The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1

by Grace Callaway

  “When can we do it again?” she said.

  With a groaning laugh, he bent his head and claimed her mouth with a tender kiss.

  33

  Two days later, Tessa dreamily washed dishes in the kitchen basin. It was the least she could do given that Bennett had prepared their luncheon. Actually, he’d prepared all their meals seeing as she had no clue how to do so (and thus proving her hypothesis that he really could do anything). Presently, he was chopping wood out front.

  She could see him through the small window. The sun burnished the thick waves of his hair. His shirt was open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up his powerful forearms. As she watched, he swung the axe in an efficient arc, splitting a log neatly in two.

  “Isn’t he perfect, Swift Nick?” she sighed.

  The ferret, who was lounging nearby on a rug, snorted and rolled over to his other side.

  Still watching Bennett, Tessa absent-mindedly scrubbed a bowl. Despite her gnawing worry for her kin, she couldn’t deny that the last two days had been magical. She’d given Bennett her virginity, and, in return, he’d given her hope that he might be falling in love with her, after all.

  Their lovemaking opened up a world of wonder. They’d spent most of yesterday in bed, with Bennett introducing her to variations on the theme. He was masterful and endlessly creative. Her cheeks warmed as she thought of how he’d kissed and worshipped every nook and cranny of her body. Of how he’d drawn her up onto her hands and knees and filled her up from behind, his hips smacking gently but firmly against her bottom, her cries of satisfaction muffled by the pillow…

  Yet it was more than the physical joy of sharing their bodies. Bennett was opening up to her in ways he never had before. He showed more of his playful side, revealing a levity to his character that had been dimmed in the past by his brooding intensity. He teased her mercilessly about her city ways, and they’d actually had a food fight during last night’s supper. She still wasn’t certain who’d won. Although, given the steamy bath they’d shared in the copper tub afterward, perhaps they were both winners…

  He also shared anecdotes of his boyhood here in the country, the pranks he and his favorite sister Violet played on one another. It had sounded so wonderful that she’d blurted her desire to meet Violet and the rest of his family. And sudden unease had prickled her nape when his expression had abruptly shuttered.

  Is he embarrassed to introduce me to his sisters? Does he think they won’t approve of me?

  When she voiced her fears, his gaze had softened. “My sisters will love you, sprite. That I promise you.”

  She had to believe him. And, truthfully, his wasn’t the only family she had to worry about. Once the peril was over and Grandpapa was restored to his throne—and she believed with every fiber of her being that he would be—she would have to convince him and her father to let her marry Bennett.

  Grandpapa might be the easier of the two to win over. He’d entrusted her to Bennett’s care, after all, which showed his regard for her guard. Moreover, all that Bennett had done to help the House of Black fight their enemies would surely land him in Grandpapa’s good stead.

  Her father, however, was a different story. She knew he didn’t like Bennett, and Malcolm Todd wasn’t a man whose mind was easily changed. Perhaps the only one who could sway him might be Mavis. As soon as Tessa returned to London, she would speak to her mama.

  Suddenly, something caught her eye…a plume of dust in the window. A carriage. Coming down the tree-lined lane toward the house.

  “Grandpapa,” she breathed.

  With thrumming excitement, she ran for the door, Swift Nick bounding at her heels. She rushed past Bennett, who called her name, but she was too filled with relief and joyful anticipation to stop. She reached the carriage just as it halted.

  The door opened; the words of welcome died on her lips.

  The Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville descended from the carriage, elegant as always in a maroon frock coat and buff trousers.

  “Your Grace,” she said in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  Ransom bent at the waist. “Why, I’ve come to fetch you, my dear.”

  “I do not require fetching.” She frowned at him, feeling Bennett’s presence behind her. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I know a great many things, Miss Todd. Including the identity of your, ahem, bodyguard here.” Ransom slanted a cold and strangely triumphant glance at Bennett. “Do you want to tell her or shall I?”

  “I know who Bennett is,” she scoffed.

