The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (32 page)

“I’ll marry you.” As soon as she said the words, giddy happiness swelled in her chest. She never thought to say those words, let alone to a man she loved.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Thank you.”

He sounded relieved. Was he as happy as she was? A shadow crept over her jubilation.

“Dartford!”

They both turned their heads at the sound of his name. It was Charles, his long strides devouring the path and then veering away from it as he came toward them.

“Good afternoon, Charles,” Andrew said. He still held Lucy’s hand. “Do you know Miss Parnell?”

Charles inclined his head toward her. He looked a trifle unkempt—his hair, usually teased and styled, was rather flat, and his cravat was askew. “We met a few years ago. I’m not sure Miss Parnell remembers.”

She hadn’t before, but now that he mentioned it, she recalled being introduced at a house party she’d attended with Aquilla and her family. In fact, she thought he’d invited her to play Blind Man’s Bluff, and she’d declined in favor of riding. In retrospect, she was glad he hadn’t recognized her while she’d been dressed as a man. “I do remember, Mr. Charles. How lovely to see you again.”

He frowned at her before turning his attention to Andrew. “I hate to have this conversation in front of her, but I’m afraid I’m rather desperate. Did you receive the note from Mr. Black?”

Andrew’s hand went tense in hers. “Yes. What do you know of it?” The question was razor-sharp.

Charles’s mouth was drawn tight, his posture stiff. “I regret to say that I am Mr. Black. I need that money, Dart.” He twisted his hands together. “Why didn’t you send it to the club as I asked?”

Andrew let go of her hand and took a step forward. He grabbed Charles’s lapel. “
You’re
Black?
You
threatened her? I ought to call you out, you miserable piece of offal.”

Lucy clasped Andrew’s forearm—the one that wasn’t gripping Charles. “Andrew, stop! You can’t do that here.”

“You don’t know what he’s done.” He didn’t take his eyes from Charles. “I’m not giving you a shilling.”

Charles’s gaze flicked to Lucy for just a moment. “Dart, please. I don’t want to expose her.”

Lucy froze. She stared at Andrew, unable to look at Charles. “What is he talking about?”

Andrew spared her only the briefest of glances. “He threatened to expose you as Smitty unless I gave him five thousand pounds.” He snarled at Charles and tightened his grip. “You won’t say anything. She’s going to be my countess—no one will believe what you say. Good God, man, are you really in such dire straits? I thought we were friends.”

Charles’s pallor took on a grayish tinge, and he seemed to shrink. Andrew finally let go of him, shoving at his chest as he did so.

After stumbling backward, Charles regained his footing. “I’m a dead man, then,” he whispered.

Lucy watched the light go out of Charles’s eyes, and she felt a surge of pity. His excessive gambling had led her to dislike him, but now she regretted that. He was deeply troubled—as her father had been. She thought of all the times her father had been in debt and of the things he’d had to sell to keep himself out of prison.

She looked at Charles. “Will you be arrested?”

“Worse. I borrowed money from a dangerous fellow. Apparently, he works for Gin Jimmy.”

Andrew shook his head. “Hellfire, Charles.”

Lucy looked between them before settling on Andrew. “Who’s that?”

“A notorious criminal. I saw him once when I ventured into St. Giles. It was another of my daring adventures.”

“That’s one of the most dangerous places in London.” Lucy hadn’t realized the extent of his activities. She’d thought climbing the dome of St. Paul’s or ballooning was risky enough, but entering St. Giles was positively deadly. Or it could have been. “You’re mad,” she breathed, momentarily losing track of the current conversation.

“He’s going to kill me,” Charles said. “If I don’t give him the money tomorrow.”

Andrew wiped a hand over his eye and moved toward Charles. “We’ll work this out. Meet me at my town house.”

Charles nodded, then looked at Lucy. “My apologies, Miss Parnell. I’m not proud of what I did. I liked you. Rather, I liked Smitty.” He hung his head as he turned and walked away.

Andrew touched her hand, but she drew it away. “Where will you be tonight? I’ll come find you.”

Cold realization knifed through her. There
had
been something off with his proposal. “No. Please don’t.”

He looked momentarily perplexed. “All right. Tomorrow, then?”

As much as she appreciated what he was trying to do, she couldn’t continue with the ruse. Not when she knew he was haunted. He didn’t want a family, not after losing one. And given how averse she’d been to a potential husband who was no better than her father—not that Andrew was necessarily that man—she understood. “No. You don’t really want to marry me. You did it because of that threat. Don’t deny it, because I know it’s true.”

The muscles along his jaw tightened. “I thought it would solve a great many things, including our mutual attraction. I meant it when I said I didn’t like thinking of you alone.”

Sadness engulfed her, and for the first time, she fully comprehended what that meant. Now that she’d had a glimpse of what it might have been like to share her life with someone she loved, alone seemed a far worse fate than it had before. Still, she had to let him go.

“Yet, alone is a state that’s perfect for you, isn’t it? You’ve made that more than clear. I do appreciate you trying to protect me.” She allowed a small smile as the last of her hope slipped into the past. “I’m glad you’re going to help Charles. It will be good for you. Maybe you can start to heal.”

His forehead pleated as his brows slashed over his eyes. He looked as though he might speak, but in the end, he said nothing.

“Good-bye, Andrew.”
 

She turned and left him in the park, along with the greatest happiness she’d ever known.

