The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1

by Grace Callaway

  “Take a breath, dear.” Polly patted Gabby on the shoulder. “Or several breaths.”

  The lady gulped in air.

  “Neither time nor distance will change our friendship,” Emma said gently. “I meant only that we’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you. Ever so much.” Gabby bit her lip. “I don’t know how the two of you do it.”

  “Do what?” Emma asked.

  “Everything.” Gabby waved a hand. “Be a wife and mama and still have time left over for anything else. And Emma, you even do detection work.”

  Detection work? Tessa’s ears perked. Blood and thunder, that’s something you don’t hear duchesses doing every day.

  “I only take on the occasional case,” Emma said. “And no one can do everything.”

  “Even with oodles of servants and Mr. Garrity’s clearly detailed schedules, I can’t seem to manage very well,” Gabby said glumly.

  Polly’s forehead pleated. “Mr. Garrity gives you schedules?”

  “To help me organize my day. That way, I don’t forget anything. He’s ever so thoughtful,” Gabby said, her eyes dreamy.

  Tessa saw the duchesses exchange a look that suggested they might use a different adjective to describe Mr. Garrity and his schedules.

  “Is your husband here tonight?” Emma said.

  Gabby’s red curls bounced against her cheek as she nodded. “He prefers we stay at home, but we’re here tonight because he had business to discuss with some clients.”

  Emma’s brows rose. “Here at the masquerade?”

  “Everyone is in need of money, and the ton is no exception. Mr. Garrity’s influence is quite far-reaching these days. Why else would Cits like us be invited to so elevated an affair?”

  Gabby’s shrug revealed a streak of pragmatism beneath all that effervescence. And left no doubt that her husband was indeed that Garrity: the one who might be plotting against Grandpapa. Was it a coincidence that Garrity was here at an event that De Witt was invited to? Tessa stiffened as another possibility struck her. Could there be a connection between Garrity, De Witt…and Ransom?

  Apparently misreading Tessa’s reaction, Gabby said in a rush, “Beg pardon, that was vulgar of me to mention money, wasn’t it? Being the daughter of a banker and the wife of a moneylend—a man of business, I mean, I forget we aren’t supposed to talk about such things. I meant no offense.”

  “I’m not offended,” Tessa said truthfully.

  Gabby’s relieved smile gave her a twinge of misgiving. She couldn’t help but like the redhead; it would be a pity if her husband turned out to be an enemy of the Blacks.

  A footman dressed in smart livery approached and bowed. “Mr. Garrity wishes to depart. He is waiting for you at the carriage, Mrs. Garrity.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right there.” Turning back to the group, Gabby said hurriedly, “I must go, but Emma and Polly, will you please come to call tomorrow afternoon? I should like to visit with you ever so much. And with you, too, Miss Smith, if you are free.”

  Tessa blinked. Couldn’t believe the opportunity that had just presented itself.

  When the other ladies murmured their assent, she added quickly, “I’m free.”

  “Splendid.” Rummaging in her reticule, Gabby produced a rather crumpled card and gave it to Tessa. “Here is my address. Look forward to seeing you all!”

  She rushed off, a trail of yellow feathers drifting in her wake.

  “Is she quite all right, do you think?” Emma murmured.

  “We’ll find out tomorrow,” Polly murmured back.

  Tomorrow, Tessa would have the opportunity to investigate Garrity in his own lair…as long as Bennett was willing to cooperate with her plan. She looked for Bennett in the crowd, bursting at the seams to share the new developments. The evening could not have gone any better.

  Then a sonorous voice announced a new arrival.

  “Sir Aloysius De Witt and the Honorable Miss Celeste De Witt!”

  27

  “Harry…is that you?” a voice like trembling silver bells asked.

  Bloody hell. For an instant, Harry was tempted to deny it and continue down the carpeted hallway outside the ballroom. When he’d seen the De Witts arrive, he’d felt a surge of fury. Just as quickly, he’d locked away the emotion. Made certain to stay out of sight as he monitored them.

