The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1 Read online

  Here goes. “My name is Sam Bennett—”

  “Know your name. Know you were found with my Tessie in my stables,” Black growled. “What I want to know is whether I need to gut you like a pig.”

  Bloody hell, there’s an introduction. “I don’t believe that’s, er, necessary.”

  “Then spit it out. What were you up to with my granddaughter, eh?”

  He decided to stick to the truth as much as possible. “I was at the Hare and Hounds when Miss Todd appeared to be in a predicament. At the time, I thought she was a lad, since she was disguised as such,” he added as Black’s mien darkened. “I saw she was outnumbered and lent a hand. The brutes gave chase, and she led the way to the stables, where we were hiding. Your man Ming chased off the villains,”—and blew one’s brains out—“and brought us here.”

  Moments ticked by. Black said nothing, the flames of the hearth casting demonic shadows over his face. Just as Harry was beginning to wonder if his body would be found floating in the Thames, his host said gruffly, “Nothing else ’appened? ’Twixt you and my Tessie?”

  “No, sir. ’Pon my honor.”

  “Honor, eh? We’ll see.” Black’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. His gold signet ring, a crested affair, gleamed in the firelight. “’Ow much?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “’Ow much do you want for ’elping my granddaughter out of ’er predicament, as you call it?”

  “I don’t want anything.” Harry frowned. “I did as any gentleman would.”

  “For your silence, then.”

  “That cannot be purchased either,” he said evenly. “You have my word, however, that I would not harm a young lady’s reputation.”

  “My Tessie is a lady,” Black declared.

  Deciding it wise not to disabuse the other of the notion, Harry said nothing.

  “Sent ’er to the same finishing school wot trained the ton’s broods. My Tessie’s as accomplished as any nob’s daughter. Speaks French like a Frog, plays violin like a maestro, and paints like that fellow wot did that chapel’s ceiling.”

  Harry wondered what the point of this was.

  “Thing is, she’s clever. Got brains as well as looks. Takes after me in that respect—ain’t from ’er father’s side, that’s for certain.” Black snorted.

  It was a well-known fact that Bartholomew Black did not hold his son-in-law, Malcolm Todd, in high regard. Inspector Davies had described Mavis’ second husband and owner of a chain of brothels as a cold-blooded and ambitious man. Miss Thérèse-Marie Todd was, in actuality, Todd’s daughter from his first marriage, which meant she had no blood tie to Black. Nonetheless, she was Black’s only grandchild and the apple of his eye.

  “Now some men, they don’t know ’ow to ’andle a classy female like my Tessie.” Black leaned forward, his gaze keen. “What’s your opinion o’ spirited, intelligent females, eh?”

  As Harry had four spirited and intelligent sisters, he said honestly, “I think highly of them, sir.”

  “Good. You’re ’ired.”

  “Hired?” He stared at his host. “To do what?”

  “To protect my Tessie, o’ course. To be her bodyguard,” Black said impatiently.

  What the devil? “Why, er, does she need a guard?”

  “I’m the most powerful man in the stews. Got more enemies than a dog ’as fleas. I’m constantly exterminating vermin, and I can’t be worrying about ’er welfare while I’m doing it.”

  As the cutthroat’s expression darkened, speculation ran through Harry’s head. Who were Black’s enemies? Was the fire at The Gilded Pearl Black’s way of “exterminating” them? Was there a hidden motive that, once uncovered, could pin Black to the crime?

  Keep him talking. “Vermin, sir?”

  “Ev’rywhere I look. And the worst pestilence o’ all? Peel’s Bloody Gang. More plentiful than lice, those bastards.”

  Harry’s gut clenched at Black’s derogatory reference to the police. Does he know I’m one of them? Is this some cat-and-mouse game he’s playing?

  “You have trouble with the police, sir?” he said cautiously.

  “Peelers ain’t nothing but trouble. They’re the real threat to an Englishman’s liberty.” Black’s beringed hand clenched the arm of his chair. “If I ’ad my way, I’d squeeze every one o’ those nits ’til they bloody popped.”

  At least the animosity didn’t seem aimed at Harry.

  “Point is, I got my ’ands full,” the cutthroat went on. “I need to know that my Tessie’s out o’ ’arm’s way. I’ve plans to get ’er out o’ my world, to launch ’er into the ton where she belongs.”

