He had been the one to take their passion into dangerous territory. He had been the one to lose control. And yet he’d blamed her for it.
His throat clenched. Aye, he needed to beg forgiveness…and he would do so at the first opportunity. For now, however, he needed to get through the night. To keep his mind clear and on his assignment.
He would make up for yesterday’s lapse in judgement by gathering information tonight. This was the first time since being hired that he’d been in the same room as Black, and he planned to make the most of the opportunity. To be the eyes and ears that he was here to be.
Decked out in his usual antiquated glory, a bewigged Black occupied the end chair next to Harry. On Harry’s other side was Black’s daughter, Mrs. Todd, a mousy, frail woman dressed in heavy velvet despite the summer heat. She wore a great deal of jewelry, rubies and diamonds glittering on her neck and hands. Next to her was her husband, Malcolm Todd, a short, balding man with hard eyes and a brusque air. He’d checked his pocket watch three times in the last quarter hour.
Awkward silence reigned. Stilted from the start, conversation had now come to a full halt. Luckily, liveried footmen provided a diversion in the form of the soup course; Baroness von Friesing cleared her throat at the other end of the table.
“What do you think of the mulligatawny, Mr. Black?” she said.
“I’ve ’ad worse.” Black waved his spoon at the center of the table, which was crowded with silver candelabra and epergnes filled with hothouse flowers. “’Ope soup and oysters ain’t all we’re being served. When I ’ave guests, the table’s full and not with bleeding flowers neither.”
The baroness did her best to mask a cringe. “Supper is being served à la russe this eve, sir.” At Black’s squinty look, she clarified, “The courses will be presented in sequence, sir, rather than all at once. Such a style is all the rage.”
“Rage, eh? Don’t doubt that.” Black harrumphed. “’Ungry guests ain’t ’appy ones.”
Seeing the glint in Black’s eyes, Harry suspected that the cutthroat might be amusing himself at the baroness’ expense. As she sputtered, Ransom cut in.
“If food will liven things up, then by all means,” he drawled, “summon the next course.”
“Present company ain’t lively enough for you, Yer Grace?”
At Black’s ominous tone, Ransom did a smooth turnabout.
“Au contraire, the company is charming.” Turning to Tessa, the duke flashed an insincere smile. “May I compliment you on your looks this eve, Miss Todd? I find your gown quite delectable.”
Tessa stirred her spoon around her soup. “Probably because you’re starving.”
At her smart reply, the duke blinked.
Harry did not like the sudden speculative interest that flickered in the man’s hooded gaze.
“My stepdaughter’s gown was made by Madame Rousseau,” Mavis Todd roused herself enough to say. “She’s a famed modiste, you know. Caters only to the crème de la crème.”
“You don’t say.” The duke sounded bored again.
“The French do know their fashion,” Mrs. Todd prattled on. “Indeed, I have been admiring your coat, Your Grace. It is cut in the latest French style, I believe?”
“I maintain a residence in Paris,” Ransom said indifferently.
That explains the bearded chin, Harry thought. Smarmy bastard.
“Not only is Tessa fashionable,” Mrs. Todd said, her voice beginning to strain with effort, “she’s accomplished. Why, Mrs. Southbridge of Southbridge’s Finishing School called Tessa her most ‘outstanding’ pupil amongst her many aristocratic peers. Did you know Tessa went to school with the daughter of the Marquess of Chetley?”
Harry suspected Mrs. Todd was trying to help, but her praise and name-dropping bore an unfortunate whiff of desperation. Like a fishmonger’s wife trying to sell yesterday’s catch.
“Is that a fact?” His Grace’s eyes were mocking as they regarded Miss Todd. “I didn’t know you had such high connections, Miss…, ahem, Smith.”
Tessa’s flushed cheeks roused Harry’s protective instincts. Earlier in the carriage, she’d had a row with her grandfather, refusing to go through with the sham of being the baroness’ distant niece.
Black had put his foot down. The duke says you can’t be a Todd and move in ’is circles. ’E and I both agreed: from ’ere on in, you’re Miss Smith.
