by Darcy Burke
Lucy didn’t understand why he was ordering everyone away, but she was glad he didn’t include her. She wanted to make sure he was all right.
“We thought we’d stay and celebrate,” Charles said. When Beaumont elbowed him in the side, he added, “But maybe not now.”
“Not now, not ever. I didn’t invite you.” He looked at Lucy. “Help me up.”
A few members of his staff arrived then—a younger man and a man and woman of middle age. “Let me help you, my lord,” the younger man said.
Lucy was glad for his assistance. She didn’t want the other men to see that she wasn’t as strong as they’d expect her to be. Still, she lent her help in pulling Dartford to his feet.
He turned his head to look at the older man, perhaps his butler? “Alder, please see that all of these gentlemen are on their way immediately.”
“As you say, my lord.” He turned his attention to the group and looked at them expectantly. Then he turned to Lucy. “We’ll take care of his lordship.”
“Except her. Him.” He shook his head. “I took quite a fall.”
Ice flooded Lucy’s veins as she glanced around to see what they’d thought of his slip. Greene watched her with an odd look in his eyes that made her extremely uncomfortable.
“Why does he get to stay?” Charles asked. He sounded a bit petulant, but Lucy wasn’t sure she blamed him. Dartford wasn’t being particularly hospitable. But as he said, he’d taken quite a fall.
Dartford sent Charles a dark stare. “Because he’s a physician.”
A what? Lucy blinked, wondering how in the world she was going to pretend to do that going forward. What had he just done?
He winced, putting his hand to his head. Blood tracked from the cut over his eyes down his temple and along his cheek.
“We need to get him inside,” Lucy said in her most authoritative tone. She turned to the other men. “Go on. He’ll be fine.” She had no idea if that were true of course, but he did seem all right.
The woman came forward with Dartford’s hat and placed it on his head. “To keep the rain off ye.” She spoke with a gentle Irish lilt.
The younger man and Lucy steadied Dartford between them as they walked toward the house. It was an arduous procession, and she wondered if they should’ve brought a cart or something to carry him.
“How’s Sadler?” Dartford asked.
Lucy had met all the gentlemen in attendance and didn’t recognize the name. “Who?”
“The balloonist.”
“I’m not certain, my lord,” the younger retainer answered. “Samuel went to check on him.”
Dartford nodded, wincing with the movement. “Let me know what he finds out. I’ve the devil of a headache.”
“Is that why you ordered everyone away?” Lucy asked.
“No. I don’t like people coming to Darent Hall.” His clipped tone said he didn’t want to discuss it further, but Lucy was still curious. She put her questions away for later.
The rain increased as they made their way to the house, and by the time they arrived, Lucy’s coat was quite wet. The older woman, who Lucy had learned was the housekeeper, Mrs. Alder, had walked ahead of them, and now barked orders to a couple of footmen, who ran to do her bidding, starting with a bath for his lordship.
She turned, her soft smile at odds with the command she’d just displayed. “Go on up. I’m going to the kitchen to fetch a tonic for his headache.” She looked at Lucy. “What else do ye require for your treatment?”
Lucy blinked, her tongue freezing in her mouth. “Ah, hot water, clean cloths. The tonic, of course.” She didn’t sound remotely like a physician. What had Dartford done by spewing that nonsense?
They made their way upstairs, and thankfully, Tindall, Dartford’s valet, she’d also learned, supported most of his weight. His bedchamber was at the back of one of the wings of the U-shaped house. It was large, with tall windows looking out over the expansive park and forest behind the house.
A massive four-poster stood against one wall. Tindall led Dartford to it, and Lucy stepped aside. She was suddenly completely and tensely aware that she was inside Dartford’s bedroom.
“I’ll go help with the bath.” Tindall looked at Lucy. “Can you get him undressed?”
Lucy’s eyes widened, and she coughed. She looked to Dartford to intervene, but he was pulling at his cravat and didn’t seem as though he’d heard what Tindall had said.
