“What do you want us to do?” Knight said.
“Bring me the rat,” Black said flatly. “I’m giving you a week. Produce the traitor, or I’ll be forced to do a purge, bloody casualties be damned.”
Black was offering them a chance to find the culprit before he was forced to do so…by any means necessary. Speculative glances were traded around the table, the question in everyone’s mind clear: Which among us is the rat?
“That’s all,” Black said.
Dismissed, the three dukes took their leave. Todd remained.
Black nodded, and the guards shut the curtains once more.
“Well?” Black said without preamble.
Ming’s braid swung side to side. “Not know. All could be guilty.”
“I don’t like that bastard Garrity.” Todd’s lips curled. “Don’t trust any man who takes money from a squealer. And, for all we know, the Peelers are behind this: maybe they paid Loach to take a shot. God knows they’ve tried every other way to take you down.”
Goddamnit, we still cannot pin that bastard Black to a crime? Inspector Davies’ words rang in Harry’s head. Davies had made it his life’s mission to capture Black, yes, but surely a man of the law wouldn’t stoop to murder?
“Wouldn’t be the first time one o’ Peel’s Bloody Gang tried to frame me.” Black grunted. “Protecting the public, my arse. They only protect one kind o’ people, and it ain’t our kind.”
Harry’s insides knotted. Who could he trust? Was he helping the right side?
Black was no saint, yet he brought a semblance of order to his rowdy domain. He did charitable works, helped those in need. And he was under siege by an evil that, if uncontained, could threaten all of London.
“Well, Bennett, what do you think?”
Black’s question broke Harry’s brooding.
“I think that surveillance needs to be kept on O’Toole, Knight, Garrity…and anyone with a link to Loach,” he said starkly. Including Davies.
“We ’ave the men for that, Ming?” Black said.
“Stretched thin. Could use help.”
“I could—” Harry began.
“No.” Black’s tone was unequivocal. “You got your assignment, the most important o’ all.”
Harry didn’t argue because the other was right.
Todd said, “I’ll send o’er reinforcements.”
Black nodded grimly. “The seeds are sown. Now we’ll wait and see which way betrayal grows.”
23
“You have no idea who is the guilty one?” Tessa pressed as the carriage swayed on.
“It could be any of them.” Bennett’s face was set in austere lines, and no wonder, given how he’d described the meeting he’d just returned from.
Despite the grim topic, the fact that they could talk about it gave Tessa a warm tingle. The intimacy between them was deepening. Bennett was treating her like a real partner: he’d shared what happened with the dukes and with little prompting on her part.
Not only that, but he was listening to her.
During her fitting for the masquerade, while Madame Rousseau had fussed with fabrics and accoutrements, Tessa had meditated upon how to investigate De Witt. Upon Bennett’s return, she’d excitedly shared her idea: they could ask her friend Alfred Doolittle to help. When Bennett had asked if Alfred could be trusted, she’d replied with the truth, that she would trust her chum with her life. As a result of the ensuing discussion, they were at present en route to pay Alfred a visit.
To observe proprieties, she’d had to bring Lizzie along. At least she’d been able to coax the maid into riding up top with the groom so that she and Bennett could have a few moments of privacy.
“And the Peelers? You think they’re involved as well?” she said.
“I…don’t know.” His brows drew together.
“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit. It’s as I’ve always said: one can’t trust a policeman farther than one can toss him.” She sniffed. “Spies, mercenaries, and brutes, the lot of them.”
“Right.” Bennett cleared his throat. “At any rate, your father is lending men to the cause, so a close watch is being kept on anyone attached to Loach.”
“Papa ought to help.”
Although her father and Grandpapa had never got on, she was glad that the former was finally showing backbone. She hoped it would improve the state of affairs between them because she hated having dissension in the family. The thought of family reminded her of other questions she had for Bennett.
The unexpected meeting with his brother had made her realize how little she knew about his background. About his kin, where he’d come from. Their whirlwind courtship had consisted mostly of butting heads, escaping danger, and making passionate love. Now that they’d reached a temporary calm, she wanted to know more about him.
“I enjoyed meeting your brother last night,” she ventured.
After a few seconds, he muttered, “The feeling was mutual.”
“You think so?” she said eagerly.
She wished it were true. Wished with all her heart that Bennett’s family would like her and welcome her into the fold. Yet she couldn’t shake the fear of a different kind of reception, the kind she’d more often received in her life.
Ambrose Bennett had seemed nice, but his carriage, clothing, and manner had all pointed to the fact that he was a gentleman and a well-to-do one at that. He might not approve of his brother’s involvement with a daughter of the underworld. In order to understand what she was up against, she needed to find out more about Bennett’s family.
“Ambrose was charmed by you. Then again,”—Bennett’s eyes softened—“who wouldn’t be?”
She didn’t have enough fingers to list all her detractors, but his faith in her charms made her heart go pitter-patter. “Do you, um, have other siblings?”
“I have sisters.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
When he said no more, she said wistfully, “I’ve always wanted siblings.”
“When our parents passed, Ambrose and my eldest sister took care of the rest of us, so, in a way, they were like parents, too.”
“How old were you when your parents passed?”
