The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2)

by Darcy Burke

  “I know, Grandmama. Are you ready?” Lucy hoped the conversation would die a swift death.

  “Yes, let’s be on our way.”

  Burton opened the door, and a footman helped them into their coach, an ancient contraption—ancient being at least twenty years old—that creaked and wobbled excessively. The footman had tried to repair it, but the mechanics were beyond his expertise. He wasn’t even a coachman, but they couldn’t afford one of those.

  Once they were ensconced inside and the vehicle had lurched forward, Grandmama angled toward her. “Who do you hope to see this afternoon? Edgecombe? Or maybe Dartford? I like him.”

  It seemed Lucy wouldn’t be able to forget about him today. She ought to have known better. Even without Grandmama asking about him, he was clearly hovering about her head.

  “I’d prefer to just walk with my friends.” Lucy expected she’d see Aquilla but never knew when Ivy might be there. She and Lady Dunn kept a less predictable schedule, much like Lucy and her grandmother.

  Grandmama sighed. “It’s no wonder you aren’t married. You must engage with these gentlemen, or you’ll be a spinster.”

  Lucy bit her tongue lest she point out that she already was a spinster. “I don’t need to marry, nor do I want to. I have an excellent plan to move us to Bath. I found a charming cottage today, and I’ve already written to the owner.”

  Grandmama frowned. “How can we possibly afford that? I’ve already told you that I don’t have enough to support you.”

  “I know, but I’ve saved up enough of my own money, and I’m going to invest a small sum. I won’t be buying any walking dresses, but I don’t have need of them anyway.”

  Grandmama leaned back on the seat, her hand fluttering to her chest. “My dear, I can’t believe you’d choose that over a future with a man like Dartford. Sometimes I wonder how we are related, but then I remember who your mother was.”

  Lucy knew her grandmother meant no insult. Grandmama and her mother hadn’t been close, but Grandmama had respected her son’s choice in wife, and she’d even remarked that it had been good for him to marry such a strong woman. Indeed, she and Lucy had discussed on a few occasions that if Lucy’s mother hadn’t died, gambling might not have consumed her father. It was tragic how death could alter a person’s course in life. Such as how it had affected Andrew. If he hadn’t lost his family, he might not have pushed Lucy away. Twice.

  Forever.

  Her throat felt tight as they drove into the park. She didn’t want to think about him, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She supposed that was what happened when one was in love.

  The footman drove them to where the carriages stood. Lucy looked for her friends, eager to disembark and take a brisk walk to ease the turmoil inside her. Grandmama would stay in the coach and visit with passing acquaintances.

  Though she didn’t see Aquilla or Ivy, Lucy stepped from the vehicle. They’d be along presently, she was certain. She pivoted toward the gate to watch for their arrival.

  “Look, Lucy,” Grandmama said from inside the coach, pointing behind Lucy. “Here comes Dartford.”

  Lucy turned and saw that Andrew was coming straight for her. What the devil was he about now? Anger and frustration welled with hurt and longing. She didn’t want to see him. Especially not here, in a rather public setting, where she couldn’t tell him to leave her alone.

  Well, she could, just not in the volume she might have desired.

  As he came toward her, she thought of that morning in the park with him, when they’d raced in his phaeton. How glorious and exhilarating it had been. She nearly smiled at the memory, until she remembered that she wanted to be irritated at him.

  “Miss Parnell,” he said, stopping before her. He looked toward the coach with a wide, handsome smile. “Lady Parnell. It’s surely too fine a day to remain inside?”

  Grandmama wave her hand at him, chuckling. “Don’t you bother with me. Take my granddaughter for a promenade.”

  “I shall be honored.” He offered his hand to Lucy and looked down at her. “May I?”

  Lucy wanted to say no, but if she went with him, she could tell him to leave her alone—for good. Then she could tell Grandmama to stop pairing them off.

  “Yes.” She hissed the word at him and reluctantly took his arm.

  Once they were on their way, he said, “You’re angry with me again.”

