The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables Book 2) (2 page)

He appreciated her bravado but wondered if she was exaggerating her abilities. “So you’re a gentleman in every way but the most”—his gaze dipped down her body—“fundamental.”

She scowled at him again. “Just turn around and go on your way. Catch up to your friends. It sounded as if you have quite an evening planned.”

Andrew dropped his hands to his sides and took a step toward her. He froze again as she aimed the gun at his chest. “I only want to help you, see you home at the very least. I mean you absolutely no harm. Wouldn’t I have taken advantage by now?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Rather difficult when I’m the one with the deadly weapon.”

He let a smile open his lips. “Just so.” He tried another tack. “Where are you going now?”

“None of your business.”

“I’d still like to offer my assistance—wherever you’re going. Please, I don’t know that I’d forgive myself if I let you go off alone into the night, even with a pistol at the ready. You can trust me. Will you?”

Her gaze was shrewd, skeptical.

A movement down the street lured Andrew’s attention. He couldn’t know if it was whomever he’d seen lurking outside the hell, but he wanted to get her away from this area. “Come on.” He grabbed the arm that wasn’t holding the pistol and turned her away from the man down the street. “We need to go.”

She wrenched her elbow free. “Don’t touch me. I could’ve shot you.”

“Doubtful. You’ll need to work on your reflexes as well as your distance. You were much too close. I could’ve overpowered you at any moment.”

She made a deep sound in her throat—somewhere between a dark laugh and a cough. He found it oddly enticing. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I’m not that sort of man.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the man was coming toward them, but not quickly enough to seem like a pursuit. Still, Andrew wanted to quit the street. “Let’s move. Where are you going?”

She started walking, straightening her spine as she moved. “I’m not telling you.”

He groaned. “I hope you aren’t married. If you are, I’ll need to have words with your husband, and then I shall extend my extreme condolences on his choice of wife.”

“Of course I’m not married, you imbecile.” She said this with such heat and vigor that he was sure he’d struck a nerve. Curiosity assailed him once more, but he didn’t pursue the topic.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going? I’d like to move away from this neighborhood.” He glanced behind him once more and saw that the man had crossed the street and seemingly had no interested in them. Andrew relaxed slightly, but—noting that she hadn’t answered him—began to weary of her stubbornness.

He pulled her into the nearest alley, where he disarmed her. He turned so that she backed up against the brick wall. He loomed over her, frowning, and drawing a breathy gasp from her. “Confound it, woman. I’m helping you whether you like it or not.”
 

“I don’t like it one bit.”

He pressed the pistol back into her gloved hand and leaned forward, catching the barest hint of her fragrance. It was soft, and tellingly feminine with floral tones. How had he missed that before? Because he hadn’t been this close. “Will you trust me?”

He nearly laughed at the sudden ridiculousness of the question. For in that moment, with her body so near and the sound of her agitated breathing filling his senses, he wasn’t entirely certain he trusted himself.

W
ith each breath, Lucinda Parnell inhaled the strong, powerful, and inconveniently seductive scent of Man. But then she expected nothing less from the Earl of Dartford, who was presently pressing her up against the wall in some alleyway as if she were a common harlot. A harlot, ahem, dressed as a man.

She was being terribly overdramatic. Her friend Aquilla would approve.

The weight of Lucy’s pistol was a familiar comfort in her hand. She considered bringing it up hard against his head—she was far stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for—but he really wasn’t a threat. After all, he
had
returned her weapon, and it did seem as if he only wanted to see her safe. Still, she didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

She employed her haughtiest tone, irritated that he’d found her out in the first place. “I appreciate your concern. However, I am quite capable of seeing myself home. This is not my first foray into this neighborhood.”

He didn’t budge, but his eyes widened briefly. “Hell and damnation, you’re joking.”

She kept her gaze pinned to his, which actually meant she had to look up at him since he was rather taller than she. But she was determined to show him she was made of stern stuff. Just as she determined not to be drawn into the velvety sable of his eyes. “I am not.”

“I frequent this area, yet I have never seen you.”

Because this was, in fact, just her second outing. And if she continued to do as well as she had, she’d be able to stop after only a couple of weeks. All she needed was a small nest egg.

She raised her chin. “Then I am succeeding in my endeavor.”

He snorted. “Except I discovered your identity tonight—or at least, your sex. I still don’t know who you are…
Smitty
.”

“You may keep calling me that.”

“I’d rather call you by your given name.”
 

It was her turn to scoff. “That will never happen, my lord.”

He shook his head, momentarily breaking eye contact. When his gaze found hers once more, she pressed back against the wall under its dark intensity. “Back to the matter at hand. You are not succeeding at…whatever you’re doing.” She opened her mouth to refute him once more, but he cut her off. “No. You’re not. I don’t care if you
are
winning. Anyone with half a brain wins on their first time at a hell. And you clearly have a full, well-functioning brain. Who taught you to play faro?”

She couldn’t help but feel flattered by him. She’d never been one to receive compliments, especially about her beauty, but those didn’t matter to her anyway. To be noticed and appreciated for her intelligence was a dream she’d long since abandoned. “My father.”

