by Darcy Burke
Lucy had noticed. She and her grandmother had received more invitations over the last few days, and she was fairly certain Nora and Lady Satterfield were responsible. “You’re certain she won’t be scandalized by what I’m doing?”
Aquilla arched a brow at her. “Don’t forget she survived her very own scandal.”
“Which is why she likely wouldn’t appreciate my activities.”
“On the contrary, she will understand what you’re trying to do and why you’re doing it—even if I don’t.” Aquilla fixed her attention on the tea tray.
“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.
Aquilla gave a light shrug as she glanced toward Edgecombe’s flowers. “I still think marriage is a viable option.”
Ivy gently touched Aquilla’s arm. “Leave it.”
Aquilla nodded and gave Lucy an apologetic look. “I only want you to be happy.”
“And I shall be,” Lucy said. But for some strange and disconcerting reason, she thought of Dartford and not a quiet cottage with her grandmother. The more she thought about it, the more she needed this ruse to end soon.
“I want to understand this ballooning scheme,” Ivy said, her tone somewhat dark. “You said Dartford’s friends are going to surprise him. This means he isn’t aware of what you’re doing? You’ll be venturing to Kent alone, without his protection?”
Lucy had considered this, but she wouldn’t be alone. She’d be with Dartford’s friends, whom she almost thought of as her friends. She didn’t feel intimidated by any of them. “I won’t ride to Kent with them, and I daresay Dartford will arrive shortly after we do.” At least that was what she hoped happened.
Ivy looked at her intently. “He won’t be angry? In my experience, men hate it when women act independently.”
Would he be angry? He’d repeatedly threatened to expose her scheme to Grandmama. She worried for a moment but decided his ire was worth the risk of what she could earn. “He’ll accept it. We’re both eager to be finished.” Especially after what had happened the other night. She only hoped things wouldn’t be terribly awkward when she saw him tomorrow morning.
“Dartford is an odd fellow, isn’t he?” Aquilla asked. “He’s attractive, possessed of an excellent title and more than adequate wealth, even if his holdings aren’t vast. He’s of a perfectly marriageable age, and yet he shows no inclination.”
“Because he doesn’t wish to marry.” Lucy belatedly wondered if she ought to have kept that to herself.
Aquilla’s attention perked. “He said that? That is the general consensus about him, but I’m not sure if he’s ever come out and made that clear. He’s quite adept at avoiding gossip and lingering on the periphery of Society while still being a favorite.”
Ivy gave her a pointed look. “An Untouchable, you mean.”
Aquilla laughed. “Yes. His desire to remain unmarried makes him even more of an Untouchable.”
Lucy had to agree, and it was perhaps the primary reason she trusted him. They were of a like mind, and she found that most pleasing.
“It’s too bad, though,” Aquilla said. “He’d be excellent husband material—if you wanted that.” She looked at Lucy, who stared at her for a moment.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I know!” Aquilla waved her hand as if she were swatting at a fly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that he’s quite marvelous, really. He’s doing you a rather spectacular favor, one that most men wouldn’t.”
“She’s right,” Ivy said. “I find it suspicious. You’re certain he doesn’t want anything from you? Do we have any cause at all to be concerned? He hasn’t tried to…compromise you, has he?” Her lip curled as she asked the last.
Lucy immediately thought of him kissing her. And then of her kissing him. He might have initiated it, but it had been a thoroughly mutual act. “No. He’s simply doing me a favor—exactly as Aquilla said. I know it’s difficult to believe.” He’d said that helping her was just another adventure. It was for her too, and so far, she was having the best time of her life.
Lucy looked at Aquilla. “Lady Satterfield’s coach will be waiting for me a bit before nine tomorrow?”
Aquilla nodded. “I can’t promise I won’t be inside…”
“You mustn’t,” Lucy said more sternly than she probably needed to, especially when she realized Aquilla had only been joking. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just can’t risk anyone learning that I’m a woman.”