  “I’m not angry with you. I dislike you. There’s a difference.”

  “You dislike me now?” He sounded surprised.

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  He seemed to ponder this for a moment as they took several steps along the path. They passed another couple and nodded at them.

  “Not that I can think of, unfortunately. I suppose it’s too much to ask for us to be friends?”

  “Andrew—Dartford—what do you want?” It no longer signified. “Never mind. I don’t care what you want. I’d like you to leave me alone. Don’t ask me to promenade. Don’t ask me to dance. And don’t show up in my bedchamber uninvited.” She felt him flinch as she said the last.

  “You regret last night.” He didn’t frame it as a question.

  “I don’t, but I should regret a repeat occurrence.” She longed to rail at him. With every step, she was reminded of how much she enjoyed being with him, how she was willing to take a chance on a future she didn’t expect to want, how painfully she loved him.

  And how he shared none of those sentiments.

  He drew her off the path so that they were away from people but not out of sight. He turned to her and looked into her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked nervous. Or unsettled. Or anxious.

  “Lucy, what would you say if I asked you to marry me?”

  She stared at him, unable to summon a thought. Or a word. Or any kind of reaction.

  She had to have misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I know you said you didn’t wish to marry, but it seems you might have changed your mind.”

  He was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. His question had been odd. She tried to discern what was going on behind his dark eyes. She withdrew her hand from his arm. “Is that a proposal?” She wasn’t at all sure that it was.

  He hesitated, but only a moment. “Yes.” He clasped her fingers in his. “I want you to be my countess.”

  She suffered another moment of shock when words and thought utterly deserted her again. Her breath caught, and then her heart sped as joy spilled through her. Her brain, however, remained detached. She simply didn’t comprehend why he was asking this now. “Why? If it’s because of what happened last night, there’s no need for us to marry.”

  “What if there’s a child?”

  Now it was her turn to feel anxious. “You took precautions.”

  “Nothing’s foolproof.”

  She relinquished the sensation of anxiety in favor of annoyance. “You’re asking because of a very small possibility that I’m with child. No, thank you.”

  He exhaled. He squeezed her fingers. “I’m asking because I want to. I’ve never met anyone who made me think twice about marriage. Until you.” His eyes darted to the right and left. “If there weren’t so many damn people here, I’d take you in my arms and kiss you until you agreed.”

  Heat suffused her, and now her ire gave way to something far hotter—desire. He wanted to marry her. She honestly didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re killing me.” His words came out as a near growl. “Are you going to leave me wondering?”

  “I should. You deserve that and more.”

  His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “I do. You could spend the rest of our lives making me suffer.”

  She couldn’t help it. She smiled. Until her cheeks hurt. She loved him so much. He hadn’t said he loved her, but she knew he at least liked and admired her. An echo from the past warned her to be careful—that he could hurt her as her father had—but she silenced the dissenting voice. The future she nev
er imagined was in front of her now, and she wanted it.

  “I’ll marry you.” As soon as she said the words, giddy happiness swelled in her chest. She never thought to say those words, let alone to a man she loved.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Thank you.”

  He sounded relieved. Was he as happy as she was? A shadow crept over her jubilation.

  “Dartford!”

  They both turned their heads at the sound of his name. It was Charles, his long strides devouring the path and then veering away from it as he came toward them.

  “Good afternoon, Charles,” Andrew said. He still held Lucy’s hand. “Do you know Miss Parnell?”

  Charles inclined his head toward her. He looked a trifle unkempt—his hair, usually teased and styled, was rather flat, and his cravat was askew. “We met a few years ago. I’m not sure Miss Parnell remembers.”

  She hadn’t before, but now that he mentioned it, she recalled being introduced at a house party she’d attended with Aquilla and her family. In fact, she thought he’d invited her to play Blind Man’s Bluff, and she’d declined in favor of riding. In retrospect, she was glad he hadn’t recognized her while she’d been dressed as a man. “I do remember, Mr. Charles. How lovely to see you again.”

