The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1

by Grace Callaway

  “What is it?” Tessa breathed.

  “Open it, and you’ll see.”

  With hands that trembled, she lifted the lid. Her throat cinched at the sight of the familiar, heart-shaped ruby framed in gold. Small but distinctive, it was the pendant Althea wore in her portrait. In real life, the ruby had even more fire. When Tessa turned it over, she saw words engraved in the gold.

  To A. B. The Pride of a Family.

  “Oh, Grandpapa,” she said tremulously, “how Grandmama must have cherished this gift from you. I’ll strive to be worthy of it.”

  “I didn’t give Althea that necklace or the matching ring. Both were from ’er family.”

  Tessa looked at Mama, who’d worn the ruby ring for as long as she could recall; the other, too, looked surprised.

  “I always thought you gave Mama these jewels, Father,” Mavis said.

  A misty, faraway look entered Grandpapa’s eyes. “When Althea made ’er choice to be my wife, it weren’t without sacrifices. The Bourdelains came from noble stock and refused to forgive Althea for marrying beneath ’er. Not only did they disown ’er, they wouldn’t let ’er see ’er younger brother. She adored the lad. A few years later, she discovered ’e’d died, and she ne’er got to say goodbye. For years, the sight o’ those rubies brought tears to ’er eyes.”

  Tessa’s chest ached at the tragic tale. “Poor Grandmama.”

  “Althea ne’er stopped wearing that necklace and ring because she ne’er stopped loving the Bourdelains, no matter ’ow they treated ’er. She was strong enough to bear the pain with the love. ’Ad the ’eart o’ a lioness, my Althea did, and now it lives on in our daughter,”—he looked at Mavis, who gave a watery smile—“and our granddaughter. ’Tis only right that each o’ you carry a part o’ ’er.”

  “I am honored,” Tessa said softly.

  “And let it be a reminder: like my Althea, you are a true lady. You bow to no one,” Grandpapa said sternly. “No matter where you go, you ’old your ’ead up ’igh, you ’ear me?”

  “Yes, Grandpapa.”

  His words seemed to soak into her skin, her veins, becoming the throbbing truth of her heart. She looked at Bennett; in that instant, his gaze was unguarded. She saw herself in those rich dark depths…and the reflection was beautiful.

  “Blasted clasp,” Grandpapa grumbled. He’d lifted the necklace from the box and was attempting to undo the tiny fastener. “My ’ands ain’t what they used to be.” He shoved the necklace at Bennett. “You do it.”

  Taking the necklace, Bennett went to stand behind her. The knowledge that mere inches separated them caused her respiration to be erratic. Energy crackled in that sliver of space, his virile scent spinning her senses. And the more she tried to hide her desire, the more heightened it became.

  Holding the ends of the necklace, he lowered the pendant onto her bosom. Her breath hitched when the ruby heart made contact with her skin, the gentle friction like a caress. The pendant dragged up, up, and when his fingers brushed against her nape, her nipples were already budded against her bodice. The rasp of his callused fingertips melted her insides like wax. Warmth flooded her heart, between her thighs, all of her turned molten with wanting.

  “There you go.” Bennett’s words had a husky edge. Had he, too, been affected by their exchange? One that, by all rights, ought to have been ordinary and mundane?

  Gathering herself, she turned to face him, and her knees grew wobbly at the banked fire in his eyes. Longing that he was doing his utmost to hide, but that she could see: because she knew him. Because she loved him. Because her lioness’ heart had led her to this man and no other.

  “It suits you, Miss Todd,” he murmured before stepping aside.

  Not half as well as you do, she thought.

  She vowed to herself that they would be together soon enough. Once they stopped the villain behind the hellfire and her family was safe, she would let nothing keep them apart.

  The butler arrived with a tray of champagne, and Mama came to join them.

  Raising a sparkling flute, she said, “To Tessa’s second debut. May she make us proud.”

  “She always does,” Grandpapa said gruffly.

  Tessa blinked back sudden heat and held her own glass up high. “To the House of Black. May we never succumb to enemies and always fight for family and for love.”

  “For family and love,” her mama and grandpapa echoed.

