Delightfully Dangerous (Knights Without Armor Book 1)

by Marly Mathews

  “I wasn’t trying,” she said, deliberately placing emphasis on trying.

  He gave her a hard, long stare that made her shut her bone box, and flinch a bit. Gads, she’d been around her brother’s mates from the wars against Napoleon Bonaparte far too long. Now she was mentally using their cant.

  “How many times did you sneak out on your own?” he demanded. “Wait. You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. In this instance, what I don’t know can’t hurt me. If you tell me how many times you’ve snuck out, I’ll keep thinking about how many times you could have had your throat slit, or worse.”

  “What could possibly be worse than that?”

  He gave her another annoyed glance. “I shall have to go with you.” He finally relented. “It seems the only logical choice given how damn stubborn you are. You will find a way to go with or without me, and you are better off with me.”

  “Am I?” she asked, her heart racing, and skipping a few beats. She closed her eyes and sighed. She had to maintain her composure. Reading too much into what he had just said could cause her to have her heart broken once again. Making the decision to cut all ties with him had been for the best, so why, why was she allowing him to draw her back into his web now?

  “You are.” He tugged down on his waistcoat. “If I am recognized, so be it. If you are recognized, I fear what your brother shall do. Heads may roll, Lydia.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Gossip rarely spreads from the matches. It’s more of what happens there, stays there sort of thing, the only thing that seems to get reported is who wins and who loses, they never gossip about those who attend. I’ve never found myself mentioned in any of the newspaper reports. ‘Course, sometimes the crowds can get rather large, so just stick with me, sir, and all will be well. We might get jostled about quite a bit, but I’ll take care of you.”

  Amusement glittered in his eyes. Quaint and charming. That’s what he currently thought of her. In another time, she might have been wounded by that. But she’d moved past that, and no longer cared how Richard felt, or didn’t feel, about her.

  “Oh, yes.” She paused, before continuing on her way. “When I’m dressed like this, you may call me Jamie.”

  “Jamie?” The one side of his mouth upturned. “Why Jamie?”

  “As you can see, Lord Tisbury, I am dressed incognita, and Lydia is a hardly a name for a grand young buck, and besides,” she sighed, “James is, well, it is one of my given names.”

  He frowned at her. “I don’t recall Micah ever mentioning that.”

  “He wouldn’t, would he? There’d be absolutely no reason to bring it up in conversation. If you must know, my full name is Lydia Louisa James Radcliff. Mama wanted to name me James if I was a boy, but as you see, I quite clearly am not.”

  “Well, let’s hope others do not notice that,” he said, chuckling.

  She groaned. “You know what I mean. My dear mama is not accustomed to being disappointed, and so, to assuage her being wrong about me, she fit her chosen name for me where she could. Papa insisted it was no name for a lady, but Mama can be terribly headstrong.”

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Are you just known as Jamie, then?”

  “No,” she frowned. “I don’t know why you need to know everything.”

  “Enlighten me, sweetheart.”

  “Stop calling me that!” She stomped her foot. “It simply is not to be borne. You may call me Lydia, no wait, you’re bound to make a mull of that. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. You might as well know all. I’ve rather invented a good little life story for myself. Should you require a surname, I’ve…I’ve made one up for myself. You may call me Jamie. Jamie Poole. I am the only son of a country doctor.”

  He snorted. “A country doctor? Why not a vicar?”

  “Must you dissect everything?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips, which seemed to delight him even more. “As I was saying, I am the son of a country doctor. My dear papa has the patronage of his wife’s wealthy uncle, Sir Simon Blount. As Sir Simon has no children, I have been named as his heir, so as you see, I’m much more than just a country doctor’s son. I am in London managing my uncle’s interests here. Pray do not be surprised, these affairs are rather informal and some call me by my Christian name.”

  He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Whilst this is a pretty little fairy story you’re spinning for me, it hardly gives me what I need to know how to handle everyone. I like to know exactly what I am getting myself into.”

