The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (6 page)

She took her place and held the pistol out, marking her aim. She cocked the weapon and fired, hitting the wafer square. Exhilaration rushed through her.

“Excellent,” Manton said, taking the gun from her and giving her the second one in its place. “My man will change out the wafer. This next one is the Wogdon.”

As they awaited the new wafer, Dartford moved close to her and murmured, “Was that luck?”

She turned her head and whispered, “Skill.” A sense of giddiness rushed through her. She never imagined she’d be able to demonstrate her ability to people who would genuinely appreciate it.

“I see.” He took a step back.

“Ready?” Manton asked.

Lucy took aim again and fired. She hit the target, but not as accurately as the first time.

“Damn me,” Henderson said. “You’re not bad.”

Pride burned in Lucy’s chest. She longed to rip off her disguise and show them that she was a woman. She’d have to settle for imagining their shocked reactions. “Thank you.”

Manton took the Wogdon from her and eyed her fingers. “Most gentlemen remove their gloves when they shoot here.”

Lucy curled her hand into a fist and dropped it to her side. She couldn’t think of an appropriate response—which was an unnerving and singular sensation—so she said nothing.

“Finally, here’s mine.” Manton handed her the pistol he’d designed.

It felt familiar, even though it was different from her father’s. Or maybe she just wanted it to feel that way. But why? It wasn’t as if she missed her father. That wasn’t precisely true. She missed the man who’d taught her to play cards and to shoot. It was the only time in her life that she’d been interesting or important to him.

She raised the weapon and took aim. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger. Again, she hit the wafer in the center.

Manton chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to face you at dawn. Why haven’t I seen you here before?” He studied her face for a moment, and Lucy began to feel uncomfortable. Coming here had been a folly, no matter how wonderful.

She shrugged and looked away.

“Well, be sure to come in. You need your own Manton.”

Lucy turned her head to Dartford. He looked rather pleased.
 

“What’s your wager, then?” Henderson asked.

In her excitement over shooting, she’d almost forgotten how she’d been cornered into placing a wager she couldn’t afford. “Ah…”

Dartford stepped toward her, his gaze encouraging. “The Purdey, right?”

“Actually, I would say the Manton.” And she wasn’t just choosing that because its manufacturer was standing a few feet away, nor was it due to nostalgia. She’d liked the feel of it best. Which meant nothing about accuracy, she realized.

Manton gave the pistol to one of his men to stage it for the experiment. “If you’ll just give us a moment.”

Henderson rubbed his hands together. “All right, if the Manton wins, Smitty and I will each take home an extra hundred and fifty quid, and if one of the others wins—which they won’t—one of you gents will take home an extra three hundred. Not bad.”

Cold sweat chilled the back of Lucy’s neck. If she lost… She couldn’t think of it.

After another few minutes, during which Lucy’s nerves bundled into tight masses all over her body, and her insides churned like boiling water, Manton declared the experiment ready.
 

Each pistol was fitted into a vise and carefully aimed at a wafer. Manton pulled the trigger on each in succession, and every one hit the wafer. His man went and pulled them down, then brought them to Manton.
 

Manton laid them on a nearby table in the order in which they’d been shot, which was the same order as Lucy had done. The Purdey was shot near the edge, and the Wogdon came closer to the middle. The Manton, however, had hit dead center. It was the clear winner. Which meant Lucy had won.
 

Her tension became elation, and this time she couldn’t help the smile that crested over her lips. She didn’t even realize until Dartford stared at her, his eyes wide. He moved his head from side to side, slowly, almost imperceptibly. Lucy pressed her lips together and grimaced.

“Well done, Smitty,” Wells said. He pulled the money from his coat and handed it to Henderson before turning to Dartford. “I’ll let you pay Smith.”

Dartford nodded. “Of course.”

Henderson cleared his throat. “Shall we return to Jessup’s?”

“Thank you, but we’ve somewhere else to be,” Dartford said, much to Lucy’s relief.

“Another time, then. Evening.” Henderson and Wells left together.

“Come, we’ll get a hack.” Dartford thanked Manton, who urged Lucy to come back and shoot anytime she wanted.

Lucy was noncommittal. She was just eager to leave. She was weary of playacting, and her throat felt ragged from affecting a masculine voice for so long.

Once they were outside, Dartford let out a whistle. “I see the pistol you carry isn’t just for show. You’re a hell of a shot, Miss Parnell. How do you explain that?”

“My father.”

Dartford hailed a hackney coach and directed the driver to Bolton Street. They climbed inside, once again sitting beside each other.

“Most fathers don’t instruct their daughters on how to shoot a gun or how to gamble. I take it he wanted a son?”

“Probably.” Lucy had come to realize that Gerald Parnell simply didn’t know how to treat a daughter.

He shifted on the seat, angling toward her. “You’re an interesting woman. And wealthier than when we started tonight—I’ll send the funds over tomorrow. Will that satisfy your needs, or are you going to make me do this again?”

She laughed softly, glad she didn’t have to censor herself any longer. “Was it that bad?”

“Not at all. In fact, I rather enjoyed myself. Did you?”

Immensely.
“Yes.” Not for the first time, she thought she ought to have been born a man. “Thank you for your help. I, ah, I don’t have quite enough money to stop.”

He folded his arms across his chest and let out a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t suppose you’re ever going to tell me why you need it.”

