She stared at him as though taking his measure, just as he assessed her. His breath came quickly, as did hers, while they both subtly, silently, and motionlessly pushed against each other’s wills, determining their tolerances—who would give, and who would take.
“I do appreciate that you have been so frank,” she said at last. “I will honor that. I imagine very little is denied you. But Your Grace must understand that, with me, ultimately, you will be disappointed.” She finished the last of her wine before setting the glass on a nearby table and striding away.
Noel watched her go, hearing the excited beat of his heart. It was as though he woke from a long dream.
Chapter 6
It had not been easy to walk away from the duke—especially after he had revealed so much of himself to her—but he was a distraction she could not afford. She’d left him because she’d had to, telling herself that it was for his protection as much as her own.
She’d spent another hour talking with the other guests, learning who would be worthwhile to subtly approach regarding investing in her business, and who she ought to steer clear of. At least she had a foundation of a plan, and could move forward with it.
She now sat on a stone bench that stood at the edge of the yard behind Lady Catherton’s town house. She lifted a small glass of sherry to her lips and sipped. It wasn’t quite strong enough, but it was the only spirit she could take from the house without arousing the staff’s suspicion. The servants came with the rental, and so they had little loyalty to whomever occupied it. But gossip was always a prized commodity, thus she had to be careful.
“Afternoon, miss.”
She nodded at Lady Catherton’s coachman as he approached. He was short in stature but barrel-chested, fair skinned, and the remaining hair he had was streaked with silver.
“Lynch, is it?” He had driven her from Wiltshire to London.
“At your service, miss.” He eyed the glass in her hand. “Sherry, is it?”
“Alas, yes.” She sighed.
“If you wait but a moment, I’ve some whiskey we can share.”
“Here I thought I didn’t believe in angels.”
He chuckled before trotting toward the stables. A few moments later, he returned with a bottle and two dented metal mugs. He poured a healthy amount of whiskey into both vessels, then handed her one.
“Your health,” she said, lifting her mug.
“And yours, miss.” They tapped the rims of their cups together.
She took a swallow of the liquor and it agreeably burned its way down her throat to settle warmly in her belly. “God bless you, Mr. Lynch.” She nodded at the seat beside her. “Join me?”
“My thanks.” With a soft groan, he lowered himself down on the bench.
They sat together in companionable silence, drinking whiskey and listening to the muffled sounds of traffic that traveled down the mews. For the first time in hours, Jess permitted herself a slow, deep exhale.
“That’s a sound,” Lynch said with a shake of his head.
“The day has been long.” Which was an extremely abbreviated way of saying that she’d spent her last few hours dancing madly atop slippery ice—made all the more precarious by the presence of one exceedingly handsome, witty, and wicked duke. Who seemed intrigued by her. Attracted. There had been no denying the spark of interest in his eyes, or how she’d fought to keep her head level with poor success. Even now, she was tight and hot and aware of him throughout her body.
The duke was a complication she could not afford. And yet he was irresistible. She hadn’t flirted with anyone for years, not since the early days of Oliver’s courtship.
She’d been forced to shut the door on any lingering feelings she might have once had for him. He’d shown his true self to her, the one that had resented her dedication to keeping McGale & McGale going. She was well rid of him.
There hadn’t been time or room for other men. She’d kept her head down, focusing solely on the task of preserving the family business. Certainly when she’d appeared at the Bazaar this morning, bantering with a duke had not even merited a place on her mental list of things that might occur.
Yet she’d done it. And couldn’t quite bring herself to regret a moment.
“I suppose,” Lynch said, breaking the silence, “I’m not supposed to notice you wearing her ladyship’s rigging.”
Her mouth hitched into a small, rueful smile. “Plausible deniability if things