The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(37)
His head swung up. “What was that?”
“Wh-what?”
She blinked at him, cheeks flushed and eyes languid, tempting him to forget whatever he thought he’d heard. But his gut told him something wasn’t right. Swift Nick apparently sensed it too, for the ferret was bounding toward the door that separated the billiards and drawing rooms.
“It sounded like glass breaking.” Shoving on his spectacles, Harry retrieved his pistol from his jacket before striding to join the animal, who was now doing an agitated dance by the door. He swung to look at Tessa. “Stay here.”
She nodded, eyes wide.
He readied his weapon, yanked the door open, and saw the cause of the noise: a gaping hole in the front window. As he headed toward it, he glimpsed figures moving in the darkness beyond.
“Who’s there?” he shouted. “Answer me, or I’ll shoot.”
“Toss ’em in. No time to light the rest,” a man’s voice hissed. “Let’s get out o’ ’ere!”
Before Harry could take aim, two objects came hurtling through the broken window…iron canisters with lit fuses, rolling in opposite directions. Harry ran to the closest one, stamping out the flame. The other was out of reach, fuse almost burned, no time to get there. Moving on instinct, he scooped up the device he’d deactivated and sprinted toward the billiards room.
He made it through the doorway, grabbing a frozen Tessa, dragging her to the billiards table. Shoving her beneath the heavy wood frame, he dove under, covering her body with his. A blast tore through the night, the ground shaking. Plaster rained onto the table overhead.
He lifted his head. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She looked stunned but unharmed. “What happened?”
“Explosive device. I have to check the drawing room.”
He rolled off of her, pulled them both to their feet. As he did, the unexploded tube bumped in his pocket. He removed it carefully, set it on the billiards table.
“Is that…?” Tessa stared at the canister, the cotton stuffing coming out of one end.
Cotton that looked innocent but could kill.
“It’s highly volatile,” he warned. “Don’t touch it.”
He would examine it later, but he already knew what it was.
Because he’d created it.
How did the explosive cotton end up in a blasting device? Is this the work of Aloysius De Witt?
“There’s smoke coming from the drawing room,” Tessa gasped.
Bloody hell. Pushing aside his turmoil, Harry scanned the room for something to fight the fire. He went to the window, yanked down a velvet drape. “Wake the house, go!”
She took off running.
Gripping the fabric, he sprinted to the drawing room to face the rising flames.
13
The grey, ghostly light before dawn matched the somber mood in her grandfather’s study.
Although Tessa hadn’t slept, she’d done a quick ablution and changed into a frock. Now she and her father occupied chairs across the desk from Grandpapa. Bennett stood next to her, Ming by her grandfather’s side. In the wingchair behind the massive oak desk, Grandpapa looked haggard. He’d left off his wig, his shorn grey head aging him, making him look his three-and-sixty years.
Rage smoldered in his eyes as he looked at the black iron tube on the blotter. Earlier, Bennett, who was familiar with blasting materials from his time as a navvy, had disassembled the device. He’d removed the guts, placed them carefully in a box. To Tessa, the shredded cotton had looked innocuous, but having seen the damage done to the drawing room, her insides had chilled.
“I’ll carve out the guts o’ who’ever did this,” Grandpapa growled. “Use ’em to string ’im up!”
He’d been uttering such threats ever since he’d been summoned home to find that his fortress had been attacked. Two of his guards had been killed protecting the front gate. Thoughts of Ned and Josiah swelled Tessa’s throat. Both men had families, young children now left without a father. She and Grandpapa would go to give their condolences to the grieving widows, to assure them that their families would be looked after, yet no amount of money could replace a loved one.
An evening that had held such promise had ended in tragedy. In her marrow, Tessa felt the shifting tides, the dark and menacing undertow; when she glanced up at Bennett, the trepidation in her heightened. He seemed so distant that the few feet separating them might have been thousands. His expression was once again clad in steel, his gaze as opaque as wood. There was no trace of the passionate lover who’d held her and shown her such exquisite pleasure.
She told herself his reserve was due to the fact that he didn’t want to rouse her family’s suspicions, yet her instincts told her that wasn’t the reason. Bennett could be stoic, yes, but this was more than that. Since the fire, he’d withdrawn into himself, barely uttering a word to her, even while she’d bandaged the superficial burns he’d sustained from fighting the blaze.
Over the past several days when they’d been at odds, he’d shown little of his feelings, but she’d still sensed his focus on her. His attention. Now that was gone: snuffed out like a flame.
What she felt from him was…nothing.
She tried to calm herself. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the life-or-death situation he’d just faced. Or perhaps he was just exhausted from battling the fire.