Although Harry did not always agree with Tessa’s unconventional ways, he had to admit that he admired her pride: her desire to be true to herself. He saw her struggle now to keep her composure. It was clear she wanted to dish Ransom some sauce. The only thing keeping her in check, he suspected, was her grandfather’s glare of warning.
“How long is this ‘roost’ business going to take?” Malcolm Todd interjected.
“It’s russe, not…never mind.” The baroness sighed. “There are several courses yet to come, Mr. Todd. No more than three hours, I expect.”
“You must be joking.” Todd’s round face turned red. “I’m an important man. I can’t sit around twiddling my thumbs for three bloody hours!”
“Please, not so loud,” Mavis murmured. “Noise triggers my megrims, as you know.”
“You didn’t tell me this was going to take three hours,” her husband hissed at her, albeit at a lower volume. He gestured to the duke. “I thought this was a done deal. Bought and paid for.”
“Nothing has been agreed upon.” Ransom’s tone was glacial.
“You can say that again.” Expression mutinous, Tessa tossed her proverbial hat into the ring. “I won’t have my future decided without my consent!”
The duke slid her another look, and this one didn’t stop at her face. Harry’s muscles bunched, his temperature rising as that tawny gaze roved over her figure. Despite what His Grace might think of Tessa’s origins, there was no doubt that he appreciated the view. That any man would.
She was beautiful, and tonight was no exception. Her leaf green gown trimmed with seed pearls enhanced her slender femininity. Her hair was parted down the middle, her dark ringlets twisted into two clusters and twined with oak leaves made of golden silk. Anger brought a flush to her milky skin and a rebellious sparkle to her eyes; to Harry, she looked like a sulky, sensual wood nymph.
As plentiful as Tessa’s physical charms were, her spitfire spirit was equally captivating. From the start, she’d had the ability to arouse strong emotions in him, be it annoyance or fascination or, aye, lust. Knowing this, he would have to be on guard. He couldn’t let his attraction to her interfere with his judgment or his work.
“You’ll do as you’re told, girl,” Malcolm Todd snapped. “I didn’t get dragged ’ere just to ’ave my time wasted—”
“Enough.” Black’s fist pounded the table, rattling the dishes (and the hostess, whose hand flew to her bosom).
“You, missy,”—he jabbed a finger at Tessa, whose eyes flashed defiantly—“will mind your manners and behave like a lady. And you, Yer Grace,”—like the needle of a compass, his finger moved to Ransom, whose face had turned blank—“will remember the terms o’ our agreement. As for you,”—Black addressed his son-in-law—“God’s blood, cease your goddamned whining. It ain’t the time or the place. Now all o’ you, do I make myself clear?”
Tessa said nothing, her delicate jaw clenching.
His Grace drained his wineglass.
Malcolm Todd muttered, “I wouldn’t need to whine if you’d make up your bloody mind.”
“What did you say?” Beneath his wig, Black’s countenance darkened like a gathering storm.
“The vultures ’ave been circling Covent Garden,” Todd burst out. “The territory needs a new leader, and it should be me. I deserve it.”
Black has a territorial war on his hands? And who are the ‘vultures’ Todd is referring to? And is it a coincidence that they’re circling Covent Garden, where The Gilded Pearl was located?
Keenly, Harry watched on.
“If I’ve told you once, I�
�ve told you a ’undred times: you deserve nothing.” Black threw his napkin onto the table. “Respect is earned, you bloody imbecile, which is why you’ll ne’er amount to anything.”
“If you’re in danger, Grandpapa,” Tessa blurted, “you must let me help—”
“Shut your yap,” her father said.
“Stay out o’ this,” her grandfather barked.
She looked between the two men, and, for an instant, her mask slipped. Harry’s chest constricted as he glimpsed what lay beneath: the hurt, bewildered look of a child who’s being punished and doesn’t know why. An instant later, her mask was back in place, her pain concealed behind a lifted chin and defiant eyes.
