Page 4 of The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables)
“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.
With 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, hehadreturned 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 youarewinning. 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.”
