“The very word to describe Mr. Melrose, but not all of his intimates are of the same stripe.” She trilled a laugh, and felt the duke’s warm interest on her. “In any event, your cousin had enjoined Sir Brantley to attend the Bazaar almost three years ago. My late husband was especially fascinated by the realm of finance, and unfortunately his final illness came on before he could request entrée.” She fumbled in her pack and was relieved to find a handkerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes.
“My condolences on your loss,” the duke said somberly.
“Thank you.” She tucked the square of cambric back in her pack. “But I’ll not speak of grim matters.” Jess smiled again. “My mourning is over and at last I’m able to attend in my husband’s stead. I realize that there is a more formal procedure for securing a place at the Bazaar—”
“We can bypass that,” the duke said in a voice that was both commanding and convivial. “Can’t we, Trask.”
It did not escape Jess’s notice that this last statement was not a question.
God bless this man, Jess thought, and his gorgeous face and even more gorgeous confidence.
“I . . .” Lord Trask looked back and forth between Jess and the duke. She gazed at him sunnily, and the duke’s expression held such assurance that she could not imagine anyone denying him anything.
“We already have two ladies as guests of the Bazaar,” Lord Trask said.
“Aside from yourself, unless His Grace is the only other male guest,” Jess said with a polite smile, “you need not concern yourself that women might outnumber the men. You have more than three men as part of the Bazaar, yes?”
It was always a good idea to ask someone a question to which they would have to reply in the affirmative—thus making them predisposed to be agreeable.
“Well . . . yes,” Lord Trask said slowly.
“Then it’s settled,” the duke pronounced. His glance toward her made it clear that he was well aware of her strategy.
With a small grumble, Lord Trask stepped back to make room. “Do come in, Lady Whitfield. It’s a pleasure to welcome you to the Bazaar.”
“Indeed, a pleasure.” A flare of heat in the duke’s eyes scorched her. “Looking forward to seeing you hunt.”
“Be cautious,” she replied. “I cannot be held responsible for the devastation I wreak if you step into my path.”
He gave her an endearingly lopsided smile, which he implemented with all the skill of a seasoned rake. “But I will die happy.”
Oh, he was trouble. But then, so was she.
Jess stepped across the threshold.
As she climbed the stairs in Lord Trask’s stylish home, she made certain to keep her back straight and her steps confident.
Pretend to be a lady for the next three days. Mingle with England’s elite. Steer them toward financing McGale & McGale, but it must be done subtly. She could do this.
“You are enjoying your time in Town, Lady Whitfield?” the duke asked behind her.
“I am now,” she said—which was true. She’d pull off this coup and then, when Lady Catherton healed, they’d be off to the Continent. Jess need not worry about seeing the duke, or anyone else from the Bazaar, again. In the interim, she’d at last have the chance to do what she’d always desired: to be a viable player in the game of business.
“As for myself,” he said, “I consider London suddenly quite delightful.”
“I’m certain you find everywhere delightful.” She reached the landing and waited for him to join her.
“Well, everywhere finds me delightful.” He reached the landing, and while he kept a respectful distance, her head spun at having him so near, without the protective span of a Bond Street sidewalk between them. “People are inclined to become excessively agreeable in my presence.”
He was spectacularly attractive, and his eyes managed to be both flirtatious and insightful, so astute that she wouldn’t be surprised if he could see her all the way down to her shift and drawers.
“An understandable reaction to a duke.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Madam, are you suggesting that it’s my title that makes me so welcome wherever I go, and not the excellence of my person?”
“Your Grace likely receives bounteous flattery from all and sundry. Surely you can’t be so desperate for a compliment that you thirst for mine.”
A laugh burst from him, intimate and velvety, and heat unfurled within her.
“But you do have my thanks,” she murmured. “It was kind of you to gain me entrance to the Bazaar.”