The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(29)

Black has a territorial war on his hands? And who are the ‘vultures’ Todd is referring to? And is it a coincidence that they’re circling Covent Garden, where The Gilded Pearl was located?

Keenly, Harry watched on.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a ’undred times: you deserve nothing.” Black threw his napkin onto the table. “Respect is earned, you bloody imbecile, which is why you’ll ne’er amount to anything.”

“If you’re in danger, Grandpapa,” Tessa blurted, “you must let me help—”

“Shut your yap,” her father said.

“Stay out o’ this,” her grandfather barked.

She looked between the two men, and, for an instant, her mask slipped. Harry’s chest constricted as he glimpsed what lay beneath: the hurt, bewildered look of a child who’s being punished and doesn’t know why. An instant later, her mask was back in place, her pain concealed behind a lifted chin and defiant eyes.

“As for you, Todd,” Black thundered, “you’d better watch—”

Beside Harry, Mavis suddenly mumbled, “I feel…rather faint…”

Harry reacted on instinct, catching her before she toppled from her chair. “I have you, Mrs. Todd.” She slumped against him, her weight no more substantial than that of a feather.

“Heavens,” the baroness said in alarm. “Shall I send for smelling salts?”

“Won’t do no good.” Black hobbled over, his brow lined. “Are you all right, poppet?”

Mavis shook her head with effort. “I have to go. I’m sorry, Father.”

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry about,” Black said gruffly.

“I’ll go with you, Mama.” Tessa dashed over to Mavis. “I’ll make your special tonic.”

“No, dear, you stay here. Get better acquainted with His Grace.” Mavis gave her stepdaughter’s hand a weak squeeze. “Your father will take me home.”

“Let’s go.” Malcolm Todd was the only one who didn’t seem worried. In fact, he looked like a prisoner given a reprieve.

“After you get ’er ’ome,” Black said in low tones to his son-in-law, “you stay there. Take care o’ my girl. I’ll be by after supper’s done.”

Todd gave a curt nod. He and Mavis made their way out.

The remaining guests returned to their seats, and Harry wondered what catastrophe would strike next. He didn’t have long to wait.

As the fish course was being served, Black declared, “Let’s cut to the chase. The point o’ this evening was for the parties to get acquainted. Can’t do that, can they, with all these prying eyes.”

“Grandpapa,” Miss Todd hissed.

“Don’t Grandpapa me, missy. You’re the one who wanted a say in ’er future. Can’t do that without getting to know ’Is Grace better.”

Miss Todd opened her mouth to argue—and rightly so, Harry thought hotly—but Ransom said, “Perhaps Miss Todd would honor me with a turn in the garden?”

Harry did not trust the man. There was no telling what a rake like Ransom might attempt alone in the dark with a beautiful young woman. The duke’s gaze roved over Tessa again, and this time he bloody undressed her with his eyes.

Harry gnashed his teeth.

The baroness cast a longing look at her poached turbot. “I suppose I can chaperone.”

“You stay,” Black commanded. “Bennett will escort them.”

Harry thought quickly. “I ought to secure the environs first. Make sure it’s safe.”

“Secure the environs?” Brows arching, Ransom said to Black, “Are all your servants this thorough? Or is it just this earnest fellow?”

“A man can’t be too careful,” Black said through a mouthful of fish.

Harry resisted the impulse to plow his fist into the duke’s smirking face. Instead, at Black’s nod, he headed to the garden. To ensure that nothing, and no one, would harm his charge.





10





The Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville escorted Tessa out to the garden, Bennett trailing behind them. The fog-filtered moonlight revealed a small rectangular courtyard surrounded by hedges. Lanterns lit the two graveled paths that crisscrossed the space, a gurgling stone fountain standing at the center of the “X.” Tessa couldn’t see why it had taken Bennett ten minutes to “secure” the place, unless he’d turned over every leaf of the skimpy flower bed.

She was acutely aware of his presence behind her. The truth was, she’d been acutely aware of him since their kiss, and it was taking all her wherewithal to avoid looking at him. Yet she couldn’t escape the sensations: her lips still felt seared by his, the hard ridges of his muscles imprinted upon her skin. The barest whiff of his soap made her heart race with longing…and humiliation.

She finally understood what Pretty Francie and the others had warned her about. Before, she’d scoffed at the idea of being seduced by a man, but Bennett’s kiss had changed that. And his reaction afterward had shown her just how painful losing oneself to passion could be.

At least he’d gotten one thing right: she was a trollop.

Having had a day to contemplate the matter, she wasn’t overly surprised or embarrassed by the fact. Blacks prided themselves on being a hot-blooded lot. While she was adopted into the family, the Black spirit ran in her veins as true as blood, and she reckoned it was the family legacy of passion showing itself in her.