by Darcy Burke
She cocked her head to the side, tiring of his meddling. “None of this is any of your concern. If you’d permit me, I should like to go home.”
“Oh, I’ll permit you. With my escort.”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t need your escort.”
His brows pitched together as his features descended into a scowl. “We’re back to this?”
In another situation, she might’ve laughed at his consternation. “We never left it.”
A determined glint stole into his gaze. She didn’t like it one bit. “You’re a cheeky woman, whoever you are. But let me tell you how this is going to proceed. I am not leaving your side until I see you home. You may have escaped danger so far, but it’s only a matter of time until luck deserts you.”
She blinked at him. Then she did laugh, and his expression changed to one of bemusement. “This is rich coming from you—the Duke of Daring. Your exploits are legend—and fraught with risk.”
“The…what?” A light of understanding, and perhaps appreciation, stole into his dark eyes. “You know me.”
She gritted her teeth, annoyed with herself for loosening her tongue. “I know of you. That’s quite a different thing.”
“Never mind that. You’re out in Society. Who are you?”
“Never mind that.” She took great pleasure in throwing his words back at him. “However, since it seems you will not leave me be, let us walk.” She shoved at his chest, which was hard and unforgiving, but in the most unnervingly spectacular way.
She half expected him to crowd her against the wall again, but he didn’t. He held out his arm for her to precede him from the alley.
She tucked her pistol back inside her jacket, where she was covered in several layers of padding to make her appear larger than she really was. She’d had pockets sewn in various places for stashing her pistol and her money.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I’m not saying. You can just follow along, since you insist upon being a nuisance.” She’d stop in front of a house near hers and hopefully convince him to leave her there.
He fell into step beside her as they strode toward Jermyn Street. “Why did you call me the Duke of Daring?”
She cast him a sideways look. “It fits, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled, surprising her. “I suppose it does. Makes me sound rather dashing.”
“As if Dartford does not. What kind of name is that anyway?”
“It’s a village in Kent. My family seat is there.”
She knew that, of course. For some reason, she wanted to provoke him. He seemed up for the challenge. Her mother had always said she should’ve had younger siblings to taunt—and to love. But the only other time Mama had been able to carry a child, she’d died, leaving Lucy to rely on her father and, thankfully, her grandmother, who was now her sole remaining family.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he prompted. “Have I earned a nickname? I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”
“Yes, well, it’s employed by a…select group.” Lucy and her two best friends, precisely.
“I see. May I ask which group?”
It wasn’t as if they were a formal organization, but perhaps they should be. Yes, they needed a name, just as they’d recently adopted a designation for Dartford and his like—The Untouchables. They’d actually borrowed it from their surprising new friend, the Duchess of Kendal, a former spinster as Lucy was destined to be.
Lucy turned onto Jermyn Street, and Dartford followed her. “It doesn’t signify,” she said. “Anyway, you undertake a number of exploits—racing, gambling, a variety of sporting events. I hear you’re quite good at bowls.”
“Indeed I am.”
“And that you sometimes play in Hyde Park very early in the morning.” A somewhat scandalous situation, according to Society.
“I do.” His lips curved into a captivating smile, and Lucy had the sense he could charm anyone. She would have to be on her guard.
She decided this was the only opportunity she’d ever have to confirm one of Society’s most outrageous rumors. She turned her head toward him for a few steps. “Is it true you’ve swum nude in the Thames?”
He tripped slightly, and Lucy smiled.
“We, ah, shouldn’t discuss that.” He coughed.
“We shouldn’t be walking alone together either, but that’s not stopping us. Furthermore, as someone who doesn’t seem to care about Society’s rules, I’m surprised you’d hesitate to brag about your endeavors.”
“Gads, am I a braggart too? The Duke of Gloat, perchance?” He looked askance at her. “You do realize that I’m not even a duke.”
She appreciated him poking fun at himself, but didn’t say so. It made him seem less of an Untouchable, which was preposterous. They might be alone together at night on a London street, but he was as unattainable to her as any earl or duke or other nobleman. “Yes, well, it hardly matters to those of us in the lower echelon.”
She expected another quick rejoinder, but he was quiet for several steps. To the corner of Jermyn Street.
“I suppose we’re going to walk on St. James’s, despite the fact that you’re a woman?” he asked, pausing.
She peered up at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “I’m Davis Smith, remember?”
“Just so.”
They turned onto St. James’s and walked toward Piccadilly.
“Why are you dressed up as a man and gambling in hells?” He threw her a beleaguered glance. “And please don’t say it’s none of my affair. Of course it isn’t, but I should like to know just the same. Perhaps you have other options.”
She laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I’m an unwed woman with no marriage prospects. My options are all but nonexistent. I require funds, and unless you’re prepared to make me your countess, mind your own business.” She quickened her pace and looked both ways up and down St. James’s before dashing across the street.
He crossed right behind and came up alongside her. “If you’re hoping to evade me, I should think I’ve made it quite clear, I won’t allow it.”
“Just like an Untouchable,” she muttered. “Of all the arrogant, insufferable—”
“You flatter me.”
She rolled her eyes toward the heavens.