  Aloysius had quickly made the rounds, Celeste by his side. He’d exchanged niceties with a number of guests, including Garrity and a man Harry did not recognize but who had waltzed with Tessa. Aloysius also spoke at length with Ransom, who’d danced a set with Celeste.

  Aloysius had departed a quarter hour ago, leaving his daughter with her chaperone. Harry had thought his presence had gone undetected. Apparently, he’d underestimated Celeste…for a second time.

  He forced himself to turn around.

  Celeste had always suited her name, and tonight was no exception. Her swan costume accentuated her angelic grace, the white, feather-trimmed frock perfectly draped over her tall, slender frame. Her pale blonde ringlets quivered; she stared at him with eyes that he’d once compared to the color of heaven.

  When he looked at her now, however, it was through the eyes of a man not a lad. She was still beautiful, but he saw how fragile that beauty was. How it didn’t have the bones for endurance, the character that would enhance and deepen attractiveness over time.

  When he removed his mask, shadows flitted through her eyes. Or maybe it was the candelabrum flickering on the side table.

  “I thought it was you,” she whispered. “Were you going to leave without speaking to me?”

  She must be joking.

  Anger flared. Knowing there was no way to avoid the interaction, he calculated his options. Going to the nearest door, he looked inside. The music room was empty.

  Wordlessly, he gestured for her to enter. Once they were both inside, he left the door open. If anyone happened upon them, he would play the part of a footman assisting a guest.

  “What do you want?” he demanded curtly.

  “I want to talk to you.” Her voice quivered. “To say…how sorry I am. For what I did.”

  Did she really think he wanted her apology?

  His jaw clenched. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”

  “I know what I did was unforgiveable. That you must hate me.” Her eyes welled. “I didn’t want to tell those horrid lies, but Papa made me.”

  Two discordant thoughts struck Harry simultaneously. One was that Tessa wouldn’t blame someone else for the choices she’d made. She wasn’t above untruths and trickery, but she usually had a good reason for it. Regardless, she took responsibility for her actions.

  His other thought was that he had a chance now to try to uncover De Witt’s plans. Looking at Celeste’s pleading expression, he didn’t know if she was party to her father’s nefariousness; either way, he didn’t trust her. Yet it would behoove him to try to get some answers.

  “Was it your papa’s idea for you to try to seduce me, to distract me while he went into the laboratory that night and stole my work?” he said evenly.

  She licked her lips, her gaze darting then returning to his. “Yes…but I wanted to go to your room that night, Harry. You’re the only one who’s ever been truly good to me,” she said in a shaky voice. “The only one who listened and cared. The only one I’ve ever—”

  “Was it his idea also for you to lie the next day? To destroy the only alibi I had?”

  “I didn’t want to.” A single tear spilled over. “I’ve regretted my actions ever since.”

  Not as much as I have.

  He forced himself to play along. “If that is true—”

  “It is. How I hated deceiving you.” She took a step closer, one hand held out beseechingly. “Despite what I did, my feelings for you were true. As true as the feelings you once professed having for me. I kept those poems you wrote, Harry, hid them from Papa.” Her gaze searched his. “I read them every night before I say my prayers.
”

  If she had any sense, she wouldn’t have reminded him of the damned verse. The words he’d so painstakingly and awkwardly penned. Yet his mortification no longer flowed like fresh blood, only itched like a healed-over scab. Ambrose had been right: he’d been a lad when he’d fallen in love with Celeste. He could forgive his younger self for trusting too readily. For being blinded by beauty.

  What mattered was that he saw things clearly now.

  And Tessa, he realized, had been the catalyst. With her spirit, humor, and honesty, she’d taught him to feel again. To trust again.

  “What happened here?” Celeste extended a gloved fingertip toward his scarred eyebrow, not quite daring to touch him.