Dartford perched on the edge of the bed and dropped his cravat to the side. It slithered to the floor. “I don’t want a damned bath,” he muttered. He’d at least heard that much. “Though hot water does sound delicious. It was bloody freezing up there.” He turned his head toward Tindall, who was just disappearing into an adjoining chamber. “Tindall, a moment.”
The valet turned and came back. “My lord?”
“No one is to come into this chamber save you and Mrs. Alder.” He gestured toward Lucy. “This…person is not what you think. You’re going to keep her secret. Is that clear?”
Tindall didn’t even flinch at his use of “her.” “Yes, my lord.” He left without another word or any reaction whatsoever.
“I’m not undressing you,” Lucy said, abandoning her masculine voice and any other pretense of her disguise.
The blood had dried on his face, making him look somewhat fierce. “Not even my boots and coat?”
Lucy pulled her gloves off and tossed them onto a chair near the fireplace along with her hat. She longed to take off the wig and the facial hair, but she still had to get back to London, and she didn’t want Nora’s coachman to see her as a woman. Especially since she’d still be dressed in men’s clothing. She also shrugged out of her wet coat and hung it over the back of the chair.
She went to Dartford and took his hat. She considered setting it on the bed, but it was wet, so she dropped it on the floor. Next, she helped him out of his damp coat. She took it to the chair by the fireplace and laid it over the arms. “Someone needs to stoke this fire. I can do it if you like.”
“After the boots, please.”
She returned to him and knelt. “This is a side of you I haven’t seen. Very demanding. And somewhat austere. Why don’t you want your friends here? They were so eager to surprise you, and then they were horribly concerned when you landed so poorly.” She tugged his boots off in quick succession and set them to the side. His stockinged feet seemed impossibly intimate. She couldn’t dare to remove the hosiery and bare his toes. And yet she did. Without him even asking.
She first peeled one away, revealing a muscular calf covered with dark hair. She blushed, the heat in her face welcome after being outside in the chilly damp for more than an hour. She moved to the next leg, going even faster this time and paying less attention to the flesh she revealed with her ministrations.
She jumped up. “Better?”
“My head is killing me.”
Mrs. Alder came in then, carrying a tray with a small bottle, a larger bottle that seemed as if it must hold liquor, and a glass.
“I hope you brought gin.” Again his tone was on edge, and she wondered at this Dartford she’d never met.
“Of course, my lord.” Mrs. Alder poured from the smaller bottle and handed him the glass. “Tonic first, however.”
“You’re in charge, as always.” He lifted the glass and toasted her before drinking the brew. He wrinkled his nose and handed it back to her. “That’s even nastier than I remember.”
She gave him an imperious look, but her lips curved into a smile. “It hasn’t changed a bit.” She poured the gin next and gave it to him. She set the bottle on the table next to the bed. “I’ll leave this here.”
“You’re a gem among women,” he said before taking a healthy drink.
She turned to Lucy. “What can I get for you?”
Lucy was absolutely tongue-tied. The housekeeper looked at her with kindness and not an ounce of judgment. Did she know she was a woman?
“Mrs. Alder, this is Miss Parnell. S
he is not a physician, nor, as I’m sure you can see, is she a gentleman. Only you and Tindall will know the truth. I, of course, expect you will tell your husband, but I know he will be typically discreet.”
“Of course, my lord.” She nodded and looked to Lucy again. “Shall I prepare a room for you?”
“Oh, I won’t be staying. I’ll just make sure Dartford is all right, and then I’ll take my leave.”
“As you wish.” The housekeeper left, closing the door behind her.
Tindall came back from the other room. “Your bath is ready, my lord.”
Lucy took a step back. “I’ll build up your fire, and then I should probably go.”
“Stay until I’m finished.” He stood up from the bed with Tindall’s help. “Please.”
