The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(30)

Her grandfather oft described his first meeting with his wife-to-be as akin to being struck by lightning. He’d chanced upon Althea Bourdelain at a fair: one look at her and he’d known there would be no other woman for him. She’d felt the same way. Her upper class family had opposed the match and disowned her when she chose to elope with her love.

Althea and Bartholomew Black remained devoted to one another until the day she died. Grandpapa had never remarried.

A Black mates for life, Tessie, he’d said.

Tessa had always found her grandparents’ story romantic. She’d secretly yearned to someday feel that intensity of emotion: to know love that would endure suffering and celebrate joy and never fail. Thus, she didn’t mind being a trollop if it meant finding and being true to her heart’s desire.

What she did mind was being a rejected trollop.

Blast it, why do I have to want a man who doesn’t want me back?

Even as she recognized her feelings for Bennett, she also knew it was too late to eradicate them. In truth, they’d taken root from their very first encounter, and, despite his harsh repudiation, continued to bloom. Frustration tangled her insides. While she grappled with yearning, he was entirely unaffected by their encounter.

He continued to do his job as if it was exactly that: a job. Tonight, he’d watched on while her family tried to auction her off like a prime article at Tattersall’s, his handsome face devoid of emotion. Obviously, he couldn’t care less if she were to be married off to another man. In fact, he was aiding and abetting her grandfather in the godforsaken scheme.

Damn his eyes, she thought on a surge of shivering anger.

“Cold, my dear?” a silky male voice asked.

She’d almost forgotten about the duke. Which was odd, since he was a large man, nearly as tall as Bennett, and he was standing right next to her. In the moonlight, his tawny eyes appeared silver, and his long, manicured fingers were undoing the carved buttons of his coat.

Before she could reply, wool slid over her shoulders from behind. She was engulfed in warmth…and Bennett’s masculine scent. Just like that, her nipples budded, tingling beneath her bodice.

Bennett’s gruff voice emerged from behind her. “Take mine.”

She swiveled to look at him. She didn’t know what she hoped to see, but it wasn’t his composed expression. Her frustration swelled.

And be tormented by your smell all night? I don’t think so.

She shrugged off the jacket, tossing it back to him. “It’s not necessary.”

“I think you’ll find this more to your liking.” To her surprise, Ransom placed his jacket over her shoulders. “The superfine is woven for me specially.”

The material was softer and plusher than that of Bennett’s jacket. And, rather than soap, it smelled of an exotic cologne, one that she found cloying. She was about to refuse the garment when she caught a glimpse of Bennett.

Lines bracketed his scowling mouth. His jacket was bunched in his fist, and that unruly lock had once again escaped to curl upon his brow. He looked...irritated?

Hope burst into bloom. She decided to wear Ransom’s jacket after all.

Presenting her back to Bennett, she gave the duke her most dazzling smile. “I am much obliged, Your Grace.”

The duke’s eyelashes flickered. They were long for a man, she noticed, and suited his debonair style. With his striking feline eyes and bearded chin, he made her think of a pirate. He was handsome, sensual, and faintly exotic, the sort of man debutantes would swoon over.

Unfortunately, she seemed to prefer men who were stoic, brooding, and extremely annoying.

His Grace offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

They started down one of the paths towards the fountain. As Bennett’s steps plodded close behind, Tessa’s mind worked furiously. Could it be that Bennett did feel something for her? She thought back to their embrace: he might think her a trollop, but she hadn’t been the only one doing the kissing. It hadn’t been her tongue taking the plunge into his mouth. And, thinking on it more, there’d been unmistakable proof of his arousal: she hadn’t imagined the poker-like object prodding her thigh.

As her mood lifted, she was able to analyze the situation more clearly. There was evidence to support that Bennett wasn’t indifferent to her. So why had he been so angry?

The next time you wish to use me as the means to an end, give me some goddamned warning, he’d growled at her.

Was it because he’d felt used by her…manipulated? Didn’t he realize that she was attracted to him? That what had begun as subterfuge had quickly given way to true desire?

Would he care?

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Smith?” the duke drawled.

She was determined to discover the answers to her questions. To do so, she would have to get through Bennett’s armor of indifference. And she had an inkling how to go about it.

Seizing the opportunity, she said sweetly, “We both know that’s not my name. Why don’t you call me Tessa instead?”

“If you’ll return the favor and call me Ransom.” He paused. “You surprise me.”

She tipped her head to one side. “How so?”

“You seem different. From the rest of your family.”

“You insult me, sir,” she said hotly.

“I don’t mean to.” He studied her with those curious eyes of his, which had a slight upward tilt to them, like a cat’s. “You really don’t want to marry me, do you?”