The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (5 page)

Andrew led Miss Parnell up the stairs. “Remember to stay in character. This room may contain people you’ve met before, depending on who’s here tonight.”

Her eyes glinted with alarm. “Do you think someone will recognize me?”

“Doubtful. Just do your part to ensure they don’t. I’ll do mine to attract most of the attention.”

She chuckled softly. “I’m certain you excel at that.”

He laughed in return. “Quite. Perhaps now you’ll admit it was a good idea for me to accompany you.”

She gave him a suffering glance, but the amused glint in her eyes said she was glad, and that made him glad too. “Yes. Now, may we play?”

He stopped himself from offering her his arm. “Let’s.”

As he guided her toward the whist parlor, he hoped he wasn’t leading them both into the lion’s den.

Chapter Three

F
or the first time in her life, Lucy was content to allow a gentleman to do all the talking for her. Grandmama would be so impressed. No, she’d be stunned.
Then
she’d be impressed.

Poor Grandmama. Lucy felt a trifle bad about sneaking out, but it wasn’t as if she had somewhere else to be. Their invitations weren’t many, and Grandmama was slowing down. She preferred to stay at home most nights and went to bed early. That was the main reason Lucy was determined to retire with her. A maid of all work would care for Grandmama’s cottage, but she wouldn’t ensure Grandmama took care of herself, nor would she read to her or share memories that would make Grandmama smile.

Yes, Lucy was doing this for herself, but she was doing it just as much for Grandmama, if not more.

Lucy peered at Dartford across the table. They were halfway through the first hand, and he was a very good player. But then she’d expected nothing else. The Duke of Daring seemed to excel at
most
things.

She glanced at the other two gentlemen, both of whom she’d never met before, thank goodness. Even if she had, it was unlikely they’d recognize her. Still, Lucy kept her head down and contributed just enough to the discussion so as not to seem rude. Dartford kept his word and carried the conversational burden, not that it was great. It seemed the other men preferred to concentrate on their cards for the most part.

Lucy understood. When she’d first learned to play, she’d had to focus quite heavily on the game. Now it was second nature for her to track the cards and strategize while conversing with her tablemates. That was what happened when your father taught you to play cards as soon as you could count.

The wagering was frustratingly light on this hand. Lucy longed to raise the stakes but was waiting for a signal from Dartford. He spoke of horses and shooting, and Lucy had to bite her tongue to keep from contributing, since those were two of her favorite subjects.

Lord Henderson, a gentleman in the thick of middle age with a ruddy countenance and a persistence for clearing his throat, squinted at Dartford. “Used to set up targets—baskets hanging from trees—on the estate when we were young. I’m an excellent shot, if I may boast.”

“Yes, yes,” the fourth member of their table, Mr. Wells, said. He was a few years younger than Henderson, or perhaps it was just that he looked more robust. “You shoot at Manton’s at least once a week. Though I daresay you aren’t as good as you once were.” He laid down his card, and they took the trick.

Dartford led the next. “I haven’t been shooting at Manton’s in an age.” He glanced around the table. “I just picked up a pistol from Purdey’s last month.”

Henderson laid down his card, a pathetic two of clubs. “Bah. It’s a Manton or nothing for me.” He cleared his throat for what had to be the dozenth time.

“I’ve always been partial to Wogdon myself,” Wells said.

Lucy had shot her father’s Manton pistol when she was younger, before he’d lost it in a wager. The weapon she carried now wasn’t anywhere near the caliber of the guns they were discussing. She looked at Dartford. “I should like to shoot one of Purdey’s pistols.”

Dartford arched a brow as he peered at her. “Yes, I seem to recall you like pistols.”

Lucy swallowed a chuckle at his comment.

“I’m in need of a new rifle.” Wells put down the four of hearts. “I’ll have a look at Purdey’s.”

How Lucy wished she could afford such things. But what would she do with it? It wasn’t as if she’d be invited to hunt grouse come August. Perhaps she could set up a target range when they moved to their new cottage. She stifled a smile at Grandmama’s horror if she proposed such a thing.

At last Dartford offered a friendly wager, which was accepted around the table. The betting was small at first, almost inconsequential, but by the end of the hand, Lucy was ahead ten pounds. She hoped the wagers would increase—and that she’d retain her luck with the cards—in the next round, but she didn’t show it. Father had taught her how to shield her emotions and reactions as well as he’d schooled her in everything else.

Dartford took over as dealer for the next round. Lucy lost a few wagers and began to worry that she’d suffer her first losing evening.

Partway through the hand, Henderson squinted at Dartford. “I’ve been thinking about those Purdey guns. I should like to see which one fires better. I’ll put my money on Manton.”

“How much money?” Lucy asked.

Dartford shot her a look of surprise with maybe just a touch of irritation. She ought to have censored herself, but why? She was playing the part of a gentleman, and
they
were allowed to speak their mind.

Henderson shrugged, then looked around the table. “A hundred quid.”

Lucy’s heart sank. She didn’t have that kind of money yet. Anyway, she didn’t know what gun maker she’d place her wager on.
 

Henderson sat forward in his chair, his eyes gleaming. “We must do this.”

Wells chuckled. “How do you propose we execute such an endeavor?”

Dartford looked from Henderson to Wells. “We’ll use a vise to hold the pistol. That’s the only way to objectively compare them. Although I don’t know where we’ll accomplish that.”