“And what would my being in your coach have to do with it?” Aquilla asked.
“Indeed,” Ivy agreed. “But Aquilla, dear, your reputation would be in shreds once people realized you were the mistress of London’s newest gentleman gambler.” This provoked laughter from Lucy and Aquilla. Ivy looked at Lucy. “What do you go by?”
“Davis Smith, though Dartford has taken to calling me Smitty.”
Aquilla and Ivy exchanged looks and smiled, nodding. “I rather like that,” Aquilla said. “Don’t be surprised if we call you that—in private, of course.”
Lucy could see that her friends were enjoying this. They’d been supportive and helpful and altogether wonderful. She regretted not telling them sooner.
Aquilla drew her gloves on. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve organized your transportation for Saturday. And we’ll use the same explanation for your absence. We’ll say you’re attending an all-day picnic with us. Oh, that sounds lovely. Perhaps I’ll convince Lady Satterfield to journey to Kent…”
This elicited a bark of laughter from Ivy and a giggle from Lucy, who now knew her friend was jesting.
“Thank you.” Lucy reached over and patted her friend’s knee and gave Ivy an appreciative nod. “I have the best friends ever.”
“We do, don’t we?” Aquilla stood, and Ivy joined her. They said their good-byes, and Lucy felt good about sharing everything with her friends.
Well, not everything.
Why hadn’t she told them about the kissing? Because Aquilla would’ve tried to play matchmaker, and Lucy didn’t want that. Plus, Lucy was trying very hard to forget it had ever happened. Discussing it with her friends would ensure it lived forever.
Only, she was certain it would anyway, despite her best efforts to the contrary.
Chapter Eight
Andrew paced beside his phaeton in Hyde Park the following morning. It was just past nine and Miss Parnell had not yet arrived. She’d sent him a note yesterday afternoon indicating that she’d arranged transportation to meet him here, but didn’t disclose what it would be. He hoped she hadn’t run into trouble.
The first race was due to begin soon. If she didn’t arrive presently, she wouldn’t be able to place a wager.
At last he heard the sound of a coach. He craned his neck as the vehicle drew to a halt and wasn’t disappointed when Miss Parnell alighted. She wore a different costume, one that was more suitable for this time of day. She came toward him quickly.
“I was beginning to worry,” he murmured.
“Smitty!” Beaumont called out as he saw her. “So glad you could join us. We were just about to start. He gestured toward a middle-aged man who was writing in a book. “That’s Nevins. He records all the wagers.”
“Come, I’ll introduce you,” Andrew said smoothly. He wanted to guide her on how much to wager and on whom. He kept his voice low as they walked. “Bet on Harcourt. Thirty pounds.”
“Is that enough?”
“For this first race, yes. You don’t want to draw overt attention to yourself.”
She nodded.
He studied her, trying to discern whether she was wearing the wig he’d sent. He’d procured one that was the same color hair as hers. Unable to see for himself, he had to ask. “Are you wearing the wig?”
“Yes, thank you. It fits quite well.”
He was glad. He’d been able to approximate the size of her head after cupping it the other night. Bloody hell, why was he thinking of that right now? He glanced at her, wondering if she’d thought of their…interlu
de at all.
He’d actually spent far more time contemplating it than he ought, which should have been not at all, largely due to his efforts to banish the other episode from that night from his mind. So far, reliving Miss Parnell’s delicious kisses had proved an excellent diversion from the ghosts of his past.
She stopped and looked around. “Where is Harcourt?”
“He and the other racer, Lord Edgecombe, have already gone to the start. This is where they’ll finish.”
She looked at him, her hazel eyes widening. “Edgecombe?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“I do,” she said softly.
A sliver of jealousy needled into Andrew’s chest. “How well?”
She shrugged. “Not terribly. We danced at Lady Colne’s ball. Thanks to your attention, I was besieged with more dance partners than I knew what to do with. It was most taxing.”