  “What has your father done with my formula?”

  Fear dilated her pupils. Her hand fell to her side, and she retreated a step. “I… I can’t…”

  He took hold of her upper arms. “Tell me, Celeste.”

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Papa will be angry.”

  He felt the quiver run through her and knew that, whatever else might be false, her distress was genuine. She’d always lived in fear of Aloysius De Witt. In the past, she’d denied physical abuses, but De Witt obviously controlled her with other methods. Harry could see that she’d been a pawn in her father’s game. He remembered how he’d once wanted to rescue her, protect her, and the memory of that gentled his tone.

  “Tell me,” he repeated, “and perhaps I can help.”

  “I don’t know the details. Only that he’s involved in some bad business.” She swallowed. “With bad men.”

  “Who are these men?”

  “I don’t know their names, but they’re brutes.” Suddenly, she launched herself at him, clinging to him like a vine. “Take me away from here. When you suggested it back then, I didn’t have the courage, but now—”

  Before Harry could extricate himself, he heard a gasp. His head whipped toward the door. He saw the shock on Tessa’s face the instant before she ran.

  * * *

  Tessa fled down the hallway, turning a corner—a dead end, save for a door. She ducked blindly into the room. The library…and thankfully it appeared abandoned. There was no movement or sound from the shadowed maze of bookcases beyond the fireplace and sitting area.

  She closed the door. Sagged against the wooden partition as she tried to collect herself. To calm her raging emotions.

  How could he? she thought with fury and despair.

  Take me away from here. When you suggested it back then, I didn’t have the courage.

  Celeste De Witt’s passionate words rang in Tessa’s ears. Was Bennett having an affair with the woman? How long had he known her?

  Even as Tessa’s heart ached, a chill permeated her, numbing some of her pain. Was there more going on between Bennett and the De Witts than she realized? When he’d told her about De Witt being a suspect in the hellfire, she’d accepted it blindly because she’d trusted him. Because she’d believed that he would protect her family.

  Now she realized her mistake. Bennett had been lying to her, and who knew what else he was mixed up in? What if his intentions toward not only her but her family were dishonorable?

  Panic joined the fray just as bootsteps stopped outside the room.

  “Open the door,” Bennett’s voice commanded.

  Tessa’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Go away, you lying bastard!”

  “If you won’t open it, step aside.”

  He wouldn’t dare. Just in case, she backed away.

  The door exploded with such force that it hit the wall. Bennett stalked in, shutting the door behind him. He advanced toward her, his expression grim. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  “Indeed,” she said acidly. “The time for that was before I caught you making love to the suspect’s daughter. Or was that a lie too? Did you fabricate the story of De Witt’s guilt?”

  “What the devil?” For an instant, he looked nonplussed. Then he snagged her by the wrist. “We need privacy for this.”

  He dragged her toward the bookshelves.

  “Let go of me, you troglodyte!”

  “Do you want to compromise your family’s safety? If so, shout louder so that everyone at this damned masquerade can hear you.”

  She glared at him but kept her peace…for now. She allowed him to lead her into the labyrinth of bookcases. The stacks of leather-bound volumes created a strange hush. When they reached the dim and musty heart of the towering shelves, she shook free and faced him.

  “I saw you with Miss De Witt in your arms,” she said in a furious whisper. “And I heard her say that you’d proposed running off with her before!”

  “I did.”

  His admission pierced her like a bullet. She reeled, unprepared for the impact.

  “But that was a long time ago.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Until tonight, I hadn’t seen her in over two years. Not since I was at Cambridge.”

  “What were you doing in Cambridge?” She didn’t know why, but those were the words that popped out of her mouth.

  “I was studying science.”

  “You said you were a navvy!”

  “I was. After De Witt destroyed my career.”

  That information made her pause. All of a sudden, she recalled what he’d told her about the inventor who’d created the explosive. The one whose work had killed him.