Henderson gave them all a superior perusal. “Manton’s, of course.”

“He’ll let you fire the other weapons?” Wells asked.

Henderson laughed but ended by clearing his throat. “’Course he will, because his gun is going to win.”

“My money’s on the Purdey,” Dartford said.

“And I’m for the Wogdon.” Wells turned his head to look at Lucy. “What about you, Smitty?”

How she wished she could afford to participate!

Dartford cocked his head to the side. “Yes, Smitty, which one?”

She glared at him for the briefest moment before reining in her reaction. Gritting her teeth, she tried to somehow silently communicate that she didn’t have that kind of money. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to say,” she said, disappointed that she wouldn’t get to see the experiment in person.

“Then you’ll have to shoot them yourself so that you can form an opinion,” Henderson said. “When we’re finished here, we’ll head over to Manton’s.” He signaled for a young lad, apparently an employee, to come to the table.

Wells blinked at Henderson, his jaw slack. “What, now? Tonight?”

“Why not?” Henderson gave the boy instructions to find his coach on the street and send his footman to Manton’s to make the arrangements. “Now, let us finish. I want to make my hundred quid.”

Lucy doubled her focus, intent on winning. Three tricks later, she and Dartford had won, and she was just shy of a hundred pounds richer. An excellent result, but still not enough to enter the shooting wager. She eyed Dartford, wondering if he’d summon a reason to take her home first. She couldn’t imagine how he’d do that without abdicating his own participation in the wager.

Henderson stood. “We can ride over to Davies Street in my coach.”

“Just so,” Dartford said, smiling. He unfolded himself from his chair and stretched his shoulders. “After you, Henderson.”

Henderson led the way, followed by Wells. Dartford hung back a few paces and sidled closer to Lucy.
 

“You’re letting me go?” she asked him as they departed the room.

“I’m glad to see you’ve accepted that I will decide what you should and shouldn’t do—for your safety, you understand.”

His audacity and arrogance were aggravating, but she couldn’t deny that he was useful. Or that in his presence she felt, yes, safer. Protected, even.
 

But it wouldn’t do for him to know that. She stopped for a moment to roll her eyes at him and then exhaled in an exaggerated fashion. “Thank goodness for you.”

His dark gaze was direct, almost intimate. “Careful, that breathy sound was very womanly.”

Something about the way he looked at her and the manner in which he said “womanly” made her flesh tingle. She refused to consider that she might find him attractive. “Don’t ask if I can participate in the wager. I don’t have the funds.”

“I could spot you what you need.”

A tempting offer, but she’d learned from her father’s mistakes. Never ever borrow, particularly if there was any chance you couldn’t pay it back. What most people failed to comprehend was that there was
always
a chance you couldn’t pay it back. Nothing in life was certain.

“No, thank you,” she said, starting toward the stairs.

He walked alongside her. “It’s only a few pounds.”

She shook her head. “I don’t borrow.”

“An admirable characteristic. How about if I
give
it to you?”

“A gentleman does not give…
me
money.” She’d been about to say a gentleman doesn’t give
a lady
money. But ladies didn’t frequent gaming hells either. Perhaps she was being foolish. She had money at home—her winnings from her other nights of gambling. In this instance, she
knew
she could pay him back. On the other hand, if she placed the wager and lost…she’d be out a hundred pounds.

“Think about it on the way,” he said as they followed Henderson and Wells down the stairs.

Outside, they climbed into Henderson’s coach. He and Wells took the front-facing seat, which left the rear-facing one for Lucy and Dartford. The small space required she sit far too close to him. Dartford was a larger than average man, so their thighs nearly touched. Lucy’s legs were not as padded as her upper body. She wished they were so that she was not so aware of his presence. Or more accurately, of the fact that she
was
attracted to him.

Blast.
 

As they traveled to Manton’s, they argued as to which gun would fire most accurately. By the time they’d arrived, the wager had increased to a hundred and fifty pounds. Lucy couldn’t bring herself to take that much from Dartford.

Manton himself, a man who was much the same age as Wells and Henderson, greeted them, and Henderson had to pay him a fee to open at this hour as well as to allow them to shoot the Purdey and Wogdon, which Henderson’s footman had somehow obtained.

Henderson coughed as he turned from Manton and looked at Lucy. “If you’d care to shoot all three weapons, you can then make a decision about your wager.”

It wasn’t a question. He assumed Lucy was going to place a bet. She sent Dartford a panicked look. He responded with a subtle inclination of his head and a reassuring stare.

That feeling of protection rushed over her again. The independent woman she thought herself to be wanted to hate it. But somewhere, in places she hadn’t known existed, she liked it very much.

Lucy let out a breath and tried to focus on the thrill of being able to fire the weapons. She was inside Manton’s! And she was going to shoot three of the best pistols ever made.

Manton led them to the shooting gallery. The room was large, easily the size of a grand ballroom, but with a rectangular shape. The ceilings were high, with massive chandeliers that were not currently lit. Instead, lanterns had been placed about the space. It wasn’t a terribly bright environment, but Lucy didn’t care.

“You’ll shoot at the wafer.” Manton indicated a disc hanging at the opposite end and handed her the first gun. “We’ll start with the Purdey. He used to work for me, you know.”

Lucy took the weapon and hefted it in her hand. She glanced at Dartford, who was watching her intently. His gaze was a mix of concern and anticipation. He didn’t think she could do this. She was going to really have to hide her emotions now.