Page 47 of The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables)
“Yes. Just so.” He turned away from her without looking her in the eye. “Let’s get to the hell.”
When they arrived at the hell, they went directly to a faro table where Lucy lost nearly every turn of the card. It was her most crushing defeat yet. She grew irritable, and Andrew urged her to take a respite. They went to the salon, where she took a glass of port and Andrew gin.
“I don’t know how you can drink that,” she said.
“Have you tried it?” he asked.
“No.”
He grinned. “Well, then. What kind of guide am I if I don’t ensure you sample it?” He handed her the glass despite her lack of agreement.
She gave him her port to hold, which he took from her fingertips. “What if I don’t want to try it?”
“I won’t believe you. You’ll try anything once, I think.”
She felt an imprudent pride at the admiration in his tone. She had to quash the urge to arch her brow in a saucy fashion. She couldn’t flirt with him when she was dressed as a man. She couldn’t flirt with him ever! She sipped the gin and coughed at its tang. “Damn.”
Better prepared, she tried it again. She didn’t cough this time, but she still didn’t particularly care for the taste. She handed him the glass and took her port, which she promptly used to banish the lingering taste of juniper from her mouth.
“Well, you tried it,” he said, toasting her with his glass.
She looked up at him, cocking her head to the side. “Satisfied?” She realized—a bit too late—that she was flirting with him anyway. She straightened and took another drink of port.
He seemed to recognize her foolishness when he didn’t answer. Or maybe he was distracted because at that moment, several members of his set entered the salon—Beaumont, Charles, and Greene among them.
“Dart and Smitty,” Charles said. “I was certain we’d find you tonight.” He looked at Dart. “I’ve noticed you don’t meet us at the club on the nights we run into you with Smitty. Where do you two start your evenings?”
Charles’s gaze lingered on Lucy. She lifted her glass to shield her face. She didn’t like it when anyone looked at her too closely, and unfortunately that was bound to happen the more time she spent with these gentlemen. Perhaps she should count herself lucky and skip next week’s races.
“It varies,” Dartford answered casually. He looked at Lucy, perhaps reading her discomfort. “Shall we return to the table?”
Yes, she had losses to recoup. “Let’s.” She tossed back the rest of her port and set her empty glass on the tray of a passing footman.
Greene stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”
Lucy glanced over at Dartford, who gave an infinitesimal shrug.
At the table, Greene took up a place beside her. “How did you meet Dartford?”
“Here, actually. We, ah, have a few things in common.” She looked at Dartford, who stood on her other side, and hoped he would provide assistance.
“Such as shooting and driving,” Dartford said. “Smitty likes exciting things.”
She tried not to think that he was flirting with her, because of course he wasn’t. Still, she could imagine that he was. She internally shook herself—this entire flirting nonsense had no place in her plans and deserved none of her attention.
Greene’s mouth curved up. He was attractive, with dark blue eyes and a wide smile that invited you to talk with him and trade stories. “Then you are peas in a pod,” he said.
They turned their attention to the table to place their bets. As with the previous round, Lucy lost far more than she won. By the end, she was fuming and more than a little distressed. She couldn’t afford to keep losing like this. She was already quite behind. This was precisely the sort of wagering that led one down a path to ruin.
But Lucy wouldn’t do that. Her situation was completely different—she didn’t wager for amusement. She looked around at the gentlemen at the table, realizing that they all did, as far as she knew. She suspected some of them might need the extra funds for one reason or another, but couldn’t imagine them being as desperate as she was.
How she hated that word. Damn her father.
Her lip curled as she turned to Dartford. “I’m ready to move on.”
He nodded, his expression surprisingly grim. He, of course, knew she was losing, and she noticed he hadn’t been doing as well as usual. Even so, he was still ahead of her.
Dartford collected his meager winnings, and they left. Greene came along, and Lucy noticed the entire group was leaving with them.