  “You…you’re the one who discovered the hellfire?” she said incredulously. “The one you said died?”

  “A part of me did die, in a way,” he said tightly. “When I was accused of being a thief and liar, my reputation was ruined. I became persona non grata in the scientific community. Eventually, I left and used my expertise in explosives to find work as a navvy.”

  His stark words chased a shiver over her skin. And fed the sudden hope in her heart.

  “Tell me everything,” she said. “Start from the beginning and leave nothing out.”

  “I discovered hellfire by accident: an experiment gone wrong,” he said darkly. “I made the mistake of sharing my discovery with Miss De Witt. I had been courting her for some time—”

  “How long?” Tessa interrupted.

  “Four years, give or take. I’d asked her to marry me, but she put me off. Said her father would never agree to let her marry a man of my prospects. I believed her. De Witt is a baron and an ambitious man; he wanted a title for his daughter. When I told her about my accidental discovery, she convinced me to tell her father, to use it to win his favor. He, in turn, expressed great interest in the compound, in its potential for industrial application.” Bennett shook his head. “I cautioned him. Told him how dangerous and unstable the explosive was. How I almost blew up the lab and my own bloody self.”

  Tessa tried to digest the information. The part about him wanting to marry Miss De Witt stuck in her craw.

  Of course he would fall in love with a beauty like Celeste De Witt. She’s feminine and elegant and…tall. Everything I’m not.

  “What happened next?” she forced herself to ask.

  “We came to an agreement. He wanted me to work on stabilizing the compound, with the caveat that I was to keep my endeavors a secret. He didn’t want others finding out about what I’d come to call ‘explosive cotton’ and beating us to the patent. He also hinted that if my work succeeded, he would offer no objection to my wedding his daughter.”

  “He knew how to sweeten the pot,” Tessa said under her breath.

  Harry frowned. “Pardon?”

  “Never mind. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I couldn’t stabilize it,” he said, “at least not within so short a period of time. After a fortnight, De Witt was breathing down my neck. Said he had investors lined up, industrial works ready to buy our product. After a month, he became unreasonable, irrational. Blamed me for deliberately sabotaging his plans and life’s work. One night, follow
ing a heated argument, I was ready to end our partnership, to continue studying explosive cotton on my own, when Celeste showed up at my room.”

  Jealousy burned at the base of Tessa’s throat. “What did she want?”

  “At first, to apologize for her father. She said he was under duress from financial obligations. But then one thing led to another.” He cleared his throat.

  “Did you…bed her?” The words scraped painfully from her throat.

  “God, no. Celeste would never have allowed such liberties. But we, er, kissed. It was more than she’d allowed in the four years of our courtship.”

  Relief flooded Tessa that he hadn’t bedded Celeste. At the same time, she was glad for the dimness because she could feel her cheeks flaming. Celeste had allowed kisses after four years; Tessa had allowed far more after three weeks.

  “The next morning, I arrived at the laboratory to find De Witt waiting for me. The Chancellor and other faculty members were present when he accused me of being a thief.” Bennett’s hands clenched at his sides. “He claimed that I’d ransacked his laboratory the night before, stolen the notes he’d kept of his experimentation. And he had proof. Before my arrival, he and the others had searched my laboratory. They found a journal, written in his hand, containing notes on the explosive cotton.”

  “He stole your notebook, made a version in his hand,”—Tessa put two and two together—“and then put it in your lab to be found?”

  Bennett’s glance was startled. “How did you know?”

  “Because that’s what I would do if I were dastardly enough to frame someone.”

  His features softened, and his words came out with a hoarse edge. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For believing me,” he said quietly.

  “I believe you about this, but you still lied to me,” she shot back.

  “I know. And I’m sorry for it.”

  Although she didn’t want to soften, the sincerity in his deep voice and the remorse in his eyes made her traitorous heart thump faster. “Tell me the rest.”