The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(54)

She frowned. “Why would a man like that be involved with hellfire?”

“A title is no guarantee of character,” he said stiffly.

“I know that. What I meant was why would a respected scientist make weapons for the underworld…oh.” The reason hit her. “For money?”

“De Witt keeps up appearances, but I’d wager that’s a good guess. I plan to dig deeper into his financial situation, but, first things first, tonight I’ll search his house to look for evidence.” Bennett pinned her with a stern look. “You will give me your word to stay home and not interfere.”

In her heart, she knew what was right. What she had to do. Surreptitiously, her fingers crossed in the folds of her skirts.

“You have my word,” she said.

Grandpapa’s voice boomed from the hallway. “We’re all set for the morrow?”

“Yes, sir.” It was Ming’s voice. “All dukes confirm.”

Grandpapa came through the doorway, leaning on his cane, periwig in place. “Good. Now I want extra guards…Tessie.” He caught sight of her by the sideboard. “You’re up early, ain’t you?”

“What’s going on tomorrow?” Tessa said.

He tromped to his seat at the head of the table. “Can’t a man ’ave ’is tea before being bombarded with questions?”

“I’ll get your tea, Grandpapa.”

Hurrying over, she sat next to him and reached for the pot. She made his tea the way he liked, with ample cream and two spoonfuls of sugar, a task she’d enjoyed doing since she was a girl. She bided her time while he blew on the hot beverage before tasting it.

“Good?” she said.

He grunted in answer. Slurped more tea. When he reached for the newspaper, however, she couldn’t refrain any longer. “What’s happening on the morrow?”

“God almighty.” He scowled at her. “Can’t a man enjoy ’is breakfast in peace?”

“You said you needed your tea, and you have it. Now what is going on? If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask Ming.”

She looked to her grandfather’s right-hand man, who stood a little way from the table, Bennett beside him. Ming’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes rolled slightly upward, as if to say, Do not drag me into this.

“Ming’s silent as the grave ’less I say so.” Looking smug, Grandpapa shook out his newspaper.

“Fine. Then I shall simply keep asking you until you tell me,” she said determinedly. “What’s happening on the morrow?”

He drew his newspaper up higher.

She pulled down the top edge. “What are the dukes confirmed for?”

“Bloody ’ell, you’re wrinkling the damned paper—”

She rose, palms flat on the table, her gaze locking with her grandfather’s. “I’m a Black. What happens to this family happens to me. I’ll ask again, and I’ll keep on asking until you tell me: What is going on?”

“God’s blood, all right! Quit your yappin’,” her grandfather growled. “I’ll tell you.”

She tilted her head, waiting.

“I’ve called a meeting tomorrow at Nightingale’s. Ming ’as identified three suspects—three o’ the dukes—and I’ve invited them for a parley. Nothing to worry about.”

Was he daft? How could she not worry? “You’re going to be in a room with a bastard who tried to kill you.”

“Gor, that wouldn’t be the first time.” Grandpapa gulped more tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t even be the first time this week.”

“That is not amusing. What if something happens to you? In the past month alone, you’ve been shot at, your home attacked. You’re not a c-cat, Grandpapa, you haven’t got nine lives.” To her horror, her voice quivered, heat rising behind her eyes. “I don’t have a good feeling about this—”

“Ming’ll arrange plenty o’ protection.” He set a strong, age-mottled hand over hers on the table. His signet ring, the seal of the House of Black and a symbol of its power, shone richly in the morning light. “Now ’ow many times ’ave I told you, missy? A true Black’ll shed ’is blood afore ’e sheds a tear.”

“If you’d let me, I would shed blood for you,” she whispered. “I would stand by your side.”

“I know that. Always said, you might not be o’ my body, but you’re o’ my heart. And your job is to not strain the ol’ ticker, eh?” He chucked her under the chin with the old, familiar affection. “Now you know I can’t take you tomorrow. But know that you’re with me, ’ere,”—he thumped a fist over his heart—“where’er I go.”

She did know it. Knew the depth of his love for her, the love she returned with every fiber of her being. She might not be able to protect him, but she knew who could.

“Take Bennett with you tomorrow,” she said. “For added protection.”

She shifted her gaze to Bennett, who said, “I’d be glad to be of service, sir.”

“For my peace of mind, Grandpapa,” she pleaded, “please take Bennett.”

“Fine, if you’ll cork that gob o’ yours,” Grandpapa muttered.