He hesitated. “I was a grown man when my papa passed. My mama died when I was twelve.”
“Did you miss her?” Tessa said softly.
“Yes. We all did. She was a wonderful mother, loving and patient, and she was our rock.” His voice had a hoarse edge. “Sometimes I think…”
“What do you think?” she prompted.
He studied his hands. “That those years before she died were the happiest of my life.”
A spasm hit Tessa’s heart. How difficult it must have been for him to lose his mother, whom he’d clearly loved, and at such a tender age. She wondered if his reluctance to open his heart had something to do with this early loss as well as the betrayal he’d suffered.
Resolve filled her. Your happiest years are yet to come, Bennett. I’ll see to that. Seeing the rawness in his eyes, however, she decided not to push.
Instead, she smiled. “I’d love to meet the rest of your family.”
“I’d like that too,” he said quietly. “One day.”
“Do they all live in London?”
“Not all.”
“But your brother does?” When he gave a curt nod, she said earnestly, “I should like to send him a note of thanks.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“But he was inordinately helpful. Come to think of it,” she said, canting her head, “he conducted himself with remarkable poise. Does he have prior experience with such situations?”
Bennett’s brows lifted. “Are you asking if my brother has participated in break-ins before?”
Her cheeks heated. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Ambrose has a steady temperament. He’s a gentleman through and through.”
“Yes, of course,” she said hastily. “I meant no insult.”
/> Why, oh why, do I constantly put my foot in my mouth? In the taut silence, her heartbeat clip-clopped along with the horses. She cast about desperately for another topic.
“I got fitted for the masquerade,” she blurted.
A pause. “How did it go?”
“Fine, I think. The theme is ‘Wonders of the Animal World.’ Madame Rousseau said she could make me any costume I wanted.”
“What animal did you choose?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said on impulse.
His lips twitched. “I’m certain you’ll be charming, no matter what costume you wear.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.”
When he tilted his head in question, she admitted, “The truth is that I dread the masquerade. I, or Miss Theresa Smith rather, was never a smashing success at these blasted affairs.”
“Why not?”
“Um, because I lack social graces? Because I flirt as well as I play the violin?” She pursed her lips. “Or perhaps it’s because I’d rather encounter armed cutthroats in an alleyway than fan-wielding chits in a ballroom?”
“I, for one, have no complaints about your flirtation skills.” His heated glance made her pulse flutter. “As long as you use them only with me.”
“I wouldn’t want to flirt with anyone else.”
“Which proves my point,” he murmured. “Your lack of artifice, sprite, don’t you know how irresistible it is? How irresistible you are?”
Her lips parted as she stared at him, loving him so much that her chest ached with it.
“Christ, stop being adorable. A man can only take so much,” he said in a low growl. “As it is, it’s requiring all my willpower not to drag you onto my lap and have my way with you.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered.
His smile was her favorite one: slow, a bit wicked. “Don’t tempt me, sweeting. Else I’ll forget that we’re in a carriage, in the middle of the day, with the maid and groom within earshot.”
Details that mattered, she supposed. She sighed.
“I thought I told you to stop being adorable.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she protested.
“You’re being you. That’s enough. Now tell me why you dread the masquerade.”
It felt good to confide. And Bennett’s gentle teasing made it easy to share her insecurities.
“For one, it’s likely that some of my former classmates from the Dungeon of Horrors will be there.” Just thinking of those smirking faces churned her insides.
His lips quirked. “By Dungeon of Horrors, I take it you’re referring to Mrs. Southbridge’s?”
“I hated every minute of that school,” she said with emphasis. “It wasn’t just the tedious lessons, either. The other girls made fun of me. How I looked…” She looked at her lap, fiddling with a primrose ribbon on her skirts. “How I am.”
“Can this be true?” Before she could argue that yes, it definitely was, he clarified, “You’re intimidated by a bunch of chits?”
“You don’t know how they are. They’re mean.”
“They’re mean because they’re jealous,” he said flatly. “Of your beauty, spirit, and uniqueness. They’ll never hold a candle to you, and they know it.”
His compliment rendered her speechless. And he wasn’t done.
“You’re not the same girl you were back then. You know your worth. If someone is malicious, you hold your head up high and smile. Take no notice of their pettiness and envy.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “What do you know about being an outcast?”
“More than you’d know.” Shadows darkened Bennett’s gaze. Before she could ask him what he meant, he stated, “Trust me, you won’t be a wallflower at the ball.”
“I suppose since Ransom invited me, he’s obligated to ask me to dance,” she said reluctantly.
“I wasn’t referring to the bloody duke.”
“Then how do you know I won’t be a wallflower?”
“I just know. Trust me on this,” he said resolutely.
The carriage was slowing. The ruckus of tradespeople doing business signaled their arrival at Alfred’s place in Whitechapel.
She took in all that was Bennett, his strapping good looks and noble nature, and longing throbbed in her voice. “I wish you could dance with me at the masquerade.”
“One day, sprite.” His eyes held a molten promise. “Until then, I’ll be there watching over you.”
