The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(33)
Seeing the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville with Tessa, however, he’d experienced a strong primal urge to tear the bastard from limb to limb. To lay claim to Tessa, even though she wasn’t his and could never be. She was the granddaughter of the suspect he was investigating; his very presence in her life was a lie.
There was only one logical solution to this present mess: he had to complete this assignment and get the hell out of here. No more waiting, passive observing. After leaving Baroness von Friesing’s party tonight, Black had gone to stay with his daughter: this was the perfect time to search his study. Either Harry would find evidence of the cutthroat’s guilt or he would inform Inspector Davies that his objectivity was compromised. That he could no longer carry out the mission.
Dressing quickly, Harry left the mews for the main house. Passing the front drawing room, he noticed a slant of light up ahead. The door to the billiards room, next to Black’s study, was ajar. He thought about turning around, but soft murmurs came from the room, drew him forward. He peered through the crack in the door.
Christ. It was Tessa.
Turn around. Don’t go in.
But he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Couldn’t stop the need that shot through him like a potent drug. She was clad in a frilly white wrapper, her glossy curls tumbling free, and she appeared to be playing billiards by herself. The enormous baize-covered table dwarfed her, creating a whimsical tableau in which she might have been a little girl playing at being a grown-up.
As he watched, she made a shot. His brows raised as the ball dropped neatly into a pocket.
“Your turn,” she said.
Who the devil is she playing with?
Curiosity got the better of him. Unable to see through the narrow opening, he cracked the door open wider…and saw Swift Nick perched on a corner of the table. The ferret rose on its hind legs, waving its front paws, and Tessa laughed.
The merry sound slid through Harry like warmed brandy.
“All paws tonight, are you?” She scratched behind the animal’s ears, and Swift Nick’s long body arched in contentment. “Never fear, dearest, I shall play for you.”
In spite of himself, Harry felt his lips twitch. Her playfulness was charming. If that trait didn’t lead her to play devious tricks on him, he might find her…adorable.
“Let’s up the ante, shall we?” she went on in a conspiratorial whisper. “If I make this shot, then it means he does like me.”
Harry stilled. Who is she talking about? That bastard Ransom…?
She circled the billiards table, flitting in and out of his view like an elusive hummingbird. Finally, she leaned over the green baize, her back to the door, presenting him with a view of her pertly rounded bottom. He swallowed as she wriggled about, trying to reach the ball with her stick. When she couldn’t manage it, she hiked up her nightgown, hoisting herself onto the table’s edge.
Christ Almighty.
Lust and fascination riveted him to the spot. She was perched on the side of the table, her skirts pinned beneath her, her bared legs swinging idly as she contemplated her shot. Those limbs were white, slender, even shapelier than he’d imagined; he swallowed as the image flashed from his dream: her legs draped over his shoulders, her heels digging into his back as he feasted on her…
“Drat and double drat.”
Her curse pierced his erotic thrall. She’d missed the shot, the ball hitting the rail and rolling lazily toward the opposite end of the table. She hopped to the ground, her hands planting on her hips. In a blink, she transformed from siren to sprite. She looked so annoyed, so damned delightful, that he had to choke back a laugh.
She whirled around. “Who’s there?”
Ah, hell. He expelled a breath. Feeling like a damned Peeping Tom, he entered the room.
“Bennett.” She stared at him. “You gave me a fright.”
He stopped a safe distance from her. “If a pack of cutthroats didn’t scare you, I doubt I could accomplish the feat.”
Her wide gaze didn’t waver. “What are you doing here this time of night?”
Since he couldn’t very well tell her he’d been about to break into her grandfather’s study, he fished for an excuse. “I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d look for something to read.” He spotted the half-empty glass on a nearby table, and his brows inched upward. “Brandy?”
“I couldn’t sleep either. I thought brandy and billiards might help.” She wrinkled her nose. “If I go to bed now, however, I’ll just have nightmares about that missed shot.”
He stifled a smile. Her competitiveness was damned cute.
“You can’t make an accurate shot when you’re off-balance,” he told her.
“I wasn’t off-balance. My height makes it necessary to lean on the table.” Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re an expert at billiards?”
Billiards had nearly funded his education at Cambridge.
He shrugged. “I’ve played.”
Her brows lifted. “Care to go a round?”
Her invitation surprised him. Accepting it, he knew, would be extremely ill-advised. The smart, rational thing to do was to turn around and leave.
On the other hand, he’d never in his life backed down from a sporting challenge.
He inclined his head. “All right. One game.”