The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (19 page)

The takeoff had been nothing short of breathtaking. The crowd at Burlington House had been massive—so large, in fact, that he hadn’t seen any of his closest friends.
 

Close friends? He couldn’t think of them that way. He’d taken the opportunity of Miss Parnell’s hiatus to take his own break from visiting the usual hells. Instead, he’d gone off on his own and spent the last few evenings taking in boxing matches at the Bucket of Blood. He’d watched a particularly entertaining bout last night with a viscount named Sevrin who knew far more about pugilism than anyone Andrew had ever met. He’d decided to add it to his list of things to try.

For now, he was content to soar high above the earth. His heart swelled as he thought of Bertie and how much his brother would’ve loved this. He half expected to suffer an attack and was worried what might happen in their current position amidst the lowest clouds, but so far he’d felt surprisingly peaceful.

“How are your ears?” Sadler asked.

He’d warned Andrew that the change in altitude would likely cause pain and encouraged him to swallow and work his jaw to ease the ache. “Fine, thank you. How fast are we going?”

“Not terribly. The wind is pretty calm, but I think it’s going to pick up as we move east. Our speed should increase a bit.”

A sharp pain jabbed through Andrew’s ear and shot down the side of his neck. He brought his hand up and held the side of his head.

“Your ear?” Sadler asked. “Just do what I told you.”

Andrew nodded and moved his jaw.

The pain lessened but didn’t disappear entirely. Bertie wouldn’t have liked the earache, but he would’ve endured it for this. Without warning, the familiar helplessness washed over him, and the world blurred beneath him.
 

He couldn’t think about Bertie anymore. Miss Parnell immediately came into his head instead. He saw her as he wanted to—as a woman, with her dark hair swept into that feminine style at the ball, her body draped in raspberry silk, the creamy column of her neck graced with pearls.

Had she been wearing pearls that night? He didn’t think so. She likely didn’t have any jewelry, or if she had, she’d sold it. He hated how she’d sounded the other night. Angry and frustrated, then defeated. But only for a moment. She’d rebounded because that was the kind of woman she was. She was forthright and witty and absolutely fearless.

She’d love this, and he suddenly wished he’d brought her along—as Smitty, of course. He’d tell her all about it. He’d explain the floating sensation, the icy temperature, the gut-twisting view, even the earache. She’d thrill to his every description.

What was he doing? He shouldn’t be thinking of her like this. He’d been so relieved when she hadn’t accepted his overture in the close the other night. At least one of them had retained their wits. More and more, he found himself helplessly drawn to her, and that was bad.

He needed distance.
 

And he’d have it. He was already devising a way to ensure she had all the money she needed. He’d goad Greene into another race—it wouldn’t be difficult—only this time, she wouldn’t go with him so that she could wager. He’d tell her to bet on Greene, and Andrew would lose. Yes, it was cheating, but it was for an excellent cause. If he thought she’d just accept money from him, he’d have given it to her days ago.

As predicted, the wind picked up, and the balloon moved faster. The buildings of London grew more sparse, giving way to greener spaces and tall church spires.

Andrew turned to Sadler. “When can I parachute?” They’d corresponded about this possibility.

Sadler chuckled. “You like this.”

“Very much.” But it was more than that. It was for Bertie. This was the first step, but parachuting was as close to flying as he could get, and he’d do it for his brother.

“I’m doing another ascent in two weeks. You could jump then.”

“Perfect.” He saw Darent Hall. It wasn’t exceptionally large as far as country houses went, but it was beautiful. Designed by Henry Flitcroft seventy years ago, it was situated on a hundred acres of spectacular parkland. Andrew didn’t spend as much time here as he ought because there were too many memories.
 

The wind increased, jostling them as Sadler guided them to descend. “Hold on, Dartford, this is going to be a bumpy landing. Never fear, I’ve had dozens of them and walked away from each. Maybe with a little help.” He winked at Andrew.

Andrew wasn’t afraid, but then he never was. He didn’t fear death, not when it would reunite him with the people he loved most. He began to shiver and chose to blame the cold air.

The pain in his ears intensified. He winced as they dropped closer to earth.

It started to rain lightly. He squinted at the lawn beneath them and saw specks. They were people, he realized. Who was down there waiting for him? The staff? They knew he was descending today. Perhaps they’d come outside to watch.

The ground neared, and he could make out the identity of the group. It was Charles and Beaumont and the others. He saw a smaller figure, and his stomach dropped. She wouldn’t have come here.

Just as they were about to touch the ground, the wind picked them up again. A moment later, they dropped, hitting the earth with a thud and bouncing back up. Andrew’s ears throbbed, and a headache formed just over his brows.

“Hold on!” Sadler called over the wind as the balloon came back down hard.
 

They bounced again, Andrew’s body jostling with the force of the movement. Thrown off balance, he let go of the side of the gondola. They dropped once more, and again jolted back up. This time, however, Andrew catapulted from the gondola and hit the ground. The last thing he saw was the bright blue and yellow of the balloon rising above him.

E
verything had happened exactly as planned. Lucy had traveled to Darent Hall in a barouche belonging to Nora. She’d arrived and placed her bet after careful consideration. There was a wide lawn where the balloon was expected to land, but Lucy had chosen a spot closer to the edge. It was a wager of utter chance, so all she could do was pray that she would win.
 

She’d actually considered not coming at all since she’d lost the other night. However, she found she didn’t want to miss this, even if she didn’t make a wager.

