The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(70)

Her vigorous nod caused her bonnet to shed a violet onto the carpet.

“Give us the cove’s address,” Doolittle muttered.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Tessa beamed at him.

“The two nights I followed De Witt,” Harry said, “he left his townhouse at nine in the evening. After making an appearance at a society affair, he headed to a club. Crockford’s in St. James.”

“Crockford’s, eh?” Doolittle whistled. “Play there gets steep.”

Which was precisely why Harry wanted to know more about De Witt’s financial situation. Was he in debt? Was money motivating him to produce and sell hellfire to the underworld?

“Both times, he didn’t leave the club until dawn.” Harry paused. “From what I know of De Witt, he is a man of habit, so tailing him will likely involve late nights.”

“Late nights ain’t the problem.” Doolittle stretched his arms, yawning. “It’s the days stuck in this ’ere shop. A chap gets rusty from too much respectability.”

If running a fence was respectable, Harry wondered what Doolittle considered disreputable…and decided he didn’t want to know.

At that instant, a blast came from the front of the shop.

“Zounds.” Tessa’s eyes widened. “Should we go help?”

“Nah. If it were Monday,”—Doolittle exchanged a significant glance with Tessa, making Harry wonder about the “wife” on that day of the week—“my arse would be catapulting from this ’ere chair, but it being Wednesday means all I got to do is nuffin’.” He yawned again. “Come to fink o’ it, I might catch a few winks.”

“We won’t keep you.” Tessa rose, and Harry followed suit. “We’ll hear from you soon?”

“Long as I ’aven’t lost my touch.” Doolittle wriggled his fingers and waved them off.





25





Two nights later, Tessa sat before the vanity as Lizzie put the final touches on her hair. Madame Rousseau, the modiste, had suggested trying a new, softer coiffure to go with the costume, one that she claimed was all the rage. Mavis had arrived to supervise Tessa’s toilette, and she reclined on the adjacent chaise longue, a blanket tucked over her slight form.

Mama hadn’t recovered completely from her last episode. In the mirror, Tessa saw the other’s pale lips, the skin on her cheeks so translucent that a tracery of blue veins showed through.

Tessa bit her lip. “You really didn’t need to come, Mama.”

“Of course I did. My condition prevents me from accompanying you to the masquerade,” Mama said, “but I refuse to miss this part as well. A girl needs her mama to be present for her grand entrée.”

“This isn’t my first foray into the ton.”

Tessa felt obliged to point it out. During the years at Southbridge’s, she’d blundered through her share of such events, and she didn’t want her mama’s hopes to be raised…only to be crushed if she once again failed to be a success.

She, herself, had larger game to hunt. The De Witts might be in attendance tonight. Although she’d given Bennett her promise not to approach them, she could monitor them surreptitiously if the occasion permitted.

“Things are different now,” Mama said. “With the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville at your beck and call, doors will be opened for you.”

“His Grace is hardly at my beck and call.”

“Ransom is dazzled by you.”

Tessa let out a huff of amusement. Because of Mavis’ physical frailty, people often overlooked the fact that she had steel at her core. She was a Black, after all. Her strength of will showed itself frequently when it came to her stepdaughter: it seemed nothing could put a dent in her optimism about Tessa’s future.

Tessa turned in her chair to face her stepmama, earning her a grunt from Lizzie.

“Hold still, Miss Tessa. I ain’t done.”

“Sorry, Lizzie.” To her mother, she said, “It isn’t me he’s dazzled by: it’s the dowry Grandpapa has promised him. He admitted as much during our turn in Baroness von Friesing’s garden.”

“He did?” Distaste thinned Mama’s mouth. “That’s not very gentlemanly of him, is it?”

“I prefer honesty to flattery.”

“Nonetheless, a fellow ought to show proper respect for the lady he is courting. I shall speak to Father about it.”

“Please don’t, Mama.” The last thing she needed was her grandfather pressuring Ransom into a pretense of romance. “Such niceties are unnecessary, I assure you.”

“Every lady deserves niceties,” Mama said primly. “Especially during the courtship.”

Before Tessa could argue, Lizzie said, “That’s that, I think. Have a look.”

Tessa turned back toward the looking glass. She swung her head this way and that, admiring Lizzie’s handiwork. The maid had plaited several sections of her hair, arranging the dark braids to lie softly against her ears before twisting into an elegant coil at the back of her head. Her only hair ornament was a headband from which sprouted a pair of small, furry, triangular ears. The ears were made of cream-colored ermine and matched the trim on Tessa’s gown.

“Come here, dear,” Mama said, “so I can have a better look.”