Page 40 of The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables)
“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 nowknewher 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, noteverything.
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.”