  She looked to her lover for confirmation—and his flinch, the wary tension of his large frame sent a sudden shaft of apprehension through her.

  “Tessa,” he said in a low, urgent tone, “there are things I need to tell you. I would have told you earlier, but—”

  “But he didn’t want you to know that he’s been lying to you for the entirety of your acquaintance.” Ransom smiled thinly. “He lied to get into your grandfather’s employ; Bennett is not his real name. He is, in fact, Harry Kent, a disgraced scientist and a member of the Metropolitan Police Force. He was sent on a covert mission to spy on your family.”

  “What?” Shock numbed her. “You…you’re making that up. Bennett,”—she turned desperately to her lover—“tell him that isn’t true.”

  The expression on Bennett’s face struck her heart like a dagger.

  “My name is Harry Kent, and I do work for the police. I was sent to investigate your grandfather,” he said hoarsely, “but the goal of the mission soon changed to stopping the hellfire. We’re on the same side. Once I got to know you, your family, I realized—”

  “He realized he could land himself a bigger fish,” Ransom cut in. “How paltry a policeman’s wages must have seemed compared to the dowry of Bartholomew Black’s granddaughter.”

  “Devil take you, that had nothing to do with it,” Bennett—no, Harry Kent—snarled.

  “My mistake,” the duke drawled. “Perhaps I have you confused with that other Kent family. You know, Ambrose Kent, ex-investigator who married the divine, and divinely rich, Marianne Draven. Or Emma Kent, who netted herself the Duke of Strathaven—”

  “One more word about my family, and I’m calling you out,” Kent growled.

  “A gentleman’s duel? How ironic coming from you,” Ransom shot back.

  “Stop.”

  The word came from her lips, but it seemed to come from some place far away. Some place that was housed in ice, numbing the pain that was spreading like a crack, threatening to splinter her into pieces. The man she loved, the only man she would ever love, had betrayed her.

  He’d never wanted her. He’d been using her as a means to an end: as an instrument to destroy her family.

  “Tessa, I swear I was going to tell you everything once the danger was over.” Kent was talking, but all she could think was, You’re lying. All of it. Lies. “Your grandfather, he knew all along who I was. And he agreed that telling you the truth now would risk—”

  “Likely story,” Ransom drawled, “and difficult to disprove since Black has gone missing.”

  Panic flared, momentarily blocking out the pain. “What’s happened to Grandpapa?”

  “I’m sorry to inform you, my dear, but he’s been missing since the day before yesterday. He and your father,” Ransom said gravely.

  “Oh God.” She closed her eyes, dread washing through her. “My mama—”

  “She is fine. From what I understand, your grandfather’s man Ming got her to safety. She’s staying with the Garritys…friends of your grandfather, I believe.”

  “I must get back to London.” She focused on that purpose, on that hope. Her world may have fallen apart, but one thing did not change: she was a Black. “I must see to Mama, help in the search for Grandpapa and my father.”

  “That is why I’m here, my dear. To aid you however I can,” Ransom said.

  “Swift Nick, get in the carriage,” she said.

  “Don’t go, Tessa.”
Kent gripped her by the arm, his eyes blazing into hers. “It’s not safe. I don’t trust this bastard—”

  “That’s rich,” she said bitterly. “You’ve been lying to me since the moment we met.”

  “I know. And God, God, I wish for once that I had the right words.” His hold tightened on her. “That I knew how to tell you how sorry I am.”

  She couldn’t take any more of this. Her emotions were already a seething morass.

  “Just stay away from me,” she whispered. “Don’t come near me again. Now let me go.”

  “You heard the lady. Let her go, or I’ll make you.” Ransom snapped his fingers, and three large footmen descended from his carriage.

  “Listen to me, sprite.” Kent didn’t let her go, his features harsh with desperation. “I lied about my identity, but I never lied about my feelings. I love you.”

  The words she’d longed to hear now shattered her heart. Because they meant nothing.

  She meant nothing to him.

