The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(105)

A hand landed on Harry’s shoulder, and he spun, ready to attack.

“Free Mr. Black.” Ming’s words were muffled by his mask. “Men and I finish here.”

Harry nodded, grabbing the ring of keys from the fallen foe. He sprinted through the smoke to the door, Ming and the others forming ranks to get him through. Ripping off his mask, he unlocked the barrier, ran through a corridor into another antechamber and—

He threw himself to the ground, a bullet whizzing by his ear. He skidded on his back, had an instant to register Black and Todd, shouting, trapped behind bars, before O’Toole took aim again. Harry whipped out his pistol. Shots fired simultaneously.

O’Toole stared at him, then at the red stain on the front of his own shirt.

The cutthroat toppled with a thud.

Chest heaving, Harry surged to his feet, staggered over the fallen body to the cell. He took out the key ring, fumbling slightly as he slid in the first key. It didn’t turn…

“I’ll take that, if you please,” a cultured voice said from behind him.

Harry spun around. Found himself at gunpoint.

The grey-haired man holding the pistol looked familiar. Where have I seen him before? Something about his noble face and piercing green eyes…

Those eyes regarded him with deadly calm. “Throw your weapons down, or I shall be forced to put a bullet through you.”

When Harry didn’t obey, the stranger said, “Do you notice the quiet?”

With a sudden chill, Harry did.

“Your men outside have been surrounded by mine. Rounded up and brought upstairs. If you don’t want them to die, you’ll do as I say.”

Bloody hell. With no other choice, Harry complied.

The man took the keys, kicking away the weapons.

“Who are you?” Black growled from the cage. “Why have you done this?”

The stranger laughed, a sound like steel etching glass.

“Look me in the eyes, Bartholomew Black,” he said softly. “Look at me and tell me you do not recognize me. Tell me you do not know what you have stolen from me.”

Moments passed as Black stared at the stranger. The color slowly drained from his face.

“Your eyes,” the cutthroat king said hoarsely. “You…you’re Althea’s kin.”





39





Crouching outside the room, Tessa jerked in surprise.

On the other side of the doorway, Alfred shook his head: a warning not to expose their position. She managed a nod, even as her mind spun.

The Earl of Ruthven…is Grandmama’s relation?

She’d gotten tired of waiting on the boat; something had told her that her men needed help. Alfred wouldn’t let her go alone, so she and he had taken one of the remaining lighters into the fortress, leaving Mavis with a guard for protection. They’d arrived to see Ming and their men being marched upstairs by O’Toole’s gang. Two of O’Toole’s men had been left behind to flank the prison entryway; Alfred’s flying neddy had taken care of them.

Now it was up to her and Alfred to save Harry and her family.

Flattened against the wall, she risked peering into the room to get a quick lay of the land. Grandpapa and Papa locked in a cell. Harry standing in front…a dead body lying on the ground.

Ruthven was holding everyone at gunpoint.

“Yes, I am Anthony Bourdelain,” Ruthven said. “Althea’s younger brother.”

“Why did you do this?” Grandpapa’s voice was hoarse.

“You know why. I’m exacting my vengeance for what you did to my sister.” Ruthven’s cold tones turned Tessa’s spine to ice.

“I loved Althea. And she loved me,” Grandpapa said. “I never hurt her.”

“You destroyed her. She was a debutante, poised to become a great lady. She could have had any title she wanted, but you tricked her, seduced her. You ruined Althea—and our family.” Ruthven’s words were choppy with fury, edged with a passion that burned with madness. “Do you know how many years my parents scrimped and saved for her launch into Society? We were gentry but destitute, and Althea was our sole hope for improving our fortunes. Then you came along like a bloody thief and stole everything!”

“I told Althea I would look after ’er kin. But your parents, they refused to see ’er. Disowned ’er. Broke ’er ’eart, it did,” Grandpapa said raggedly.

“Althea was dead to us the moment she disgraced herself. The pride of the Bourdelains is not for sale. Did you know my father killed himself a year later? I, a twelve-year-old-boy, found him at his desk, his brains blown out, his blood soaking into the piles of his debts. My mother died of shock soon thereafter, and I was sent to an orphanage.” Savagery frayed Ruthven’s voice. “Everything I suffered was because of you.”

“Althea tried to find you. But the orphanage where you were last seen had burned down,” Grandpapa said. “She was told that you were dead. For years, she wept at the thought of you.”

“I escaped that hellhole, have made my own way in the world since I was fourteen, and I have done things that would make you, a murderous cutthroat, quake in your boots.” Ruthven’s laugh had Tessa reaching for one of her daggers. “All the while, the thing that drove me to survive was the thought that one day I would avenge my family. Then Fate finally smiled upon me. Handed me a title and fortune and the means to destroy everything you hold dear.”