The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1

by Grace Callaway

  The fact made him want to smile.

  “Not with rods and paddles and whatnot,” he said gravely. “But I might enjoy torturing you in other ways.”

  “How would you torture me?”

  Her breathy voice and rosy cheeks suggested that she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. His loins throbbed with heat. Egad, their chat was rapidly turning into foreplay. Which wouldn’t do: they needed to concentrate on the upcoming visit, not to mention that Lizzie and the groom were just out of earshot on the driver’s perch.

  Not for the first time, Harry wished that he could have Tessa to himself. That he could take her somewhere secluded, away from the danger and deception and the rest of the world. Where it would just be him and her and nothing between them…

  Indulging in the fantasy, just for a moment, he said in a low voice, “I might, for instance, prolong your pleasure by making you wait for it.”

  “I don’t like waiting,” she protested.

  “Exactly. And if you disobeyed me, I would make you wait longer. I’d kiss you everywhere, but I wouldn’t let you come.” His voice turned husky at the thought. “Not until you asked me nicely.”

  Her lips formed a silent “o.” The same shape they’d taken when they’d circled his cock. When she’d given him the most intense climax of his life, turning him inside out with pleasure. He’d never known a more generous lover and not just in bed. Tessa accepted him, never asked for more than he could give, and, by God, it made him want to give her everything.

  Unfortunately, the carriage was slowing, and as much as he wanted to continue the conversation—or, indeed, turn talk into action—this was neither the time nor the place.

  Soon, he told himself. The day will come soon when she is safe, and then I’ll tell her everything. I’ll beg her forgiveness and make her mine. For good.

  “Tessa,” he said.

  “Hmm?”

  His lips quirked at her sultry response, the glazed-over look in her verdant eyes that told him she was reliving their moments of passion too. She was a lusty sprite, and he liked that about her. Liked everything about her.

  “We’re here,” he said. “Stay close to the duchesses, don’t go anywhere alone. Promise me?”

  “I promise,” she breathed.

  * * *

  “I’m ever so glad you could visit,” Gabriella Garrity said.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tessa replied and meant it.

  Gabby had clearly put forth an effort for the day’s visit. Upon arriving at the enormous, newly built residence, the guests had been ushered through an entrance hall of gleaming marble to the present sumptuous drawing room. Everything in the house spoke of wealth and exquisite taste. The silk-covered walls and rosewood furnishings had an understated elegance, the dove grey upholstery a subtle, luxurious luster.

  In contrast, there was nothing understated about the refreshments. Earlier, the butler had rolled in a cart with enough iced cakes and finger-sized sandwiches to feed an army. The platter of sliced fruits was a work of art, and Tessa wouldn’t have dared to disturb it. Yet Gabby had cheerfully dug in, using silver tongs to serve the pineapple, oranges, and sugared berries to her guests.

  Now they were all sitting by the coffee table, Gabby on a divan and the rest of them in surrounding curricle chairs. They were talking and nibbling, and Tessa noted with appreciation that their hostess wasn’t the sort to have food on her plate just for show. Gabby appeared to be enjoying every morsel of the cakes she piled on her plate.

  “You needn’t have gone to such trouble, Gabby.” This came from Emma, whose rose satin carriage dress was the perfect foil to her brunette beauty.

  “It’s no trouble at all. When Mr. Garrity is home, he prefers midday refreshments, so I always have everything at the ready.” In the same breath, Gabby said, “Thank you, Burke. That’ll be all,” to the aged butler, who gave her a deferential bow before departing.

  Polly’s tawny curls canted to one side, her turquoise eyes widening. “You make preparations like this every day?”

  “Mr. Garrity likes it.” Gabby forked up a bite of lemon cream cake.

  “Strathaven would too,” Emma muttered, “but that doesn’t mean he gets it.”

  “You have been known to bake His Grace his favorite Scotch pie,” her sister teased.

  “True.” Emma sipped her tea. Above the gilt rim of the fine Sèvres cup, her brown eyes had a roguish glint. “But I usually do so as an apology. Or a bribe.”

  They all laughed.