She shouldn’t. But she was powerless beneath the weight of his dark, earnest stare. She nodded and watched Tindall guide him from the room.
Turning, she went to the fireplace and stoked the fire. Once it was crackling and warm, she backed away and stood there until she felt the chill in her bones vanish completely. She walked to the windows and looked out over the lawn below. There was a garden, and a small maze, but it looked a bit overgrown.
It was late afternoon. She ought to leave soon.
Oh, what was she doing here at all? What a fool she’d been to come! She’d lost the wager, and she’d somehow become a physician. How would she maintain that façade in front of those men? And Dartford had slipped up—calling “him” a “her.” Had Greene caught it? It seemed he might have, given the attention he’d directed at her afterward. They’d all likely caught it, but had they blamed it on Dartford’s fall? She hoped so.
She worried that it was time to end this charade once and for all. And she hadn’t yet earned anywhere near the funds she needed.
She heard movement and started to pivot.
“You might want to keep your back turned,” Dartford said.
Lucy snapped her head back around as another blush stole up her neck. Was he…naked?
A minute later, he called out again. “You can turn now.”
She waited a moment and then did so slowly. He was in bed, the coverlet pulled up to his chest, and he wore a shirt, though it was open at the neck.
Averting her gaze, she fished for an appropriate topic of conversation. “Did you learn how Sadler fared?”
“No.” Andrew’s voice was deep and gravelly, and he cleared his throat. “Tindall, do you know?”
The valet turned on his way to the door. “Ah, yes, I forgot to mention it, my lord. He is sound, and when he learned you would be all right, he left for London.”
“Thank you, Tindall. That’s all.” The low rumble of Andrew’s voice resonated in her bones and fired her blood.
She held her ground, afraid to move, as Tindall left them alone. “This is wholly improper,” she said.
Andrew’s face was clean, but the cut above his eye was red. “Everything about our association is improper.”
She couldn’t disagree with him. With slow, tentative steps, she made her way to the side of the bed. He looked well for the most part, aside from the cut on his forehead. She reached out to smooth the flesh above the wound but stopped herself. “Do you need stitches?”
“I don’t know.” He cracked a small smile. “You’re the physician.”
She scowled at him. “Thanks to you. Why did you say that? I can’t be a physician. I don’t know the first thing.”
He looked up at the bed hanging. “I don’t know. I blame the fall. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just wanted a reason that you should stay.”
Her insides churned with anticipation. “Why?”
His eyes found hers. “I don’t know. I just wanted you here.” He sounded mystified, and while that should have confused her, it filled her with heat and elation.
“What are we going to do about this physician problem? Maybe you can tell them you were confounded by the fall.”
“Like I did when I called you a she?” He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid the ruse is finished. Davis Smith is going to retire to Edinburgh or somewhere equally distant.”
Frustration and anger overtook the other emotions raging inside her. “But I’m not finished. I lost more money today on this stupid balloon wager. I’ll come up with a new disguise. I’ll get a gray wig and be an older man.”
He sat up quickly, too quickly because he winced and brought his hand to his head. When he looked at her, his brows were pitched low, his eyes bright with something she couldn’t quite name. “Damn it, Lucy, can’t you just be a woman for once?”
Chapter Eleven
Andrew stared up at her. Her lips were parted, her breath coming fast. She was angry, but she was also something else. His head hurt. Hell, his entire body hurt, but he was also something else. He wanted her. Desperately. And right now he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.
He snaked his right arm around her waist and cupped the back of her head with his left hand, pulling her down. He claimed her mouth, his lips moving against hers in fierce possession. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.
His fingers twisted into the base of her wig. Oh, this would not do. None of it. Not the hairpiece, not the sideburns, not the costume. He wanted Lucy.
He pulled his mouth from hers but didn’t release her. “I want to see you. Without Smitty interfering.” He brought his hand around and dragged his thumb along one of the hated sideburns. “How do these come off?”
Her lashes fluttered. “They pull away. You just have to be gentle.”