  Thinking of the naughty card-wielding, trouser-clad mischief maker, Harry doubted that a catapult could accomplish the feat.

  “Indeed,” he said in neutral tones.

  “Got a nob lined up. Cove’s got a title so mossy it’ll open any door for her. Problem is, Tessie don’t agree with my plan.” Black scratched irritably at his wig. “She’s gotten accustomed to doing as she pleases. Ain’t ’er fault, mind you. ’Er father’s ne’er given a piss ’bout anything but ’is own ’ide, and my daughter Mavis ain’t got the constitution to manage the minx. Result being, Tessie’s always danced to ’er own tune. Now she chafes at the idea o’ marriage—says she wants to stay by my side. As if I’d let ’er rot away on the shelf. That’s why I need you to keep an eye on ’er.”

  Harry was no nanny. “Seems to me what she needs is a female companion.”

  “One o’ ’em tight-lipped bombazines?” Black’s eyes rolled toward his bushy grey brows. “Tessie ’as ’em calling for smelling salts afore they get in the door. No, my granddaughter needs a firmer hand. That’s why I moved ’er in with me. But I’m a busy man so I got to find a guard who can keep up with ’er. In the past month alone, she’s gone through three.”

  Harry lifted his brows. “Gone through?”

  “Don’t condone failure.” In a blink, Black went from doting grandfather to menacing criminal king. “I trust you to guard my treasure, you don’t betray my trust. If you do,”—Black stabbed a finger at him—“prepare for consequences.”

  Hairs stirred on Harry’s nape. At the same time, the possibility flitted through his head: as Miss Todd’s personal guard, he’d have access to Black’s inner sanctum. He could search for evidence of Black’s guilt in a way the police hadn’t been able to do.

  The risks would be many. He decided to play along for now. As long as he survived the night, he could consult with his superior on the best plan of action.

  “How do you know I’m the man for the job, sir?” he asked. “You don’t know me—”

  “Know your name’s Sam Bennett. Know you’ve the manners o’ a gent, but you ain’t no fribble.” Black jerked his chin at Harry’s hands. “Didn’t get those calluses idling about Brook’s.”

  Harry answered Black’s unspoken question. “I was a navvy.”

  “Real work. The kind that makes a man.” Black nodded with what might have passed for approval. “Despite the fact that you’re a four-eyes, you gave a fine accounting o’ yourself at the ’Are and ’Ounds. Took down three bastards—could’ve been a prizefighter with that uppercut o’ yours.”

  Devil and damn, how does Black know all that?

  “Got eyes and ears everywhere, and don’t you forget it.” Black’s warning was unmistakable. “You’ll start on Monday.”

  “Yes, sir.” It seemed the safest thing to say.

  “One more thing. You guard Tessie with your life. You touch ’er for any other purpose, I’ll string you up and yank your guts out from your throat. That clear?”

  Egad. Only a fool would play with that sort of fire. “Very.”

  “Good.” Black gave a satisfied nod. “Now take your lumps if you ’ave to, but keep Tessie out o’ trouble. The swell I got lined up for ’er is a bona fide stickler. Got ’im by the balls and purse strings, don’t I, but ’e still won’t marry ’er unless ’er reputation is
as white as the driven snow.”

  Before Harry could contemplate what Black meant by taking his “lumps,” the door flew open. He rose, an odd stutter in his chest at Miss Todd’s transformation.

  Devil take it, she’s…beautiful?

  The puckish lad had been replaced by a vibrantly attractive young lady. Miss Todd’s dark, lustrous locks were piled on her head, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. With her disguise removed, her heart-shaped face came into focus. She had a charming retroussé nose, creamy cheeks, a piquant little chin. Her eyes sparkled like a sunlit pond, and that mouth of hers…

  Uncomfortably aware of the hot pounding in his veins, he jerked his gaze away. A mistake. For it landed on the rest of her, where her camouflage had apparently been the most effective at hiding her charms. The pink frock she now wore displayed her delicate bosom and nipped-in waist, the femininity of her form. The form that had felt delectably soft draped over him.

  Swallowing, he reminded himself of how he’d been duped by Celeste. The one time he’d allowed sentiment and desire to rule over rationality had resulted in catastrophe. And the stakes this time were even higher: not just scandal but…death.