  “Oh, I have missed you all so!” Gabby set down her plate, the sudden movement causing the ruffles of her lavender gown to shiver like leaves in a breeze. “And you, too, Miss Smith, although I only met you yesterday.”

  The redhead’s words were nonsensical, yet so heartfelt that Tessa couldn’t help but smile. “Please do call me Tessa.”

  Emma set her cup down. “It’s been too long, Gabby. How are you, my dear?”

  “Everything is quite wonderful. The children are well, although I’ll admit it’s no imposition to have them out of the house with their governesses. And Mr. Garrity’s star continues to rise; Papa says he’s one of the most important men in all of London, although,”—a frown worked between Gabby’s auburn brows—“I do wish the two of them would rub along better. Such is family, I suppose. My main worry for Mr. Garrity is the demands of his success. Why just over a month ago, he had to deal with the most tragic—”

  Just as Tessa’s ears perked to hear what Garrity had been involved in, Emma cut in.

  “Gabby, dear, you haven’t answered my question. How are you doing?”

  “Haven’t I just been going on about that?” Gabby’s bright blue eyes were confused.

  “Not really, dear.” Polly’s gentle manner probably put her in good stead with small children and skittish animals. “You’ve told us about your husband, children, and father, but not about you.”

  “Oh.” Gabby’s eyelashes fanned against her cheeks. “Well, I suppose…I suppose there’s not much to say on that topic.”

  She reached for her plate, devouring iced cakes in rapid succession.

  Tessa saw the duchesses exchange worried looks. Even she, who didn’t know Gabby well, felt a twinge of concern about the other’s inner state of affairs. She couldn’t help but wonder: how could this sweet, guileless lady be married to a man as reputedly cold and ruthless as Adam Garrity?

  “Gabby, what is it?” Emma said quietly. “You can trust us.”

  Gabby swallowed a final morsel. “It’s nothing. Only that sometimes I wonder…I wonder if…”

  Since they didn’t have all day, Tessa nudged her on. “Yes?”

  “I wonder if I’m a very good wife,” Gabby blurted and burst into tears.

  Crikey. Tessa froze, uncertain what to do.

  Luckily, Emma and Polly hurried over in swishes of silk, flanking Gabby on the divan.

  “There, there,” Polly said, patting the sobbing lady’s shoulder.

  “Get it all out, dear.” Emma passed over a handkerchief. “And I have more of these in my reticule if you need them.”

  “I d-don’t know what’s the m-matter with me,” Gabby said, dabbing at her teary eyes. “I’m not usually a w-watering pot…”

  “We all have our moments,” Emma said. “And husbands, as we know, have a tendency to strain the nerves.”

  Gabby let out a wail.

  “Em,” Polly muttered, “you’re not helping.”

  “I was only empathizing with Gabby—”

  “But that’s just it. Your h-husbands adore you. And why sh-shouldn’t they?” Gabby said between hitched breaths. “Both of you are perfect.”

  “But nobody’s perfect,” Tessa said. Then, realizing that she had inadvertently insulted the duchesses, she added quickly, “No offense to present company.”

  “None taken. That was sensibly said,” Emma said.

  Emboldened by the lady’s approval, Tessa ventured, “Did something, um, transpire to make yo
u think you are not a good wife, Gabby?”

  “You can talk to us without fear of judgement,” Polly said.

  “I know.” Gabby’s bottom lip wobbled. “You are the best of friends.”

  “And the souls of discretion,” Emma said.

  Twisting the handkerchief in her hands, Gabby said haltingly, “A few weeks ago, Mr. Garrity came home earlier than usual. He was…unlike himself. Agitated, as if he’d undergone some shock. I’d never seen him this way before, not in all our years of marriage. Yet when I asked him what had happened, he told me nothing was wrong.”

  “If I had a penny for every time Strathaven said that…” Emma rolled her eyes.

  “He shut himself in his study. That night, I couldn’t sleep, and I decided to check on him. He was still in the study and…well, a trifle disguised.”

  “A trifle,” Polly murmured, “or more than that?”

  “He’d finished an entire bottle of brandy.” Gabby shook her head in clear bewilderment. “My husband is not one to overindulge in anything. He is always in command of himself. Always.”