24
After a thorough scan of the narrow, bustling street, Harry handed Tessa down from the carriage. She wore a white muslin, the tightly fitted bodice emphasizing her slender torso, the full skirts swishing elegantly around her silk shoes. With her pretty face framed by a flower-trimmed bonnet, she reminded him of a porcelain shepherdess he’d once seen in a shop.
Thinking about her confession about the bullying she’d endured made him want to punch something. How dare anyone try to trample her spirit? Even though he couldn’t be by her side at the masquerade, he’d see to it that she was protected from those insipid chits.
His Tessa was no wallflower. And no one would put her in the corner.
His hand closed fiercely around hers before letting go.
She smiled up at him, warming him with her special light. “Here we are.”
Their destination was a shop crammed jowl to jowl with other businesses. It was distinguished by an enormous sign hanging over the window, which announced in gold gilt that this was “Doolittle’s Emporium of Wonders.”
Emporium of wonders, his arse. The plethora of random goods visible through the glass revealed what this place was: a pawn shop. Harry’s only question was whether Tessa’s friend Alfred received his inventory in an honest manner…or if he was an out-and-out fence.
Harry instructed the groom to keep watch outside with a weapon at the ready.
“There’s no need to worry,” Tessa said. “Today is Wednesday.”
He didn’t follow. “What is special about Wednesdays?”
“Alfie’s wife on Wednesdays is an excellent shot.”
Opening the door for her, he said, “His wife…on Wednesdays? I don’t understand.”
“Alfred has a different lady for each day of the week,” she explained.
He frowned. “Your friend is a bigamist?”
“Alfred’s no bigamist,” she reassured him. “He’s not legally married to any of them.”
Inside, the shop was a maze of shelves, all of them crammed with merchandise, everything from teapots to garments to exotic oddities. The effect was bizarre. Next to a chipped crystal vase sat a stuffed monkey with a lace cap on its head. A curious potpourri of tobacco, lemons, and wet dog pervaded Harry’s nostrils.
They arrived at the shop’s counter. A buxom blonde in her forties stood behind it. She was haggling with a short, havey-cavey sort of fellow wearing a battered hat and threadbare coat. Silk handkerchiefs were piled on the counter between them; immersed in their negotiations, the pair took no notice of Tessa and Harry.
“A crown, and that’s my best offer,” the blonde said.
“That wouldn’t pay for one o’ these billys, let alone all six.” The man snatched one of the handkerchiefs, held it up. “The silk’s first-rate. See ’ow this billy gleams in the sun?”
“It’s ’otter than the sun, too.” Despite her disheveled locks and rather skimpy dress, the woman’s shrewd expression suggested that she didn’t suffer fools readily.
“I didn’t pinch these,” the would-be supplier protested. “They be family ’eirlooms, passed down to me by my dear ma, God rest ’er soul.”
The blonde’s gaze slitted. “Thought your name was Jenkins.”
“Right-o, dove.” He winked at her, leaned an elbow on the counter. “Call me Big Bobby Jenkins, they do, and it ain’t on account o’ my height.”
“If your last name is Jenkins, then why would your ma ’ave the initials,”—she stabbed a finger down on the embroidered crest of the handkerchief—“L
. M.?”
“Gor, is that what it says? Ne’er learned my letters.” Big Bobby’s smile held not one whit of repentance. “All right, dove, ten shillings for the lot. Billys like these sell for six shillings a piece in those posh shops on Pall Mall.”
“Those ain’t stolen goods.” She rolled her eyes. “Christening these’ll take time and talent with a needle, so a crown’s all you’ll get from me.”
“Eight shillings.”
“A crown, you cly-faking bastard, and not a shilling more.”
Sighing, the man said, “You’ve a ’ard ’eart, dove.”
“Next time, bring me goods that ain’t marked, and I’ll be softer than a lord’s arse.” The proprietress tossed a coin over the counter, and Big Bobby good-naturedly caught it.
“Good afternoon, Sal,” Tessa called.
The blonde turned. “Tessa! ’An’t seen you in a dog’s age.”
“I’ve been a bit busy,” Tessa said apologetically.
Sal’s penciled brows shot up, and she jerked her chin at Harry. “Who’s the swell?”
“This is Sam Bennett. He’s my, um, bodyguard.” A hint of pink crested Tessa’s cheeks. “Bennett, this is Sally Doolittle.”
“Strapping fellow, ain’t you?” Sal eyed him, licking her lips in the manner of a mongrel presented with a meaty bone.
Egad. He cleared his throat. “Pleased to meet you ma’am.”
“Call me Sal, ’andsome. Everyone does.” She wriggled her shoulders, a motion that tested the limits of her low neckline.
“Pardon, sir.” Big Bobby, who was making his way out, brushed against Harry. He flashed a smile of not very white teeth.
“No harm done,” Harry said.
With a doff of his hat, Big Bobby continued on his way.
“Hold it right there,” Tessa demanded.
Big Bobby froze.
“Whatever it is you pinched, give it back, you sticky-fingered blighter,” she said.
Harry blinked. Patted his waistcoat. “My pocket watch. The bastard stole it.”
Big Bobby made a run for it.
Before Harry could give chase, a shot blasted through the room.
The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1 Page 20