The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(86)

Forced to follow De Witt at a distance, Doolittle had emerged in time to see De Witt exit the other building and hail a hackney. On the third evening, Doolittle had taken no chances. He’d borrowed a friend’s hackney and lain in wait by the building next to Crockford’s. Sure enough, De Witt had emerged, and Doolittle had picked him up, driving him to the present location.

“The ol’ cheeseparer didn’t even tip me a bob for my trouble,” Doolittle said in disgust.

“You were spying on him,” Harry pointed out.

“’E didn’t know that.”

Harry refocused on the warehouse. “What is our plan for getting inside?”

“Patience, my four-eyed friend. We can’t just barge in. Been watching the place since last night, and five brutes are working there, the leader being twice my size. But, ne’er fear, Ol’ Alfred’s got a plan.” Doolittle tapped a finger to his temple. “We ’ave to wait until the moment is right.”

“When will that be?”

“When I give the say so. And while we cool our ’eels, we might as well ’ave a chat.”

“About what?” Harry tried the ale, surprised to find it wasn’t half-bad.

“Like I was saying, we’ve things in common. Both o’ us got a way wiv the ladies, for instance.”

“I wouldn’t dream of comparing my skills in that arena with yours.”

“What can I say? Morts like me.” Doolittle flashed a gap-toothed grin, wiping his ale mustache off with his sleeve. “But you’re playing yourself short, my friend. Don’t know a single cove who could’ve kept Tessa from coming ’ere tonight. ’Ow’d you manage that feat?”

“With a great deal of trouble,” Harry muttered.

Specifically, he’d spent the afternoon reasoning, arguing, and negotiating with her. When none of that had worked, he’d kissed her into submission. Or, rather, he’d kissed her until neither of them could breathe and then he’d told her he couldn’t focus if he was worried about her safety. Only then had she promised him in a sweet, love-drowsed voice that she would stay put until his return…as long as he filled her in on everything.

Compromise was proving a winning strategy with her.

“She ain’t an easy one, our Tessa. Now me, I’m a lazy chap who likes ’is ’ens biddable, but you’ve the look o’ a bastard who likes a challenge, eh?”

Beneath Doolittle’s knowing look, Harry’s jaw heated. Bloody hell, was it that obvious?

“I’m her bodyguard,” he said.

“Don’t mean you ain’t something else, too.” Opening the paper twist of roasted chestnuts he’d bought from a street vendor, Doolittle shelled a nut, popped it into his mouth. “Seen the way you look at ’er, and seen the way she looks at you. Known ’er most of ’er life, I ’ave, and I ain’t e’er seen ’er look at a fellow that way.”

“In what way?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“Like ’e’s a fellow, that’s wot. Not a pigeon to pluck or an ape to defy or a target for one o’ ’er pranks.”

“I’ve been those, too,” he muttered.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel proud that he was the first man Tessa had seen as, well, a man. That he would be her one and only. And he was beginning to question his belief that he couldn’t love again. What he felt for Tessa was different from what he’d felt for Celeste.

It was deeper, stronger…real.

“Aye, and you’re still standing, which is probably why she’s got ’er ’eart set on you. Question is, what are your intentions?”

This from a fellow who had a different “wife” for each day of the week.

Harry lifted his brows. “You are asking if my intentions are honorable?”

“I’m a man who looks after ’is own. Just ask any o’ my women. Now Tessa ain’t my mort, but she’s the closest thing to a sister that I got. And while she’s feisty, she ’as ’er blind spots, one o’ ’em being blind loyalty.” Something menacing chased over Doolittle’s features, reminding Harry that this man had not only survived the stews, he’d thrived in them. “Any cove stupid enough to take advantage o’ Tessa answers to me.”

Although Harry didn’t appreciate having his honor questioned, he was glad that Tessa had a steadfast friend in her corner. For that reason alone, he responded to Doolittle’s question.

“My intentions are honorable,” he said evenly.

“Black ain’t going to like it,” Doolittle warned. “’E wants ’er to marry a nob.”

“Once the danger is over, I’ll find a way to convince him otherwise. Or I won’t. Either way, I’m marrying Tessa.”

Shrewd eyes studied him. “You mean that?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t say it,” he said impatiently.

“Glad that’s sorted. We didn’t come ’ere to flap our gums all day. Got work to do.”

Before Harry could point out that he wasn’t the one who’d instigated the tête-à-tête, Doolittle rose from his chair, his eyes on the window. Through the dirty pane, Harry saw a Goliath of a man leaving the warehouse, four others with him. The pack of five crossed the street toward the tavern.