  “Well, you are simply going to have to be quick on your feet, and use that sharp brain of yours. Surprising things crop up at these events.”

  “Yes, well, if I must call you Jamie, you can call me George.” He gave her a delightfully wicked wink that sent another shiver up and down her spine. “I’d dream up a new identity for myself, but I’d have to trade this face of mine for another. Too many people here in London know who I am. Take heart, sweetheart, I might go undetected.”

  “I think, sir, that you are enjoying this a trifle much.”

  “I am rather,” he said, his eyes sparkling. Lydia’s stomach did a little dance. No matter how much she tried to fight it, he could still make her tremble. She had to endeavor not to show that weakness to him.

  “I just want to know one other thing. How do you expect to sneak back into your brother’s residence? Once we travel to and from the event, it shall be midday at least. What makes you think they won’t notice you are gone?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Our part of the house won’t rise from their slumber for a good while. Evening parties tend to keep everyone asleep for a long time the next day. I expect they’ll just be starting to rise around noon, possibly later, and if anyone bothers to see if I am home or not, and finds me gone, they shall think I’ve walked down to visit my friend Eliza. I always get away with it by using that excuse. They never bother to check my bedchamber. I’m rather the invisible child of the family. Mama is so enraptured with being a baroness that she barely notices anything else, she’s always writing to old friends that might not be aware of her new social status, not that they could possibly miss it as it was announced in the newspapers, and that occupies most of her time. I believe it gives her a special thrill signing the letter with her new title, showing one and all that she is now a peeress in her own right. Micah and Rose are completely devoted to each other, and are such little lovebirds, they’d be hard pressed to notice a bomb going off around them, and well, there isn’t anyone else alive who cares about my comings and goings. I’ve told my maid not to disturb me until I ring for her—and even if she discovered my absence, I’m quite certain she would stay mum on the subject. As you see, I am quite the talented little…”

  “Brat,” he supplied for her, with a lift of his left eyebrow.

  “So, you won’t ruin things for me?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “No. Not tonight, or well, I suppose we’re coming into the early morning now. But…if I deem this charade of yours too dangerous I shall put a halt to it immediately. Do we have an understanding, Lydia?”

  She could have gotten her back up at his words, but she just wanted to get off the estate before her brother noticed her absence.

  “Pray, call me Jamie from here on in.”

  “Fine,” he relented. “Do we have an understanding, Jamie?”

  She bit her lip nervously. “Aye. I shall endeavor to convince you otherwise, sir. You shan’t be disappointed. Come along with me, Richard—err, I mean George, and I shall show you just how delightful these fights can be.”

  “How can you get so excited about two men hammering away at each other? It’s no place for a lady, and certainly not a place for a lady of your esteemed social rank.”

  “I wasn’t a lady for much of my life.”

  “Perhaps, not in title, but by birth, you were.”

  “Sometimes, I wish I’d never been granted the cour
tesy title of lady. This Royal Warrant of Precedence has truly turned my life upside down. I was so used to being called, Miss Lydia, or Miss Radcliff, and now I’m always Lady Lydia. It’s rather daunting in the grand scheme of things—now I have so much to live up to.”

  “You seem to be taking it all rather well.”

  “Aye, well, I don’t like the fact that more gentlemen are fawning over me now. I feel as if I need to beat them off with my fan. I have had to dance with some men who clearly do not know the powers of soap and water.”

  He laughed. “That must be quite unpleasant for you. However, I doubt they are fawning over you because you are now Lady Lydia. I warrant it’s your ethereal beauty that attracts them.”

  His compliment made another thrill go through her. What was wrong with her? She’d sworn off Richard. She couldn’t go back now. He’d dashed her hopes one too many times. “Mayhap, but my dowry seems to help as well,” she sighed. “I think I should beg Micah to make me a pauper. Then, I would know who wants me for me, and not for my fortune. I want to forget all of that rubbish, tonight. I want to enjoy myself, and if you’re coming with me, I can show you just how delightful it can be.” She grinned at him, and boldly reached for his hand. “Come on, I’ll give you a lesson on how to hail a hackney carriage.”