  No, he wouldn’t make the mistake of placing his future in a woman’s hands again. In matters pertaining to the opposite sex, he would be guided by his intellect. And he would need his wits about him in order to deal with the troublesome Miss Todd.

  4

  “Good evening, Grandpapa,” Tessa said.

  “Don’t you Grandpapa me,” her grandfather grumbled as he held his cheek out for her kiss. “Ought to turn you o’er my knee, missy, make sure you don’t sit pretty for a week.”

  Tessa kept her smile bright. She wasn’t at all afraid of her grandfather, who was all bark and no bite, at least when it came to her. When it came to Mr. Bennett, however, she hadn’t been quite as confident. Not wanting to leave him alone with her overprotective grandparent, she’d changed as quickly as possible.

  Studying Mr. Bennett, who stood next to her grandpapa, Tessa was relieved that he appeared his strapping self. Not that she’d been truly worried: after the way he’d charged to her aid, taking brutes down left and right, Bennett was clearly a man who could take care of himself.

  A hero who’d come to her rescue.

  She’d so rarely had anyone in her corner. A foreign, heady feeling came over her, as if she’d imbibed champagne. When he bowed, an unruly lock of dark hair slid onto his brow; she had the strangest desire to sweep it off with her fingertips.

  To hide her reaction, she curtsied and smiled at him. “All in one piece, I see.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be, Miss Todd?”

  At his emotionless tone, her smile faltered. His expression was polite yet not exactly warm. Behind the lenses, his intelligent brown eyes were scrutinizing her. In a flash, she recalled how he’d initially watched her at the Hare and Hounds, as if she were an insect under a magnifying glass, and he wasn’t entirely approving of the species.

  Truth be told, she was no stranger to rejection. Although she loved her father, he’d always treated her like a minor nuisance: a fly he ignored until it became too annoying and he had to do something about it. Worse yet, there was her experience at Old Southbridge’s Vault of Horrors.

  She’d attended under the alias of Miss Theresa Smith, the “distant niece” of one Baroness von Friesing, an impoverished noblewoman whom Grandpapa had employed to be her sponsor. Her tomboyish ways and lack of social polish had made her an outcast from the start.

  Lady Hyacinth Tipping’s honey-soaked tones rang in her head. What a delicate bosom you have, Miss Smith.

  I don’t have my lorgnette. Miss Sarah St. John (Hyacinth’s lackey) had a brittle laugh that plunged into one like a shard of glass. I’m afraid one can’t see her bosom without them.

  Perhaps, my dear, if you water them, Lady Jane Perrin (lackey number two) said archly, they might grow?

  Tessa fought the urge to cross her arms over the part of herself—one of many—that her peers had mercilessly ridiculed. While Ming had taught her how to defend herself against physical attacks (she was an expert in the use of flying daggers), she’d had no shield against social weapons: the barbs, gossip, and circles that closed whenever she neared. Her attempts at retaliation had only led to further ostracism, and, as tempted as she’d been, she couldn’t very well throw one of her trusty blades at the problem. Although she’d left Southbridge’s years ago, her time there had left its mark.

  She was quick to sense rejection and didn’t trust easily.

  Bennett came to your aid, she chided herself. There’s no reason to doubt his regard or motives.

  “It ain’t Bennett’s neck I ought to wring, is it?” Grandpapa said sternly, waving her toward the striped settee. “Got some explaining to do, missy, and you best do it quick.”

  She sat, feeling like a wayward schoolgirl. Bennett took the seat beside her. His demeanor remained distant and cool, ratcheting up her unease.

  “Well?” Seated in his customary wingchair, Grandpapa pinned her with a stare. “What ’ave you to say for yourself?”

  “Does it matter?” she said. “The verdict’s obviously been decided.”

  “You watch your tone, Thérèse-Marie. Ain’t got patience for your lip.”

  The fact that Grandpapa was using her full name did not bode well. Since he’d first come into her life when she was four, he’d insisted that any granddaughter of his ought to have a proper English name. He’d christened her “Tessa,” and she’d adored his pet name almost as much as the other name he’d given her: Black.

  “I wasn’t giving you lip,” she protested. “I was merely pointing out the fact that it doesn’t matter what I say. You’ve obviously decided that I’m in the wrong.”

