The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1

by Grace Callaway

What she did know was that she couldn’t stand on pins and needles any longer.

  She turned to face him, blurting, “Are you in or out?”

  Despite her anxious state, she felt a quiver of longing just looking at him. He was wearing a tobacco brown frock coat and buff trousers, his masculinity starkly pronounced in her feminine chamber. Framed by the primrose silk walls and delicate furnishings, he was as out of place as a stallion in a tea shop. At present, he stood by the table she used for painting. Thanks to Lizzie, the pots of colors were neatly lined up, the ivory-handled brushes organized in their filigreed holders.

  “Beg pardon?” His dark brows drew together. “In or out…of what?”

  She decided to start with the easier issue. “Are you going to help me protect my grandfather? Or are you going to get in my way?”

  She refused to stand by idly while Grandpapa’s life was in danger, while her beloved streets were being threatened. She knew she was taking a risk in disclosing her intentions to Bennett. He might take the stance of every other man in her life and forbid her from doing what she needed to do.

  Yet she’d taken the risk of trusting Bennett because…he was Bennett.

  Time and again, he’d shown that he was a man who could be relied upon. He was one of the steadiest, most intelligent and competent men she’d ever met. Tonight, he’d risked his life saving her family home and all its occupants.

  If she were going into battle, he was the knight she’d want by her side. Which was why she was asking for his help. Having Bennett as an ally would be a double boon: not only would she have his indisputable talents at her disposal, she could also save the precious energy that would be required to evade him.

  Bennett’s deep brown eyes studied her. She was relieved beyond measure to see that he seemed more like his normal self. His demeanor was less detached, his focus once again upon her.

  “Those are my only two choices?” he asked.

  “My family is under siege. Grandpapa may be too proud to admit it, but he needs all the help he can get. I’ll not just wring my hands whilst our enemies come knocking.”

  “I don’t imagine hand wringing is one of your talents.” His tone was grave, but the glint of humor in his gaze gave her hope. “Perhaps you would consider letting the men handle this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious that they cannot handle this?” She listed off the facts on her fingers. “An assassination attempt was made on my grandfather. A bawdy house under his protection was blown to smithereens by hellfire. And, tonight, his home was attacked by the same vile means. We are at war, Bennett.”

  “Which is precisely why you should stay out of harm’s way.”

  Why had she thought that he might be different from the rest? That he might see her as more than a nuisance, more than a girl who had nothing to offer?

  Are you such a fool that you thought a few kisses would change anything?

  “You’re not going to take my side.” She hated the quiver in her voice.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Hope soared again, almost painful in its intensity. “Then…you’ll work with me?”

  At his slow nod, she dashed over to him. Impulsively took one of his large, callused hands in both of hers. “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me. I’ll do anything—”

  “That you will not. If you want my help, you’ll follow the rules.”

  She dropped his hand. Frowned. “Rules?”

  His gaze was brooding behind his spectacles. “Rule number one: you won’t go running around pell-mell. In fact, you won’t do anything without my permission.”

  “Your permission? Now see here—”

  “Number two: when I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions asked.”

  Her resolve to be pleasing dissolved in a flash of indignation. “Who in blazes do you think you are? I’ll not be dictated to!”

  “I’m the man you need to protect your family. The family you’d do anything for.”

  At Bennett’s blunt words, her arguments fizzled. Looking at him, seeing his physical strength, the intelligence gleaming in those eyes, she knew he was right.

  She couldn’t go at this alone; she needed his help.

  “Dash it all,” she muttered. “I can’t decide.”

  His brows lifted.

  “I don’t know whether I’m annoyed at your high-handedness,”—she huffed out a breath—“or relieved that you’ll help.”

  His lips twitched, softening the lines on his face. “And for the last rule.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t push your luck.”

  “If we are to be partners in this venture, then no one else is to know of our plans.” He paused. “Not your family, not your friends at The Underworld, no one.”