  He frowned at her before turning his attention to Andrew. “I hate to have this conversation in front of her, but I’m afraid I’m rather desperate. Did you receive the note from Mr. Black?”

  Andrew’s hand went tense in hers. “Yes. What do you know of it?” The question was razor-sharp.

  Charles’s mouth was drawn tight, his posture stiff. “I regret to say that I am Mr. Black. I need that money, Dart.” He twisted his hands together. “Why didn’t you send it to the club as I asked?”

  Andrew let go of her hand and took a step forward. He grabbed Charles’s lapel. “You’re Black? You threatened her? I ought to call you out, you miserable piece of offal.”

  Lucy clasped Andrew’s forearm—the one that wasn’t gripping Charles. “Andrew, stop! You can’t do that here.”

  “You don’t know what he’s done.” He didn’t take his eyes from Charles. “I’m not giving you a shilling.”

  Charles’s gaze flicked to Lucy for just a moment. “Dart, please. I don’t want to expose her.”

  Lucy froze. She stared at Andrew, unable to look at Charles. “What is he talking about?”

  Andrew spared her only the briefest of glances. “He threatened to expose you as Smitty unless I gave him five thousand pounds.” He snarled at Charles and tightened his grip. “You won’t say anything. She’s going to be my countess—no one will believe what you say. Good God, man, are you really in such dire straits? I thought we were friends.”

  Charles’s pallor took on a grayish tinge, and he seemed to shrink. Andrew finally let go of him, shoving at his chest as he did so.

  After stumbling backward, Charles regained his footing. “I’m a dead man, then,” he whispered.

  Lucy watched the light go out of Charles’s eyes, and she felt a surge of pity. His excessive gambling had led her to dislike him, but now she regretted that. He was deeply troubled—as her father had been. She thought of all the times her father had been in debt and of the things he’d had to sell to keep himself out of prison.

  She looked at Charles. “Will you be arrested?”

  “Worse. I borrowed money from a dangerous fellow. Apparently, he works for Gin Jimmy.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Hellfire, Charles.”

  Lucy looked between them before settling on Andrew. “Who’s that?”

  “A notorious criminal. I saw him once when I ventured into St. Giles. It was another of my daring adventures.”

  “That’s one of the most dangerous places in London.” Lucy hadn’t realized the extent of his activities. She’d thought climbing the dome of St. Paul’s or ballooning was risky enough, but entering St. Giles was positively deadly. Or it could have been. “You’re mad,” she breathed, momentarily losing track of the current conversation.

  “He’s going to kill me,” Charles said. “If I don’t give him the money tomorrow.”

  Andrew wiped a hand over his eye and moved toward Charles. “We’ll work this out. Meet me at my town house.”

  Charles nodded, then looked at Lucy. “My apologies, Miss Parnell. I’m not proud of what I did. I liked you. Rather, I liked Smitty.” He hung his head as he turned and walked away.

  Andrew touched her hand, but she drew it away. “Where will you be tonight? I’ll come find you.”

  Cold realization knifed through her. There had been something off with his proposal. “No. Please don’t.”

  He looked momentarily perplexed. “All right. Tomorrow, then?”

  As much as she appreciated what he was trying to do, she couldn’t continue with the ruse. Not when she knew he was haunted. He didn’t want a family, not after losing one. And given how averse she’d been to a potential husband who was no better than her father—not that Andrew was necessarily that man—she understood. “No. You don’t really want to marry me. You did it because of that threat. Don’t deny it, because I know it’s true.”

  The muscles along his jaw tightened. “I thought it would solve a great many things, including our mutual attraction. I meant it when I said I didn’t like thinking of you alone.”

  Sadness engulfed her, and for the first time, she fully comprehended what that meant. Now that she’d had a glimpse of what it might have been like to share her life with someone she loved, alone seemed a far worse fate than it had before. Still, she had to let him go.

