Page 62 of The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables)
He knocked her hand away. She locked her jaw with determination and clasped him more forcefully. “Andrew! Wake up!”
He grabbed her forearm and sat upright. His eyes came open. They were dark and wild. “Who are you? Did you come to help them?”
“Help who?” She didn’t understand him at all. “Andrew, it’s me, Lucy.”
The furrows in his brow deepened. He stared at her, and gradually his eyes lost their savage haze. “Lucy.”
She relaxed and let her hand settle on his shoulder, her fingertips caressing his heated flesh. He’d somehow lost his shirt, she realized. Which meant he was nude. She tried not to think about that.
“You were having a nightmare.”
His breathing was rapid, the muscles of his neck tense. He pushed her to the side and jumped from the bed, heedless of his nudity. “You need to go.” He stalked to his dressing chamber, leaving Lucy to stare after him in confusion.
Was he still in the throes of whatever he’d been dreaming of?
She followed him, slowly, uncertain of what to say or do. He nearly ran into her as he came back into the chamber, now wearing a forest-green dressing gown. His skin was pale, his gaze haunted. He almost looked ill.
He backed away from her. “What are you doing? I told you to go.”
She frowned. “Andrew, tell me what’s wrong. Were you dreaming of the balloon descent?” It was the only thing she could think of that might have him this upset. It had been quite a tumble, and he’d been agitated afterward. Not quite like this, but similarly.
He lifted his hand to his mouth, and she could see that he was trembling. Apprehension squeezed her lungs. “You’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s wrong.” She stepped toward him, but he evaded her, moving around her entirely.
“I asked you to go. I’ll send Tindall and Mrs. Alder to assist you.” He went to the door and didn’t turn when he spoke. “It was a mistake for you to stay here. I want you to leave. And don’t come back.”
He left the bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind him.
Lucy stood there and stared, her mouth hanging slightly open for a moment before she snapped it closed. Confusion and hurt ripped through her. Why wouldn’t he share with her what had happened? Weren’t they…close?
Not really. She thought she knew him, believed they were friends who trusted each other, but she’d clearly been wrong. She hadn’t even known about his family.
Her face felt hot, her throat tight. She was such a fool. He’d behaved so differently from other men. She’d let her guard down, and he’d taken advantage, as all men did. Now that he’d gained all he wanted from her, he was tossing her out.
Lucy swallowed and straightened her spine. This was nothing—a hitch in her plan. She didn’t need Dartford, and if he came forward to expose her to Grandmama now…well, that would be unfortunate. But Lucy would weather the storm, just as she had every other calamity that had tried to beat her down.
No, shedidn’tneed Dartford. What’s more, she didn’t want him either.
Chapter Thirteen
Andrew opened his eyes and blinked at the canopy overhead. For the first morning in a week, his body didn’t feel as though it had been beaten to a pulp. Instead, he just felt stiff and sore in a few places. He pulled himself up, eager—also for the first time in a week—to greet the day.
He’d spent the past several days recuperating at Darent Hall. It had ended up being one of his longest visits, which had pleased Mrs. Alder, who clearly thrived when she had someone to fuss over. What hadn’t pleased her, however, was Lucy’s abrupt departure without sufficient explanation. Andrew had only said she had to get back to town. And when Mrs. Alder had asked about a potential future with Lucy, Andrew had decided it was time to return to London himself.
Lucy.
He’d tried not to think of her too much, but now that he was back in London, he couldn’t seem to help it. He’d arrived last night and had actually considered going to the corner of her street to see if she would go out. Had she ventured out in his absence? Hopefully, she hadn’t taken the risk. Yet he couldn’t blame her if she had—she needed money, and he hadn’t been here to help her.
Hell and damnation, he’d botched things badly with her. Having her stay had been a colossal mistake, but he oughtn’t have thrown her out like that. He wished he’d behaved differently, but he’d been incapacitated by another one of his attacks. The ones that accompanied his nightmares were particularly devastating, driving him to take to his bed for the rest of the day. He’d blamed his injuries and was actually grateful for the opportunity to hide behind them.
He was such a coward.
“My lord?” Tindall came into his chamber as he did every morning, except the last several because Andrew had sent him back to London so that he could care for his mother.
“How is Mrs. Tindall?” Andrew asked, sitting up.
The valet came inside and closed the door behind him. He stood near the bed, his spine ramrod straight, his features composed. “Quite well, thank you, my lord. The medicine seems to have improved her condition. I can’t thank you enough for sending the physician.”
Andrew wasn’t terribly comfortable with the praise, especially when he was feeling ashamed about the way he’d treated Lucy. “I’m glad to hear it.”
