The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(67)

“I thought I told you to stop being adorable.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she protested.

“You’re being you. That’s enough. Now tell me why you dread the masquerade.”

It felt good to confide. And Bennett’s gentle teasing made it easy to share her insecurities.

“For one, it’s likely that some of my former classmates from the Dungeon of Horrors will be there.” Just thinking of those smirking faces churned her insides.

His lips quirked. “By Dungeon of Horrors, I take it you’re referring to Mrs. Southbridge’s?”

“I hated every minute of that school,” she said with emphasis. “It wasn’t just the tedious lessons, either. The other girls made fun of me. How I looked…” She looked at her lap, fiddling with a primrose ribbon on her skirts. “How I am.”

“Can this be true?” Before she could argue that yes, it definitely was, he clarified, “You’re intimidated by a bunch of chits?”

“You don’t know how they are. They’re mean.”

“They’re mean because they’re jealous,” he said flatly. “Of your beauty, spirit, and uniqueness. They’ll never hold a candle to you, and they know it.”

His compliment rendered her speechless. And he wasn’t done.

“You’re not the same girl you were back then. You know your worth. If someone is malicious, you hold your head up high and smile. Take no notice of their pettiness and envy.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “What do you know about being an outcast?”

“More than you’d know.” Shadows darkened Bennett’s gaze. Before she could ask him what he meant, he stated, “Trust me, you won’t be a wallflower at the ball.”

“I suppose since Ransom invited me, he’s obligated to ask me to dance,” she said reluctantly.

“I wasn’t referring to the bloody duke.”

“Then how do you know I won’t be a wallflower?”

“I just know. Trust me on this,” he said resolutely.

The carriage was slowing. The ruckus of tradespeople doing business signaled their arrival at Alfred’s place in Whitechapel.

She took in all that was Bennett, his strapping good looks and noble nature, and longing throbbed in her voice. “I wish you could dance with me at the masquerade.”

“One day, sprite.” His eyes held a molten promise. “Until then, I’ll be there watching over you.”





24





After a thorough scan of the narrow, bustling street, Harry handed Tessa down from the carriage. She wore a white muslin, the tightly fitted bodice emphasizing her slender torso, the full skirts swishing elegantly around her silk shoes. With her pretty face framed by a flower-trimmed bonnet, she reminded him of a porcelain shepherdess he’d once seen in a shop.

Thinking about her confession about the bullying she’d endured made him want to punch something. How dare anyone try to trample her spirit? Even though he couldn’t be by her side at the masquerade, he’d see to it that she was protected from those insipid chits.

His Tessa was no wallflower. And no one would put her in the corner.

His hand closed fiercely around hers before letting go.

She smiled up at him, warming him with her special light. “Here we are.”

Their destination was a shop crammed jowl to jowl with other businesses. It was distinguished by an enormous sign hanging over the window, which announced in gold gilt that this was “Doolittle’s Emporium of Wonders.”

Emporium of wonders, his arse. The plethora of random goods visible through the glass revealed what this place was: a pawn shop. Harry’s only question was whether Tessa’s friend Alfred received his inventory in an honest manner…or if he was an out-and-out fence.

Harry instructed the groom to keep watch outside with a weapon at the ready.

“There’s no need to worry,” Tessa said. “Today is Wednesday.”

He didn’t follow. “What is special about Wednesdays?”

“Alfie’s wife on Wednesdays is an excellent shot.”

Opening the door for her, he said, “His wife…on Wednesdays? I don’t understand.”

“Alfred has a different lady for each day of the week,” she explained.

He frowned. “Your friend is a bigamist?”

“Alfred’s no bigamist,” she reassured him. “He’s not legally married to any of them.”

Inside, the shop was a maze of shelves, all of them crammed with merchandise, everything from teapots to garments to exotic oddities. The effect was bizarre. Next to a chipped crystal vase sat a stuffed monkey with a lace cap on its head. A curious potpourri of tobacco, lemons, and wet dog pervaded Harry’s nostrils.

They arrived at the shop’s counter. A buxom blonde in her forties stood behind it. She was haggling with a short, havey-cavey sort of fellow wearing a battered hat and threadbare coat. Silk handkerchiefs were piled on the counter between them; immersed in their negotiations, the pair took no notice of Tessa and Harry.

“A crown, and that’s my best offer,” the blonde said.

“That wouldn’t pay for one o’ these billys, let alone all six.” The man snatched one of the handkerchiefs, held it up. “The silk’s first-rate. See ’ow this billy gleams in the sun?”