The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(27)
Placed next to the duke, Tessa had looked ill-at-ease all evening, and no wonder. Whenever Ransom deigned to look at her, his mouth curled sardonically beneath his mustache…as if she were a cruel joke that had been played upon him. The few words he’d spoken to her were outwardly polite yet infused with condescension.
Arrogant prat. Harry’s hands balled under the table. She deserves better than the likes of him. She deserves better period.
Which led him to his third and most pressing reason for not wanting to be here.
He felt…guilty.
A steel band tightened around his chest. His treatment of Tessa yesterday had been unforgiveable. Her kiss had caught him by surprise: it had set fire to his blood, hardened his cock, made him lose control. When the bastards had interrupted them, his haze of lust had bled into a memory he’d kept buried deep.
Celeste. Her surprise midnight visit to his bachelor’s lodgings. How she’d looked like an angel descended from the heavens to his shabby apartments…and how she’d kissed like one too. She’d tasted of honey, the sweetness hiding poison. With her soft, cool lips, she’d coaxed him into taking more and more…until he’d met his own demise.
The memory of her manipulation, of his stupidity, had roared over him. He’d vowed never to let a woman use her wiles upon him again, yet yesterday he’d found himself ensnared in another feminine web. Used again as a means to an end. Risking his mission and his honor in the process.
He’d taken his anger out on Tessa. When his fury had subsided—at least enough for him to think clearly—he’d seen his behavior for what it was: uncouth and uncalled for. He owed her an apology.
All day, he’d wrestled with what to say to her. How to explain his atrocious treatment of her without revealing his past. Not that she’d given him a chance.
Bold, willful, sprightly Tessa had cloistered herself in her bedchamber all day. She’d had her guard dog Lizzie in there with her, so he couldn’t exactly break down the door to offer her an apology. An apology that he hadn’t yet figured out. An apology that was overdue and growing more overdue with each passing moment.
As he watched her now, he couldn’t deny another fact. A discovery that made self-disgust rise like bile in his throat. One that made him want to kick himself and offer to let her do so, too.
Beneath that wicked, wild exterior, Tessa Black-Todd was…soft.
Vulnerable.
And unmistakably innocent.
Watching her avoid eye contact with him and leave her food untouched (she hadn’t eaten anything Mrs. Crabtree had sent on trays throughout the day either) and feeling the tension between them, he knew he’d hurt her. He recalled her stricken expression, her stammered apology when he’d called her a trollop, and the self-disgust turned to shame. Because as sweet and passionate and wanton as her kiss had been, it had also been inexperienced. Unambiguously virginal.
He had been the one to take their passion into dangerous territory. He had been the one to lose control. And yet he’d blamed her for it.
His throat clenched. Aye, he needed to beg forgiveness…and he would do so at the first opportunity. For now, however, he needed to get through the night. To keep his mind clear and on his assignment.
He would make up for yesterday’s lapse in judgement by gathering information tonight. This was the first time since being hired that he’d been in the same room as Black, and he planned to make the most of the opportunity. To be the eyes and ears that he was here to be.
Decked out in his usual antiquated glory, a bewigged Black occupied the end chair next to Harry. On Harry’s other side was Black’s daughter, Mrs. Todd, a mousy, frail woman dressed in heavy velvet despite the summer heat. She wore a great deal of jewelry, rubies and diamonds glittering on her neck and hands. Next to her was her husband, Malcolm Todd, a short, balding man with hard eyes and a brusque air. He’d checked his pocket watch three times in the last quarter hour.
Awkward silence reigned. Stilted from the start, conversation had now come to a full halt. Luckily, liveried footmen provided a diversion in the form of the soup course; Baroness von Friesing cleared her throat at the other end of the table.
“What do you think of the mulligatawny, Mr. Black?” she said.
“I’ve ’ad worse.” Black waved his spoon at the center of the table, which was crowded with silver candelabra and epergnes filled with hothouse flowers. “’Ope soup and oysters ain’t all we’re being served. When I ’ave guests, the table’s full and not with bleeding flowers neither.”
The baroness did her best to mask a cringe. “Supper is being served à la russe this eve, sir.” At Black’s squinty look, she clarified, “The courses will be presented in sequence, sir, rather than all at once. Such a style is all the rage.”
“Rage, eh? Don’t doubt that.” Black harrumphed. “’Ungry guests ain’t ’appy ones.”
Seeing the glint in Black’s eyes, Harry suspected that the cutthroat might be amusing himself at the baroness’ expense. As she sputtered, Ransom cut in.
“If food will liven things up, then by all means,” he drawled, “summon the next course.”
“Present company ain’t lively enough for you, Yer Grace?”
At Black’s ominous tone, Ransom did a smooth turnabout.
“Au contraire, the company is charming.” Turning to Tessa, the duke flashed an insincere smile. “May I compliment you on your looks this eve, Miss Todd? I find your gown quite delectable.”