by Darcy Burke
Charles’s face reddened. “I can’t, ah, go to Polton’s.” He glanced away as his voice trailed off.
Dartford slapped Charles’s shoulder. “No problem. Turner’s it is.” He nodded toward Beaumont, who nodded in response.
Lucy had no idea where Turner’s was located so she waited for Dartford to guide her. They hung back and walked at the back of the pack.
“It’s not far,” Dartford said softly. “Don’t worry, your luck will turn around.”
“And if it doesn’t?” She didn’t have to work very hard to make her voice sound hard and gruff.
He clapped her shoulder in much the same way as he’d done with Charles, but she imagined it must have felt different. His hand lingered just a second too long, his fingers caressing her as he let go.
A shiver danced up her spine, and her inclination for them to be alone returned with greater force. She almost asked him if they could go to Polton’s anyway.
When they arrived at Turner’s, Charles didn’t go inside with the others. He waited for Dartford and asked him for a quick word. The way he looked at Lucy gave the clear impression that she was not invited to listen. Dartford frowned but couldn’t object without drawing unwanted attention, so she went inside without him. She knew he’d follow as quickly as possible given how much he didn’t like leaving her alone.
Not that she was alone. Greene approached her as soon as the footman admitted her into the hall.
“Smitty, shall we hit the hazard table?”
She shook her head. “I don’t play hazard, but don’t let me stop you.”
“Not at all. I’m keen to follow your lead.” He smiled warmly, and nothing about his demeanor should’ve bothered Lucy. Still, something about the way he looked at her made her slightly uneasy. Oh, she was being ridiculous. She was just feeling testy after losing so much money.
“Faro, then,” she said, deepening her voice. She ambled to the table, walking as laboriously as possible to disguise her femininity. She worked very hard to keep up the façade, but she had to admit it was beginning to wear on her. Her back, particularly the space between her shoulders, always ached the day after she played Smitty. All her muscles felt tired as she worked to stand and walk in very specific ways. Between that and the facial hair situation, she wouldn’t miss her Smitty disguise. She would miss being Smitty, however.
As she placed her bets on the faro table, Andrew joined her. She longed to ask him what Charles wanted—was it money again? She saw that Charles had come inside too and had gone to the hazard table, so he must not be out of funds.
Lucy was relieved when she won the first two turns, but then she lost every single one after. She turned from the table in disgust, her hands shaking.
Dartford hadn’t wagered. He came over to her, noted her agitated state, and simply said, “Let’s go.”
She was more than ready. Without a word, she strode toward the door.
Greene’s voice followed her. “Are you leaving?”
She spun on her heel, anger and disappointment seething through her. “I know when to stop. I wish you better luck.”
Greene looked as if he might say something more, but Dartford gripped his bicep as he walked by. “Good night.”
Dartford was right behind her as they exited the hell. She quickly descended to the street and turned toward St. James’s. She didn’t have to think about lengthening her stride, because she was in a hurry to put this night behind her.
“Wait,” Dartford called, but he easily caught up with her. “Slow down.”
She threw him a dark glare. “You can keep up.”
He snagged her elbow and drew her to stop. “I’m not the villain here.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, uncaring if she looked like a man or a woman or a monkey. “I suppose you’re going to tell me there is no villain.”
“Actually, I think you were targeted to lose. Charles noticed that the dealer was cheating at the first hell. That’s what he wanted to tell me outside. Charles often suspects cheating to explain his losses, but in this case, I think he was right.”
She dropped her arms and simply gaped at him. “Why was I targeted?”
“Because you’ve won so much recently. Hells don’t like smart players. I admit I don’t always try very hard to win. But then I see gambling as an amusement, not a money-making opportunity.”
She snorted and spun on her heel, continuing along the pavement. “How fortunate for you.”
He easily strode alongside her. “Why are you angry with me?”