“As for you, Todd,” Black thundered, “you’d better watch—”
Beside Harry, Mavis suddenly mumbled, “I feel…rather faint…”
Harry reacted on instinct, catching her before she toppled from her chair. “I have you, Mrs. Todd.” She slumped against him, her weight no more substantial than that of a feather.
“Heavens,” the baroness said in alarm. “Shall I send for smelling salts?”
“Won’t do no good.” Black hobbled over, his brow lined. “Are you all right, poppet?”
Mavis shook her head with effort. “I have to go. I’m sorry, Father.”
“Ain’t nothing to be sorry about,” Black said gruffly.
“I’ll go with you, Mama.” Tessa dashed over to Mavis. “I’ll make your special tonic.”
“No, dear, you stay here. Get better acquainted with His Grace.” Mavis gave her stepdaughter’s hand a weak squeeze. “Your father will take me home.”
“Let’s go.” Malcolm Todd was the only one who didn’t seem worried. In fact, he looked like a prisoner given a reprieve.
“After you get ’er ’ome,” Black said in low tones to his son-in-law, “you stay there. Take care o’ my girl. I’ll be by after supper’s done.”
Todd gave a curt nod. He and Mavis made their way out.
The remaining guests returned to their seats, and Harry wondered what catastrophe would strike next. He didn’t have long to wait.
As the fish course was being served, Black declared, “Let’s cut to the chase. The point o’ this evening was for the parties to get acquainted. Can’t do that, can they, with all these prying eyes.”
“Grandpapa,” Miss Todd hissed.
“Don’t Grandpapa me, missy. You’re the one who wanted a say in ’er future. Can’t do that without getting to know ’Is Grace better.”
Miss Todd opened her mouth to argue—and rightly so, Harry thought hotly—but Ransom said, “Perhaps Miss Todd would honor me with a turn in the garden?”
Harry did not trust the man. There was no telling what a rake like Ransom might attempt alone in the dark with a beautiful young woman. The duke’s gaze roved over Tessa again, and this time he bloody undressed her with his eyes.
Harry gnashed his teeth.
The baroness cast a longing look at her poached turbot. “I suppose I can chaperone.”
“You stay,” Black commanded. “Bennett will escort them.”
Harry thought quickly. “I ought to secure the environs first. Make sure it’s safe.”
“Secure the environs?” Brows arching, Ransom said to Black, “Are all your servants this thorough? Or is it just this earnest fellow?”
“A man can’t be too careful,” Black said through a mouthful of fish.
Harry resisted the impulse to plow his fist into the duke’s smirking face. Instead, at Black’s nod, he headed to the garden. To ensure that nothing, and no one, would harm his charge.
10
The Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville escorted Tessa out to the garden, Bennett trailing behind them. The fog-filtered moonlight revealed a small rectangular courtyard surrounded by hedges. Lanterns lit the two graveled paths that crisscrossed the space, a gurgling stone fountain standing at the center of the “X.” Tessa couldn’t see why it had taken Bennett ten minutes to “secure” the place, unless he’d turned over every leaf of the skimpy flower bed.
She was acutely aware of his presence behind her. The truth was, she’d been acutely aware of him since their kiss, and it was taking all her wherewithal to avoid looking at him. Yet she couldn’t escape the sensations: her lips still felt seared by his, the hard ridges of his muscles imprinted upon her skin. The barest whiff of his soap made her heart race with longing…and humiliation.
She finally understood what Pretty Francie and the others had warned her about. Before, she’d scoffed at the idea of being seduced by a man, but Bennett’s kiss had changed that. And his reaction afterward had shown her just how painful losing oneself to passion could be.
At least he’d gotten one thing right: she was a trollop.
Having had a day to contemplate the matter, she wasn’t overly surprised or embarrassed by the fact. Blacks prided themselves on being a hot-blooded lot. While she was adopted into the family, the Black spirit ran in her veins as true as blood, and she reckoned it was the family legacy of passion showing itself in her.
