At his emotionless tone, her smile faltered. His expression was polite yet not exactly warm. Behind the lenses, his intelligent brown eyes were scrutinizing her. In a flash, she recalled how he’d initially watched her at the Hare and Hounds, as if she were an insect under a magnifying glass, and he wasn’t entirely approving of the species.
Truth be told, she was no stranger to rejection. Although she loved her father, he’d always treated her like a minor nuisance: a fly he ignored until it became too annoying and he had to do something about it. Worse yet, there was her experience at Old Southbridge’s Vault of Horrors.
She’d attended under the alias of Miss Theresa Smith, the “distant niece” of one Baroness von Friesing, an impoverished noblewoman whom Grandpapa had employed to be her sponsor. Her tomboyish ways and lack of social polish had made her an outcast from the start.
Lady Hyacinth Tipping’s honey-soaked tones rang in her head.What adelicatebosom you have,Miss Smith.
I don’t have my lorgnette.Miss Sarah St. John (Hyacinth’s lackey) had a brittle laugh that plunged into one like a shard of glass.I’m afraid one can’t see her bosom without them.
Perhaps, my dear, if you water them,Lady Jane Perrin (lackey number two) said archly,they might grow?
Tessa fought the urge to cross her arms over the part of herself—one of many—that her peers had mercilessly ridiculed. While Ming had taught her how to defend herself against physical attacks (she was an expert in the use of flying daggers), she’d had no shield against social weapons: the barbs, gossip, and circles that closed whenever she neared. Her attempts at retaliation had only led to further ostracism, and, as tempted as she’d been, she couldn’t very well throw one of her trusty blades at the problem. Although she’d left Southbridge’s years ago, her time there had left its mark.
She was quick to sense rejection and didn’t trust easily.
Bennett came to your aid,she chided herself.There’s no reason to doubt his regard or motives.
“It ain’t Bennett’s neck I ought to wring, is it?” Grandpapa said sternly, waving her toward the striped settee. “Got some explaining to do, missy, and you best do it quick.”
She sat, feeling like a wayward schoolgirl. Bennett took the seat beside her. His demeanor remained distant and cool, ratcheting up her unease.
“Well?” Seated in his customary wingchair, Grandpapa pinned her with a stare. “What ’ave you to say for yourself?”
“Does it matter?” she said. “The verdict’s obviously been decided.”
“You watch your tone, Thérèse-Marie. Ain’t got patience for your lip.”
The fact that Grandpapa was using her full name did not bode well. Since he’d first come into her life when she was four, he’d insisted that any granddaughter of his ought to have a proper English name. He’d christened her “Tessa,” and she’d adored his pet name almost as much as the other name he’d given her: Black.
“I wasn’t giving you lip,” she protested. “I was merely pointing out the fact that it doesn’t matter what I say. You’ve obviously decided that I’m in the wrong.”
“O’ course I ’ave! Got witnesses, don’t I, that you were making mischief in the ’Are and ’Ounds, dressed like a bloody lad!”
Some might have found Grandpapa’s bellowing intimidating.
Tessa was used to it.
Eyes narrowing, she said, “Was it Stunning Joe Banks who ratted me out?”
A Black never forgot a wrong. The ability to mete out justice was a measure of success, the way one gained respect. To that end, Tessa kept a List of Retribution. When it came to vengeance, there was more than one way to skin a cat, and she preferred clever tricks over brutality. Mentally, she added Stunning Joe to her list.
“Ain’t the point and you know it,” Grandpapa thundered. “What reason could you possibly ’ave to antagonize the son o’ Francis O’Toole?”
Dash it.Her grandfather’s network of informants was even more formidable than she’d given them credit for. The problem was that she couldn’t tell Grandpapa the truth. She was already worried that he was overburdened. Moreover, in these contentious times, he might place more value on keeping the peace with the O’Tooles than on the welfare of a single wench.
A ruler’s got to make ’ard choices,he’d say.The needs o’ the many outweigh those o’ the few.
To Tessa’s mind, the “few” also deserved justice. Yet when Belinda had sobbingly confessed that Dewey O’Toole, after taking his pleasure, had beaten and robbed her, she’d made Tessa vow not to tell anyone.
“At least let me talk to Father,” Tessa had insisted.
“No.Mr. Todd already knows what ’appened, and ’e told me to keep my mouth shut. Your pa said if I offended an O’Toole, ’e’d beat me ’imself and toss me out on my ear. Ineedthis job, Tessa, so you mustn’t breathe a word to your father or grandfather oranyone.” Belinda’s swollen lip had quivered, her eyes pleading in the mask of bruising. “Promise me.”
Reluctantly, Tessa had given her word. Just because her family wasn’t willing to offend an O’Toole, however, didn’t mean thatshecouldn’t avenge Belinda. Thus, she’d devised her plan to get her friend’s savings back.
She was close to accomplishing her goal. She’d regained Belinda’s money and then some. Now all she had to do was deliver it back to her friend and honor her word. For Belinda’s sake, she had to keep the matter under wraps…even from her grandfather.
“I wasn’t out to antagonize anyone. I was out on a lark,” she lied glibly. “Dewey O’Toole happened to be the fat pigeon that waddled my way. I didn’t force him to do anything; he was the one who insisted on playing cards with me.”