He scooted to the side and tugged her to sit beside him. He sat up and found the end of the faux piece. He pulled at the edge, lifting it up carefully. He moved slowly but noted that she winced. “Does it hurt?”
“A bit. You could go a little faster.”
He tore it away, trying to be as delicate as possible. She closed her eyes briefly when he was done. When she opened them again, her gaze was determined. She reached up and pulled the other one away with a quick movement then dropped it on the bedside table. She sucked in a breath, and he could see that her eyes watered. “I think my maid used too much glue today. We wanted to make sure they stayed in place since it was going to be such a long day.” She blinked and rubbed at the reddened flesh.
“Let me.” He replaced her fingers with his, smoothing her skin while he stared into her beguiling eyes. “You’re absolutely fearless, do you know that?”
Her gaze didn’t waver, nor did she flinch—confirming what he’d said. “I want what I want.”
He cupped the side of her face, his thumb moving over her flesh, soothing her. “And what’s that?”
“Freedom. Independence. Security.”
“I want excitement. Adventure. But most of all, I want you.” He drew her head down and kissed her again. Where he’d taken her by surprise a moment ago, she was ready this time. Her mouth met his with equal fervor, her lips opening and her tongue darting forth to tangle with his.
This was exciting and adventurous—everything he wanted and more. He lay back, palming the back of her head. Clutching at her waist, he pulled her down on top of his chest. He splayed his hand over her lower back, pressing her into him. The coverlet was between them, providing an infuriating barrier. But beneath it, he wore only a shirt. He’d likely scandalize her. Or not. Lucy wasn’t the type to frighten easily.
Lucy.
How had he ever thought of her as Smitty? Hell, he’d forgotten to dispatch the wig. He reached up and pulled it from her head.
She broke the kiss. “Ow!”
He winced. “What? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“The wig was pinned to my hair.” She sat back and massaged the back of her head.
He released her. “My apologies.” He offered her the wig, but she shook her head.
She pulled a pin from her hair and dropped it on the table beside the bed. A second one joined it. Then another. With careful, exacting precision, she removed each pin and dep
osited them on the table. Lock after lock, the dark mass fell until it reached past her shoulders in a rich, sable curtain.
Andrew dropped the wig, heedless of where it landed. “You’re so beautiful. And don’t tell me that you’re not. You are.”
Her eyes were wide, luminous, in the dim, seductive light of the chamber. “I never thought so…until I met you.”
He brought his hands to her face, stroking her cheeks, reveling in their silky smoothness. He drew his thumbs over her cheekbones and pushing his hands back into her hair. It was thick and soft, and he tangled his fingers among the waves.
He wanted more.
Moving down her body, he clasped her sides and lifted her over him, laying her in the middle of his bed. He came up on his side and loomed over her. Her cravat was undone, and he could see just a trace of her neck. He tugged the silk away and threw it aside. The neck of her shirt fell open, exposing more of her creamy flesh.
She stared up at him, her eyes full of wonder and desire. “My boots are probably dirty.”
He pulled his gaze from hers and looked down at her feet. “Then let’s dispose of them.” He made quick work of it, peeling her boots away and throwing them to the floor. He did the same with her stockings, eager to see her feet. They were pale and lovely. He ran his fingertip along the outside edge, from toe to heel.
She flinched, giggling. “That tickles.”
He looked back up at her face, his mouth forming a lazy smile as his headache began to fade from the tonic. “Does it?”
She was still wearing far too much, reminding him of Smitty. And damn it, he didn’t want Smitty in his bed.
He wanted Lucy.
He leaned on his elbow beside her and put his fingers on the uppermost button of her waistcoat. “May I?”
She nodded. Her chest rose and fell with deep, ever-quickening breaths.
He realized there was no padding here. “Where is the bulk of your costume?”
“We grew smarter with the day costume. My maid sewed it into the coat. Once I take it off, there’s just me.”