  The word “partner” made her heart pitter-patter like that of a debutante asked to dance. He was willing to take her side, even against the wishes of her powerful family.

  He believed in her quest, in her.

  “On everything I hold dear, I vow not to tell a soul.” Wanting him to know how much his trust meant, she said earnestly, “Would you like me to take a blood oath? I could get a penknife.”

  He stared. Then he burst out laughing, and that sound—rich, a bit rusty from disuse, and utterly masculine—was worth waiting for.

  Smiling, he shook his head. “Keep your blood, silly chit.”

  “Shall we shake on it, then?” She extended her hand.

  Instead of taking it, he curled a finger under her chin. The rasp of his toughened skin made her breath hitch. Beneath her bodice, the tips of her breasts budded, and, farther south, another place grew wet and wanting. Anticipation bloomed in her as he tilted her head up. Would he kiss her again? Her lips parted…

  He didn’t bend his head, merely turning her head left and then right. Examining her?

  “I believe you,” he said.

  “You…do?”

  “Your eyes give you away. When you’re lying, the irises get cloudy,” he said intently, “like flecks of verdigris in an insoluble solution. Right now, however, your eyes are clear.”

  He’d noticed her eyes? Even if she didn’t quite understand his analogy, she’d take it as a compliment. Her chest melted like wax beneath a flame. His praise even made up for the fact that she apparently had a telltale sign that she needed to work on eliminating.

  “Are we settled then?” she said breathlessly.

  He stilled. Dropping his hand, he muttered, “Not quite.”

  “You can’t go back on your word—”

  “I’m not referring to that. I’m referring to what happened in the billiards room.” He clasped his hands behind his back, said gruffly, “I owe you an apology. I took advantage of you—”

  “You didn’t.” She couldn’t let him believe that. “I was a full and willing participant.”

  “I’m responsible,” he said stubbornly. “I’m the gentleman, and you’re an innocent lady.”

  “I’m not innocent! For God’s sake, I grew up in a bawdy house.”

  His face was as stony as a statue’s. “Be that as it may, it was wrong of me to—”

  “I wanted it.” Despite her flaming cheeks, she said, “I wanted you to kiss me. Asked you to do it.”

  “Tessa…” His shield lifted, and she saw the flare of longing in his eyes before they shuttered again. “I cannot do the honorable thing by you.”

  Her heart twisted. “Because you don’t want to?”

  “Because I…can’t.” He rounded the corner of the table, putting distance between them. He touched the tip of one of her paintbrushes, his gaze on the silken bristles fanning between his finger and thumb. “Believe me, you could do better. You’re beautiful, clever, rich. You could have any man.”

  “Even a duke?” The words left her before she could stop them.

  “If you wanted the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville, then he would be yours.”

  His tone was flat. Yet the telltale muscle ticking in his jaw told her ev
erything she needed to know. The tightness in her chest eased.

  “I don’t want him,” she said. “I want you.”

  There it was again. That flicker in his eyes: naked longing.

  “Tessa, I’m not in a position to offer for you—”

  “Then don’t. Working together to protect Grandpapa will give us the chance to spend more time together,” she said on impulse. “To see if we suit, without the pressure of expectations.”

  As she thought on it, it was the perfect plan. She didn’t expect Bennett to be as sure of his feelings as she was, not after her regrettably juvenile behavior. Her plan would give her time to make up for all the tricks she’d played on him, to woo him…show him that she would be a worthy mate.

  She also needed time to figure out how to manage her grandfather. How to convince the stubborn old goat that Bennett would make a far better husband for her than Ransom.

  Bennett scowled at her. “Damnit, Tessa, you deserve expectations.”

  “I’d rather have you,” she said truthfully.

  He heaved a breath. Raked a hand through his hair. “Christ, what am I to do with you?”

  Elation flooded her. His conflicted yet hungry look told her that she’d won. She would have the chance to convince Bennett that she was the woman of his dreams.

  “Get to know me?” She edged closer to him. “Work with me to save my family?”