“Why do you need money?” he asked, keeping easy pace with her stride. When she said nothing, he tried to come up with an answer. “Debts? You wish to buy something? You said you had no father, do you need a dowry?”
A dowry. Ha! Grandmama had told her last week that there was no dowry. They’d slowly bled through it over the past few years while funding Lucy’s pointless Seasons.
Lucy frowned at the pavement as she continued along the thoroughfare, which was still somewhat busy, despite the lateness of the hour. “I need to cross the street.”
“Allow me.” He grazed his hand along her arm, as if he meant to take it, but didn’t. He must have realized it would look strange for him to escort another gentleman across the street. “There’s a break here. Let’s go now.” He gestured for her to cross. “Quickly.” His hand brushed against her lower back, sending a brisk spark of awareness up her spine. She moved faster—to elude his touch as much as to reach the opposite side of the road.
She continued on toward Bolton Street, intending to part ways with him at the corner. When she reached the junction, she stopped and turned to face him. “I hope you won’t take offense when I don’t thank you for your escort.”
He chuckled. “I wish you’d tell me who you are. I might like to seek you out at the next ball.”
That would be highly unlikely. Her invitations were dwindling, though the Duchess of Kendal seemed to think she could singlehandedly elevate her and Aquilla’s statuses. However, even if Grandmama could afford another Season, Lucy wasn’t sure there’d be a reason to go to the expense. She wasn’t Marriage Mart material. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, and she was far too brash with her speech. “Unladylike,” was how Grandmama p
hrased it, but not cruelly. She wished Lucy were different but understood she couldn’t change who she was—that she liked to play cards and shoot and ride and partake in any number of gentlemanly pursuits. How she longed to visit Hyde Park some morning to play bowls with Dartford and his ilk. Ah well. Once she retired to the country with Grandmama, she could do many things she couldn’t here in London. But first, she needed to be able to afford that retirement.
Lucy straightened and gave Dartford a perfunctory nod. “I doubt you will see me again, my lord. As it should be.”
He leaned toward her. “Does that mean you won’t be frequenting any more hells?”
“Good evening.” She turned and started slowly toward her Grandmama’s small house, which was the third on the right.
After several steps, she looked back over her shoulder. He was watching her. “Do you really live on this street?” he called.
“Yes. You’ve done your infernal duty.”
“Not unless you promise not to repeat this activity.”
She whirled around and glared at him, planting her fists on her hips. “As I mentioned earlier, unless you’d care to make me your countess—an offer I would likely refuse given your autocratic demeanor—mind your own business.”
He stalked toward her. “You seem an intelligent woman, but if you continue on this path, I am clearly mistaken. It’s only a matter of time before someone else sees through your charade—and they will likely not be as much of a gentleman as I am.”
“Then I shall take pains to improve my disguise. If you truly wanted to be helpful, you’d provide me with some assistance.”
He gaped at her. “You want me to help you look more like a man?”
She would appreciate that a great deal, actually, but clearly he wasn’t going to do that. Instead, she asked, “What gave me away?”
He looked a bit surprised by her question. Then his gaze dipped over her. The perusal was slow, purposeful, as if he were collecting his thoughts. When he looked at her again, heat suffused her body, and she regretted her query.
“It wasn’t just one thing.” Had his voice dropped a bit? Or was her hearing impaired by the blood suddenly roaring in her ears? “But I suppose it was the feel of you when I took your arm. I could tell you were padded. That alone wouldn’t have been enough. It was just something…different. Perhaps the way you moved or the gracefulness of your hands.”
She considered how she might improve her disguise. Perhaps her maid, Judith, would have some ideas. She’d been instrumental thus far, obtaining the faux sideburns from a friend who knew someone who worked in a theater.
She looked up at him. “Thank you. I’m leaving now.”
“I still wish you’d tell me your name.”
She felt a bit like Cinderella then, except she was leaving her prince with nothing, not even a glass slipper. Which was as it should be. He wasn’t her prince, and she was never going to be a princess.
She turned and dashed away, slipping between her grandmother’s house and the neighbor’s, knowing he might yet discover who she really was. Even if he did, she doubted he’d expose her. If he was that sort of gentleman, he likely would’ve insisted on dragging her to her house and pounding on the front door until Grandmama was jolted from her bed. No, the Duke of Daring would keep her secret. Of that, she felt surprisingly certain.
After waiting several minutes, she went back to the street, moving slowly and peering around the corner to make sure he’d gone. Satisfied that he’d departed, she sprinted to the stairwell leading down to the servants’ entry, where Judith was waiting to let her in.
She rapped lightly on the frame, and her maid opened the door. Lucy pushed inside, and Judith closed the door behind her.
“Fruitful evening?” Judith asked.
Lucy pulled off her hat. “Not as much as the other night.” Because she’d been foiled by Dartford from going to one more hell.
Judith took the accessory from Lucy. “Sorry to hear.”
“Someone saw through my disguise.” Lucy tried not to think of the way she’d reacted when Dartford had recounted how he’d detected her secret. He’d made her feel…attractive. And that probably hadn’t even been his intent.
