The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (24 page)

He’d spent the past several days recuperating at Darent Hall. It had ended up being one of his longest visits, which had pleased Mrs. Alder, who clearly thrived when she had someone to fuss over. What hadn’t pleased her, however, was Lucy’s abrupt departure without sufficient explanation. Andrew had only said she had to get back to town. And when Mrs. Alder had asked about a potential future with Lucy, Andrew had decided it was time to return to London himself.

Lucy.

He’d tried not to think of her too much, but now that he was back in London, he couldn’t seem to help it. He’d arrived last night and had actually considered going to the corner of her street to see if she would go out. Had she ventured out in his absence? Hopefully, she hadn’t taken the risk. Yet he couldn’t blame her if she had—she needed money, and he hadn’t been here to help her.

Hell and damnation, he’d botched things badly with her. Having her stay had been a colossal mistake, but he oughtn’t have thrown her out like that. He wished he’d behaved differently, but he’d been incapacitated by another one of his attacks. The ones that accompanied his nightmares were particularly devastating, driving him to take to his bed for the rest of the day. He’d blamed his injuries and was actually grateful for the opportunity to hide behind them.

He was such a coward.

“My lord?” Tindall came into his chamber as he did every morning, except the last several because Andrew had sent him back to London so that he could care for his mother.

“How is Mrs. Tindall?” Andrew asked, sitting up.

The valet came inside and closed the door behind him. He stood near the bed, his spine ramrod straight, his features composed. “Quite well, thank you, my lord. The medicine seems to have improved her condition. I can’t thank you enough for sending the physician.”

Andrew wasn’t terribly comfortable with the praise, especially when he was feeling ashamed about the way he’d treated Lucy. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Tindall coughed softly. “Now that she’s on the mend, I shall take up my search for a new position. I do appreciate your patience.”

This news should’ve filled Andrew with relief, but he felt…odd. He’d missed Tindall while he’d been at Darent Hall. He was an exceptionally fine valet, anticipating Andrew’s every need and exceeding his expectations.

He expressed none of this to Tindall.

“Have you set your schedule today, my lord?”

Andrew had a meeting with his secretary later this morning and should visit his club later. No, what he
should
do was call on Lucy. He owed her an apology at least and perhaps even an explanation. He’d go after his appointment.

After sharing his plans with Tindall, he dressed for the day and went down for breakfast. Instead of thinking about his business matters, however, he could think only of Lucy and what to say to her. She had to be terribly angry. And concerned—she needed money, and he’d abandoned her in her time of need. He’d already decided it wouldn’t be wise for them to continue visiting gaming hells. Then he’d gone and taken her into his bed, and he wasn’t sure how it would be to see her again.

He felt a powerful attraction toward her. Plus, he liked her. What a disastrous combination.
 

No, they needed to part ways, much as that disappointed him. He’d have to think of another way to help fill her coffers. Perhaps he could sell something for her. In fact, why hadn’t he offered that in the first place? Because he’d thought their enterprise would be mildly diverting and quite temporary. Neither of those had proven true.

He could also invest whatever she had left—he winced thinking of her losses over their last few encounters together. How much had she lost with the balloon contest? He hadn’t spoken to any of the others who’d been there. A few had sent notes to Darent Hall inquiring after him, but he hadn’t responded. He owed several apologies, he realized, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Why should he apologize? He hadn’t invited them, and he didn’t care what they thought of his rudeness.

As he ate breakfast, he turned his mind back to Lucy’s financial problems. He’d talk to his secretary about investment opportunities with a fast return. And if there were none, he could just fabricate something and give her the money himself. Yes,
that
was what he should have done from the start—given her a nest egg and offered to invest it for her. She probably would have refused, given her independent nature, but she was also practical. She’d come around to the logic of it and accept his offer.

Feeling much better about his ability to help her, he went into his meeting with a sense of optimism toward the rest of his day. He ignored the pang of anticipation he felt at the prospect of seeing her. He’d keep their association focused on business and do his best to forget her lush kisses, her audacious touch, and most of all, her surprisingly delightful concern. He could find the first two anywhere, and he didn’t need the last.

The ghost of his family told him he was very wrong. So he did what he did best and ignored them too.

L
ucy scanned the advertisements for small cottages near Bath for lease. The money she’d saved would support only a very small one—she’d have to sleep in a closet—and it was farther from Bath than Grandmama would like. She had friends in Town, and the whole reason she wished to retire there was to see them more regularly.

There was no help for it—Lucy was going to have to find employment in Bath. Perhaps she could work at a school or provide secretarial assistance to a widow. Ivy had told her of women doing that.

Once, Lucy might’ve thrilled to these thoughts. She didn’t mind employment and would appreciate the independence it would afford. She imagined feeling a sense of accomplishment and self-worth—things she saw in Ivy and admired immensely.

Instead, these ideas made her feel forlorn and…empty. She blamed Andrew. He’d shown her what Aquilla had always insisted—that good men existed and that Lucy could find one and be happy.

Only Andrew wasn’t a good man. He was a selfish, thoughtless blackguard.

“How many times have you danced with Edgecombe, dear?” Grandmama’s question jolted Lucy from her reverie, and she was grateful for it.

Lucy had attended two balls in the past week, and she’d danced with Edgecombe at both of them. She’d also danced with a few other gentlemen, including Mr. Greene. She’d panicked when he’d first approached her, wondering if he’d somehow recognized her. But he hadn’t, much to her relief.
 