  One of the footmen tore him away from her.

  Kent backed away as the trio circled him. “Tessa, don’t go!”

  She forced herself to turn away and walk to Ransom, who was waiting by the carriage door.

  “You won’t hurt him?” she said quietly.

  “I abhor violence.” The duke shuddered. “My men will restrain him so he can’t be a nuisance.”

  She gave a dull nod and made to enter the carriage, but Ransom’s words stopped her.

  “There is just one more matter, my dear. I believe your grandfather made known his desire for us to marry. As a man who understands the value of kinship,” he said, “I would consider it an honor to assist the family of my future bride.”

  His intention was clear: in exchange for his help, he expected her to marry him.

  At least he’s telling me what he really wants. He’s not lying to me with words of love.

  Anger and despair tangled inside her. Really, what did it matter if she married him—or any other man? She was done with love, done with being lied to and made a fool of. At least with Ransom, she knew the bargain she was getting.

  In the background, Harry Kent shouted something to her; she blocked him out.

  “Whatever you wish,” she said flatly.

  “You have made me the happiest of men.” Ransom’s teeth flashed white against his mustache and beard, and he handed her up into the carriage. “By the by, I went to the liberty of procuring a special license. We may be married upon our return to London.”

  34

  Harry awakened, disoriented by his blurry vision. Then he felt the hot pain lancing across his forehead, the throbbing of his left eye which, strangely, refused to open. He registered that he was gagged by a strip of fabric. He was on the ground, lying on his side. He couldn’t move his arms or legs; they were tightly trussed.

  The memories blasted through him. Buried him in a darkness worse than that of the tunnel in which he’d almost died. Remorse suffocated him.

  “Tessa,” he groaned against the cloth.

  But she was gone. Gone because he’d lied to her, betrayed her…treated her no better than Celeste had treated him. The pain he’d seen in Tessa’s eyes made his own shut in self-disgust.

  Why didn’t I trust her? Why did I lie to the woman I love?

  In retrospect, he saw the strength of her love, knew that, if he’d only taken the risk and told her the truth earlier, she would have forgiven him. Instead, he’d been a coward. He realized, finally, that he hadn’t been protecting her—he’d been protecting himself. All along, he’d been falling in love with her and terrified of his own feelings. He’d been afraid of opening his heart completely, of exposing himself to the pain of a loss greater than any he’d experienced before.

  Now she had left him, wanted nothing to do with him, and he bloody deserved it.

  Even as despair swamped him, agonizing fear reared its head. Tessa was with Ransom, who was, at best, a fortune hunter. At worst, he could have a more sinister involvement in all of this. After all, how had the duke discovered Harry’s identity? How did he know that Harry was working for the police?

  Harry’s gut clenched. If Ransom dared to harm even a hair on Tessa’s head…

  I’ll tear him from limb to limb.

  He had to get to Tessa before Ransom tricked her into marriage. Or compromised her in some fiendish way. She might not want Harry’s heart, but, by God, she would at least have his protection.

  He struggled to free himself, to no avail. Ransom’s footmen had expertly bound the ropes around his ankles, knees, and wrists.

  Think, Kent. You have to get to Tessa.

  He needed something sharp to slice through the thick cords.

  A knife—in the kitchen.

  He tried to rise to his feet, but his bound legs made him fall backward. He grunted as the impact jarred his pounding head and bruised ribs. He waited to catch his breath, then, using his feet and tied legs, propelled himself awkwardly toward the closest wall. The journey seemed to last forever.

  Finally, he got there. Propping his back to the wall, he managed to push himself to his feet. Breathing heavily, he estimated the distance to his destination: a dozen yards. He would jump there, get to a knife.

  He took the first hop. His entire body shouted in protest.

  Gritting his teeth, he repeated the motion.

  The door flew open, two figures silhouetted in the doorway.

  Ambrose and Strathaven. Thank God they hadn’t heeded his instructions to stay away.

