The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1

by Grace Callaway

  “I had an alibi for the night before. During the time De Witt had claimed I was in his lab, I was with Celeste. As a gentleman, however, I could not mention it.”

  “Zounds,” she burst out, “it was your career, your name, at stake!”

  “I know.” His mouth formed a tight line. “But I still couldn’t ruin a lady’s reputation. And I suppose I hoped that she would do the right thing.”

  “And?”

  His expression hardened. “She supported her father’s claim. Said she was with him when they saw me leaving his office that night.”

  “Bleeding hell.” Tessa’s jaw slackened. “She was in on it?”

  “Ensuring that I played the part of the fool,” he said bitterly.

  The pieces fell into place. What he’d told her in the carriage after they’d searched De Witt’s study…about why he couldn’t love again. Because he’d been betrayed by the woman he’d believed himself in love with.

  Then Tessa remembered something else he’d said.

  “In the carriage, you claimed you weren’t in love with her anymore,” she accused.

  His brows drew together. “I’m not.”

  “Then why were you making love to her?”

  “I swear to you I wasn’t.” He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “I was trying to get answers from her about her father, and she just threw herself at me.”

  “Likely story,” Tessa said with a huff.

  “You can’t honestly think I’d want her after how she betrayed me.”

  Hearing the revulsion in his tone, seeing the hard set of his jaw, she said grudgingly, “Maybe not. But you wouldn’t be the first man to think with an organ other than his brain. You cannot deny that Celeste De Witt is a Diamond of the First Water. She’s blonde and willowy and bloody perfection.”

  “Not my version of perfection. My taste runs toward petite, curly-haired brunettes who look adorable dressed up as ferrets.” His bespectacled gaze was steady. “I don’t want anyone but you, sprite.”

  She tried to hold onto her anger. “Then why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me about your involvement with the De Witts?”

  “I’m not proud of my past.” His words were gruff. “And the last thing a man wants to tell the lady he cares for is that he was a stupid bastard.”

  He cares for me. It was the closest he’d come to saying that he loved her.

  “Oh, Bennett.” Unconsciously, she reached out a hand.

  He gripped it like a lifeline. “I haven’t always told you the truth, and I’m sorry for it. But, upon my honor, I vow that I have never lied about my feelings for you.”

  “You’re forgiven.” The last of her anger melted away, and she smiled tremulously. “Just don’t lie to me again.”

  A spasm of emotion crossed his face, his eyes briefly closing. When they opened, the raw yearning there washed away her doubts. Made her feel confident and beautiful and, most of all, wanted. Made her believe that while she wasn’t perfect, she was the one for him. Just as he was the one for her.

  “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.” His voice was guttural with wonder.

  “I don’t know either.” She tipped her head back, whispered saucily, “But I know how you could show your appreciation.”

  28

  As usual, she had terrible timing.

  And, as usual, he was powerless to resist her.

  He cupped her face with both hands, feeling how soft and delicate she was. How sweetly trusting. And the ever-present guilt pounded along with desire.

  Looking at her heavy-lidded eyes, her parted lips, he burned with wanting…and the urge to unburden himself. To confess his identity, the fact that he was a policeman on a quest to stop the hellfire. What were the chances that she could forgive him, trust him?

  I’d trust anyone before a policeman…. Spies, mercenaries, and brutes, the lot of them….

  Just don’t lie to me again.

  Harry’s gut knotted. He didn’t want to lie to her. Yet, if he told her the truth, she would likely cast him from her life. Now, when she was in danger and needed his protection. Losing her love would be devastating…but putting her life at risk?

  He couldn’t do it.

  “Bennett?”

  The uncertainty in her voice undid him. While he could not express the truth in words, he could show her how he felt. His longing for her which was real and raw and beyond anything he’d felt before. Holding her precious face in his palms, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  He wanted her to know that no one, least of all Celeste, could hold a candle to her. He intended the kiss to be a tender worship. An expression of yearning that had no specific destination, nowhere to rush, that was wanting and gratitude rolled into one.