He laughed as the jealousy he’d felt slipped away. “I won’t burden you again.”
“What you should do, actually, is dance with my friend Miss Aquilla Knox. She could use the attention. She wants to marry, and she’ll make an excellent wife.”
“I have no plans to attend another ball anytime soon, but if I do, I shall make a point of it.”
She looked at him with open appreciation. “Thank you.”
“Last call for wagers!” Nevins’s shout pulled Andrew from the intoxicating depths of Miss Parnell’s eyes.
“Come.” Andrew introduced her to Nevins and a few other gentlemen. She’d become quite good at adopting more masculine mannerisms—she held her shoulders a bit higher and walked with a longer stride. It had to be exhausting.
They went to stand just off the track as they waited for the race to start.
Beaumont leaned toward Miss Parnell. “Once, a gentleman lost control of his horses, and we had to scatter like rats in daylight.” He laughed. “Damn near knocked us all down.”
She shot Andrew a concerned glance. He subtly shook his head in response. They’d be fine. He’d keep a close eye on things. He always did, but he was especially alert today with her here.
The race began. They could see Edgecombe and Harcourt across the park. Edgecombe started off much better than he usually did, and for a brief moment, Andrew worried that he’d given her bad advice. But Harcourt quickly overtook him, and in the end, it wasn’t much of a contest.
Harcourt crossed the finish line amidst cheers, and Edgecombe received a similar welcome a few moments later. They steered their vehicles off to the side. The next racers were already queued at the starting line.
Edgecombe climbed down from his perch and shook his head. “I thought I had it for a moment there.” He was always a good-natured sport. He gestured toward Andrew’s phaeton. “You’re not racing today?” All the racers typically left their vehicles near the starting area.
“Not today.”
“That’s too bad. Always easy money when you race.” He chuckled, and his gaze fell on Miss Parnell. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Andrew moved closer to her. “Allow me to present Davis Smith. Smitty, this is Edgecombe.”
She offered her hand, and Andrew could see the strength with which she gripped the other man. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Indeed.” Edgecombe’s eyes squinted slightly, and Andrew didn’t like his scrutiny.
Andrew nudged Miss Parnell. “Time to make our next wager.” He nodded at Edgecombe as they passed by him. “I didn’t care for the way he was studying you,” he whispered.
“I don’t think he recognized me.”
“Still, I think it’s wise if you steered clear of him.”
“Probably.”
Her agreement made him relax. He advised her on the next wager and hoped he was right. This would be a much closer race. The cheering grew to a rousing crescendo as the phaetons careened, side by side, around the final corner. Unfortunately, his pick crossed the finish just behind the other racer.
Andrew grimaced at Miss Parnell, who was frowning. “I’m not always right,” he said quietly so only she could hear. They stood at the edge of the group.
She gave him a sardonic look. “How refreshing to hear a gentleman say so.”
Andrew coughed. Charles had walked toward them as she spoke, and she hadn’t been using her disguised voice. Plus, her comment wasn’t one that Smitty would’ve uttered. Charles, however, didn’t appear as though he’d heard.
He greeted them with a jovial smile. “Dartford and Smitty. Together again, I see. Smitty seems to be our newest member.” He looked at Miss Parnell. “Of our group.”
Andrew laughed. “We have members? I wasn’t aware.”
Charles waved his hand. “You know what I mean. Say, why aren’t you racing today? I can’t remember the last time you didn’t.”
“Just taking a respite.”
Charles chuckled. “Going to give others a chance, eh? Or maybe no one wants to race you since they always lose.”
“I’d race him.” A tall, lanky fellow strode toward them. He was young—near Miss Parnell’s age—but with a robust confidence and a bold swagger. Yet at the same time, Andrew wouldn’t call him arrogant.
Andrew wasn’t a braggart, and if he said he could do something, he did it. And usually with aplomb. “I’ll take you up on that sometime, Greene.”
