The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(20)
This is the last bloody straw. He stalked down the hallway. He’d played by a gentleman’s rules, taken the higher road—no more. He was going to hunt the chit down and when he did…there would be hell to pay.
7
“You didn’t,” Pretty Francie gasped.
“Oh, yes, I did,” Tessa said. “As I speak, Sam Bennett is likely getting the soaking of his life.”
Her three friends—Pretty Francie, Belinda, and Daisy—looked at her. At each other.
Laughter rang through the room.
A half-hour earlier, Tessa had slipped into The Underworld, the pleasure house owned by her father. She’d been coming to the club for as long as she could remember. When her mama had died giving birth to her, her father had been left with the care of an infant. A busy man who couldn’t be bothered with domestic details, he’d simply brought her along to work.
Tessa couldn’t recall if he’d ever hired a nanny for her; she’d never needed one for the wenches had taken her under their collective wing. The Underworld was her second home, and, at the early hour, she’d caught her friends just as they were getting to bed after a night’s work. Now they were enjoying a chat in Pretty Francie’s chamber.
The women wore bright, clingy peignoirs while Tessa was once again in a lad’s get-up. This time, she’d chosen slim-fitting trousers and forgone the scratchy wig, tucking her plaited hair beneath a cap. Even during daytime, a woman alone in the stews invited danger. Without the hindrance of petticoats and skirts, Tessa moved with confidence through the streets, her daggers tucked snugly in her boots.
As she chatted with her friends, Tessa surreptitiously monitored Belinda. Since being beaten and robbed by O’Toole, Belinda had lost some of her natural vivaciousness. The bastard had taken more than money from her: he’d punched a hole in her self-confidence.
If Grandpapa would give me a seat at the table, I’d stand for Belinda and all the women like her, Tessa thought fiercely. I’d make bastards like O’Toole think twice about taking advantage of the defenseless.
Thankfully, Belinda appeared more like her old self this morning, her honey-colored curls bouncing as she giggled, the bruises around her right eye faded to a mottled green. Swift Nick Nevison had his front paws on her generous lap, munching on pieces of cold mutton that she fed him from a plate.
“I almost feel sorry for this Bennett fellow.” Pretty Francie lounged on her bed, her trademark auburn hair tied in rags. Her handsome face was heavily painted. At thirty-four, she was now the club’s madam and rarely serviced customers, but she liked to keep up appearances. “’E didn’t know what ’e was taking on.”
Years ago, when Pretty Francie had been a house wench, she’d been especially kind to Tessa. Daisy and Belinda had joined The Underworld some time later, and Tessa considered them, along with Francie, to be her bosom friends.
Sitting at the foot of Francie’s bed, Tessa shucked her cap, tossing it onto one of the bedposts. “He knew perfectly well what he was in for because I warned him. Said flat-out that I wouldn’t tolerate having my freedom curtailed. Why would I need a bodyguard when I’m perfectly capable of handling myself?”
“Our Tessa ain’t no milk-fed miss,” Daisy, a saucy brunette, said with a wink. She and Belinda occupied the adjacent settee. “Can take care o’ ’erself, she can.”
Tessa beamed at what she considered to be the ultimate compliment.
“But after wot ’appened to your grandfather at Nightingale’s,” Belinda put in hesitantly, “don’t you fink you might be be’er off wiv some protection?”
At the reminder of the murderous attempt, a cold droplet slid down Tessa’s spine.
The shooting had taken place a month ago, right outside Nightingale’s. Luckily, the would-be assassin had missed, and Ming had returned fire with deadly accuracy. To maintain order, Grandpapa had suppressed gossip; Belinda and the others only knew about it because Tessa had confided in them. Since then, there’d been no other threats, but the event had left Tessa shaken. Her grandfather was not invulnerable…and he was down a man.
John Randolph, the former Duke of Covent Garden, had died in a carriage accident two months ago. In the never-ending struggle for power in the underworld, Randolph had been a staunch ally to her grandfather, and his loss, Tessa knew, was a big blow.
It made her more determined than ever to stand by her grandfather’s side.
Where he needs me. Whenever she was out in the underworld, she acted as his eyes and ears. Aware of the importance of appearances, she was also a proud ambassador of the House of Black.
“We Blacks will not be intimidated,” she declared. “Am I right, Swift Nick?”
The ferret’s eyes were alert in his furry brown mask. When Tessa gave a subtle nod of her head, he mimicked the motion vigorously, giving the impression that he was agreeing with her.
Belinda laughed. “Howe’er did you train ’im to do that?”
“It was easy. Swift Nick is the cleverest fellow who ever lived and all the protection I need, aren’t you, dear?”
In answer, the ferret loped over to Tessa. He clambered onto her lap, rolling over, and she obliged his request for a tummy rub. He made took-took sounds, the ferret equivalent of purring.