“I don’t know. I’m not. I’m just…angry.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know how you can. You don’t have an uncertain future. You never have to worry where you’ll be in five years.” She’d slowed her pace and realized she’d been speaking far too loudly. Yelling almost.
“No, I don’t,” he said quietly, but still loud enough for her to hear. “And I’m sorry that you do.”
She knew he meant it. He was kind and thoughtful—she saw it in the way he treated his friends as well as in the way he helped her. Yes, she was angry, but not at him. If she was angry with anyone, it was her father.
“I hate what he did to us,” she said so low that she wasn’t sure he could’ve heard her.
They turned onto St. James’s. “I know. But he can’t hurt you anymore.”
Emotion welled in her chest and flooded her eyes. “Can’t he? I’m in this mess, aren’t I?”
He grabbed her elbow again and pulled her into a narrow close between two buildings. It was dark and damp since it had rained all day. In fact, she was surprised it wasn’t raining now—it smelled as if it would.
She couldn’t make out his face but felt his proximity. They didn’t touch, but all she had to do was sway forward and their bodies would connect. She fought to stay away.
“Can I… Do you want me to hold you?”
Oh God. They were dressed as gentlemen on St. James’s. Yes, they were in a dark alley, but if anyone saw them…
Temptation overwhelmed her. She twitched, and her hand bumped against his. His fingers slid along hers. She exhaled softly, the sound echoing around them in the small space.
“Thank you, but no.” Her mouth declined his invitation, but the rest of her screamed for him to touch her, to take her into his arms, to kiss her.
She stalked from the close before she did something foolish.
He followed her, and they walked in near silence until they’d crossed back over Piccadilly.
“So what happens now?” she asked. “Is there any hell who won’t try to cheat me?”
“It’s hard to say. They may feel vindicated by tonight’s fleecing.” He winced. “Sorry. It might be best if you didn’t go out for a while.”
“Yes, I am coming to the same conclusion.” They neared her corner. More than ever, she needed to win the pot at the balloon descent. And now she had to go to the races next Tuesday.
“I should have seen this coming and organized a plan for you to lose more than you did. I’m afraid I was too focused on helping you achieve your goal as quickly as possible.”
They stopped near the lamppost that he’d been lounging against earlier. “It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t blame you. You’ve done far more good than harm. Besides, I daresay I could use a respite from this bloody costume.”
He chuckled softly. “Excellent. It will all work out, then.”
She hoped so. “I’ll see you in a week.”
His brows drew together. “It will be strange to go so long without seeing you. I enjoy our time together.” He spoke plainly, but she longed to know if there was more to it than simply enjoying her company. Did he want her the way she wanted him?
He’d offered to hold her, but as she’d noted, he was kind and considerate. It didn’t mean he was attracted to her in the same way that she was attracted to him. Yes, he’d kissed her, but since then, he’d given no indication that he wanted to repeat the activity. For
her own sanity, she had to assume they were friends and nothing more. Besides, she didn’t want anything more—he didn’t fit into her plans, even if he was quite the best man she’d ever met.
“Yes, it will be strange.” Except she’d see him in four days, but he didn’t know that. She looked forward to surprising him. With a bit of reluctance, she pivoted. “Good night.”
“Good night, Miss Parnell,” he said softly.
She imagined she heard a wistfulness in his tone that couldn’t possibly exist. She didn’t bother to admonish herself. She’d take joy wherever she could find it.
Chapter Ten
Andrew looked out over London as they ascended higher. As Sadler had warned him, the air was much colder up here, and growing more frigid by the moment. He’d donned a greatcoat and his thickest gloves at Sadler’s recommendation.
The takeoff had been nothing short of breathtaking. The crowd at Burlington House had been massive—so large, in fact, that he hadn’t seen any of his closest friends.
Close friends? He couldn’t think of them that way. He’d taken the opportunity of Miss Parnell’s hiatus to take his own break from visiting the usual hells. Instead, he’d gone off on his own and spent the last few evenings taking in boxing matches at the Bucket of Blood. He’d watched a particularly entertaining bout last night with a viscount named Sevrin who knew far more about pugilism than anyone Andrew had ever met. He’d decided to add it to his list of things to try.
