anger flared. “I am not a child. This is no tantrum.”
She inclined her head. “You’re right. You deserve better than I have given. My apologies. It’s only . . .” She glanced down. “You’re so very much, and I’m more than a little afraid of what I feel when I’m with you.”
His anger burned away, replaced by something he had little experience with: humility. Here again, she transformed him. “We shall venture forth together, and take each moment as it presents itself.”
“A wise course of action.”
He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
“One thing first.” She pulled off his coat and handed it back to him. “Thank you for the loan, Noel. And for trusting me with your fear.”
“Ever the gallant.” He donned the garment, and his head fogged. Her honeyed fragrance surrounded him—trapped within the garment’s fibers—and as he led her back toward the warehouse, he vowed that Beale would never, never clean his coat.
Chapter 10
As the gentleman giving the final presentation left the room, Noel immediately surged to his feet.
“A small treat tonight,” he said to the guests. “I’ve arranged private tables in supper boxes at Vauxhall. Nothing more revivifying than arrack and pyrotechnics.” He added, “That is, I ask you all to join me, if you will.”
Everyone murmured their appreciation and excitement over the prospect, and Jess couldn’t keep from smiling. It was for her that he did this, and her head was full of stars. Even as she knew his secrets and vulnerabilities, he dazzled.
It was arranged that the Bazaar participants would meet at nine o’clock at Lord Trask’s home, and then caravan to minimize traffic congestion. When Noel acted, he acted decisively, with no detail omitted. She couldn’t help but be impressed by such thoroughness.
Nerves and excitement accompanied her home. She feared she would reveal herself to be a gauche country girl, gawking at the sophisticated pleasure garden. But how she longed to see it, and be there with Noel.
Tonight would be a night of making memories. None of this could last, and she would hold everything as tightly as she could.
Once at home, she and Lynch stood together in the stable yard and nursed whiskeys.
“Have you ever been to Vauxhall?” Jess asked him. “I’ve read about it. Tried to picture what the gardens might look like at night, lit up by thousands of lanterns.”
“Can’t say as I’ve gone there.” He scratched his fingers across his shining head. “It’s three shillings sixpence to get in, so I save my coin for a fine meal or some of Catton’s cakes.”
“Is it a dangerous place?” She lifted her shoulders. “There’s the Dark Walk. A place for assignations. But I’d heard its shadows hide cutpurses and men lurking there to prey upon unaccompanied women.”
“Might be. But all of London’s dangerous. Wallop anyone who tries anything. Better to give a lad a punch than have his groping paws all over you.” He shrugged. “His bruises and broken bones will heal. Or maybe the wounds will putrefy and he’ll rot from the inside out. Serve him right, won’t it?”
“A sensible attitude.” She lifted her hand, coiled into a fist. “I’ve knocked a few blokes onto their arses when they warranted it.”
He tapped her fist with his fingers. “Good lass.”
“Anything else I might need to know about the gardens?”
“Only that you ought to enjoy yourself.”
A quick nap—which involved mostly lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling—followed by a bath revived her for the night ahead. Her abigail attired her in a diaphanous gown of saffron-hued silk and secured pearl pins in her hair. A white satin wrap draped around her shoulders to protect her from an evening chill.
Jess examined her reflection in the pier glass. She tried to resist the impulse to run her hands over the fabric, though it wasn’t easy. Never again in her life would she have the opportunity to wear such fine clothing, and she wanted to savor it, even as she felt a sting of resentment that, with the people of the Bazaar, she could not fully be herself.
With Noel, she felt more herself than she had in a long, long while. She wasn’t the eldest sibling responsible for everything. She wasn’t the deferential paid companion. She did not have to curb her tongue or wear a smothering cloak of humility.
But even that was predicated on a lie.
“Awful pretty, my lady,” Nell said admiringly.
Naturally, an abigail would praise her mistress, but Jess hoped Nell was sincere. Jess wanted to look her best tonight. It was