Greene nodded and turned his attention to Miss Parnell. “Robert Greene.”
She shook his hand, demonstrating the same strength and assurance she had earlier. “Davis Smith.”
“We call him Smitty,” Charles interjected. He looked at Andrew with beseeching eyes. “Come on, Dart. Race Greene.”
Greene arched a brow in question, then gave a shrug. “I’m up for it.”
Miss Parnell cleared her throat. “You aren’t scheduled to race someone else today?”
“I am not. But I always bring my vehicle, just in case.” He indicated his elegant phaeton and grinned.
Andrew eyed the vehicle with envy. It was new and reminded him of the model he was having made. The carriage on both was a bit smaller than typical and the wheels taller. He was excited to see it finished. “When my new phaeton is ready, we’ll race.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Greene said. He turned to Miss Parnell. “Do you race?”
“I don’t.” She eyed Greene’s phaeton. “But I should like to.”
“Perhaps you should race me, then. You could borrow Dart’s vehicle.”
Andrew didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I don’t think he’s ready for that, are you, Smitty?”
She made a grimace—a very manly one—and shook her head. “Unfortunately not, but I think you should have a go.” She looked pointedly at Andrew.
Hell. She wasn’t supposed to say that. He’d been clear about his intention to stay with her today.
Charles elbowed him in the arm. “I think it’s unanimous. Go on.”
To refuse now would create a scene, and he didn’t want that. He began to question his idea to bring Miss Parnell along. Still, he had to admit it was better than a gaming hell. He could, at least, trust these gentlemen not to erupt into fisticuffs. At least not at this time of the morning. Late at night, after they’d all been drinking? That was another situation altogether.
“All right, then.” He looked at Greene. “Will you alert Nevins?”
“Certainly.” Greene rubbed his hands together as he ambled off.
Miss Parnell looked at him expectantly. “I need to place my next wager.”
She started toward Nevins, and he rushed to catch up. He glanced around to make sure they were out of anyone’s earshot. Still, he kept his voice low. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Don’t be obtuse. You’re too smart for me to believe that. Plus, you sound guilty.”
She chuckled. “Do I? I wanted to see you race, and who knows when I’ll have another opportunity.” She spoke in her deeper “man” voice, which was probably for the b
est. More and more, however, Andrew longed to see and talk to her without her disguise.
Now it was his turn to laugh. “I see. Well, I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“I wish I could ride with you.” There was an edge of wistfulness to her tone that he’d heard before. “But I’d slow you down.”
He eyed Greene and turned his head to look at the man’s phaeton again. “Yes, but I think I could still win. However, if you rode with me, you wouldn’t be able to wager.”
She stopped before they got to Nevins. “I could actually go with you? It wouldn’t be odd?”
Andrew came to a halt beside her. “Not terribly. Sometimes faster drivers do it to offer an advantage to someone less experienced.”
“Like Greene?”
“Greene’s one of the better drivers, especially for his age.” Andrew grinned. “He’d probably take offense if I said I was taking a passenger. However, I like this idea. I won’t have to leave you unattended.”
She frowned. “But I can’t wager. Even so, I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to do this again…” She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted. “Let’s. Please.”
He was powerless to resist the feminine lure of her gaze and the breathless seduction of her plea. “Then let’s place your wagers on the next races before we head over to the start.”
He instructed her on the races leading up to his, which would be last. After Nevins recorded their bets, Andrew turned to Greene, who lingered nearby.
“Greene, I’m going to take a passenger to make things interesting.”
Greene’s brow climbed. “Who?”
“Smitty, here.”
Greene raked his gaze over Miss Parnell, and Andrew felt a ridiculous urge to plant his fist in the other man’s face. “I’ll take someone too then.” He glanced over at the men gathered near the finish. “Beaumont.”
Beaumont was several inches taller than Miss Parnell, and several stones heavier with his athletic build. “Are you certain you choose him?”
Greene smiled. “Like you said, to make things interesting.”