The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(8)

“We can wait ’em out in ’ere,” she said.

He didn’t see a back door. “If our pursuers come in, there’s no escape route.”

“They won’t dare come in.”

“How do you know that?”

A hint of pink crept above her fake mustache. “Just, um, a hunch.”

Before he could question her further, there was a sudden movement beneath her coat.

“What the devil?” He blinked as a line of fur darted from her jacket pocket. It wound its way up her body, looping itself around her neck like a collar. The animal was cream-colored, with dark brown accents on its tail and paws. The strip of brown around its eyes resembled a mask, and, along with its pointed ears and twitching pink nose, gave it the look of an inquisitive bandit.

“You brought…a ferret?” he asked stupidly.

“This is Swift Nick Nevison. Where I go, he goes.”

The fact that she had a ferret named after an infamous highwayman was bizarrely fitting.

“Swift Nick,” she chided, “we don’t hiss at friends.”

The ferret stopped hissing at Harry and bared his fangs instead.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance as well,” Harry muttered.

Apparently determined to carry on her masquerade, Miss Todd swept him a jaunty bow. “My thanks for your assistance tonight. Your name, sir?”

Voices sounded, silhouettes growing larger in the window.

Harry acted on instinct, tackling her into the pile of hay. He twisted to bear the brunt of the fall, and Miss Todd let out a little “oof” as she landed atop him. Swift Nick, who’d been detached from his mistress during the process, hopped up and down on the ground beside them, hairs raised and spitting mad.

“Hush, Swift Nick,” she said breathlessly. “Go hide. Don’t come out until I tell you.”

After a lingering glare at Harry, the ferret scrambled off.

Harry remained stock-still, his arms around Miss Todd, their heartbeats thudding in unison.

“They’re in there.” The voice belonged to Barton, the lout Harry had given an uppercut. “I can smell ’em.”

“Let’s go in,” another brutish voice said.

“Stop. We have to leave at once.” Smithers’ sniveling tones emerged. “This courtyard is Black’s territory.”

Harry’s head jerked, his gaze meeting Miss Todd’s. Hers was unflinching, and she didn’t seem to realize that her moustache had been lost in the scuffle. Without that strip of hair, her mouth was revealed as pink and plump, the sensual dent in the bottom lip distractingly feminine.

She wriggled, making him aware of her other attributes as well. With her draped over him, he could feel her shape through that bulky disguise. She was slender yet delicately curved in all the right places.

“Bugger Black. I ain’t afraid o’ ’im.” Barton’s bravado filtered through the stable walls. “Codger’s old now, weak. Mark my words, a new King is coming—”

“Shut your yap,” Smithers hissed.

A shot blasted, followed by a sharp cry. Harry instinctively rolled over to cover Miss Todd’s body with his own. Shouts sounded outside.

“Bloody ’ell, Barton’s dead! Bullet between the eyes!”

“There’s a shooter above the stables!”

Another shot rang out.

“Run, the bastard’s still shooting!”

Footsteps pounded as the brutes made their escape. Then…silence.

Harry mouthed, “Stay here,” to Miss Todd, who remained perfectly still, eyes wide and luminous. He got up, hearing the almost imperceptible creak of steps outside…someone stealthily descending from the groom’s quarters. Removing his flintlock, he exited the stalls, horses nickering as he passed. Through a window, he glimpsed Barton laying on the ground, eyes open, blood trickling from a neat hole in his forehead.

Harry neared the door. Soles scraped just beyond. His grip on his weapon tightened.

The door flung open, and Harry found himself face to face with a Chinese. The man’s hair was bound in a long ebony braid, his wiry figure clad in a high-collared tunic. His eyes were steady…as were his hands, which held a shotgun.

Both men kept their weapons raised, aimed at each other.

“Ming, don’t shoot!” Miss Todd came dashing toward them.

“Miss Tessie?” The Celestial—“Ming,” apparently—blinked. “Why you here? And dressed like boy?”

“I, um, got in a bit of a bind.”

Sliding Harry an abashed look, she peeled off her side whiskers, removing her cap and wig. She shook out the pins, and his breath hitched as luxuriant sable curls tumbled to her waist.

“Please put the gun down, Ming. This gentleman came to my aid.” She smiled at Harry, her eyes shining, and his chest tightened oddly. “He’s a hero.”

Slowly, Ming lowered his weapon, shaking his head. “Mr. Black not like this. Not like at all.”





3





They arrived at the Black residence at midnight.

Ming had insisted that Harry come along, and his shotgun had brooked no refusal. Thus, Harry found himself entering the veritable fortress which occupied an entire block in the heart of the rookery. His past reconnaissance hadn’t allowed him to see beyond the guarded spiked gate and dense wall of brush. Now, with a word from Ming on the driver’s perch, the pair of guards let them through, iron bars clanking shut behind them as their carriage rolled down the pebbled drive.