  Yet the instant she parted her lips for him, beckoning him inside, the flavor of the kiss changed. He sank deeper, lured by Tessa’s essence so sweet, tart, and fresh. Suddenly, her arms were looped around his neck, and he was pressing her up against a bookshelf, the gentle spark fanned into a blazing hunger. A hunger fueled by all he wanted to say and could not, by the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this. But mostly by pure need.

  He nuzzled her earlobe, drawing that plump morsel between his lips. She urged him on with breathy pleas, her honest passion as arousing as any aphrodisiac. He trailed kisses down her neck, the soft slope of her collarbones, over the inviting expanse of her décolletage. She didn’t usually favor low-cut gowns, and while he hadn’t appreciated the way other gentlemen had eyed her bosom, he couldn’t argue with the convenience.

  He hooked his middle finger under the line of ermine, finding the skin beneath even softer, silkier than the fur. Her stays restricted access, however, and he couldn’t reach very far.

  “I never thought I’d say this,” he murmured, “but I think I prefer you in shirt and trousers.”

  The dimness couldn’t conceal the playful twinkle in her eyes. “I’ve received many complements on this costume, you know.”

  “I know. I wanted to strangle the bastards who were ogling you.”

  “You noticed?” she asked happily.

  In the past, he might have mistrusted a woman who expressed delight over his jealousy, but Tessa was different. He knew that she wasn’t playing games. She was honestly happy that he’d noticed her success, that she had someone to share it with.

  A fact proved when she went on to say, “It didn’t start off well, but I recalled what you said and held my head high. I ignored Hyacinth and the others like her, and then I met some perfectly charming ladies. They were so nice that you wouldn’t even believe that they’re duchesses.”

  Harry did believe it—because they were his sisters. He’d asked Emma and Polly to look out for Tessa, and the pair had been good to their word. “You don’t say.”

  Tessa nodded eagerly. “They introduced me to others and my dance card filled and—oh.”

  He’d managed to find her nipple, strumming the straining, velvety bud. “You were saying?”

  “I can’t talk when you do that,” she said in that breathy voice he adored.

  “Shall I stop?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He hid a smile. “Now if you were wearing a shirt, I’d take it off, lick you right here.” His finger circled her other nipple. “Would you like that, sprite? My tongue on your sweet breasts?”

  Desire turned her eyes a hazy green. “You know I would.”

  Removing his finger, he placed it against her lips. “Suck it for me, love. Make it nice and wet.”

  His cock jerked as she laved his digit with her soft tongue, sucking sweetly, reminding him of her oral talents. Breathing raggedly, he withdrew his moistened finger and found her nipples again, going back and forth between them.

  “Now pretend I’m licking you, kissing you.” He tugged gently. “Sucking you here.”

  Before long, she was making little sounds in her throat.

  “At least there’s one good thing about this gown,” he muttered.
/>
  “What is that?” She squirmed restlessly against him.

  In answer, he ruched up her skirts with one hand. “Hold them up for me, love.”

  He went down on one knee. His hands splayed on the bare skin above her pretty, beribboned garters, holding her open to his hungry gaze. Even in the dimness, he could see the dew clinging to her dark nest. His mouth watering, he leaned in.

  “Crikey,” she moaned.

  One would think a man eating the sweetest pussy he’d ever had wouldn’t want to laugh, but his shoulders shook as he feasted upon her. Crikey was right. She was ambrosia to his senses. He ran his tongue through her drenched petals, searching out her love-knot, flicking that pouting bead, then sucking hard.

  She arched against his mouth as she spent, and he groaned, pre-come spurting from his raging erection. Still, her wriggling told him she was not quite finished. He surged to his feet, covering her mouth with his own; simultaneously, he notched his middle finger to her hole. He pushed in slowly on both ends, heat burgeoning in his groin as he penetrated her with finger and tongue.

  She took him readily, her spine arching against the shelves. He added another finger, easing into her tightness.