  “Yet, alone is a state that’s perfect for you, isn’t it? You’ve made that more than clear. I do appreciate you trying to protect me.” She allowed a small smile as the last of her hope slipped into the past. “I’m glad you’re going to help Charles. It will be good for you. Maybe you can start to heal.”

  His forehead pleated as his brows slashed over his eyes. He looked as though he might speak, but in the end, he said nothing.

  “Good-bye, Andrew.”

  She turned and left him in the park, along with the greatest happiness she’d ever known.

  Andrew watched her go, unable to find the words to ask her to stay. He ought to feel relieved that he didn’t need to marry her. Instead, he felt numb.

  Numb was good, wasn’t it? It was certainly better than the agony of loss.

  He strode across the park, ignoring the paths so that he could avoid talking to people, and made his way to his town house. He’d deal with Charles first. Then he’d think about Lucy. Maybe. A part of him didn’t want to. The part of him that said it was better to go on without her. Alone. As he’d planned.

  His gait slowed as he approached his house. Was he really alone? He’d worked so hard to keep people from getting too close, to keep relationships simple and easy. In school, he hadn’t attached to any particular group of friends, and he’d tried to do the same in adulthood. He even went so far as to hire a new valet periodically. How, then, had he ended up with a group of friends and with Lucy?

  Because maybe it was time. Maybe he’d suffered with the guilt and the fear long enough.

  Probably. But his attacks had only grown worse recently, which would lead him to believe the opposite. He needed to evict all these people from his life.

  Andrew’s butler, Roland, opened the door. “My lord. Mr. Charles is in the drawing room.”

  Andrew nodded as he stalked to the stairs and walked up to the first floor. Charles stood in front of the window, staring down at the street. He turned as Andrew came into the room.

  “You look terrible,” Andrew said as he went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whiskey. He went to Charles and handed him one.

  Charles glanced down at Andrew’s glass. “Not gin?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I felt like something different.” He wanted to embrace change and starting with his choice of liquor seemed a step in the right direction. He’d grown too comf
ortable with people, allowing them too close, and he blamed the recent severity and frequency of his attacks on his complacency.

  Charles threw back the entire pour. “Thank you. I really am sorry about Miss Parnell.” He looked pained. Haunted, even.

  Andrew sipped the whiskey. It was fine, but he missed his gin. “How did you get yourself into this predicament?”

  “You know me.” He gave a half smile. “I can’t seem to say no to a wager.”

  “Was this at a hell?”

  He nodded. “I was in deep one night, and a fellow offered to spot me. Somehow it grew to five thousand.” He looked toward the windows, his cheeks turning red.

  Andrew resisted the urge to throttle him. How many times had he tried to steer Charles down the right path? “Your father has no idea, I take it.”

  “No, and I can’t ask him. He’ll cut me off entirely. Then he’ll marry me off to some chit in a backward hamlet so far from London that I’ll perish of boredom.”

  “Wouldn’t that be better than actually dying, which I believe is a risk given what you said at the park and given what you dared to do? To me.” Andrew didn’t bother masking his scorn. “Your purported friend.”

  Charles winced. “I was desperate. You’ve been nothing but kind and supportive—a true friend.”

  “So if you don’t pay this money, one of Gin Jimmy’s ruffians will kill you.”

  “That is what he said, yes. ‘He’ being the man who loaned me the money.” Charles looked down at the empty glass in his hand. “I’m doomed.”

  Andrew didn’t want Charles to die. Yes, he’d allowed the fool too close to him, and he couldn’t let him die. “I’m going to give you the money, but you’re going to leave London. Tell your father you need to rehabilitate yourself—he’ll admire that.”

  Charles blinked at him. “You’d do that? But where am I to go?”

  Andrew steeled himself against the emotions in Charles’s voice—happy disbelief at Andrew’s offer and despondency at what he likely saw as banishment. Yes, that was a fair characterization, Andrew decided. “That’s up to you and your father. I’m not paying for that, but I daresay he will if it means you’ll put your life in order. Gain some perspective, and don’t come back until you can withstand temptation.”