The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(47)
Recalling his and Tessa’s very public argument here, he flushed. “I don’t think she’s a brat.”
Not most of the time, anyway. He’d gotten to know her better. He’d even formed a hypothesis as to the cause of her willfulness. Having witnessed her interactions with her father and grandfather, he suspected that her defiant behavior resulted from a history of having her wishes ignored or denied.
In the face of that adversity, many ladies would become subservient or compliant or just give up. But not Tessa: she was a fighter. Harry had to admit he admired her bold spirit, even if he sometimes felt the brunt of her strong will.
“Tessa’s got a sense o’ honor stronger than most men. Gets it from her grandfather, though ’e don’t see it. When you found ’er dressed like a lad, cheating that bastard Dewey O’Toole at cards, she weren’t doing it for fun. Not just for fun anyway,” Francie amended.
Harry frowned. “Then why did she do it?”
“On account o’ what O’Toole did to Belinda.”
The truth slammed into him. “O’Toole was the one who put the bruises on her?”
“Blighter did more than beat Belinda: ’e stole ’er blunt, too. Not because ’e needed the money, but just because ’e could,” Francie said starkly. “Belinda weren’t ’erself after that, and that’s why Tessa stepped in.”
“Why didn’t Todd do something about it?” If possible, Harry’s esteem for Tessa’s father dropped even lower.
Francie darted a glance around, hushing her voice. “’E ain’t got the bollocks to stand up to the O’Tooles. And ’e don’t give a damn about us wenches, not like Tessa does. Girl’s got a ’eart o’ gold and looks after ’er own.”
It was the second time someone had said that about Tessa. A feeling spread through Harry, like the prickly pleasure-pain of an awakening limb. And along with it another feeling…
Remorse.
He’d underestimated her. His mind had failed to recognize the truth he’d felt: the goodness at her core, the virtue rooted in her like a sturdy flower abloom in the rookery’s dirty streets.
Shaking his head, he said, “Why didn’t she tell me or her grandfather? She let us believe she was just out on a lark.”
“Belinda made ’er swear not to tell anyone. And Tessa’s a woman o’ ’er word.”
Remorse bled into self-recrimination. To think, he’d compared her to Celeste, questioned her suitability to be his bride.
“She is a remarkable woman,” he said in a low voice.
“She’s no wilting violet, that’s for certain. But she’s more fragile than she lets on, thanks to that bleedin’ finishing school.”
He frowned. “What happened there?”
“High-kick twats treated ’er like rubbish is what. Bullied ’er without mercy.” Francie’s lips pulled tight. “Four years and weren’t a day she didn’t arrive with ’er eyes puffed up from crying.”
Harry’s chest clenched. That Tessa had been subjected to such cruelty made him want to punch something. It explained her prejudice against the upper class, why she wanted no part in the charade of being Miss Theresa Smith.
“Our Tessa’s blood might not run blue, but she’s a real lady.” Francie’s tone was as stern as that of any schoolmistress. “See that you treat ’er like she deserves.”
He’d earned the admonishment. For not recognizing what had been plainly in front of his face. For being a blind fool.
Harry thanked the madam and took his leave. He stepped into the night air, his head spinning like a man who’d just received a blow to the head. Or one who was finally waking up.
16
Tessa stealthily crossed the courtyard toward the mews, her arms wrapped around a large box. She’d forgone a lamp and timed her journey to minimize the chance of being detected. The night air brushed against her cheeks, cool and invigorating after the hour she’d spent tossing in her bed. She hadn’t been able to sleep. The moment her eyes closed, she’d seen the faces of Ned and Josiah and those of their weeping families whom she’d visited today, and helpless anguish had filled her.
She could do nothing for those two brave soldiers, and the menace was still at large. Her hope lay in Bennett: before supper, he’d told her he would be out this evening pursuing a lead. As glad as she was that he was making progress, she was also worried about his safety.
To distract herself, she’d decided to plant his surprise while he was out.
Hence the box in her arms and her climb up the steps to Bennett’s room above the stables. At his door, she saw the darkened window and knew he was still out. Her timing was perfect. When he returned, he would be surprised and, hopefully, pleased by her gift.
It was part of her campaign to win him over. She was reasonably certain that he desired her physically. She might be a virgin, but she couldn’t miss his obvious arousal the two times they’d kissed. Thus, she reasoned his ambivalence toward her must have to do with her other shortcomings.
Glumly, she recalled how Bennett had called her a spoiled brat. A man like him had probably had his share of bedpartners, women who were more fetching, sophisticated, and feminine than she was. Ladies who didn’t run around in trousers, who knew how to properly flirt, and who didn’t, well, annoy the man they wanted to marry.