  “O’ course I ’ave! Got witnesses, don’t I, that you were making mischief in the ’Are and ’Ounds, dressed like a bloody lad!”

  Some might have found Grandpapa’s bellowing intimidating.

  Tessa was used to it.

  Eyes narrowing, she said, “Was it Stunning Joe Banks who ratted me out?”

  A Black never forgot a wrong. The ability to mete out justice was a measure of success, the way one gained respect. To that end, Tessa kept a List of Retribution. When it came to vengeance, there was more than one way to skin a cat, and she preferred clever tricks over brutality. Mentally, she added Stunning Joe to her list.

  “Ain’t the point and you know it,” Grandpapa thundered. “What reason could you possibly ’ave to antagonize the son o’ Francis O’Toole?”

  Dash it. Her grandfather’s network of informants was even more formidable than she’d given them credit for. The problem was that she couldn’t tell Grandpapa the truth. She was already worried that he was overburdened. Moreover, in these contentious times, he might place more value on keeping the peace with the O’Tooles than on the welfare of a single wench.

  A ruler’s got to make ’ard choices, he’d say. The needs o’ the many outweigh those o’ the few.

  To Tessa’s mind, the “few” also deserved justice. Yet when Belinda had sobbingly confessed that Dewey O’Toole, after taking his pleasure, had beaten and robbed her, she’d made Tessa vow not to tell anyone.

  “At least let me talk to Father,” Tessa had insisted.

  “No. Mr. Todd already knows what ’appened, and ’e told me to keep my mouth shut. Your pa said if I offended an O’Toole, ’e’d beat me ’imself and toss me out on my ear. I need this job, Tessa, so you mustn’t breathe a word to your father or grandfather or anyone.” Belinda’s swollen lip had quivered, her eyes pleading in the mask of bruising. “Promise me.”

  Reluctantly, Tessa had given her word. Just because her family wasn’t willing to offend an O’Toole, however, didn’t mean that she couldn’t avenge Belinda. Thus, she’d devised her plan to get her friend’s savings back.

  She was close to accomplishing her goal. She’d regained Belinda’s money and then some. Now all she had to do was deliver
it back to her friend and honor her word. For Belinda’s sake, she had to keep the matter under wraps…even from her grandfather.

  “I wasn’t out to antagonize anyone. I was out on a lark,” she lied glibly. “Dewey O’Toole happened to be the fat pigeon that waddled my way. I didn’t force him to do anything; he was the one who insisted on playing cards with me.”

  “That true, Bennett?” Grandpapa barked.

  Tessa blinked. It wasn’t like him to invite the opinion of strangers. He’d apparently taken a liking to Mr. Bennett, and she couldn’t blame him. There was something distinctly solid and trustworthy about the cove, with his warrior’s hands and gentleman’s manners.

  And anyone who would step in to assist an outnumbered stranger was, she thought wistfully, that rarity of rarities: a man of honor. As chivalrous as the knights of old.

  She felt that strange giddy sensation again.

  Mr. Bennett adjusted his spectacles. “It is true that Mr. O’Toole approached Miss Todd.”

  Tessa sent him a grateful smile. Wasn’t he the best chap? A real stand-up fellow.

  Grunting, Grandpapa said, “So my granddaughter wasn’t at fault then?”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  Tessa’s smile wavered.

  “While Miss Todd didn’t do the approaching, she did set the trap,” Mr. Bennett went on. “And O’Toole took the bait, just as she’d planned.”

  “Now wait just one moment,” Tessa said indignantly. “I didn’t—”

  “Silence,” Grandpapa demanded. “I want to ’ear what Bennett ’as to say.”

  Pressing her lips together, she crossed her arms.

  “Now, Bennett,” her grandpapa said, “why do you think Tessie would want to bait O’Toole?”

  “As to Miss Todd’s motivations, that is a matter of conjecture.” Bennett’s voice had taken on an annoyingly pedantic tone. “I do have a hypothesis, however.”

  Hypothesis? Who does he think he is, a bloody professor? I can’t believe I trusted the pompous ass!

  “Let’s ’ear it,” Grandpapa said.

  Go on, then, she fumed. Talk about me as if I’m not even here.