The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (26 page)

“Or scale the dome of St. Paul’s?” Charles added.

“You actually did those things?” Greene asked before sipping from his whiskey.

That had been, what, three years ago? Before Greene had come onto their scene. “At least once.” Andrew was glad that there was no awkwardness and that no one seemed to care to ask him about his behavior at Darent Hall. The disintegration of his relationship with Lucy had been bothersome enough, especially since he hated that they’d even grown close enough for him to care.

But their association was finished. He’d taken her jewelry to a pawnbroker that afternoon and would send over what they were worth tomorrow. He’d also include a little extra because he didn’t think she’d notice. His chest tightened at the thought of never spending time alone with her again.
 

A footman brought Andrew a glass of his favorite gin, and Beaumont indicated the empty chair next to him. Andrew dropped into it and sipped his liquor before setting the glass on the table.

Greene, who was seated across from him, glanced around. “No Smitty? We realized he must not be a member since you don’t meet him here.”

Next to Greene, Charles nodded in agreement. “It makes further sense because he’s a physician. How did we not know that before?”

“I’m sure I must’ve told you,” Andrew lied. He’d thought about how best to conceal or at least minimize the fact that he
hadn’t
told them. “Anyway, he’s taken a post in Edinburgh, so I’m afraid you’ve seen the last of him.”

“That’s a shame,” Beaumont said. “I enjoyed his company.”

“I did as well. Very much. I’m disappointed I didn’t get to see him shoot.” Greene picked up his whiskey and swirled the amber liquid in the glass. He looked over at Andrew, his gaze enigmatic. “Did he leave an address? I should like to correspond with him and perhaps call on him when I visit my uncle in Edinburgh in the fall.”

Andrew had lifted his glass to take a drink, but stopped midmotion. What could he say to discourage Greene? Nothing without drawing attention to the matter, and he couldn’t do that. No, he’d let Greene look for Smitty, and when he couldn’t find him… Well, Andrew wouldn’t know what happened to him. “I’m afraid I don’t have an address.”

Greene, who’d watched Andrew closely during his response, lifted a shoulder. “I’m certain he won’t be difficult to find.”

Impossible
, Andrew thought, but he remained silent. He hoped Greene wouldn’t bother. Perhaps he should create a story in which Smitty was besieged by highwaymen on his way north and sadly never arrived…

The conversation turned to the balloon descent and Andrew’s plan to parachute. Most of the table thought him insane, but a few, including Greene, were intrigued and asked if Sadler would take them up too.

“For a fee,” Andrew said.

Greene sat forward, his dark blue eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’d be willing to pay.”

Andrew finished his gin and signaled the footman for another. “You should write to him.”

“I will. Would you put in a word on my behalf?”

“Certainly, but truly it’s just about paying a fee. Sadler loves ballooning—you don’t have to persuade him to go.”

Thursby stood. “I’m afraid I must take my leave. Time to make an appearance at the Goodwin ball. Anyone else going?”

One other gentleman nodded, but the rest, including Andrew, shook their heads. He idly wondered if Lucy would be there and for a moment reconsidered. But what would he do? Watch her from afar? He doubted she’d accept an invitation to dance. There was no delaying their separation. Best to cut her out completely and immediately.
 

“Not you, Greene?” Charles asked. “You seemed to have quite a good time the other night.”

Beaumont chuckled. “Indeed. I daresay you may have set a record for dancing with the most misses.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how you did it. I would have gone mad with the insipidity of it.”

Greene rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t terrible. In fact, I danced with a rather engaging young woman—Miss Parnell.”

The footman was just handing Andrew his second glass. It slipped from his fingers, splashing gin on his sleeve and on Beaumont as well as it tumbled to the floor.

“How clumsy of me,” he murmured.

“The fault is mine, my lord.” The footman plucked up the glass. “I’ll just fetch some napkins.”

Beaumont brushed at his sleeve. “I’m fine.”

“I am too, thank you. Truly, it was my mistake.” Andrew hated that the footman felt responsible when the blame was entirely Andrew’s. Greene’s mention of Lucy had jarred him. “Are you looking for a wife?” Andrew hoped his question sounded casual, but a jealousy he shouldn’t feel ate at his insides.

“Not particularly. I attend a ball periodically and dance as much as possible to appease my parents. They would
like
me to look for a wife.” He surveyed the table in question, and everyone nodded in commiseration. Greene looked at Andrew directly. “Miss Parnell just caught my eye.”

Andrew’s mind began to whirl. At Darent Hall, after the balloon descent, he’d mistakenly referred to Lucy as “her.” He’d covered for his error, but he now recalled Greene studying her too closely. He also remembered Greene asking about a woman’s laugh after the phaeton race. Now, tonight he’d displayed a candid interest in “Smitty”
and
Miss Parnell. Had he somehow puzzled out their secret? Andrew’s replacement gin arrived, and he eagerly took a long drink.

Beaumont waggled his brows at Greene. “She’s attractive, eh?”

Greene lifted his shoulder again. “Not traditionally. Her wit and her intelligence are her better features, I’d say.”

Andrew wanted to argue. No, he wanted to plant his fist in Greene’s face for saying she wasn’t attractive. She was stunningly beautiful. At least the imbecile had recognized her other attributes.

