The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(68)

“It’s ’otter than the sun, too.” Despite her disheveled locks and rather skimpy dress, the woman’s shrewd expression suggested that she didn’t suffer fools readily.

“I didn’t pinch these,” the would-be supplier protested. “They be family ’eirlooms, passed down to me by my dear ma, God rest ’er soul.”

The blonde’s gaze slitted. “Thought your name was Jenkins.”

“Right-o, dove.” He winked at her, leaned an elbow on the counter. “Call me Big Bobby Jenkins, they do, and it ain’t on account o’ my height.”

“If your last name is Jenkins, then why would your ma ’ave the initials,”—she stabbed a finger down on the embroidered crest of the handkerchief—“L. M.?”

“Gor, is that what it says? Ne’er learned my letters.” Big Bobby’s smile held not one whit of repentance. “All right, dove, ten shillings for the lot. Billys like these sell for six shillings a piece in those posh shops on Pall Mall.”

“Those ain’t stolen goods.” She rolled her eyes. “Christening these’ll take time and talent with a needle, so a crown’s all you’ll get from me.”

“Eight shillings.”

“A crown, you cly-faking bastard, and not a shilling more.”

Sighing, the man said, “You’ve a ’ard ’eart, dove.”

“Next time, bring me goods that ain’t marked, and I’ll be softer than a lord’s arse.” The proprietress tossed a coin over the counter, and Big Bobby good-naturedly caught it.

“Good afternoon, Sal,” Tessa called.

The blonde turned. “Tessa! ’An’t seen you in a dog’s age.”

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Tessa said apologetically.

Sal’s penciled brows shot up, and she jerked her chin at Harry. “Who’s the swell?”

“This is Sam Bennett. He’s my, um, bodyguard.” A hint of pink crested Tessa’s cheeks. “Bennett, this is Sally Doolittle.”

“Strapping fellow, ain’t you?” Sal eyed him, licking her lips in the manner of a mongrel presented with a meaty bone.

Egad. He cleared his throat. “Pleased to meet you ma’am.”

“Call me Sal, ’andsome. Everyone does.” She wriggled her shoulders, a motion that tested the limits of her low neckline.

“Pardon, sir.” Big Bobby, who was making his way out, brushed against Harry. He flashed a smile of not very white teeth.

“No harm done,” Harry said.

With a doff of his hat, Big Bobby continued on his way.

“Hold it right there,” Tessa demanded.

Big Bobby froze.

“Whatever it is you pinched, give it back, you sticky-fingered blighter,” she said.

Harry blinked. Patted his waistcoat. “My pocket watch. The bastard stole it.”

Big Bobby made a run for it.

Before Harry could give chase, a shot blasted through the room.

Big Bobby cried, “Goddamnit, Sal, that was my favorite ’at!”

He bent to pick his headwear up from the ground. Harry’s brows inched up at the sight of the precise hole punched through it.

Sal tucked a small, pearl-handled pistol back into the folds of her skirts. “Ought to know be’er than to shit where you sup. If I see that bony ’ide o’ yours again, I’ll blow a ’ole through it too. Now give the ticker back to the toff, and be quick ’bout it.”

Jamming on his holey hat, Big Bobby did as he was told before skulking out.

“Perfect aim, as usual,” Tessa said.

Sal preened. “No be’er than yours with those pretty daggers.”

The mutual admiration society was interrupted by the emergence of a young man through the velvet curtain behind the counter.

“Bloody ’ell,” he said, yawning widely, “can’t a chap get some shut-eye around ’ere?”

“Alfredkins!” All of the hardness melted from Sal’s features. She rushed over to the newcomer, cooing, “Sorry we disturbed you, love, but Tessa’s ’ere.”

“Can see that, my peepers ain’t faulty. But who’s the four-eyes?” Alfred Doolittle ambled up to Harry and gave him a once-over.

Harry returned the favor. Up close, Doolittle was older than he’d first appeared; he was probably near Harry’s age, those years softened by an angelic boyishness. Slight and bran-faced, Doolittle had a mop of brown hair and large, wide-spaced eyes.

“Name’s Sam Bennett,” Harry said evenly. “I was hired on by Mr. Black to protect Miss Todd.”

“Ain’t shook this one loose yet, eh?” Doolittle addressed Tessa.

“Hello to you, too,” she said smartly. “And I have no intention of shaking Bennett loose. In fact, we came because we need your help.”

“’Ain’t ’eard that before,” Doolittle muttered. “All right, to the office, the pair o’ you.” Turning to his lover, he said, “Keep watch, Sal, and don’t ’esitate to put that talent o’ yours to use.”

“Which talent, Alfredkins?” Sal purred, running her fingers through his hair.

“With the pistol, you tart.” Doolittle gave her bottom an indiscreet squeeze, and Sal giggled. “Your other talents’ll keep ’til bedtime.”