A
ndrew watched her go, unable to find the words to ask her to stay. He ought to feel relieved that he didn’t need to marry her. Instead, he felt numb.
 

Numb was good, wasn’t it? It was certainly better than the agony of loss.

He strode across the park, ignoring the paths so that he could avoid talking to people, and made his way to his town house. He’d deal with Charles first. Then he’d think about Lucy. Maybe. A part of him didn’t want to. The part of him that said it was better to go on without her. Alone. As he’d planned.

His gait slowed as he approached his house. Was he really alone? He’d worked so hard to keep people from getting too close, to keep relationships simple and easy. In school, he hadn’t attached to any particular group of friends, and he’d tried to do the same in adulthood. He even went so far as to hire a new valet periodically. How, then, had he ended up with a group of friends and with Lucy?

Because maybe it was time. Maybe he’d suffered with the guilt and the fear long enough.
 

Probably. But his attacks had only grown worse recently, which would lead him to believe the opposite. He needed to evict all these people from his life.

Andrew’s butler, Roland, opened the door. “My lord. Mr. Charles is in the drawing room.”

Andrew nodded as he stalked to the stairs and walked up to the first floor. Charles stood in front of the window, staring down at the street. He turned as Andrew came into the room.

“You look terrible,” Andrew said as he went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whiskey. He went to Charles and handed him one.

Charles glanced down at Andrew’s glass. “Not gin?”

Andrew shrugged. “I felt like something different.” He wanted to embrace change and starting with his choice of liquor seemed a step in the right direction. He’d grown too comfortable with people, allowing them too close, and he blamed the recent severity and frequency of his attacks on his complacency.

Charles threw back the entire pour. “Thank you. I really am sorry about Miss Parnell.” He looked pained. Haunted, even.

Andrew sipped the whiskey. It was fine, but he missed his gin. “How did you get yourself into this predicament?”

“You know me.” He gave a half smile. “I can’t seem to say no to a wager.”

“Was this at a hell?”

He nodded. “I was in deep one night, and a fellow offered to spot me. Somehow it grew to five thousand.” He looked toward the windows, his cheeks turning red.

Andrew resisted the urge to throttle him. How many times had he tried to steer Charles down the right path? “Your father has no idea, I take it.”

“No, and I can’t ask him. He’ll cut me off entirely. Then he’ll marry me off to some chit in a backward hamlet so far from London that I’ll perish of boredom.”

“Wouldn’t that be better than actually dying, which I believe is a risk given what you said at the park and given what you dared to do? To
me
.” Andrew didn’t bother masking his scorn. “Your purported friend.”

Charles winced. “I was desperate. You’ve been nothing but kind and supportive—a true friend.”

“So if you don’t pay this money, one of Gin Jimmy’s ruffians will kill you.”

“That is what he said, yes. ‘He’ being the man who loaned me the money.” Charles looked down at the empty glass in his hand. “I’m doomed.”

Andrew didn’t want Charles to die. Yes, he’d allowed the fool too close to him, and he couldn’t let him die. “I’m going to give you the money, but you’re going to leave London. Tell your father you need to rehabilitate yourself—he’ll admire that.”

Charles blinked at him. “You’d do that? But where am I to go?”

Andrew steeled himself against the emotions in Charles’s voice—happy disbelief at Andrew’s offer and despondency at what he likely saw as banishment. Yes, that was a fair characterization, Andrew decided. “That’s up to you and your father. I’m not paying for that, but I daresay he will if it means you’ll put your life in order. Gain some perspective, and don’t come back until you can withstand temptation.”

“You’re right of course.” He sounded resigned but also determined. “My father will be relieved. And pleased, I think.”

“I’m certain of it.” Andrew felt a pang of envy. What he wouldn’t give to know what his father would think of him now. Yes, he tempted fate from time to time, but overall he was responsible and behaved with honor and decorum. His mother, he knew, would be proud. She wouldn’t, however, like to know that he kept himself apart. Mrs. Alder had told him that many times.

Andrew finished his whiskey. “I’ll have the money sent over in the morning. I just need the direction.”

Charles nodded. “I’ll write it down for you before I go. I owe you a belated congratulations on your marriage. I’m astonished to hear you’re taking a wife.”

“As it happens, I am not.” Andrew tightened his grip on the glass. “We decided we wouldn’t suit after all.”

Charles looked stricken. “Is this because of me? You were betrothed an hour ago.”

“No.” Andrew didn’t want to speak of her. “You should go and talk with your father, and you should leave tomorrow. The sooner you depart London, the better, I think.”

“You’re right, I’m sure.” He clapped a hand on Andrew’s shoulder for a brief moment. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing. You’re a true friend.”

Andrew didn’t want his friendship. He wanted him out of his life. And he’d do the same with Beaumont and Greene and anyone else who might consider themselves his friend. He took Charles’s glass and deposited it on the sideboard along with his own. “Come to my office on your way out.”

Andrew took down the direction of where to send the money, and Charles left. Suddenly weary, Andrew sank into the chair behind his desk and stared at his inkwell for some indeterminate, but likely lengthy, amount of time. He was interrupted only by the arrival of Tindall.

“My lord?” the valet inquired as he stepped over the threshold.

Andrew looked up. “Yes?”

“I wanted to inform you that I received an offer of a new position today. For Lord Clare.”

The Duke of Clare needed a new valet? “Have you any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” Clare was a notorious philanderer.