  Tessa looked at Bennett—and saw the flash of naked longing on his face. She felt the urge to abandon pretense, to invite him to join the circle, be by her side where he belonged; the slight shake of his head warned her not to.

  It took all her willpower, but she quelled her impulse. For the good of everyone, she would keep their affair secret. For now.

  26

  The ball was a crush.

  Mirrored walls amplified the seemingly endless throng of people, all dressed in extravagant finery. The gilded columns and towering potted palms added to a closed-in feeling despite the large size of the ballroom. Cloying perfumes mingled with the heavy scent of burning beeswax from the three blazing chandeliers.

  “May I compliment you on your costume?” the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville said as he guided her into a waltz. “You make a most charming kitty.”

  Tessa didn’t bother correcting him. Since she’d arrived at the opulent ball, the handful of people who had deigned to speak to her had all mistaken her for a cat. Even the demi-mask she was wearing didn’t help. In the carriage, Bennett had helped her to don the brown velvet mask decorated with swirls of gold embroidery and seed pearls.

  Now you and Swift Nick could be twins, he’d said with his crooked smile.

  How she wished she could be dancing with him instead of the duke. But knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd, keeping watch over her, made her feel better. It was past midnight, and she hadn’t heard the De Witts being announced; she was losing hope that she’d have the opportunity to do some clandestine sleuthing.

  Unfortunately, she had seen some other people she knew, including her nemesis Lady Hyacinth Tipping, now the Countess of Fyffe. Hyacinth had looked past her as if she were invisible. Surprisingly, Baroness von Friesing had been the one to observe that Ransom’s attentions to Tessa were likely the cause of the snub.

  Lady Fyffe’s husband is a mere earl, and a Scottish one at that, the baroness had said tartly. A fact you would know if you used your Debrett’s as more than a doorstop.

  How well her chaperone knew her.

  As Tessa whirled by the orchestra, she caught a glimpse of Hyacinth standing next to one of the gilded columns, staring at her with a sour expression. Tessa decided that dancing with Ransom wasn’t so bad after all. In all honesty, he was being nice to her, which was more than she could say of the rest of the snobbish lot.

  She smiled up at him. “And you are the king of that particular family, I see.”

  Ransom was a stylish lion, his bronze velvet tailcoat immaculately fitted to his lean frame, his demi-mask trimmed in golden fur. Embroidered lions pranced across his black silk waistcoat.

  “I like to be the head of the pack,” he drawled.

  “Pride, Your Grace.”

  “Pardon?”

  “A group of lions is called a pride, not a pack.”

  “Right.” His smile flashed white against his mustache and trimmed beard. “You have an unusual fount of knowledge, Miss Smith.”

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  “I like animals.” On impulse, she added, “And I’m supposed to be a ferret.”

  “A ferret, hmm? Well, you’re the first of that I’ve seen. Most ladies prefer something more…”

  “Elegant?” she guessed. “Exotic?”

  Looking around her, most of the ladies were garbed in eye-catching extravagance. She’d seen peacocks, parrots, and goldfish by the dozen.

  “I was going to say conventional. But you’re not, are you?”

  “One of many virtues I cannot claim,” she said rueful
ly.

  He swung her into a turn, and his speed and sudden closeness made her head spin a little. As did the words he murmured into her ear. “Virtue is overrated, my little ferret.”

  The dance ended, and she found herself looking up into his golden hazel gaze. He was a handsome rake. And so adept at flirting that he could make one feel as if his interest was genuine.

  “How do you do that?” she marveled.

  “Do what?”

  “Be so sincerely insincere.”

  He gave a shout of laughter. The sound drew looks; clearly, everyone was wondering what she’d said to amuse him.

  “Are you always this forthright?” Ransom murmured as he led her off the dance floor.

  “Oh no. I’m an excellent liar when the occasion demands.”

  In fact, she was living a lie at this moment. She wished she didn’t have to keep up pretenses, that she and Bennett could be open about their feelings—that Grandpapa could accept that she wanted to wed her bodyguard and not the duke (however nice the latter was being).