“Twice, Grandmama.” She hid a smile because Grandmama absolutely knew how many times they’d danced. He’d also sent flowers again.

“Three times if you count Lady Colne’s. You did dance with him then, didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for Lucy to confirm this before adding, “And that’s twice he’s sent flowers. I daresay he’ll be calling very soon.” She looked up from her knitting. “It’s just splendid, isn’t it?”

No, but Lucy didn’t say so. She only murmured, “Mmm.”

“What, you don’t like Edgecombe?”

Oh, he was pleasant enough, with an easy smile, and he demonstrated at least a passing interest in Lucy as a person, asking her what she liked and even engaging in a rousing discussion about riding. “I like him fine. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about marriage, Grandmama. Would it be so terrible if I simply retired with you?”

“No, but that isn’t an option, I’m afraid.” She exhaled and returned her attention to her knitting.

Lucy didn’t think Grandmama had really ever considered the possibility. In her mind, Lucy
had
to marry.

Lucy set her newspaper aside and stood up from her chair. She went to Grandmama and squatted down in front of her. She set her hand on her grandmother’s knee and looked into her familiar, beloved face, framed by gray hair topped with a white cap. “Just think of how lovely it would be. Our own little cottage. I would take care of you and make sure you were able to do everything you wished.”

Grandmama had lifted her sherry-colored gaze partway through Lucy’s plea. Now she smiled. “It would be lovely. But you would grow bored, dear.”

“I wouldn’t.” Lucy shook her head but didn’t feel as confident as she had, say, a fortnight ago. Before she’d shared all those experiences with Andrew. Damn it all, he’d ruined
everything
.

Lucy heard movement and conversation from the hall. Someone must be here.

Their butler, Burton, came through their small dining room and into the sitting room. “Lady Parnell, Miss Parnell has a caller.”

Grandmama dropped her knitting needles and snapped her attention to Lucy, beaming. “It must be Edgecombe!”

Lucy, her legs starting to protest from her crouched position, stood and smoothed her hand over her skirt. She considered things she might say to Edgecombe to discourage him.

Burton glanced at Lucy briefly before returning his full attention to Grandmama. “It’s Lord Dartford, my lady.”

Every muscle in Lucy’s body tensed. What the devil was he doing here? She looked at Grandmama, who was squinting up at the butler. “Dartford?” She swung her head to look at Lucy. “Why is he calling on you?”

For a moment, Lucy couldn’t answer. All she could think to say was a litany of things she could
not
say. At last she found her tongue. “I’m not certain. We danced at Lady Colne’s.”

Grandmama sat up straight. “I’d forgotten about that.” She waved a hand at the butler. “Show him in.”

Lucy smoothed a hand over the back of her hair and glanced down at her day dress. Her wardrobe was a bit lacking, and this was one of her older gowns. Ah well, she didn’t really care what he thought of her. She tilted her chin up, prepared to send him on his way as soon as possible.

But then he walked into the drawing room, and her knees went weak. She wanted to blame it on having crouched down next to Grandmama, but she knew that wasn’t the reason.
 

He wore a dark blue coat and tawny trousers tucked into glossy black boots. His hair was swept back from his brow, save a solitary lock grazing his forehead in rebellion. His dark eyes found hers, but only briefly. He turned to Grandmama and offered a deep bow.

“I regret that we have not been formally introduced, my lady. Please forgive my intrusion.”

Grandmama smiled, her cheeks turning pink, as she regarded him. “It is our pleasure to receive you, even if it is a bit indecorous.” She fluttered her eyelids, and if Lucy didn’t know better, she’d say her grandmother was flirting.
 

Andrew grinned in response, and Lucy nearly groaned. He was far too attractive when he wasn’t smiling, and then when he did so, it was as if the sun was shining on you alone. Grandmama would forget all about Edgecombe after this.

Lucy wished he hadn’t come. “To what do we owe your visit?” She considered tapping her foot to demonstrate her impatience but decided against it. Grandmama would only ask her to stop and then frown at her in perturbed disappointment.

“I hoped we might take a stroll, perhaps in your garden.” He looked past her to the doors leading to the very small patio and garden behind the town house. He could likely see that a walk in their garden would take all of about two minutes. And that was if they moved very slowly. “Or we could just stay here.”

“Why don’t you walk over to Devonshire House and back?” Grandmama suggested. “Take your maid with you.”

Andrew looked at her expectantly. Lucy looked at him with disdain.

“Burton,” Grandmama called, “fetch Lucy’s maid, and have her bring Lucy a hat and gloves.”

There was no avoiding it, apparently. Fine, she’d go on the bloody walk so she could tell him exactly what she thought of him.

Grandmama gestured for Andrew to move farther into the room. “Dartford, I don’t believe I’ve seen you much in Society. What do you do to keep yourself busy?”

“I’ve quite a number of hobbies, my lady.” He glanced toward Lucy, a hint of mischief in his eye. “I’ve acquired the nickname of the Duke of Daring.”

Lucy did groan then, but softly so that Grandmama wouldn’t hear her.

Grandmama appeared nonplussed. “But you’re not a duke.”

He laughed. “That’s what I said. Nevertheless, that’s what it is.”

“What does that even mean, ‘daring’?” Grandmama peered up at him. “What are your interests?”

Lucy leapt into the conversation, eager to show Grandmama that he was not the sort of gentleman she ought to champion. “Racing, gambling, swimming, and most recently
ballooning
.” She said the last word with an angry edge.