The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(89)

To take Tessa away if necessary. To keep her safe.

“Yes,” Harry said tersely.

“Do it. Go now.”

He couldn’t. Not without telling Black the truth. “Sir, O’Toole is behind this. The hellfire. He has a scientist working for him—”

“De Witt. I know,” Black spat out to Harry’s surprise. “’Ave the bastard in my custody—or ’ad, rather. ’E’s buried ’neath that rubble, God rot ’is soul. Nabbed ’im today: ’e was going to be my surprise for O’Toole tonight, but that blighter didn’t show up, and now I know why. O’Toole set a goddamned trap for us.”

“How did you know—”

“I know everything…Harry Kent.”

Harry froze, his insides turning to ice.

“Known all along who you’ve been working for. But I also know your family. Know that honor, loyalty, and a need for justice run in the Kent blood.”

Stunned, Harry couldn’t form a response.

“That’s ’ow I know you’ll keep your promise to me,” Black said in a low growl. “Now if Tessie gives you any trouble, you give ’er this.” He removed his signet ring, shoved it at Harry. “She’ll know what it means. Take it.”

The ring weighed heavily in Harry’s palm. And on his conscience. Despite his betrayal, Black was still trusting him to do what was right.

Swallowing, he glanced around at the pandemonium. “I should help—”

“Damn your eyes, Kent, Tessie’s in danger.” The urgency in Black’s voice coiled Harry’s insides. “I’m countin’ on you to take care o’ ’er. Trusting you with the greatest responsibility.”

“Yes, sir. You can count on me.” Harry turned to go.

Black stayed him with a hand. “One more thing: do not tell Tessa your true identity and that you’re a Peeler. Not until you ’ear from me that the danger’s o’er. I know my granddaughter: if you lose ’er trust, you won’t be able to keep ’er safe.”

Harry gave a curt nod, then headed off to complete the most important mission of his life.





32





Tessa opened her eyes…and blinked groggily at the sight of the carriage interior. Where was she? Then it returned to her like flashes of a nightmare: Bennett’s arrival at the house last night, his terse explanation of what had happened, their abrupt midnight flit…

Her hand flew to her throat; next to her medallion hung Grandpapa’s ring.

Not a nightmare. It really happened, she thought numbly.

Only a true crisis would lead Grandpapa to part with the symbol of his authority.

She tamped down tears, pulled back her shoulders. What mattered was that Grandpapa and her Father were unharmed. They would defeat their enemies, she knew they would. In the meantime, she would do her duty by obeying her grandfather’s command. She would stay safe and protect the future of the House of Black.

Her hand closed fiercely around the ring. You can count on me, Grandpapa.

She realized that the carriage wasn’t moving. She had no idea where they were, how long Bennett had been driving; she was amazed that she’d fallen asleep at all. Now she pushed aside the curtain, and, beside her, Swift Nick roused, grimacing at the infusion of light.

The sight startled her. There was nothing but…trees?

“Crikey,” she muttered. “Where has Bennett taken us?”

Throwing open the door, she hopped down. Her half-boots didn’t land on pavement or mud or any of the usual London surfaces. Instead, she was standing on grass—acres and acres of it, as far as the eye could see. There were trees and shrubs, too, more greenery than in Hyde Park, more than she’d seen in her life.

Swift Nick alighted, ears pricking. He promptly bounded off into the grass.

“Don’t wander too far,” she called.

“Tessa. You’re awake.”

She spun around as Bennett rounded the side of the carriage. He’d shed his jacket and cravat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up his sinewy forearms. A night beard shadowed his jaw. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were warm with concern.

No one had ever looked so solid, strong, and steady. A wave of emotion crashed over her. Her breath hitching, she pitched herself at him.

His arms closed around her. “Shh, love, there’s no need to cry. Everything will be all right.”

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled against his waistcoat. “That would be stupid. Grandpapa is fine. He’s going to take down O’Toole and then we can go home.”

“Just so.” He rubbed her back in a soothing circle. “We’ll just wait here until it’s safe to return.”

Lifting her head from his chest, she peered up at him. “Where is here, exactly?”

“Chudleigh Crest. In Berkshire.” He took her arm, steering her around the carriage. “We’re at my family’s cottage.”

“You grew up here?” she said in surprise.

His lips quirked. “It’s the countryside, sprite, not the Outer Hebrides.”

To her, the world here was so different from her city upbringing that it might as well have been those isolated islands. “The farthest I’ve been from London is Hampstead. Mama’s constitution is too weak for travel, and Grandpapa has always been too busy to leave the city.”