  Maybe if Bennett and I solve the mystery of the hellfire, Grandpapa will see how worthy he truly is. She felt the gentle yet powerful weight of her grandmama’s necklace, the legacy of love and strength. Maybe the De Witts will yet make an appearance…

  “A trait we share,” Ransom said.

  “You’re a good liar, Your Grace?” She was surprised that he admitted it.

  “This entire ball is a lie, is it not?”

  Intrigued, she tilted her head. “Because everyone is pretending to be something they’re not?”

  “That too. But I was referring to the fact that the ball is the picture of luxury.” He smiled without humor. “One that I cannot afford.”

  “Then why host a ball at all?”

  “Appearances, little ferret, are everything.”

  Ransom returned her to Baroness von Friesing, who’d planted herself close to the buffet table. She’d been chatting with another duenna and looked rather put out to have her tête-à-tête interrupted.

  Nonetheless, she fixed a smile upon her face. “Done with my charge so soon, Your Grace?”

  “Alas, rules do not permit for more than a second dance,” Ransom said easily. “But perhaps I might claim you for a stroll around the ballroom later on, Miss Smith?”

  “Why not?” Tessa held up the empty dance card dangling from her wrist. “’Tis not as if I have anything better to do.”

  “Miss Smith,” her chaperone hissed.

  Ransom’s lips curved, and he kissed her hand before departing.

  “Flaunting one’s deficiencies is no way to reel in His Grace.” The baroness gave her a dark look. “Why can’t you at least try to flirt?”

  Because I don’t want to marry him.

  Tessa shrugged. “Why bother when my dowry is the true bait?”

  “Your flippancy is unbecoming, Miss Smith. Your grandpapa will be made aware of this,” von Friesing warned. “I shan’t be held accountable for your lack of cooperation.”

  “Crikey, I’ve danced with His Grace twice,” she protested. “To cooperate any more, I’d have to offer to do the buttock jig with him on the dance floor.”

  “Mind the vulgarity.”

  “Who’s going to hear me?” Tessa crossed her gloved arms over her chest. “Everyone’s avoiding me like the plague.”

  It was Mrs. Southbridge’s all over again. She was alone (except for the bristling company of the baroness which, frankly, was worse than being alone). And seeing Lady Hyacinth huddled with her cronies, their smirks as they whispered behind fans, Tessa knew who, once again, was the ringleader behind her social ostracism.

  She told herself she didn’t care. Held onto the advice that Bennett had given her.

  You’re not the same girl you were… You know your worth… Take no notice of them…

  She craned her neck for any sign of Bennett. She was scanning the alcoves along the perimeter when a female voice said, “What a delightful costume.”

  Tessa swung around to see that she’d been approached by a lovely brunette and an equally lovely blonde. The former’s orange-and-black striped gown suggested she was a tigress while the latter wore the soft, white plumage of a dove. The ladies were escorted by tall, dazzlingly attractive gentlemen who’d eschewed costumes, their black demi-masks their only nod to the masquerade.

  Tessa blinked. “Are you, um, talking to me?”

  Beside her, the baroness froze at the sight of the newcomers, her jaw going oddly slack.

  “Why, yes. I wanted to complement you on your ferret costume.” The brunette’s smile and tea-colored eyes radiated genuine warmth. “I have great respect for originality.”

  “Oh…thank you.” Tessa didn’t know what shocked her more, the lady’s perceptiveness or her compliment. “You’re the first person here to guess that I’m a ferret.”

  “My wife is shockingly astute.” This came from the black-haired gentleman. His wicked good looks could appear quite cold, Tessa imagined, but his jade eyes were warmly amused as he regarded his lady. “And original also. For instance, she eschews introductions and launches into conversation.”

  “Oh, dear. How amiss of me.” The brunette flushed prettily. “I am Emma, and the gentleman teasing me mercilessly is my husband, the Duke of Strathaven. This is my younger sister Polly,”—she waved to the voluptuous golden-haired lady—“and her husband Sinjin. They are the Duchess and Duke of Acton.”

  “How do you do?” Hastily, Tessa sank into a curtsy. “I’m Miss Theresa Smith. And this is my, um, aunt, Baroness von Friesing.”

