The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(39)

Anger got the better of her. “Seeing as God is more likely to take notice of me than you are, I suppose the whipping ought to come from him.”

“You insolent little bitch—”

She stood her ground when her father came at her, but both Bennett and Ming moved like lightning. Bennett shoved her behind him while Ming restrained her swearing father.

“Todd, control yourself,” Grandpapa said sharply. “Bennett, take Tessa upstairs.”

Frustration beat against Tessa’s breastbone. Her grandfather’s expression was as unyielding as a mountain. He wasn’t going to allow her to help her family in its most dire hour of need.

Resolve filled her. Good thing I don’t need his permission.



* * *



As Tessa stormed past her still-restrained father, Harry slowed, his hands fisting. He was sorely tempted to give Malcolm Todd a thrashing. The bastard’s treatment of Tessa was despicable: all she’d wanted to do was help. Only Ming’s shake of the head and the fact that the other had Todd subdued made Harry move on. He wouldn’t hit a man who couldn’t hit back.

Moreover, as satisfying as pummeling Todd would be, Harry couldn’t afford to be dismissed from his job. He had to stay by Tessa, to protect her…from the demons rising from his past.

He followed her as she stomped down the hallway in a fit of pique. In spite of the darkness that threatened to swamp him, he felt a spark of amusement. This was Tessa: part brave, passionate woman, part adorable brat. He could no longer deny his illogical and ill-fated attraction to her. He didn’t know where it would lead, where it could lead given the tangled mess of the situation, but he did know one thing.

He would do anything to keep her safe.

“Oof.”

Tessa had come to an abrupt halt, and he’d run into her, pitching her forward. His hand shot out, yanked her back by the waist. Her softness hit his hard edges, and, despite his inner turmoil, desire flared. An awareness of how perfectly they fit together.

Releasing her, he muttered, “Pardon. I didn’t see—”

“Keep your voice down.” She kept her gaze averted. “And walk as quietly as you can.”

Puzzled, he watched as she tip-toed back the way they’d come, all signs of temper gone. Had her tantrum been for show?

What is the minx up to now?

She turned into the billiards room, crooking her finger at him. Brows lifting, he followed her inside, and she closed the door with obvious stealth. She padded over to the bookcase on the wall that separated this room from Black’s study; kneeling, she began to pluck volumes off the middle shelf.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“If you want to stay, be quiet.” Her voice hushed, she kept at her task.

Curiosity got its hooks in him. He knelt, stacking the books she passed to him on the floor. She reached to the back of the emptied shelf and extracted a small, cut-out piece of wood.

“Hell,” he murmured. “You made yourself a squint?”

In answer, she placed a finger to her lips. The peephole into Black’s study wasn’t big, and its view was limited. Nonetheless, the voices of the room’s occupants came through clearly.

“…one o’ the dukes is behind the attack,” Malcolm Todd’s voice was insisting. “Only they would ’ave the power.”

“I know it’s one o’ ’em. Didn’t get to where I am by being an imbecile,” Black’s voice shot back. “Question is, which bloody one? Ming’s been working on this since that bastard tried to off me at Nightingale’s last month.”

Someone tried to assassinate Black before this?

Frowning, Harry wondered if Inspector Davies was aware of this fact. His certainty in his mission had already suffered a blow when Tessa had explained about the medallion last night—that it was used as a symbol of protection rather than vendetta—and now to learn that someone had tried to kill Black twice?

Harry’s gut told him something wasn’t right. Yet as he took in Tessa kneeling beside him, her full pink skirts spread like petals around her as she spied like a naughty schoolgirl, he also knew his objectivity had been compromised. He wanted Black to be innocent because he wanted her.

“The assassin named John Loach.” That was Ming, succinct as always. “So far find connection between him and three of the dukes. Don’t know which one ordered shooting at Nightingale’s.”

“Who are the three suspects?” Todd demanded.

There was a pause; Harry guessed the loyal manservant was looking to Black for permission to answer. And he knew he guessed correctly when Black muttered, “Tell ’im.”

“Loach frequent visitor to tavern in the docklands. Owned by Francis O’Toole.”

Tessa’s hands balled in her lap.

“Loach has brother,” Ming continued. “Brother is one of Severin Knight’s men.”

Harry was not familiar with Knight. Seeing Tessa’s sharp intake of breath, he leaned closer, whispering, “Who’s Knight?”

“The Duke of Spitalfields,” she whispered back. “He oversees and gets a cut of most of the trade that happens there.”

“Finally, Loach owe money,” Ming said. “Five hundred quid to Adam Garrity.”

Garrity was a name Harry knew. The infamous moneylender was married to his sisters’ friend, Gabriella nee Billings. Harry had met Gabriella once, years ago before her marriage, and had the memory of a plump, redheaded chatterbox.