if we move quickly, we can be at Catton’s within half an hour. You will want to move quickly before the best iced cakes in London are devoured, or else you’ll witness the disgraceful spectacle of a duke’s public tantrum.” He gestured impatiently toward the door. “What are you waiting for? Do you want to see me scream and turn purple?”
Chuckling, murmuring, the guests made their way out of the drawing room. Jess was about to join them, but she heard Trask clucking at the duke.
“Might have warned me, Your Grace,” the marquess said, sounding slightly wounded.
“You would have presented me with a litany of reasons why we shouldn’t go,” His Grace said. “Head on downstairs. I shall meet you in a moment.”
The marquess muttered, but did as the duke instructed. A moment later, Jess and His Grace were alone.
“There’s another reason for creating such upheaval, isn’t there?” Jess asked him.
“No sense confining ourselves to a drawing room and slowly suffocating to death. The room is pleasant enough, but there’s a whole city out there, just waiting to be overrun by a bunch of monied toffs.”
“And . . . ?” she pressed.
“And . . . Catton’s is a delightful place. I thought it would make you smile to go there.”
She looked at him steadily. “It’s flattering that you would go to such lengths to please me.”
“I sense a however hovering nearby.”
“However,” she went on, “you made a decision without asking my opinion, and you didn’t bother to tell Lord Trask, either. You simply acted. It was very ducal.”
The brightness of his expression dimmed. “In your mouth, the word ducal doesn’t sound entirely complimentary.” He scowled. “Hell. I was being rather autocratic, wasn’t I?”
“Rather.”
“Admitting fault is not something I’ve practiced. Today, I’ll amend that.” He exhaled. “My apologies, my lady. Moving forward, I’ll try not to be such an overbearing ass.” He glanced at her. “You could voice some objection to my use of the term overbearing ass.”
“I could, but I shan’t.” She offered him a wry smile as he scowled deeper. “No need to brood about it. We’ll proceed with the day and enjoy our time at Mrs. Catton’s shop. And, Your Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” Smiling to herself, Jess went down the stairs and collected her coat and bonnet. She met the other guests as they filed out of Lord Trask’s home.
Lady Farris looped her arm through Jess’s. “The female contingent of the Bazaar can ride together. Can’t we, Lady Haighe?” she asked the older woman.
“Only if you promise not to talk about men,” Lady Haighe fired back.
“Gracious, no,” Lady Farris said. “There are so many more interesting things to discuss. What do you think, Lady Whitfield?”
“My early years were quite rustic,” Jess said, “and experience has taught me to prefer the company of goats over a carriage full of men.”
“Less bleating with the goats.” Lady Farris winked at Jess when one of the male Bazaar guests harrumphed.
As a footman handed Jess into a waiting vehicle, she caught sight of the duke emerging from the house. He was in midstride as he donned his tall-crowned hat, and he moved sleekly, with virile grace.
She was partly pleased that he’d arranged the visit to Catton’s for her pleasure—and annoyed. At the least, he’d apologized for being so arrogant.
Blast it, she didn’t want to like him.
“We can make an exception,” Lady Farris said from the opposite seat, “if you’re inclined to discuss His Grace.”
“Did you know that goats belch?” Jess asked.
Lady Farris smirked. “Very well. We’ll stick to more bovine topics.”
The duke’s face appeared in the carriage window. He favored all of them with a blinding smile. “You have wisely chosen to segregate yourselves, ladies. Hopefully, no one will notice if I borrow a bonnet and pretend to be one of your sex so I may join you on the ride to Catton’s.”
“Go on with you, rascal.” Lady Haighe sniffed. “No one would mistake you for a woman. You’ve got half a day’s beard growth and smell of tobacco.”
“So does my great-aunt Lucretia,” he said.
Jess pretended to cough to hide her laugh.
“Begone!” Lady Haighe thumped her walking stick on the floor of the carriage.
“Ladies.” He winked at Lady Haighe, then touched his fingertips to the brim of his hat before disappearing from the carriage window.
“We’re not discussing men,” Lady Farris said, “but if we were, I’d say that it’s fortunate that His Grace is a duke. Men like him without the benefit of a title usually wind up as women’s hired lovers.”
“But their clients