  Slowly, as if he couldn’t help himself, he reached out, tracing his thumb along her cheekbone.

  “A loyal sprite, aren’t you?” he murmured.

  “We Blacks are always loyal.” She shivered with pleasure when he brushed her lower lip before letting his hand fall. “Why do you call me that?”

  “Sprite, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Because you’re wee and mischievous…”

  She wrinkled her nose. Zounds, that didn’t sound attractive.

  “…and also adorable.”

  He thinks I’m adorable?

  “Adorable? Me?” she breathed.

  His mouth quirked again. “When you’re not getting me arrested or embarrassing me with farting contraptions or ruining my boots? Aye.”

  “I’ll never play a trick on you again,” she said ardently.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  Entranced by his crooked smile, she lifted her hand, traced her fingertip over the scar in his eyebrow. The one she’d always wondered about. “How did you get this?”

  His smile faded. “A blasting accident. I got trapped under rock.”

  “Blood and thunder, that must have been terrifying.”

  “I’d had better days.”

  “Is that why you stopped working as a navvy?”

  “I suppose.” He hesitated. “To this day, I don’t like being trapped in tight spaces.”

  “I don’t blame you—”

  A rustling sounded outside the chamber. Heart thumping, Tessa whirled around, saw the departing swish of skirts. Just one of the housemaids passing by in the hallway. Nonetheless, it broke the spell, reminded her of where they were, what they still needed to do.

  “We don’t have much time,” she said in a rush, “but I have a plan for finding the villain behind the hellfire attacks. First, we’ll locate the taverns where O’Toole, Knight, and Garrity gather.” She chewed on her lip, working out the details as she went along. “Nighttime would be preferable for reconnaissance, and I’ll disguise myself, of course—”

  “The hell you will. You’ll be staying here.”

  At Bennett’s implacable tones, she stiffened. “We’re partners. I’m not going to stay here whilst you risk your neck spying on those scoundrels.”

  “I’m not going to spy on them. That plan is risky, and you heard your grandfather. Ming’s been tracking them for weeks now to no avail.”

  Bennett had a point. “Pray tell, Professor, do you have a better plan?”

  She thought the sobriquet might lighten the mood; instead, his jaw clenched.

  “There’s another clue we can follow. The hellfire.”

  She considered the idea. “That cottonish stuff? But we know little about it.”

  “In my past line of work, I encountered a blasting compound similar to that material. It was created by a man I knew.”

  The revelation came as a surprise. But it made sense. Bennett had been a navvy; it wasn’t surprising that he was familiar with explosives.

  “Who is this man?” she said with dawning excitement. “Did he work with you on the railway?”

  “He’s dead. And he’s not responsible for the hellfire: he knew his compound wasn’t stable enough to use for any practical purpose and kept the formula a secret because of the dangers. He knew it was likely to harm whoever came in contact with it.” Lines slashed around Bennett’s mouth. “He was right: he died because of his discovery.”

  “How dreadful,” she whispered. “It’s like the story of Dr. Frankenstein.”

  Bennett gave a curt nod. “The inventor is gone, but it’s possible that one of his associates gained the recipe for the compound. That they managed to stabilize it and turn it into this hellfire.”

  “Do you know who these associates are?”

  He gave a grim nod.

  She worried her lip. “Why didn’t you mention this to Grandpapa? Shouldn’t we tell him?”

  “I don’t want to implicate anyone, to cause anyone to suffer Black’s wrath, until I have solid evidence of guilt.”

  Bennett had a point. In Grandpapa’s present mood, there was no telling how he might react.

  “Let me help you. There’s so much danger afoot. You heard Grandpapa: Peel’s Bloody Gang might be involved, and no one plays a dirtier, more despicable game than them,” she said in disgust. “I’d trust anyone before a policeman.”

  “My rules, Tessa.” His tone was unduly sharp. “I cannot be carrying on an investigation and simultaneously be worried about your safety.”