She rather thought he’d earned the right to know, especially since he’d proven so helpful. Her gaze found his in the dim light provided by the coach’s lantern. “My grandmother wishes to retire to the country, and I need to go with her. Only…there’s not enough money for that.”

“I see. You seem to have at least some money? You had to have started this gambling scheme with something, and I know you’ve won a bit since then.”

Yes, she’d scraped together about twenty pounds to start. But that had been difficult. They didn’t have as much as Grandmama had led her to believe the past few years. Grandmama was nearly down to her marriage settlement, the interest from which she needed to live on. And it wasn’t enough to support them both without living very frugally. Grandmama had made it clear that Lucy needed to marry. Except Lucy didn’t really want to. And anyway, no one had ever shown any interest. She offered her opinion too freely, had a very small dowry—and now none—and to call her beautiful would be an exaggeration.

“We have just enough to finish the Season. But if I can raise the necessary funds, I’ll find a cottage near Bath as soon as possible.” The sooner she could remove herself from the pointlessness of London Society and see Grandmama settled, the better.

He sat back against the squab and was quiet as they wound their way through the streets of Mayfair. They were nearing Bolton Street when he turned toward her once more. “Here’s the problem. I’m not sure you should do this again, and certainly not more than once or twice more, and absolutely not without my company. I must insist that you agree, or my earlier threat will stand.”

“I’m so glad you recognize it as a threat.”

He chuckled, his eyes gleaming in the shadowy coach. “Yes, let’s be direct with one another, shall we?”

Lucy blinked at him. “I am always direct.”

“Unless you’re trying to fool people into thinking you’re a man.” His sarcasm was simultaneously annoying and charming.

“Yes, that. A necessary transgression, I’m sure you agree.”

His brow arched. “I hardly think you care whether I agree.”

He had her there. She grinned. “Maybe a little. I mean, I
do
care. A little.” She’d come to like Dartford during their brief acquaintance, in spite of his moments of arrogance and imperiousness. She looked forward to another adventure or two with him. “You have my word that I won’t venture out without your assistance. Shall we set our next appointment?”

His eyes widened briefly. He seemed a bit surprised at the ease with which she’d agreed. “Excellent. Tell me when, and I’ll meet you as I did tonight.”

“Four nights hence, at half past eleven.”

The hackney drew to a halt on Bolton Street, but not in front of her house. They stepped out of the cab, and Dartford paid the coachman.

With her house in sight, weariness seeped into Lucy’s frame. She longed to pluck all the padding from her body and scrub her face clean after discarding the fake sideburns.

Dartford walked with her toward the house. “What would your grandmother say if she knew you were doing this?”

Lucy suffered a pang of guilt. “She’d be horrified.”

“What does she think you’re going to do once she retires?”

They’d reached her house. Lucy stopped and turned toward him. “She expects me to marry.”

“And is that a possibility?” he asked. Shadows played across his face, but she could see his eyes clearly. They were dark, intelligent, often filled with humor. His cheekbones gave definition, while his chin, square with a slight cleft, provided character. He bore an appealing countenance. No, that wasn’t at all fair. He was exceptionally handsome. And an earl. Precisely the kind of man her grandmother had hoped she would marry but who’d consistently ignored her the past five years. An Untouchable.

She tamped down a scowl, suddenly annoyed anew at her predicament, which was silly since she’d abandoned the idea of marriage. A choice she didn’t regret in the slightest.
 

She gestured to her costume and the sideburns stuck to her face, currently making her itch. “Would I be doing this if it were?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it
is
possible, but you don’t wish to marry, so you choose this instead.”

That actually summed up her current attitude quite accurately. She would choose this over marriage. “As it happens, I
don’t
wish to marry.”

“Indeed?” He cocked his head to the side. “How surprising. We are alike, then, because I don’t wish to marry either. Some distant cousin will need to inherit the title.”

She wanted to ask why but didn’t. That would encourage him to ask her the same, and she had no intention of explaining that to him. Besides, it was best if they didn’t become too…close. This was a necessary partnership, but they weren’t going to be lifelong friends.

“Are those comfortable?” He reached out with his fingertips and brushed the sideburn glued along her right jawline.

She ignored the frisson of delight that sparked down her neck. “Not particularly. In fact, I’d like a few days to recover from wearing them.”

“I should like to see you without them.” His dark gaze penetrated through her carefully constructed wall, and his deep voice shot straight into her chest, stirring the inconvenient attraction she felt toward him.

Her breath caught. “I doubt you ever will.”

His mouth ticked up in a half smile. “Don’t tease me. Please. Not when I’ve been so helpful. Think of all you won tonight.”

All she’d won. It wasn’t just the money. Not to her. She’d won respect with her shooting, even if she couldn’t tell them she was a woman.

She took a step back, determined to put space between herself and this suddenly dangerous man. “I appreciate your help, but I won’t share credit for my winnings. They are mine alone.”

He gave a slight bow. “My apologies,” he murmured.

“I’ll see you in a few days.” She turned from him.

“Not if I see you first,” he said.

She looked back over her shoulder to see him smiling. “Don’t forget my hundred and fifty pounds.”

“I would never. I’ll be looking for you, Miss Parnell. Good evening.” He touched the brim of his hat and strolled away down the street.

Lucy hurried down the servants’ stairs into the scullery, where her maid was waiting. She doubted she’d see him—she’d gone five years in London without encountering him before. And yet, a small part of her couldn’t help but anticipate the possibility.

Chapter Four