Her grandfather oft described his first meeting with his wife-to-be as akin to being struck by lightning. He’d chanced upon Althea Bourdelain at a fair: one look at her and he’d known there would be no other woman for him. She’d felt the same way. Her upper class family had opposed the match and disowned her when she chose to elope with her love.
Althea and Bartholomew Black remained devoted to one another until the day she died. Grandpapa had never remarried.
A Black mates for life, Tessie, he’d said.
Tessa had always found her grandparents’ story romantic. She’d secretly yearned to someday feel that intensity of emotion: to know love that would endure suffering and celebrate joy and never fail. Thus, she didn’t mind being a trollop if it meant finding and being true to her heart’s desire.
What she did mind was being a rejected trollop.
Blast it, why do I have to want a man who doesn’t want me back?
Even as she recognized her feelings for Bennett, she also knew it was too late to eradicate them. In truth, they’d taken root from their very first encounter, and, despite his harsh repudiation, continued to bloom. Frustration tangled her insides. While she grappled with yearning, he was entirely unaffected by their encounter.
He continued to do his job as if it was exactly that: a job. Tonight, he’d watched on while her family tried to auction her off like a prime article at Tattersall’s, his handsome face devoid of emotion. Obviously, he couldn’t care less if she were to be married off to another man. In fact, he was aiding and abetting her grandfather in the godforsaken scheme.
Damn his eyes, she thought on a surge of shivering anger.
“Cold, my dear?” a silky male voice asked.
She’d almost forgotten about the duke. Which was odd, since he was a large man, nearly as tall as Bennett, and he was standing right next to her. In the moonlight, his tawny eyes appeared silver, and his long, manicured fingers were undoing the carved buttons of his coat.
Before she could reply, wool slid over her shoulders from behind. She was engulfed in warmth…and Bennett’s masculine scent. Just like that, her nipples budded, tingling beneath her bodice.
Bennett’s gruff voice emerged from behind her. “Take mine.”
She swiveled to look at him. She didn’t know what she hoped to see, but it wasn’t his composed expression. Her frustration swelled.
And be tormented by your smell all night? I don’t think so.
She shrugged off the jacket, tossing it back to him. “It’s not necessary.”
“I think you’ll find this more to your liking.” To her surprise, Ransom placed his jacket over her shoulders. “The superfine is woven for me specially.”
The material was softer and plusher than that of Bennett’s jacket. And, rather than soap, it smelled of an exotic cologne, one that she found cloying. She was about to refuse the garment when she caught a glimpse of Bennett.
Lines bracke
ted his scowling mouth. His jacket was bunched in his fist, and that unruly lock had once again escaped to curl upon his brow. He looked...irritated?
Hope burst into bloom. She decided to wear Ransom’s jacket after all.
Presenting her back to Bennett, she gave the duke her most dazzling smile. “I am much obliged, Your Grace.”
The duke’s eyelashes flickered. They were long for a man, she noticed, and suited his debonair style. With his striking feline eyes and bearded chin, he made her think of a pirate. He was handsome, sensual, and faintly exotic, the sort of man debutantes would swoon over.
Unfortunately, she seemed to prefer men who were stoic, brooding, and extremely annoying.
His Grace offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
They started down one of the paths towards the fountain. As Bennett’s steps plodded close behind, Tessa’s mind worked furiously. Could it be that Bennett did feel something for her? She thought back to their embrace: he might think her a trollop, but she hadn’t been the only one doing the kissing. It hadn’t been her tongue taking the plunge into his mouth. And, thinking on it more, there’d been unmistakable proof of his arousal: she hadn’t imagined the poker-like object prodding her thigh.
As her mood lifted, she was able to analyze the situation more clearly. There was evidence to support that Bennett wasn’t indifferent to her. So why had he been so angry?
The next time you wish to use me as the means to an end, give me some goddamned warning, he’d growled at her.
Was it because he’d felt used by her…manipulated? Didn’t he realize that she was attracted to him? That what had begun as subterfuge had quickly given way to true desire?
Would he care?
“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Smith?” the duke drawled.
The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1 Page 9