  “And that night, he was not?” Brows drawn, Emma said, “Did he hurt you, Gabby?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that!” Gabby sounded aghast, which Tessa took as a good sign. “Mr. Garrity would never harm me. Not intentionally anyway.” Her eyes filled again.

  “Tell us the rest,” Tessa urged. Her nape tingled; her intuition told her that she was about to discover something important.

  “I asked him again what was wrong. I think, because he was foxed, he told me. He said…someone important to him had died. In a workplace fire. When I tried to get more out of him, he…well, he didn’t want to talk.” Her color notably high, Gabby mumbled, “The next morning, I saw in the papers that a fiery explosion had burned down a place called The Gilded Pearl… a house of ill repute,” she said in a broken whisper. “The coincidence was too great. I had to ask Mr. Garrity, and, when I did, I saw the truth written on his face. I may not be clever, but I know my husband. The person he was so upset over, whom he got drunk over, was some prostitute at that bawdy house!”

  Gabby dissolved into tears again. While Emma and Polly comforted her, Tessa tried to make sense of the revelation. Someone important to Garrity had worked at The Gilded Pearl? If so, that would most likely rule him out as a suspect in the brothel’s destruction. Why hadn’t he disclosed this to Grandpapa during their meeting at Nightingale’s?

  “Did Mr. Garrity admit his infidelity?” Emma was saying quietly.

  “He denied it. Told me to stop being silly.” Cheeks flushed, Gabby said with a flash of spirit, “But if my husband wasn’t being unfaithful, then why would he be so torn up over the loss of some woman who worked at a bawdy house?”

  It was a good question. Tessa mulled it over.

  “Perhaps she wasn’t a lover, merely a friend?” Polly suggested.

  Gabby didn’t look convinced, and Tessa didn’t blame her. From what Tessa knew about brothels (which was quite a lot), visits were rarely platonic. And if Garrity had indeed been enamored of a wench at The Pearl, surely he would share that fact with Grandpapa? It was, after all, an alibi. Then it struck her.

  “What if it wasn’t one of the prostitutes?” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Gabby sniffled.

  “A lot of people work in brothels…” Don’t give yourself away. “Or so I’ve heard. And according to the papers, prostitutes weren’t the only victims at The Pearl. There were kitchen staff, footmen, and maids.”

  And perhaps Garrity had some secret connection to one of The Pearl’s employees. Some relationship he wanted to keep quiet…for whatever reason.

  “Excellent deduction, Tessa,” Emma said.

  “You think that’s possible?” Gabby whispered. “That Mr. Garrity didn’t have a paramour?”

  “Someone important could mean many things,” Tessa reasoned.

  “It could be someone to whom Mr. Garrity owes something. A friend…or even some distant relation,” Polly chimed in. “Perhaps there is a branch of his family you haven’t met?”

  “I haven’t met any of Mr. Garrity’s family,” Gabby said slowly. “His mama is deceased, and he will not speak about the rest of his kin—if, indeed, he has any.”

  “If anything is complicated, it is familial relations.” Emma gave a knowing nod. “Which might explain why your description of Mr. Garrity’s initial reaction wasn’t that he was heartbroken. I believe the term you used was agitated.”

  “You’re…right. All of you are.”

  Hope spread like sunrise over the redhead’s face, so dazzling that it was almost painful to see. To witness how desperately Gabby loved her husband. Recalling how she, herself, had felt, catching Celeste De Witt in Bennett’s arms, Tessa shivered because she understood.

  In her case, however, she knew Bennett could be trusted.

  Garrity was another story.

  “When Mr. Garrity first came home, he seemed more angry than sad,” Gabby said in excited tones. “Then when I found him drunk in the study, he wasn’t grieving, exactly. He was more…um, agitated and rather…”

  “Rather what, dear?” Polly said.

  “Impassioned.” Gabby’s cheeks turned as red as her hair.

  “And there’s been no other trouble between the two of you?” Emma said dryly.

  Gabby shook her head sheepishly. “I think I may have jumped to conclusions.” She broke into a beatific smile. “Thanks to all of you, I feel ever so much better—”

  The opening of the door cut her short. Tessa’s pulse sped up as a lean, dark-haired man strode toward them.

