The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(56)

“I know I did, but I got so worried that I couldn’t just sit there and wait. And I only intended to keep watch for you,” she rushed on. “Then I saw suspicious characters lurking outside. Three of them, I counted, and they have the shifty look of Peel’s Bloody Gang.” Her mouth curled in disgust. “They’re not in uniform, but you know how those spying bastards work. De Witt probably greased their palms to watch his lair.”

If Harry wasn’t so infuriated, he might have been impressed with her surveillance skills. She’d only missed on one point: it wasn’t De Witt who was responsible for the watch, but Harry. Ambrose and his partners, Lugo and McLeod, were keeping a lookout for him. The three men had whistles that made a distinctive sound like a gull’s call, and they were to sound a warning if the De Witts returned unexpectedly.

Harry hadn’t heard any whistles going off, which meant that Tessa had somehow got by the seasoned investigators. And he couldn’t tell her about Ambrose without revealing his own identity.

Leashing his anger, he bit out, “How did you get past them?”

“Child’s play.” She made no effort to appear modest. “I gave a crossing sweep a guinea to create a distraction. You know, the pretend-to-get-hit-by-a-carriage trick? Works every time. The Peelers were so busy helping the lad that I snuck right by them and into the house.”

Bloody hell. Looking at her beaming face, he didn’t know whether to shout at her for risking her neck or congratulate her for duping three experienced investigators. Since they were in the middle of breaking into a house, he could do neither, and his fury mounted to a dangerous degree.

There was a wriggling in her jacket. Swift Nick poked his head out to hiss at Harry.

She quickly pushed the ferret back into her pocket. “Hush, Swift Nick. We’re in the middle of a breakin.”

Harry breathed through his nose, his hands bracing his hips as he strove to control his temper.

She peered up at him through her lashes. “Are you, um, angry?”

With Herculean effort, he wrestled his emotions into place. Forced himself to focus on what he needed to do. He would deal with the lying chit in due course.

“We’ll discuss that later,” he said coldly. “Time is of essence. There’s an antechamber behind that bookcase, and I’m trying to find the mechanism to open it.”

Even in the dimness, he could see her eyes light up. “Let me have a look.”

She dashed to the bookcase, repeating his earlier actions. “Hmm, there’s no obvious switch.”

“I know that.” Impatiently, he surveyed the room. “It’s likely hidden in the study somewhere.”

“If it was me, I’d want it in a convenient place. The desk, perhaps?” She trotted over, started rifling through the stack of papers. Brows lifted, she held up the invitation he’d seen earlier. “The De Witts move in Ransom’s circles?”

“Apparently,” he said. “Leave everything as you found it. We don’t want to raise suspicions.”

“That’s a pretty paperweight. Is that a real flower in it?” Blithely ignoring his instructions, she reached for the green glass.

“I said don’t…” He paused, seeing the line between her brows. “What’s the matter?”

“The paperweight. It won’t move.” She frowned, tugging at the object. “Maybe if I…”

She twisted, and an audible click came from the direction of the bookcase.

“Crikey,” she breathed.

Harry was already striding to the bookcase. Placing his hands on its side, he pushed, and this time it moved easily. It slid along the wall, revealing an entryway into gaping darkness.

Tessa was by his side in a heartbeat, lamp in hand.

He took it from her. “Stay behind me.”

She gave an avid nod.

He led the way, and, as the circle of light fell, the hairs on his nape rose. The small chamber was a replica of his laboratory at Cambridge. The lamp’s flame gleamed off glass vessels, burners, and metal implements, each step he took bringing him closer to the past. As a numbing chill spread through him, his mind turned as clear as ice.

“Is this where the rotter is making the hellfire?” Tessa whispered.

“I doubt it. Even De Witt wouldn’t be so foolish as to risk blowing up his own house. At most, he’s conducting preliminary experiments here.” Harry stopped at a table lined with stoppered flasks. As a precaution, he handed Tessa the lamp. “Keep the flame at a distance.”

Eyes huge, she took a step back. He lifted the first flask. It was filled with a clear, colorless liquid. He uncorked it and wafted the scent toward his nose. He knew the acrid, suffocating scent: the smell of destruction and failure.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nitric acid.”

She peered at it warily. “Is it explosive?”

“Not on its own.” When she looked relieved, he said, “It is highly corrosive, however, and, more to the point, an agent that can cause other flammable substances to combust. It plays a similar role to that of saltpeter in gunpowder.”

She chewed on her lip. “So if the nitric acid were combined with a flammable substance, it could make the hellfire?”

He nodded, setting down the flask and picking up another. This one was also filled with a clear liquid, one with an oily viscosity. He knew what it was; he confirmed it anyway.