“And where is he?”

“Cold in his grave.” For what, seven years? Goodness, she barely tracked the time. Not like she did for her mother.

His lips clamped together briefly. “I see. It’s no wonder you’re running about unsupervised. Have you no mother or brothers either?”

She cocked her head to the side, tiring of his meddling. “None of this is any of your concern. If you’d permit me, I should like to go home.”

“Oh, I’ll permit you. With my escort.”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t need your escort.”

His brows pitched together as his features descended into a scowl. “We’re back to this?”

In another situation, she might’ve laughed at his consternation. “We never left it.”

A determined glint stole into his gaze. She didn’t like it one bit. “You’re a cheeky woman, whoever you are. But let me tell you how this is going to proceed. I am not leaving your side until I see you home. You may have escaped danger so far, but it’s only a matter of time until luck deserts you.”

She blinked at him. Then she
did
laugh, and his expression changed to one of bemusement. “This is rich coming from you—the Duke of Daring. Your exploits are legend—and fraught with risk.”

“The…
what
?” A light of understanding, and perhaps appreciation, stole into his dark eyes. “You know me.”

She gritted her teeth, annoyed with herself for loosening her tongue. “I know
of
you. That’s quite a different thing.”

“Never mind that. You’re out in Society. Who are you?”

“Never mind
that
.” She took great pleasure in throwing his words back at him. “However, since it seems you will not leave me be, let us walk.” She shoved at his chest, which was hard and unforgiving, but in the most unnervingly
spectacular
way.

She half expected him to crowd her against the wall again, but he didn’t. He held out his arm for her to precede him from the alley.

She tucked her pistol back inside her jacket, where she was covered in several layers of padding to make her appear larger than she really was. She’d had pockets sewn in various places for stashing her pistol and her money.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“I’m not saying. You can just follow along, since you insist upon being a nuisance.” She’d stop in front of a house near hers and hopefully convince him to leave her there.

He fell into step beside her as they strode toward Jermyn Street. “Why did you call me the Duke of Daring?”

She cast him a sideways look. “It fits, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled, surprising her. “I suppose it does. Makes me sound rather dashing.”

“As if Dartford does not. What kind of name is that anyway?”

“It’s a village in Kent. My family seat is there.”

She knew that, of course. For some reason, she wanted to provoke him. He seemed up for the challenge. Her mother had always said she should’ve had younger siblings to taunt—and to love. But the only other time Mama had been able to carry a child, she’d died, leaving Lucy to rely on her father and, thankfully, her grandmother, who was now her sole remaining family.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he prompted. “Have I earned a nickname? I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”

“Yes, well, it’s employed by a…select group.” Lucy and her two best friends, precisely.
 

“I see. May I ask which group?”

It wasn’t as if they were a formal organization, but perhaps they should be. Yes, they needed a name, just as they’d recently adopted a designation for Dartford and his like—The Untouchables. They’d actually borrowed it from their surprising new friend, the Duchess of Kendal, a former spinster as Lucy was destined to be.

Lucy turned onto Jermyn Street, and Dartford followed her. “It doesn’t signify,” she said. “Anyway, you undertake a number of exploits—racing, gambling, a variety of sporting events. I hear you’re quite good at bowls.”

“Indeed I am.”

“And that you sometimes play in Hyde Park very early in the morning.” A somewhat scandalous situation, according to Society.
 

“I do.” His lips curved into a captivating smile, and Lucy had the sense he could charm anyone. She would have to be on her guard.

She decided this was the only opportunity she’d ever have to confirm one of Society’s most outrageous rumors. She turned her head toward him for a few steps. “Is it true you’ve swum nude in the Thames?”

He tripped slightly, and Lucy smiled.

“We, ah, shouldn’t discuss that.” He coughed.

“We shouldn’t be walking alone together either, but that’s not stopping us. Furthermore, as someone who doesn’t seem to care about Society’s rules, I’m surprised you’d hesitate to brag about your endeavors.”

“Gads, am I a braggart too? The Duke of Gloat, perchance?” He looked askance at her. “You do realize that I’m not even a duke.”

She appreciated him poking fun at himself, but didn’t say so. It made him seem less of an Untouchable, which was preposterous. They might be alone together at night on a London street, but he was as unattainable to her as any earl or duke or other nobleman. “Yes, well, it hardly matters to those of us in the lower echelon.”

She expected another quick rejoinder, but he was quiet for several steps. To the corner of Jermyn Street.

“I suppose we’re going to walk on St. James’s, despite the fact that you’re a woman?” he asked, pausing.

She peered up at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “I’m Davis Smith, remember?”

“Just so.”

They turned onto St. James’s and walked toward Piccadilly.
 

“Why are you dressed up as a man and gambling in hells?” He threw her a beleaguered glance. “And please don’t say it’s none of my affair. Of course it isn’t, but I should like to know just the same. Perhaps you have other options.”

She laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I’m an unwed woman with no marriage prospects. My options are all but nonexistent. I require funds, and unless you’re prepared to make me your countess,
mind your own business
.” She quickened her pace and looked both ways up and down St. James’s before dashing across the street.