  “Mr. Garrity!” Gabby said breathlessly. “You’re home early.”

  “I hope I am not interrupting.” He made an elegant leg. “Your Graces.”

  Emma and Polly murmured their greetings.

  “Miss Smith, I don’t believe you’ve met my husband,” Gabby said with unmistakable pride.

  Garrity’s onyx gaze trained on Tessa. He had the look of a fallen angel, with his slicked-back hair and pale ascetic features.

  “A pleasure.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Have we met before?”

  “No.” Beneath that stare, she felt like cornered prey. “I’m, um, sure I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Will you join us, sir?” Gabby reclaimed her husband’s attention. Thank goodness.

  “Alas, I have work. Do enjoy yourselves, ladies.” He bowed once more, pausing to say to Gabby, “I shall see you at supper?”

  Gabby nodded, face glowing, looking for all the world like a besotted bride. Garrity, for his part, was not demonstrative, but his eyes were distinctly proprietary as he regarded his wife. On the surface, the pair appeared rather mismatched, yet deep, ineffable currents passed between them.

  Tessa knew she wasn’t the only one to sense that energy, for Emma and Polly both looked bemused and not entirely at ease. As if they, too, found it difficult to trust Garrity with their friend’s happiness.

  The only one who seemed untroubled was Gabby, who said brightly, “Who wants more cake?”

  30

  Due to a light rain, Lizzie rode with Tessa and Harry in the carriage on the return journey. Thus, Harry didn’t get to hear about the revelation concerning Garrity until they arrived home, and Tessa sent the maid off on a specious errand while she and Harry took tea in the drawing room.

  Since the explosion, carpenters, builders, and other craftsmen had been working around the clock to restore the room. New furnishings filled the space. The windows had been replaced (and girded with wrought-iron bars that served the dual purposes of protection and decoration), and the walls had been rebuilt and repapered in forest green silk.

  Even the portraits had been rehung. Althea Bourdelain Black watched on with serene green eyes as her granddaughter paced in front of her.

  “This rules Garrity out as a culprit, doesn’t it?” Tessa concluded excitedly. “After all, why would he set fire to the place where someone important to
him worked?”

  Standing by the hearth, Harry had to agree. “At the least, this brings Garrity down several rungs on the list of most likely suspects. Well done.”

  She beamed.

  “We should tell your Grandfather,” he added.

  Her smile faltered. “I know. He’s not going to be happy that I went to Garrity’s house, is he?”

  “He’s going to be angry as hell at you for going and at me for taking you there,” Harry said bluntly. “Nonetheless, this is too critical a fact to keep secret.”

  “You’re right.” Tessa hesitated. “Do you think we ought to take the bull by the horns and tell him everything, including what we know about the De Witts?”

  A question that Harry had begun to ask himself. Five days had passed since Black had issued his ultimatum, giving the dukes a week to bring him the guilty party. In the next two days, anything could happen.

  On the other hand, Harry had no proof of De Witt’s wrongdoing. And bringing up his past with Black would lead to dangerous questions…the kind that could get Harry ejected from Tessa’s life.

  “Doolittle’s been on the watch for four days; let’s give him one more,” he said. “If he can’t get us evidence that De Witt is producing the hellfire, then I’ll take my suspicions to your grandfather.”

  “That’s a plan—” Tessa was interrupted by a knock.

  The butler entered with a note on a salver. “This just arrived for you, miss.”

  “Thank you. By the by,” she said, “do you know when Grandpapa will be home?”

  “I believe the master will be at Nightingale’s this evening.”

  She waited until the butler departed before breaking the wax.

  “It’s from Alfred.” She raised eyes sparkling with excitement. “He wants us to meet him.”

  * * *

  “We’re alike, you and I,” Doolittle said in conversational tones.

  “How do you reckon that?”

  Harry was only half-listening to his companion. They were in a tavern in Bluegate Fields, the notorious dockland slum, and they’d managed to secure a coveted table by the window. The bulk of Harry’s attention was aimed through the grimy glass, on the building across the street. In the descending darkness, the warehouse appeared dilapidated, paint peeling from its windowless walls, its roof sagging. A locked gate barred the narrow entrance.