  “A pleasure, Your Graces.” The baroness bowed low.

  “How are you enjoying the ball?” The Duchess of Acton possessed a shy smile and stunning aquamarine eyes.

  “I’m not really—ouch.” Tessa glared at the baroness, who’d elbowed her in the side. “What did you do that for?”

  “My charge has enjoyed herself immensely,” von Friesing gushed. “In fact, the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville has paid particular attention to her and asked her to dance twice.”

  “Which is the sum total of the times I’ve been on the dance floor,” Tessa muttered.

  “A fact that must be remedied.” The Duchess of Strathaven tilted her head at her husband. “Strathaven, weren’t you just saying you fancied a dance?”

  The duke bowed. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Smith?”

  To her bemusement, Tessa found herself doing a Scottish Reel with Strathaven. And then a Quadrille with the Duke of Acton. After that, the duchesses took her under their collective wing, insisting that she call them “Emma” and “Polly” and introducing her to a plethora of people. To Tessa’s surprise, she was welcomed into the fold.

  Her dance card began to fill up. And even though her partners were aristocrats, they were actually nice to her. Her current partner was the Earl of Ruthven, a fit man with thick, greying hair and an avuncular manner. He led her into a waltz, navigating the constellation of bright, spinning gowns.

  “What a charming cat you make, Miss Smith,” he said.

  “I’m a ferret, actually.” When she saw his green eyes flicker behind his black feathered mask, she said quickly, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not sure what you are either. A crow or raven perhaps?”

  “I’m open to your interpretation.” He smiled. “In truth, I was a late addition to the guest list, and my valet scavenged this mask from God knows where.”

  “Are you well acquainted with the host?” she asked as they whirled to the music.

  “I do not know anyone in this room well. I am newly come into the title, you see, and from a distant branch of the family that no one expected to inherit.” He looked rueful. “Yet here I am.”

  Feeling a sense of kinship, she confided, “I don’t know these people well either.”

  “And yet you are swarmed by admirers.”

  “Only because the Strathavens and Actons were kind enough to take me under their wing.”

  “
You are being modest,” Ruthven said. “You are as lovely and unique as that necklace you are wearing.”

  “It belonged to my grandmama,” she said with pride.

  She could feel Althea watching over her tonight. Guiding her past pitfalls and toward success.

  After the dance, Ruthven returned her to her friends. Tessa noted a newcomer to the group; it was difficult not to. Petite and curvaceous, the lady had bright red hair and was dressed as some sort of yellow bird, an extraordinary quantity of feathers and ruffles on her gown. The duchesses were hugging her with unbridled delight.

  “There you are, Miss Smith,” Emma said, beaming. “We just ran into our dear friend, whom we haven’t seen in ages. Miss Theresa Smith, meet Gabriella, Mrs. Garrity.”

  Tessa’s nape stirred. Zounds, it couldn’t be that Garrity…could it?

  “How do you do, Mrs. Garrity?” she said cautiously.

  “I’m very well. And do call me Gabby, everyone does. I must confess, I’m ever so relieved to be out of the nursery. That is where I spend most of my days, you know. Not that I’m complaining. Well, perhaps I am a little, aren’t I?”

  Confronted with the flurry of words and big blue eyes, Tessa could only manage, “Um…”

  “Oh dear, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? It’s a terrible habit of mine to chatter when I’m nervous,” Gabby said guilelessly. “It was bad before, just ask dear Emma and Polly, but I fear it’s gotten worse now that I’m with the children all day. I’m simply starved for adult conversation—”

  “If that’s the case, Gabby, dear,” Emma (thankfully) cut in, “why haven’t you come to call? You’ve turned down my last several invitations.”

  “I’ve been a dreadful friend—that is, if you still consider me a friend. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” Remorse was written all over the redhead’s pretty face, which was rounded and sprinkled with golden freckles, so that even her look of despair was somehow charming. “I’ve wanted to see you, but it’s been one thing after another. Between the children and the new country estate, Mr. Garrity is very particular about how it is to be renovated, not to mention Papa’s health not being what it was—”