The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(57)

Tessa wrinkled her nose at the released odor, like that of rotted eggs. “Is that oil of vitriol?”

He gave a tight nod. “Also known as sulphuric acid. It acts as a catalyst, enhances the effect of the nitric acid. All you need is a source of fuel…” He pulled open a drawer. “And here it is.”

She stared at the folded linens. “Towels are the principle ingredient of hellfire?”

“Soaked in a solution of nitric and sulphuric acids, the cotton becomes highly combustible. All you would need is a spark and—boom.”

And he would know, he thought grimly. One fateful night back at Cambridge, he’d been heating a mixture of the two acids when the flask shattered. He’d grabbed the nearest cloth, a cotton apron, using it to wipe up the mess. He’d hung the apron up to dry by the fire, and a minute later, whoosh. Before his startled eyes, it had gone up in flames.

His accidental discovery had opened a new door of experimentation. That door had been shut when De Witt stole his invention and discredited him. Disgraced him so that he was no longer welcome in the scientific community.

“Didn’t you say the compound was unstable? If so, how is De Witt producing and storing it?”

A good question. One that Harry still didn’t have the answer to.

“He’s making the hellfire somewhere,” he said darkly, “and I have to find that factory, see it with my own eyes. As of now, we have no proof of anything. De Witt could claim he’s just running a few experiments—”

He cut short as a shrill, bird-like call sounded in the distance. Ambrose’s warning signal.

“Damn it, they’re back.”

She frowned. “I don’t hear anyone.”

“We have to go. Now.” Closing the drawer, he pulled her out of the laboratory and back into the study. He pushed the bookcase back as the whistle sounded again. Tessa hurriedly twisted the paperweight back into its original position, locking the door in place.

Together, they dashed out of the study. In the hallway, Harry heard someone coming up the front steps. At the same time, the wood-soled tread of a servant’s shoes sounded inside the house, heading towards the entrance hall. Hinges squeaked as the front door opened. Harry pressed against the wall, concealing himself in the shadows, motioning for Tessa to do the same behind him.

“How was your evening, Miss De Witt?” a man’s voice said.

“A bore. Have some warmed milk sent up to my chamber.” Celeste De Witt’s voice hadn’t changed, was still as musical as silver bells, but now the sound stirred not delight in Harry but seething anger. “I need it after all that palavering.”

The servant murmured a reply. Footsteps sounded again, Celeste’s light ones up the staircase, the other’s down toward the kitchen.

“We’ll have to make a run for it out the front door.”

Tessa’s urgent whisper snapped Harry back to reality. He took her hand, and they crept stealthily to the entrance hall. Seeing no one, they exited the main door and were halfway down the street when a sleek carriage rolled up.

The door opened, revealing Ambrose’s urgent expression. Without a word, he grabbed Tessa by the arm, Harry boosting her into the carriage from behind. Harry had an instant to glimpse her shocked expression before he jumped in after her.





20





Tessa landed with a thump, plush seat cushions breaking the impact. In the next instant, she reached into her boot, her fingers closing around the cloisonné handle of her dagger. She whipped it out, taking aim at the grim-faced policeman on the opposite bench.

She let it fly, nailing his hat to the carriage wall.

“Next one is through the heart, Peeler,” she spat. “Let us go.”

In reply, the Peeler’s dark brows inched up. “A ‘nice young lady,’ you said?”

The odd words were made even odder by the fact that they were directed at Bennett.

“She has her moments,” Bennett said shortly.

Another look was exchanged between the men.

“You two know one another?” she burst out.

“Put away the damned daggers,” Bennett said. “This is my brother.”

“Your brother?”

She’d had no idea that he had siblings. She realized she knew little about him other than the fact that he had worked as a navvy, was good at just about everything, and could make her feel swoony just by smiling (or even scowling, which was what he presently was doing).

With a yank, Bennett’s brother freed her dagger and his hat. He passed the former back to her, and, a bit abashed, she took it and stowed it back into her boot. When Bennett made no move to introduce her, she did it herself.

“Pardon the misunderstanding, sir. I’m Tessa Todd,” she said politely. “Bennett never mentioned you to me before.”

“I don’t imagine he has.” Strangely, Bennett’s brother didn’t elaborate.

“This is my brother Ambrose,” Bennett said in curt tones. “He was keeping a lookout for me.”

Drat. She’d unknowingly pulled the wool…over Bennett’s brother’s eyes.

Determined to make a good first impression, or at least improve the bad one she’d made, she said penitently, “I’m very sorry about the mix up, Mr. Bennett. I hope you’ll forgive the, um, decoy involving the crossing sweep. I thought you were a Peeler, you see, and I was worried about Bennett. I used the ruse to get past you so that I could warn him.”