For now, he was content to soar high above the earth. His heart swelled as he thought of Bertie and how much his brother would’ve loved this. He half expected to suffer an attack and was worried what might happen in their current position amidst the lowest clouds, but so far he’d felt surprisingly peaceful.
“How are your ears?” Sadler asked.
He’d warned Andrew that the change in altitude would likely cause pain and encouraged him to swallow and work his jaw to ease the ache. “Fine, thank you. How fast are we going?”
“Not terribly. The wind is pretty calm, but I think it’s going to pick up as we move east. Our speed should increase a bit.”
A sharp pain jabbed through Andrew’s ear and shot down the side of his neck. He brought his hand up and held the side of his head.
“Your ear?” Sadler asked. “Just do what I told you.”
Andrew nodded and moved his jaw.
The pain lessened but didn’t disappear entirely. Bertie wouldn’t have liked the earache, but he would’ve endured it for this. Without warning, the familiar helplessness washed over him, and the world blurred beneath him.
He couldn’t think about Bertie anymore. Miss Parnell immediately came into his head instead. He saw her as he wanted to—as a woman, with her dark hair swept into that feminine style at the ball, her body draped in raspberry silk, the creamy column of her neck graced with pearls.
Had she been wearing pearls that night? He didn’t think so. She likely didn’t have any jewelry, or if she had, she’d sold it. He hated how she’d sounded the other night. Angry and frustrated, then defeated. But only for a moment. She’d rebounded because that was the kind of woman she was. She was forthright and witty and absolutely fearless.
She’d love this, and he suddenly wished he’d brought her along—as Smitty, of course. He’d tell her all about it. He’d explain the floating sensation, the icy temperature, the gut-twisting view, even the earache. She’d thrill to his every description.
What was he doing? He shouldn’t be thinking of her like this. He’d been so relieved when she hadn’t accepted his overture in the close the other night. At least one of them had retained their wits. More and more, he found himself helplessly drawn to her, and that was bad.
He needed distance.
And he’d have it. He was already devising a way to ensure she had all the money she needed. He’d goad Greene into another race—it wouldn’t be difficult—only this time, she wouldn’t go with him so that she could wager. He’d tell her to bet on Greene, and Andrew would lose. Yes, it was cheating, but it was for an excellent cause. If he thought she’d just accept money from him, he’d have given it to her days ago.
As predicted, the wind picked up, and the balloon moved faster. The buildings of London grew more sparse, giving way to greener spaces and tall church spires.
Andrew turned to Sadler. “When can I parachute?” They’d corresponded about this possibility.
Sadler chuckled. “You like this.”
“Very much.” But it was more than that. It was for Bertie. This was the first step, but parachuting was as close to flying as he could get, and he’d do it for his brother.
“I’m doing another ascent in two weeks. You could jump then.”
“Perfect.” He saw Darent Hall. It wasn’t exceptionally large as far as country houses went, but it was beautiful. Designed by Henry Flitcroft seventy years ago, it was situated on a hundred acres of spectacular parkland. Andrew didn’t spend as much time here as he ought because there were too many memories.
The wind increased, jostling them as Sadler guided them to descend. “Hold on, Dartford, this is going to be a bumpy landing. Never fear, I’ve had dozens of them and walked away from each. Maybe with a little help.” He winked at Andrew.
Andrew wasn’t afraid, but then he never was. He didn’t fear death, not when it would reunite him with the people he loved most. He began to shiver and chose to blame the cold air.
The pain in his ears intensified. He winced as they dropped closer to earth.
It started to rain lightly. He squinted at the lawn beneath them and saw specks. They were people, he realized. Who was down there waiting for him? The staff? They knew he was descending today. Perhaps they’d come outside to watch.