  “Harry?” Ambrose exclaimed. “Bloody hell, what’s happened?”

  Relief poured through Harry as his brother came over, yanked off the gag.

  “The Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville has Tessa,” Harry blurted.

  His brother-in-law was working on the restraints. The instant the knots loosened, Harry tore free and shook off the ropes.

  He headed to the door in a run. “I’ll explain everything on the way back to London!”

  * * *

  “Do you not find the meal to your liking, my dear?”

  Tessa paused in the act of pushing her food around her plate. “It’s fine.”

  Ransom dissected his quail with a precision that made her feel a bit queasy. In fact, so did everything in the opulent dining room of his townhouse. They were having a late supper, having driven all day to get back to London. During the ride, her shock and fury at Bennett’s betrayal had slowly faded. Now she felt heartache and despair…and realized that she may have jumped out of the frying pan and into the fires of hell.

  Ransom had been pleasant enough, but she didn’t trust him. His elegance, sensual good looks, and sophisticated ennui: all of it seemed like a mask. She had no idea who this man truly was or what he wanted, other than her dowry.

  She pushed her plate aside. “I want to go to my mama.”

  “We’ll fetch her tomorrow. On the way to our marriage ceremony.” His golden hazel eyes had a predacious gleam. “She can bear witness.”

  Why, oh why, had she agreed so rashly to marry him?

  “I cannot possibly marry you until my grandpapa is safe,” she said quickly. “I want all of my family present at our wedding.”

  “Finding your grandfather will take resources, my dear. Alas, my coffers are empty,” he said ruefully, “which means I will need access to your dowry in order locate him.”

  “I’ll sell my jewelry,” she said.

  “Quid pro quo, Tessa.”

  Ransom’s words were cool but hard. Much like the man himself. Which proved her theory that aristocrats were as ruthless as cutthroats; the only difference was the weaponry they preferred. The duke wasn’t above using her family’s safety to force her into submission.

  Which made her wonder: what else was this man capable of?

  “How did you find out that Bennett is Harry Kent?” she said suddenly.

  “A little bird told me.”

  “If you want me to trust you, then I’ll have to know your source,” sh
e said coldly.

  Ransom sipped his wine. “Not that it matters, but it was the Earl of Ruthven.”

  Tessa recalled the green-eyed aristocrat who’d been kind to her at Ransom’s ball.

  “He saw Kent, thought he looked familiar,” the duke continued, “and when he saw you with Kent’s sisters, he recalled the scandal concerning the younger brother. He put two and two together and recognized Harry Kent. Then he saw you and Kent sneak off to the library alone. As a concerned guest, he thought it best to inform the host of what he’d seen.”

  “But how did he know that Kent was working for the police?” she persisted.

  “Ruthven didn’t discover that fact; I did. After learning that Kent was lying about his identity, I hired an investigator to look into him,” Ransom said matter-of-factly. “It took less than a day; the investigator had a source on the police force who identified Kent as a new constable. He also provided a report on Kent’s family, including their countrified origins. Indeed, he was watching you when you and Kent took off from London. He guessed where you were headed; that is how I knew where to find you.”

  Her head spun. “You had someone spy on me?”

  “I had to keep up with the competition.” Ransom drained his glass of blood-red wine. “Now finish your supper. You’ll want to be rested for our big day tomorrow.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’ll have something else made up for you.” He nodded at a footman, who came forward to take her plate.

  Stubbornly, she held onto it. “I’ll take it up to Swift Nick. He hasn’t eaten all day.”

  “Yes. About that weasel.”

  The distaste that flavored Ransom’s voice set her teeth further on edge.

  “Swift Nick is a ferret,” she said.

  “I don’t care what he is so long as he stops baring those fangs at me. Perhaps you’d consider a more docile pet? Thanks to the Queen, spaniels are all the rage.”

  It was the last straw. As if she would ever give up Swift Nick!

  “If you wish for a docile pet or wife,” she said pointedly, “you are bound for disappointment.”