The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(96)

“Yes. About that weasel.”

The distaste that flavored Ransom’s voice set her teeth further on edge.

“Swift Nick is a ferret,” she said.

“I don’t care what he is so long as he stops baring those fangs at me. Perhaps you’d consider a more docile pet? Thanks to the Queen, spaniels are all the rage.”

It was the last straw. As if she would ever give up Swift Nick!

“If you wish for a docile pet or wife,” she said pointedly, “you are bound for disappointment.”

“I have no wish for a docile wife.” Ransom cocked a brow. “At least not in bed.”

His insinuation turned her insides cold. This was all wrong. She couldn’t marry this man.

Now that she was thinking more clearly, she could see her options. She would find another way to rescue her grandfather. She and Mama would put their heads together; the House of Black looked after its own. She didn’t need the help of Ransom—or any man.

I need to be rid of this blighter. To get out of here. The easiest way to accomplish her goals was to have him call off the wedding.

“On the topic of marriage,” she said boldly, “you may wish to know that I am not a virgin.”

She blocked out the memories of how she’d lost her innocence. All that mattered was dissuading Ransom from marrying her. Everyone knew that men valued purity in their wives.

“Another trait we have in common.” He forked a morsel of fowl.

“That’s it?” she burst out. “Don’t you even care that I’ve shared a bed with another man?”

“As long as you don’t come to me encumbered.” He sliced a spear of asparagus into equal lengths. “Even then, I could always pass the brat off as my own.”

What kind of man was this?

She shot to her feet. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not marrying you.”

He rose, depositing his napkin on the table. “To avoid a tedious scene, let me make myself clear.” Although his tone was mild, his features were hard. “This is not a trip to the modiste; you cannot change your mind about this gown or that. We are getting married on the morrow. The experience can be pleasant—or less so. Either way, it is happening.”

“You cannot keep me here,” she bit out. “That’s kidnapping.”

Ransom sighed. When he spoke, it wasn’t to her but the footman. “Escort the lady upstairs. And stay by her chamber. We wouldn’t want her to get lost before the wedding.”





35





Harry vaulted over the back gate, landing in the dark garden behind Ransom’s townhouse.

Ambrose and Strathaven landed beside him.

The three rows of windows at the back of the house were dark. Taking this as a good sign, Harry sprinted to the kitchen door, the other two following him. Finding it locked, he took out his picks and crouched, ready to get to work.

“Hold up, lad,” Ambrose whispered. “That might not be necessary.”

He frowned up at his brother. “Pardon?”

Ambrose moved aside, pointing upward.

With his brother no longer blocking his view, Harry saw that a window on the second floor had opened. A rope made up of knotted bedsheets dangled out of the opening. As Harry watched, a small figure clad in a voluminous nightgown climbed over the sill and began the precarious descent from some twenty-five feet off the ground.

Holy hell, I’m going to kill her for risking her neck that way…if she doesn’t kill herself first.

His heart hammering, he ran over, ready to catch her. He wanted to call out, tell her to hold on tight, but he was afraid to startle her. To break her critical concentration.

She heard him coming, nonetheless. Her head whipped in his direction, and her makeshift rope swung with a momentum that made him break out in a cold sweat. Fear seized his insides.

“What in blazes are you doing here?” she hissed. “Go away.”

“Christ, Tessa, don’t let go.”

“Of course I’m not going to let go.” She sounded supremely annoyed, but at least she continued her descent, fist over small fist, each movement getting her closer to safety.

It seemed to take forever, but at last she was close enough for him to catch her.

“Let go, love,” he called, “I’ve got you.”

She ignored him, climbed down the last few feet, and landed nimbly. When she made to walk past him, he moved into her path.

“I thought I told you to stay away,” she said, her hands fisting on her hips.

Her eyes flashed at him. Her loose, wild curls frothed around her face.

God, she was beautiful. She was everything.

“I’m sorry,” he said urgently. “Sorry I lied to you. It’s true that the police sent me to investigate Black; they thought he was responsible for the destruction of The Gilded Pearl. But once I informed my superior that Black wasn’t responsible, the goal of my mission became to stop the hellfire. I was afraid to tell you the truth because I wanted to stay by your side. To protect you.”

“I don’t need your, or any man’s, protection,” she shot back.

She was probably right. “You are terrifyingly resourceful, it’s true. So maybe I was wrong: you don’t need me. But I need you.”