The ground neared, and he could make out the identity of the group. It was Charles and Beaumont and the others. He saw a smaller figure, and his stomach dropped. She wouldn’t have come here.
Just as they were about to touch the ground, the wind picked them up again. A moment later, they dropped, hitting the earth with a thud and bouncing back up. Andrew’s ears throbbed, and a headache formed just over his brows.
“Hold on!” Sadler called over the wind as the balloon came back down hard.
They bounced again, Andrew’s body jostling with the force of the movement. Thrown off balance, he let go of the side of the gondola. They dropped once more, and again jolted back up. This time, however, Andrew catapulted from the gondola and hit the ground. The last thing he saw was the bright blue and yellow of the balloon rising above him.
Everything had happened exactly as planned. Lucy had traveled to Darent Hall in a barouche belonging to Nora. She’d arrived and placed her bet after careful consideration. There was a wide lawn where the balloon was expected to land, but Lucy had chosen a spot closer to the edge. It was a wager of utter chance, so all she could do was pray that she would win.
She’d actually considered not coming at all since she’d lost the other night. However, she found she didn’t want to miss this, even if she didn’t make a wager.
There were about a dozen gentlemen besides Lucy, including Charles, Beaumont, and Greene. They milled about the lawn drinking from flasks, and Greene said they should’ve set up a shooting exhibition to pass the time. He was still eager to see Lucy shoot, but she didn’t have Dartford’s Manton pistol yet. Tuesday would be here soon enough. She would shoot, and she would win back all the money she’d lost and more.
At last the blue-and-yellow balloon came into view just as a fine mist began to fall. Everyone cheered. Lucy grinned briefly before reining in her expression. She shouted in her deep, masculine voice, joining the others.
They watched it descend, and already a few of the men moaned about the placement of their wagers. They weren’t allowed to move their markers after the balloon came into view.
As it neared the ground, they rushed toward the balloon. It hit the ground hard, and Lucy’s breath caught as it bounced back up. She stopped short, and the others did
too. She watched in horrified fascination as the balloon came down and went back up again—once, twice, and then the unthinkable happened: Dartford fell out of the gondola and dropped to the ground. The fall wasn’t great, but it looked hard.
Everyone rushed toward him, but Lucy arrived first. He lay facedown. She knelt down next to him, her knees pressing into the damp earth. She placed her hand on his back and leaned down. “Dartford,” she whispered huskily.
He didn’t open his eyes, and Lucy’s chest tightened. He couldn’t be… No.
Beaumont knelt beside her. “Let’s roll him over.”
She nodded, and they worked together to move him to his back. There was grass and dirt stuck to his face, and a cut above his eye bled. She wished she had a handkerchief to dab at the blood. The hell with it, she just used her fingers, uncaring about ruining her gloves.
Beaumont moved to his other side. “Dart? Come on, man, wake up.”
Charles dropped down next to Beaumont. He picked up Dartford’s hand and squeezed it. “Open your eyes, Dart.”
Lucy could feel the concern in the air. It matched hers as fear gripped her from the inside out. She didn’t want to lose him.
His lids finally fluttered open. His dark eyes were unfocused for a moment, and then they found Lucy. He blinked.
“You’re all right,” she murmured, careful to keep her tone deep and masculine in spite of the distress roiling inside her.
Charles shook his head and smiled. “You gave us quite a scare.”
Dartford turned his head. His gaze darted here and there, taking stock. “What the hell are you all doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” Beaumont said, as if Dartford had gone daft in the fall. “We held a contest as to where you’d land. Anyone know who came closest?” He looked around.
“Looks like it might’ve been Oxley,” someone said.
Lucy felt a moment’s disappointment, but next to the near disaster that had almost befallen Dartford, she didn’t care about losing the wager.
He struggled to sit up, and Beaumont helped him. Lucy also helped, but she wasn’t as strong as Beaumont. “You all need to leave,” he said darkly. His eyes found Lucy’s, and they speared her with their intensity. “Except you.”