  She bit her lip, wanting to argue. As much as she wanted to be part of the adventure, however, too much was at stake. Her family’s well-being and Bennett’s. She’d never forgive herself if either came to harm because of her.

  “I’ll keep my end of the bargain. As long as you keep me apprised,” she added hastily, “of everything. I’m your partner, don’t forget.”

  “Rather difficult to.” His voice was dry. “Now I’d best let you get some rest.”

  The unmistakable thump of a cane came from the hallway. Nonetheless, she risked getting on tiptoe and brushing her lips against his jaw, which was hard and bristly with his night beard.

  “Thank you for helping Grandpapa. And for taking a chance on me,” she whispered.

  His eyes heated. He curled a finger under her chin. “You can count on me, sprite.”

  15

  Two nights later, as Harry made his way to his destination on Cheapside, he replayed his interaction with Davies. In the wee hours of the morning, he’d met again with the inspector on the Thames. He’d reported on Black’s enemies and the territorial war in the underworld, including the assassination attempt by Loach. He’d shared about the hellfire and his conclusion that Black was innocent in the matter of The Gilded Pearl.

  “Goddamnit, we still cannot pin that bastard Black to a crime?” Swearing, Davies had raked a hand through his wiry hair. To his credit, however, he’d seized upon the bigger issue. “The situation is worse than I thought. We must contain this hellfire for such a weapon isn’t safe in anyone’s hands. If a war erupts, we won’t have the manpower to control it.”

  Exhaling, Harry had told Davies about his suspicions concerning Sir Aloysius De Witt. That, of course, had necessitated giving an abridged version of his disgrace at Cambridge. He’d waited, uncertain how his superior would react.

  “We all make mistakes, Kent. Yours was merely trusting the wrong people.”

  Relieved, Harry gave a curt nod.

  “The question is, how do we structure our investigation? Our resources ar
e already stretched to the limit.” Davies’ face lined with frustration. “Now we have three additional cutthroats to monitor as well as this bastard De Witt.”

  “Let me take on De Witt,” Harry said. “If I find his laboratory, I can identify any substance he may be making and verify that it is, indeed, the hellfire.”

  Davies scrutinized him. “You’d be willing to take this on, Kent? Much will rest upon your shoulders. I cannot afford to provide reinforcements, nor would it be wise. Black hates the police, knows we’re watching him. If he suspects any connection between you and the force, you’ll be in grave danger.”

  It wasn’t the peril that made Harry hesitate but the thought of Tessa. He hated that he would have to continue lying to her. Yet how else could he prevent the hellfire from threatening her world and his? How else could he stay by her side and protect her?

  “I created this hellfire,” he said. “I will extinguish it.”

  “You’re a good man, Kent. An honorable one.” Davies shook his hand. “When we win this battle, I’ll see to it that you receive the recognition you deserve.”

  Before parting, the police inspector had suggested a way for Harry to get some assistance with the mission. This led Harry to his present destination: a small confectionery between St. Mary le Bow and Old Change. It was half-past eight in the evening, and the curtain was pulled over the shop window, an outline of light shining through. Harry found the door unlocked and entered the small shop, the scents of caramelized sugar, toasted nuts, and fruit surrounding him like a cozy blanket.

  Mrs. Parbury, a rosy-cheeked matron, was bustling behind the large wooden counter. She looked up from organizing the jars and pans of boiled sweets, jellied fruits, and other sugary delicacies.

  Harry doffed his hat. “Good evening, ma’am.”

  “And to ye, sir.” Beneath her cap, her eyes twinkled, and she lowered her voice to a hush, even though no one else was in the room. “Go on back, lad. He’s waiting for ye.”

  Harry went on, passing through the door that led to the kitchen. He exchanged greetings with Mr. Parbury, a stout man whose belly was barely contained by his splattered apron.

  “Harry Kent, as I live an’ breathe.” The confectioner possessed the same good cheer as his wife, making Harry wonder if the line of work sweetened a person’s disposition.