“I’ve called a meeting tomorrow at Nightingale’s. Ming ’as identified three suspects—three o’ the dukes—and I’ve invited them for a parley. Nothing to worry about.”
Was he daft? How could shenotworry? “You’re going to be in a room with a bastard who tried tokillyou.”
“Gor, that wouldn’t be the first time.” Grandpapa gulped more tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t even be the first time this week.”
“That is not amusing. What if something happens to you? In the past month alone, you’ve been shot at, your home attacked. You’re not a c-cat, Grandpapa, you haven’t got nine lives.” To her horror, her voice quivered, heat rising behind her eyes. “I don’t have a good feeling about this—”
“Ming’ll arrange plenty o’ protection.” He set a strong, age-mottled hand over hers on the table. His signet ring, the seal of the House of Black and a symbol of its power, shone richly in the morning light. “Now ’ow many times ’ave I told you, missy? A true Black’ll shed ’is blood afore ’e sheds a tear.”
“If you’d let me, I would shed blood for you,” she whispered. “I would stand by your side.”
“I know that. Always said, you might not be o’ my body, but you’re o’ my heart. And your job is to not strain the ol’ ticker, eh?” He chucked her under the chin with the old, familiar affection. “Now you know I can’t take you tomorrow. But know that you’re with me, ’ere,”—he thumped a fist over his heart—“where’er I go.”
She did know it. Knew the depth of his love for her, the love she returned with every fiber of her being. She might not be able to protect him, but she knew who could.
“Take Bennett with you tomorrow,” she said. “For added protection.”
She shifted her gaze to Bennett, who said, “I’d be glad to be of service, sir.”
“For my peace of mind, Grandpapa,” she pleaded, “please take Bennett.”
“Fine, if you’ll cork that gob o’ yours,” Grandpapa muttered.
Relief washed through her. “Consider me corked.”
“But there’s one condition.”
Isn’t there always?She suppressed a sigh and waited.
“Received an invitation from Ransom. ’E’s throwing a masquerade in three days, and ’e wants you there. You’ll go and without a fuss. And while you’re there, you’ll make a proper go o’ it with ’Is Grace. Understand?”
She bit her lip, sliding a look at Bennett. His face betrayed little emotion, but she was reassured by the tensing of his wide shoulders.
Hedidcare about her, he had to. He wouldn’t make love to her the way he had if he didn’t feel some affection toward her. He wouldn’t say she was adorable and call her “sprite.”
Their relationship was far from settled, but she knew they were making progress. One day, he would fall in love with her, the way she’d fallen in love with him. She trusted Bennett with all her heart: he wouldn’t stand by and watch her be married off to the duke. No, he would sweep her off into the sunset, the same way Grandpapa had done with Grandmama. She and Bennett would have a love that would endure suffering and celebrate joy and never fail.
“We got a bargain, missy?” her grandfather demanded.
Beneath the table, her fingers crossed yet again.
“Yes, Grandpapa,” she said.
19
Harry enteredthe De Witt townhouse.
He’d waited until the last light had winked off in the servants’ quarters before picking the lock of the back entrance. His senses on high alert, he now traversed the dark cavern of the kitchen. At a rustling sound, he tensed…relaxing as vermin scurried past.
Taking the steps up to the ground floor, he followed the arterial corridor. As he passed the shadowy entertaining rooms, he took note of the furnishings, which looked expensive and new. A pianoforte dominated the music room, a chandelier dripping crystals above it.
His jaw clenched. It would be the perfect stage for Celeste: she would appear like an angel with her pale blonde hair aglow, her long, tapered fingers gliding across the keys. For an instant, he recalled watching her play, how besotted he’d been, how he’d have given anything for the favor of her smile, and humiliation twisted his gut.
Yet a more recent memory came to him. Tessa…wreaking havoc on the violin during her lesson this afternoon. How in God’s name she’d managed to make the instrument sound like a cat in its death throes was beyond him. And, apparently, her hapless violin master.
As far as Harry was concerned, however, she had far more important skills. She was, for instance, a prodigy when it came to the love arts. The memory of her sweet passion stirred his blood. A lusty sprite, his Tessa was.
In truth, no other woman had ever aroused such desire in him, nor made him feel so desired in return. No other had made him laugh the way she did. No other had given him such light and warmth and asked for so little in return.