  “Too much?” he rasped.

  “More,” she moaned. “Oh, Bennett, give it to me…”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. He thrust harder, faster, sweat glazing his brow as her little sheath gripped him, her pearl slick beneath his thumb. He kissed her, and she kissed him, and somewhere in that tangle of tongues he felt her quick expulsion of breath. Her pussy fluttered like desperate butterflies around his pistoning fingers, and he swallowed her cries as she reached the summit yet again.

  He gentled his kisses and touches as she calmed. She regarded him with dreamy, bliss-filled eyes. God, she was never more beautiful to him than after he pleasured her. He forced himself to rein in his unabated arousal. They’d been gone far too long as it was.

  “We need to get you back.” He stroked an escaped tendril from her damp cheek. “But first we must restore your coiffure and frock to rights.”

  Her long lashes lifted. A moment later, she dropped to her knees. His heart hammered as she found the fasteners on his waistband, working on them with alarming dexterity.

  “After,” she said.

  * * *

  “Er, after?”

  Bennett’s voice came out strangled, likely because she’d shoved his trousers down his hips. But, surely, he didn’t think she would leave him in his present state? She wrapped a gloved hand around his enormous cockstand. He was so aroused that she had to pry the meaty column away from the flexing ridges of his belly. Enough so that she could fit her lips around the bulging head, anyway.

  He bit out her name, and she savored the sound, just as she did his delicious musk. She licked up and down the veined pillar of flesh, enjoying the satin-and-steel texture, the way he pulsed beneath her tongue. Remembering his instructions from the last time, she curled her fingers around the root and tried to fit the rest of the shaft in her mouth.

  It was no easy task. He was huge, for one thing, and this was only her second attempt. If Bennett’s reaction was any indication, however, her efforts were not unappreciated.

  “Christ, your mouth.” He sounded drunk, his voice slurred with passion. “Bloody heaven.”

  Hmm. Perhaps she was better at this than she realized.

  She found a rhythm, bobbing her head in concert with the pumping of her fist. She liked taking him this way, liked that she could return what he gave her and watch him lose control. One of his hands was curled in the coiffure that he’d just moments ago fretted over righting. His other arm was extended, his palm flat against the bookcase behind her, as if he needed to steady himself against the onslaught of pleasure. His face was carved with raw, primal need.

  All this made her double her efforts. She moved her fist faster, harder, trying to cram in more and more of his cock. His hips bucked, and she choked a little when he hit the end of her throat. When he tried to withdraw, she refused to let him, tightening her hold and taking him deeper.

  “Sprite, let go,” he bit out. “I can’t hold back—”

  She came up for air. And to whisper, “I don’t want you to.”

  At her words, his control seemed to snap. His fingers tightening in her hair, he surged powerfully into her mouth. She welcomed his plunging strokes, savoring his abandon, his surrender to her. As an experiment, she used her free hand to cup his stones, rolling the heavy, velvety sac in her palm.

  “Bloody fuck,” he groaned.

  He jerked suddenly and then exploded. His essence flooded her senses, the hot, salty spurts overflowing her mouth. His shattered breaths, the knowledge of the pleasure she’d given him, filled her with joy.

  Still hard, he eased away gently, and this time she let him.

  He drew her to her feet and kissed her.

  “Christ.” His voice ragged, he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. “You taste of me.”

  “I like it,” she whispered.

  The wonder in his eyes made her tremble. “Tessa, it’s never been like this. I…I’ve never felt anything like—”

  “Ahem.” They both jumped at the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville’s loud and not-so-subtle tones coming from the seating area. “Is anyone back there in the shelves?”

  Bennett cursed under his breath, his hands fumbling with his trousers.

  Gathering her wits, Tessa said in hushed tones, “Stay here.”

  Before he could stop her, she drew a breath and marched out.

  Ransom was standing by the hearth. He didn’t look overly surprised when she emerged.