There were about a dozen gentlemen besides Lucy, including Charles, Beaumont, and Greene. They milled about the lawn drinking from flasks, and Greene said they should’ve set up a shooting exhibition to pass the time. He was still eager to see Lucy shoot, but she didn’t have Dartford’s Manton pistol yet. Tuesday would be here soon enough. She would shoot, and she would win back all the money she’d lost and more.

At last the blue-and-yellow balloon came into view just as a fine mist began to fall. Everyone cheered. Lucy grinned briefly before reining in her expression. She shouted in her deep, masculine voice, joining the others.

They watched it descend, and already a few of the men moaned about the placement of their wagers. They weren’t allowed to move their markers after the balloon came into view.

As it neared the ground, they rushed toward the balloon. It hit the ground hard, and Lucy’s breath caught as it bounced back up. She stopped short, and the others did too. She watched in horrified fascination as the balloon came down and went back up again—once, twice, and then the unthinkable happened: Dartford fell out of the gondola and dropped to the ground. The fall wasn’t great, but it looked hard.

Everyone rushed toward him, but Lucy arrived first. He lay facedown. She knelt down next to him, her knees pressing into the damp earth. She placed her hand on his back and leaned down. “Dartford,” she whispered huskily.

He didn’t open his eyes, and Lucy’s chest tightened. He couldn’t be… No.
 

Beaumont knelt beside her. “Let’s roll him over.”

She nodded, and they worked together to move him to his back. There was grass and dirt stuck to his face, and a cut above his eye bled. She wished she had a handkerchief to dab at the blood. The hell with it, she just used her fingers, uncaring about ruining her gloves.

Beaumont moved to his other side. “Dart? Come on, man, wake up.”

Charles dropped down next to Beaumont. He picked up Dartford’s hand and squeezed it. “Open your eyes, Dart.”

Lucy could feel the concern in the air. It matched hers as fear gripped her from the inside out. She didn’t want to lose him.

His lids finally fluttered open. His dark eyes were unfocused for a moment, and then they found Lucy. He blinked.

“You’re all right,” she murmured, careful to keep her tone deep and masculine in spite of the distress roiling inside her.

Charles shook his head and smiled. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Dartford turned his head. His gaze darted here and there, taking stock. “What the hell are you all doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” Beaumont said, as if Dartford had gone daft in the fall. “We held a contest as to where you’d land. Anyone know who came closest?” He looked around.

“Looks like it might’ve been Oxley,” someone said.

Lucy felt a moment’s disappointment, but next to the near disaster that had almost befallen Dartford, she didn’t care about losing the wager.

He struggled to sit up, and Beaumont helped him. Lucy also helped, but she wasn’t as strong as Beaumont. “You all need to leave,” he said darkly. His eyes found Lucy’s, and they speared her with their intensity. “Except you.”

Lucy didn’t understand why he was ordering everyone away, but she was glad he didn’t include her. She wanted to make sure he was all right.
 

“We thought we’d stay and celebrate,” Charles said. When Beaumont elbowed him in the side, he added, “But maybe not now.”

“Not now, not ever. I didn’t invite you.” He looked at Lucy. “Help me up.”

A few members of his staff arrived then—a younger man and a man and woman of middle age. “Let me help you, my lord,” the younger man said.

Lucy was glad for his assistance. She didn’t want the other men to see that she wasn’t as strong as they’d expect her to be. Still, she lent her help in pulling Dartford to his feet.

He turned his head to look at the older man, perhaps his butler? “Alder, please see that all of these gentlemen are on their way immediately.”

“As you say, my lord.” He turned his attention to the group and looked at them expectantly. Then he turned to Lucy. “We’ll take care of his lordship.”

“Except her.
Him
.” He shook his head. “I took quite a fall.”

Ice flooded Lucy’s veins as she glanced around to see what they’d thought of his slip. Greene watched her with an odd look in his eyes that made her extremely uncomfortable.

“Why does he get to stay?” Charles asked. He sounded a bit petulant, but Lucy wasn’t sure she blamed him. Dartford wasn’t being particularly hospitable. But as he said, he’d taken quite a fall.

Dartford sent Charles a dark stare. “Because he’s a physician.”

A what?
Lucy blinked, wondering how in the world she was going to pretend to do
that
going forward. What had he just done?

He winced, putting his hand to his head. Blood tracked from the cut over his eyes down his temple and along his cheek.

“We need to get him inside,” Lucy said in her most authoritative tone. She turned to the other men. “Go on. He’ll be fine.” She had no idea if that were true of course, but he did seem all right.

The woman came forward with Dartford’s hat and placed it on his head. “To keep the rain off ye.” She spoke with a gentle Irish lilt.

The younger man and Lucy steadied Dartford between them as they walked toward the house. It was an arduous procession, and she wondered if they should’ve brought a cart or something to carry him.

“How’s Sadler?” Dartford asked.

Lucy had met all the gentlemen in attendance and didn’t recognize the name. “Who?”

“The balloonist.”

“I’m not certain, my lord,” the younger retainer answered. “Samuel went to check on him.”

Dartford nodded, wincing with the movement. “Let me know what he finds out. I’ve the devil of a headache.”

“Is that why you ordered everyone away?” Lucy asked.

“No. I don’t like people coming to Darent Hall.” His clipped tone said he didn’t want to discuss it further, but Lucy was still curious. She put her questions away for later.