Judith sucked in a breath. “What happened?”
Lucy preceded her up the servants’ stairs. “Nothing untoward. I need to ensure no one gets too close.”
“Let me talk to my friend again. Mayhap he has another idea.”
Her friend worked in the household across the street and had provided them with the men’s clothing Lucy was wearing, as well as the facial hair from his friend at the theater. He’d also suggested the padding they’d used. It made for some discomfort, but Lucy had to admit she felt somewhat protected by the extra layers. Even so, she’d endeavor to keep everyone at arm’s length from now on. Perhaps she could develop a nasty cough that would discourage people from moving too close to her.
Lucy looked over her shoulder at Judith. “Be sure he doesn’t know why you want to know.”
“Don’t worry. I’m very discreet.” Judith flashed her a smile.
Lucy trusted Judith—she’d been with her for a decade. They’d practically grown up together. Lucy confided in and relied on her more than she ought, given her station, but Lucy didn’t care. She had so few people of substance in her life. She’d take what she could.
“Thank you.”
They went to her chamber, where Judith helped unwrap her from the disguise. Removing the facial hair was her least favorite part, and when they were finished, Lucy’s skin was red and a bit raw.
As Lucy pulled on her night rail, Judith asked when she planned to go out in her disguise again.
Lucy hadn’t thought to go out on subsequent nights—she seemed to need to recuperate after each foray—however, she wanted to go again tomorrow since tonight had been cut short. “Tomorrow night. I’m disappointed that I didn’t earn more tonight.”
Judith nodded. “I understand. The sooner you reach your goal, the better.”
“And the sooner you can settle your future as well.” Lucy wanted to take Judith with them, and Judith was keen to go.
Lucy hadn’t undertaken this endeavor lightly. Grandmama was out of money. She planned to retire to a small cottage near Bath as soon as the Season concluded. She could no longer, however, afford to support Lucy. It was her fondest hope that Lucy would finally attain a marriage proposal this Season. Lucy saw that as an impossibility, which had led her to come up with this scheme. She’d make a terrible wife, but she was an excellent card player and gambler. If only she could find a game of whist, which required strategy instead of dumb luck as with faro.
And she’d been quite lucky so far. Until tonight. Dartford made her question her plans, but she couldn’t afford to do that. If she kept her wits about her, and her pistol at the ready, she’d be fine. Still, she’d be relieved when she was finished. “No one wants everything settled more than I do.”
Settled.
That described Lucy’s aspirations perfectly. She would settle for a quiet spinsterhood. It was preferable to any number of alternatives, including a stifling marriage where her freedom was curtailed and her boisterous nature crushed. No, this was her only avenue, and she was determined to succeed.
Chapter Two
Andrew checked his cravat in the glass. His valet had done an excellent job. It was a pity that Andrew would have to let him go at the end of the Season, but that would mark two and a half years of service—longer than any valet he’d had before. It was too long. Things were too…comfortable.
“Thank you, Tindall.”
The valet nodded. “Just so, my lord. The coach is waiting.”
Damn, he’d neglected to inform his staff that he would be deviating from his normal routine. He typically rendezvoused with his friends at their club, and they determined their evening entertainments from there. Tonight, however, he would venture out as he never did—alone. Only, he wouldn’t be alone for long. The question was where h
is night would go from there.
“I don’t require the coach this evening. Sorry for the trouble.” He took his hat and gloves from Tindall before quitting his chamber and donned them as he hurried downstairs. He hoped he wasn’t leaving too late.
A footman held the door for him as he left, and he saw that the coach was already being driven back to the mews. Damn, if his staff wasn’t efficient. But then he supposed they worked doubly hard for fear of getting sacked, since he was known to let people go seemingly on a whim. It wasn’t a whim to him, of course, but a calculated effort to maintain a household that was pleasantly detached. Sometimes he felt bad, but it was necessary. Furthermore, he always provided an excellent reference and ensured they landed in an equal or better position.
It was a cool spring evening as he departed Audley Square and cut down to Curzon Street. He moved briskly, concerned that he was going to miss his window of opportunity.
Less than ten minutes later, he arrived at his destination on Bolton Street. He slipped behind the corner of the house on the end of the street and took up a surveillance position. People came and went, but not from the house he watched. He shifted his stance countless times and more than once considered abandoning his post. But he couldn’t. After what seemed an eternity, he wondered if she just wasn’t going out tonight.
Stifling a yawn, he finally saw movement across the street. A figure emerged from the servants’ stairs. He—no, he was a she—looked furtively from side to side before stepping onto the pavement and hurrying toward Piccadilly.
Andrew took a deep breath and dashed across the street, intercepting her at the corner. “Good evening, Miss Parnell. Where are we off to this evening?”
She stopped upon seeing him and now glared up at him, her jaw clenched. “You were waiting for me.”
“I was. Couldn’t let you venture out alone again. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand you’re a nuisance.”
He straightened his coat. “So you like to say, but I prefer to think of myself as an assistant. Or maybe even a guide.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Then she turned but didn’t move away. She spun back around, her gaze a glorious blaze of outraged affront. “How did you find out who I am?”