  “Steady on,” he said, halting suddenly. “Where do you get the funds to pay for a hired carriage?”

  “My brother gives me a generous monthly allowance, and I have put that money to good work.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her again. “What do you mean, good work?”

  “Must we quibble over such trivial matters? You and your uncle frequently take small sums of money and turn it into something more—why can’t I do the same thing? Just because I am a woman, doesn’t mean I can’t possess the same enterprising spirit.”

  “This has nothing to do with your sex. How are you doing it?” his voice lowered another octave, causing her to shiver. “You’re cold,” he accused, looking a little alarmed at the prospect.

  “No, I’m not, I just…oh, devil take you, Richard Lovett, you can be so vexing.”

  “Lydia, how do you make that money grow?”

  “I place wagers on the matches, and do you know, I frequently win. I have won ever so much blunt on it. I think I do better on them then I do betting on the ponies.”

  Prolonged uncomfortable silence followed her confession. He sized her up from head to toe, his eyes twinkling. “Of course you do. Don’t bother with hailing a carriage, we shall take mine.”

  “And announce to all and sundry that you are the Earl of Tisbury?”

  “Why not? As I said, I can hardly disguise myself. This devilishly handsome face tends to stand out in a crowd.”

  “No. We are having an adventure together. Let us do things my way.”

  “Oh, well, if that is how you like it,” he said genially. “I am at your command, my fair lady,” he said, giving her a deep bow.

  Was he having some amusement at her expense? She studied him. He seemed to be quite genuine. He pulled away from her. “If we are going out in the open, I daresay you don’t want to hold my hand. If we were in our everyday guises, it would be scandalous enough, as you are dressed now…well, we would be the talk of the ton for many years to come.”

  “Yes, you are quite right,” she sighed, feeling a little bereft that he had put some distance between them. Perhaps, perhaps, she shouldn’t have treated him as she had at her brother’s evening party. She’d eluded his every advance, and had retired early so she could steal some sleep before the fight.

  She thought keeping her distance had been the right course to take. Now, she wasn’t so certain. He’d already hurt her once. Could she risk her heart again?

  ichard shouldn’t be indulging Lydia.

  Her passion for prizefighting was quite disconcerting. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. She had always been a bit different from other ladies. There was a reason people still called her a hoyden, and clearly remembered her days as a tomboy. She’d grown into a lovely young lady, and now held a fan in her hand more often than she held a cricket bat or a fishing rod, but still, he couldn’t envision her attending such a brutal display. Men had even died at the fights. If she was ever to witness such a shocking sight…no, she had to be protected from that. He wanted to pull her away from the cruel ugliness of it all, and he knew that by doing so he would earn her undying contempt.

  Her bad behavior couldn’t continue, and yet, he was willingly accompanying her. Could he be considered an accomplice? He’d hate to have Micah view him as her partner in crime. His wrath would be frightful, and even that didn’t serve as a deterrent. No. He was committed to it. He couldn’t dash her hopes. He’d already broken her heart, if he took away her hope—he would be nothing better than a contemptible wretch.

  Granted, she was undeniably happy. Her eyes hadn’t stopped sparkling, and her color quite pleased him. She no longer looked pale and withdrawn, she’d come out of her shell, and he was captivated by the glorious sight. The way she was now, he’d probably follow her anywhere. What a fool he’d been not to notice before how undeniably radiant she was.

  She stopped suddenly, and looked back at him, her expression troubled. “If we continue on this path together, you must promise not to mention it during the day. When next we meet, I as Lady Lydia and you as Lord Tisbury, well, you must promise not to mention any of this.”

  “So, essentially, whatever we get up to under the mask of darkness should not see the light of day?”

  “If you wish to word it that way, aye. I do not want to hear you utter the name Jamie when we are…when we see each other at other events. You mustn’t put my reputation in question. It would be most ungentlemanly of you.”

