The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(73)

“May I compliment you on your costume?” the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville said as he guided her into a waltz. “You make a most charming kitty.”

Tessa didn’t bother correcting him. Since she’d arrived at the opulent ball, the handful of people who had deigned to speak to her had all mistaken her for a cat. Even the demi-mask she was wearing didn’t help. In the carriage, Bennett had helped her to don the brown velvet mask decorated with swirls of gold embroidery and seed pearls.

Now you and Swift Nick could be twins, he’d said with his crooked smile.

How she wished she could be dancing with him instead of the duke. But knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd, keeping watch over her, made her feel better. It was past midnight, and she hadn’t heard the De Witts being announced; she was losing hope that she’d have the opportunity to do some clandestine sleuthing.

Unfortunately, she had seen some other people she knew, including her nemesis Lady Hyacinth Tipping, now the Countess of Fyffe. Hyacinth had looked past her as if she were invisible. Surprisingly, Baroness von Friesing had been the one to observe that Ransom’s attentions to Tessa were likely the cause of the snub.

Lady Fyffe’s husband is a mere earl, and a Scottish one at that, the baroness had said tartly. A fact you would know if you used your Debrett’s as more than a doorstop.

How well her chaperone knew her.

As Tessa whirled by the orchestra, she caught a glimpse of Hyacinth standing next to one of the gilded columns, staring at her with a sour expression. Tessa decided that dancing with Ransom wasn’t so bad after all. In all honesty, he was being nice to her, which was more than she could say of the rest of the snobbish lot.

She smiled up at him. “And you are the king of that particular family, I see.”

Ransom was a stylish lion, his bronze velvet tailcoat immaculately fitted to his lean frame, his demi-mask trimmed in golden fur. Embroidered lions pranced across his black silk waistcoat.

“I like to be the head of the pack,” he drawled.

“Pride, Your Grace.”

“Pardon?”

“A group of lions is called a pride, not a pack.”

“Right.” His smile flashed white against his mustache and trimmed beard. “You have an unusual fount of knowledge, Miss Smith.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

“I like animals.” On impulse, she added, “And I’m supposed to be a ferret.”

“A ferret, hmm? Well, you’re the first of that I’ve seen. Most ladies prefer something more…”

“Elegant?” she guessed. “Exotic?”

Looking around her, most of the ladies were garbed in eye-catching extravagance. She’d seen peacocks, parrots, and goldfish by the dozen.

“I was going to say conventional. But you’re not, are you?”

“One of many virtues I cannot claim,” she said ruefully.

He swung her into a turn, and his speed and sudden closeness made her head spin a little. As did the words he murmured into her ear. “Virtue is overrated, my little ferret.”

The dance ended, and she found herself looking up into his golden hazel gaze. He was a handsome rake. And so adept at flirting that he could make one feel as if his interest was genuine.

“How do you do that?” she marveled.

“Do what?”

“Be so sincerely insincere.”

He gave a shout of laughter. The sound drew looks; clearly, everyone was wondering what she’d said to amuse him.

“Are you always this forthright?” Ransom murmured as he led her off the dance floor.

“Oh no. I’m an excellent liar when the occasion demands.”

In fact, she was living a lie at this moment. She wished she didn’t have to keep up pretenses, that she and Bennett could be open about their feelings—that Grandpapa could accept that she wanted to wed her bodyguard and not the duke (however nice the latter was being).

Maybe if Bennett and I solve the mystery of the hellfire, Grandpapa will see how worthy he truly is. She felt the gentle yet powerful weight of her grandmama’s necklace, the legacy of love and strength. Maybe the De Witts will yet make an appearance…

“A trait we share,” Ransom said.

“You’re a good liar, Your Grace?” She was surprised that he admitted it.

“This entire ball is a lie, is it not?”

Intrigued, she tilted her head. “Because everyone is pretending to be something they’re not?”

“That too. But I was referring to the fact that the ball is the picture of luxury.” He smiled without humor. “One that I cannot afford.”

“Then why host a ball at all?”

“Appearances, little ferret, are everything.”

Ransom returned her to Baroness von Friesing, who’d planted herself close to the buffet table. She’d been chatting with another duenna and looked rather put out to have her tête-à-tête interrupted.

Nonetheless, she fixed a smile upon her face. “Done with my charge so soon, Your Grace?”

“Alas, rules do not permit for more than a second dance,” Ransom said easily. “But perhaps I might claim you for a stroll around the ballroom later on, Miss Smith?”

“Why not?” Tessa held up the empty dance card dangling from her wrist. “’Tis not as if I have anything better to do.”