  She forced a smile. “You startled me, Your Grace. I was just touring your library. It’s, um…very well endowed.” Blast it, why did I say that? Hastily, she added, “I mean, you have an impressive number of books in your collection.”

  “Size matters, my dear, and never let a man tell you differently.” His brows arched. “Would you like a personal tour of my…collection?”

  “No! That is,”—she floundered for an excuse—“I’m rather parched. I was just about to go in search of refreshment. Would you escort me?”

  With a hope and a prayer, she made for the door.

  “A moment, Miss Smith.”

  She froze as the duke came up to her. Her breath caught as he reached out…and righted the furry ears that she hadn’t realized had been dangling from her coiffure. For an instant, the veil of indolence lifted from Ransom’s eyes; his cold, predatory stare lent his costume a chilling authenticity.

  “If pussy goes out to play, we must ensure she returns in her proper state,” he said.

  Crikey, does he know?

  Heart thudding, she fought not to blush. Not to cast an incriminating look toward the shelves.

  “Th-thank you, Your Grace,” she stammered.

  The veil fell back in place. Ransom smiled as he held out an arm. “Shall we?”

  29

  “Promise you’ll stay close to the others,” Harry said.

  “I have promised. A hundred times at least.”

  He could tell that Tessa was fighting not to roll her eyes. He didn’t care. He was already regretting that he’d let her talk him into her harebrained scheme. She’d sprung her proposal on him on the way home from the ball last night when the aftermath of pleasure had put him in an indulgent mood. The intimacy they’d shared, beyond anything he’d ever experienced, had primed him to yield to her whatever she wished.

  Now it was too late: they were en route to the Garritys’ townhouse in Bloomsbury.

  Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t know what you hope to discover.”

  “Anything is better than nothing,” she said prosaically. “With Alfred on De Witt’s tail, we’re free to investigate other possible hellfire suspects. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any clues at Garrity’s.”

  She said this as if she were a seasoned investigator.

  “Garrity is a dangerous man,” Harry
stated. “If he catches you in his home—”

  “He won’t recognize me. I’ve only met him once, and it was years ago, when I was just a girl and Grandpapa had taken me to Nightingale’s. At any rate, I doubt Garrity will be home at this time of day. If he is, I’ll just be plain Miss Smith, there to take tea with his wife.”

  “And that’s all you’re to do.” Thank God his sisters would be there to keep an eye on things. Since he’d asked Ambrose to inform them of his mission and the dangers Tessa faced, they would be sure to protect her.

  “Lecture received, Professor.”

  Tessa’s cheeky manner never failed to stir his amusement. She was the picture of the demure debutante in her fawn silk carriage dress and blonde straw bonnet, but at heart she was a saucy wench…Praise Jesus.

  “One day, young miss,” he said, his tone deliberately pedantic, “you’re going to learn that there are consequences for misbehavior.”

  “What kind of consequences?”

  He snorted. “You’re not supposed to sound excited about getting punished, minx.”

  “Well, punishments can be pleasurable, can’t they?” she said knowingly.

  He stared at her. “What the devil do you know about that?”

  “There was a popular themed room at my father’s club called ‘The Headmaster’s Office.’ I wondered why anyone would find that exciting. Naturally, I had to take a peek.”

  “Naturally,” he said dryly.

  “It was all very strange. Rods and paddles and whatnot.” She wrinkled her nose. “I asked Pretty Francie about it, and all she would say was something along the lines of, To each his own.”

  Once again, Tessa’s fount of knowledge astonished him. It was a hodgepodge, not unlike her friend Doolittle’s pawnshop. She was a veritable storehouse of mismatched facts, half-truths, with a few gems strewn here and there. Being with her was like being on a perpetual treasure hunt: you never knew what jewel you might stumble upon next.

  Tessa narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t want to punish me…would you?”

  Case in point. What other woman could he have this insanely improper conversation with? The answer was only the one across from him. A female who had the freshness of an ingénue and the mind of a guttersnipe.