Greene glanced at Andrew. Did he seem overly interested in Andrew’s reactions to his discussion of Lucy? Or was Andrew simply seeing things that weren’t there? Hell, he didn’t like this one bit. If Greene had put things together and knew that Smitty and Lucy were one and the same, what would he do with that information? There was a chance he meant to do nothing, but Andrew wasn’t sure he wanted to wait to find out. Neither, however, did he want to address the subject with Greene directly. It was probably best if he did nothing and simply kept an eye on the situation. He had to be overthinking this.
 

“I’m off, then,” Thursby said, taking his leave.

Andrew had been invited to the Goodwin ball. Perhaps he should go on the chance that Lucy would be there. That way he could warn her about Greene.
 

Why? So she could worry about something that was only a suspicion? No, he’d already decided it was best to make their break as clean as possible, before he contemplated a future he never intended to have.

L
ucy sipped her tea as she listened to Aquilla tell her and Ivy about the Goodwin ball last night. Aquilla had danced once, which might have sounded inadequate, but since it was precisely once more than the previous ball she’d attended, Aquilla counted it as a success. Lucy heard the disappointment lurking behind her friend’s cheerful disposition. For some time now, she’d been waiting for something to break within Aquilla—for her to lose her perpetually pleasant outlook. But Aquilla was still, for now at least, Aquilla.

Ivy asked Aquilla about her dancing partner, Lord Linley, and as they conversed, Lucy’s mind turned to the money that Andrew had obtained for her mother’s pearls, which had been delivered just before Aquilla and Ivy arrived for tea. It was a decent sum, and Lucy was considering how she might invest it. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d been wondering if Andrew was as sorry to see their association over as she was.

Likely not, since she was frustratingly in love with him, and he could apparently turn away from her without a second thought.

“I can’t tell if you liked Linley or not,” Ivy said. “Never mind, you like everyone.”

“That’s not true,” Aquilla responded. “I don’t at all care for Lady Abercrombie.”

“No one cares for her,” Ivy said. “She’s tedious and loud.”

“Some people say I’m loud.”

“Don’t compare yourself to her. You are
not
loud. If anything, you have an excess of charm, and that can’t be bad. Isn’t that right, Lucy?”

Lucy sat up straight at the sound of her name. “That Aquilla’s charming? Of course.”

Ivy regarded her over the edge of her teacup. “You
were
listening. Here I thought you were off in some daydream.”

She
had
been.
 

Aquilla looked at her shrewdly, her gaze narrowing. “She’s been like that since she went to Darent Hall. I should love to know what transpired there, but she won’t say.”

“And that is her right.” Ivy looked at Lucy in sympathy.

Lucy appreciated her support. While Aquilla longed to know what had happened, Ivy had said it was none of their business. She had, however, privately—and in a most dire tone—told Lucy that if she ever wanted to discuss what had happened, she would be happy to listen.

Lucy looked at her friends, wondering why she was bothering to keep it from them. Because it had felt incredibly intimate—something just between her and Andrew. Now that they’d gone their separate ways, it seemed like a dream. She was removed from the entire experience somehow.

“You know that he was injured in the landing.” Lucy had said that in her note to Aquilla, citing her need to look after him as the reason for staying at Darent Hall. “And I’m sure you wonder why it was necessary for me to remain to care for him when he likely has a house full of retainers.”

Both Ivy and Aquilla watched her intently. “We did wonder,” Ivy admitted.

Lucy wasn’t surprised—or annoyed—to learn they’d discussed the situation. “Andrew and I developed a rather close association through our gaming hell excursions.”

Aquilla’s eyes widened. “
Andrew?
”

Lucy pursed her lips. “Yes, Andrew. As I said, we became rather close. He asked me to stay.” She’d thrilled at his specific request that she remain while demanding everyone else leave. Except she hadn’t fared any better the following morning. “So I stayed.”

“I see.” Ivy sipped her tea.

“You say you cared for him,” Aquilla said. “Is that all that happened?” She pressed her lips together. “My apologies. I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s all right. I’ve decided I don’t mind if you do. I’ve nothing to hide when it comes to him—at least not from you. Our association is at an end anyhow.”

Aquilla leaned forward, her expression one of distress. “What happened?”

“We, ah, shared his bed for the evening, and he asked me to leave in the morning.” She didn’t want to disclose the specifics of his behavior. Those were
his
secrets, not hers. She also saw no benefit in describing the horrid way he’d treated her or the crushing disappointment she’d felt, just as she didn’t plan to share the unexpectedly lovely apology he’d given her. None of it mattered.
 

“You
didn’t
.” Ivy’s hand had arrested with her teacup partway to her mouth. Her tone was low and deep—wounded almost.

“We didn’t do
that
,” Lucy clarified. “We were…intimate in other ways.” She wasn’t quite certain how to describe it. She knew Aquilla had never done those things, but she honestly wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Ivy had. She was older than both of them by a few years and had lived an independent life for nearly a decade.

Aquilla was rapt, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. “How was it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ivy snapped. “He threw her out when he was done with her.”

That was precisely what Lucy had thought at the time, but now she believed she understood. “Andrew had his reasons for asking me to leave.”

Ivy set her cup down with a clack. “He’s a scoundrel. That’s reason enough. He should be marrying you.”

For some bizarre reason, Lucy felt the need to defend him. “How do you know he didn’t ask? You know I don’t want to marry.”

“He asked you to marry him?” Aquilla sounded incredulous. “And you said no?”

“He did not, actually.” Lucy threw Ivy a quelling glance. “We shared a lovely evening together—one that I shall never forget
or
regret.”