  “You are placing your reputation in jeopardy by even entertaining this folly in the first place. Me notwithstanding, you seem determined to gamble with your good name on your own terms.”

  She bristled visibly at that statement. “I am prepared to suffer the consequences of my actions should they be discovered, but I do not need you helping me along, sir.”

  “You have my word. I shall not reveal you as Jamie Poole. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Let us shake on it, as honorable gentlemen and even women…do.”

  She offered him her hand. He took it, tempted beyond measure to pull her closer to him, and kiss her until she couldn’t remember ever conjuring Jamie into existence.

  Drawing away from him, she reached for her pocket watch. Frowning, she looked up at the night sky. “We must depart at once, or we shall be late, and I do not intend to miss this fight.”

  He chuckled. This side of Lydia was unconventional to say the least, but Christ Almighty, he bloody loved it.

  “Lead on, dear lady,” he whispered. She scampered away from him, moving so quickly that he had to pick up his pace to keep up with her. They made their way to the street, and he looked around. A carriage that by all appearances was a hackney coach rolled up to meet them. Odd. It was almost as if the vehicle had been lying in wait. Alarmed at the prospect, his dismay turned to concern when Lydia shot out to approach the vehicle. He put out a hand to her. To alleviate his worries, he checked to make certain that they were licensed. Seeing that they had a numbered plate, he relaxed, just a little.

  “Oh, do stop being so stiff, Richard. You are so straitlaced. You really need to learn how to loosen up a little.” She’d completely forgotten about calling him George, and if she thought her voice, while lower than most females could be misconstrued as belonging to a young gentleman, she was quite mistaken.

  “Mr. Poole,” the jarvey called out. “Are ye off to Crowley Field to see the prizefight?”

  “Aye,” Lydia answered, attempting rather unsuccessfully to lower her voice so she sounded more like a green young man than a young lady.

  The coachman’s tone was a bit too polished, and his manners far more refined than other hackney coachmen he’d come across in his tra
vels. He had the bearing of an ex-soldier. The hackney itself was another surprise. The coat of arms had been painted over. It was in rather good condition and the two coachmen were dressed smartly in blue livery, though their caped greatcoats no doubt concealed a plethora of weaponry. Richard reckoned the coachman had a partner to help him with finding fares, either that, or he was there as extra security.

  The interior of the conveyance was also not too weathered. He’d expected something in shabby disrepair, and yet, this was decidedly not. Disregarding the coachmen, Richard helped Lydia into the carriage. Hushed murmurings surrounded them, as the coachmen communicated with each other. Using his keen hearing he caught snatches of it, including, ‘what’s he doing here, is it proper to let them go unchaperoned?’ and ‘no idea, just stick to the plan, man.’

  Lydia didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it all. The door slammed shut, closing them securely into the coach. She settled herself back against the rather worn cushioned seat, and pinned a quizzical stare on him. This coach was definitely a retired private carriage, and he suspected it had just been retired. “What’s the matter?” Her eyes locked on him warily. She was no doubt worried that he’d foul up her plans for the night. He had already given her his word. And his word was his bond. It was high time she learned that.

  “I’ve just…” Tugging on his cravat nervously, he fell silent. She wasn’t piecing the jigsaw together, and he wouldn’t enlighten her.

  “Never gone by public coach, eh? It is quite a shock the first time you’re out in one. They’re not nearly as fancy as private carriages, nor as well kept, but you’ll survive, I reckon, sir.” She gave him a jaunty grin and cheekily winked at him. Even in her disguise, she created quite the fetching sight. Lydia wasn’t one of those women who had mannish characteristics. She created the sight of a foppish dandy, one that was dandified to the extreme, quite effeminate in bearing, and yet, he was still attracted to her. He supposed that Lydia could dress up in any sort of costume, and he’d still see through it to her true beauty within. What a cad he’d been. What an utter fool. Perhaps their nightly adventure was a shot at his second chance. Perhaps he could redeem himself in her eyes, and become the dashing hero she’d always wanted him to be.