go inside with the others. He waited for Dartford and asked him for a quick word. The way he looked at Lucy gave the clear impression that she was not invited to listen. Dartford frowned but couldn’t object without drawing unwanted attention, so she went inside without him. She knew he’d follow as quickly as possible given how much he didn’t like leaving her alone.

Not that she
was
alone. Greene approached her as soon as the footman admitted her into the hall.

“Smitty, shall we hit the hazard table?”

She shook her head. “I don’t play hazard, but don’t let me stop you.”

“Not at all. I’m keen to follow your lead.” He smiled warmly, and nothing about his demeanor should’ve bothered Lucy. Still, something about the way he looked at her made her slightly uneasy. Oh, she was being ridiculous. She was just feeling testy after losing so much money.

“Faro, then,” she said, deepening her voice. She ambled to the table, walking as laboriously as possible to disguise her femininity. She worked very hard to keep up the façade, but she had to admit it was beginning to wear on her. Her back, particularly the space between her shoulders, always ached the day after she played Smitty. All her muscles felt tired as she worked to stand and walk in very specific ways. Between that and the facial hair situation, she wouldn’t miss her Smitty disguise. She would miss being Smitty, however.

As she placed her bets on the faro table, Andrew joined her. She longed to ask him what Charles wanted—was it money again? She saw that Charles had come inside too and had gone to the hazard table, so he must not be out of funds.

Lucy was relieved when she won the first two turns, but then she lost every single one after. She turned from the table in disgust, her hands shaking.

Dartford hadn’t wagered. He came over to her, noted her agitated state, and simply said, “Let’s go.”

She was more than ready. Without a word, she strode toward the door.

Greene’s voice followed her. “Are you leaving?”

She spun on her heel, anger and disappointment seething through her. “I know when to stop. I wish you better luck.”

Greene looked as if he might say something more, but Dartford gripped his bicep as he walked by. “Good night.”

Dartford was right behind her as they exited the hell. She quickly descended to the street and turned toward St. James’s. She didn’t have to think about lengthening her stride, because she was in a hurry to put this night behind her.

“Wait,” Dartford called, but he easily caught up with her. “Slow down.”

She threw him a dark glare. “You can keep up.”

He snagged her elbow and drew her to stop. “I’m not the villain here.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, uncaring if she looked like a man or a woman or a monkey. “I suppose you’re going to tell me there is no villain.”

“Actually, I think you were targeted to lose. Charles noticed that the dealer was cheating at the first hell. That’s what he wanted to tell me outside. Charles often suspects cheating to explain his losses, but in this case, I think he was right.”

She dropped her arms and simply gaped at him. “Why was I targeted?”

“Because you’ve won so much recently. Hells don’t like smart players. I admit I don’t always try very hard to win. But then I see gambling as an amusement, not a money-making opportunity.”

She snorted and spun on her heel, continuing along the pavement. “How fortunate for you.”

He easily strode alongside her. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I don’t know. I’m not. I’m just…angry.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t know how you can. You don’t have an uncertain future. You never have to worry where you’ll be in five years.” She’d slowed her pace and realized she’d been speaking far too loudly. Yelling almost.

“No, I don’t,” he said quietly, but still loud enough for her to hear. “And I’m sorry that you do.”

She knew he meant it. He was kind and thoughtful—she saw it in the way he treated his friends as well as in the way he helped her. Yes, she was angry, but not at him. If she was angry with anyone, it was her father.

“I hate what he did to us,” she said so low that she wasn’t sure he could’ve heard her.

They turned onto St. James’s. “I know. But he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Emotion welled in her chest and flooded her eyes. “Can’t he? I’m in this mess, aren’t I?”

He grabbed her elbow again and pulled her into a narrow close between two buildings. It was dark and damp since it had rained all day. In fact, she was surprised it wasn’t raining now—it smelled as if it would.

She couldn’t make out his face but felt his proximity. They didn’t touch, but all she had to do was sway forward and their bodies would connect. She fought to stay away.

“Can I… Do you want me to hold you?”

Oh God. They were dressed as gentlemen on St. James’s. Yes, they were in a dark alley, but if anyone saw them…

Temptation overwhelmed her. She twitched, and her hand bumped against his. His fingers slid along hers. She exhaled softly, the sound echoing around them in the small space.

“Thank you, but no.” Her mouth declined his invitation, but the rest of her screamed for him to touch her, to take her into his arms, to kiss her.

She stalked from the close before she did something foolish.

He followed her, and they walked in near silence until they’d crossed back over Piccadilly.

“So what happens now?” she asked. “Is there any hell who won’t try to cheat me?”

“It’s hard to say. They may feel vindicated by tonight’s fleecing.” He winced. “Sorry. It might be best if you didn’t go out for a while.”

“Yes, I am coming to the same conclusion.” They neared her corner. More than ever, she needed to win the pot at the balloon descent. And now she
had
to go to the races next Tuesday.

“I should have seen this coming and organized a plan for you to lose more than you did. I’m afraid I was too focused on helping you achieve your goal as quickly as possible.”

They stopped near the lamppost that he’d been lounging against earlier. “It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t blame you. You’ve done far more good than harm. Besides, I daresay I could use a respite from this bloody costume.”

He chuckled softly. “Excellent. It will all work out, then.”

She hoped so. “I’ll see you in a week.”
 

His brows drew together. “It will be strange to go so long without seeing you. I enjoy our time together.” He spoke plainly, but she longed to know if there was more to it than simply enjoying her company. Did he want her the way she wanted him?

He’d offered to hold her, but as she’d noted, he was kind and considerate. It didn’t mean he was attracted to her in the same way that she was attracted to him. Yes, he’d kissed her, but since then, he’d given no indication that he wanted to repeat the activity. For her own sanity, she had to assume they were friends and nothing more. Besides, she didn’t want anything more—he didn’t fit into her plans, even if he was quite the best man she’d ever met.

“Yes, it will be strange.” Except she’d see him in four days, but he didn’t know that. She looked forward to surprising him. With a bit of reluctance, she pivoted. “Good night.”

“Good night, Miss Parnell,” he said softly.

She imagined she heard a wistfulness in his tone that couldn’t possibly exist. She didn’t bother to admonish herself. She’d take joy wherever she could find it.
 

Chapter Ten

A
ndrew looked out over London as they ascended higher. As Sadler had warned him, the air was much colder up here, and growing more frigid by the moment. He’d donned a greatcoat and his thickest gloves at Sadler’s recommendation.