only natural, all part of her plan. It had nothing to do with a duke who gave her his coat when she shivered, and possessed impossibly dark eyes.
Fortunately, the night was fine, making her walk to Lord Trask’s pleasant enough. Each step wound her excitement higher and higher—her first time at Vauxhall, her first evening with Noel.
Pleasures to savor.
She entered the downstairs parlor, where everyone had convened. Looking around, she searched for Noel. Then she froze when she saw him.
His simple, elegant evening clothes only reaffirmed how exquisitely his garments—and he—were made. He looked at her from across the chamber, and she was bolted to the spot.
Briefly, he looked stunned, as though witnessing something extraordinary, something beautiful.
Her. He looked at her as though she was beautiful.
His gaze heated. Then he smiled, a true smile, wide and white and dazzling. She took a step toward him, drawn forward by the insistent need to be closer.
Someone said something to him, and the moment between her and Noel broke apart. But not completely, because he shot her one more glance that clearly said, This isn’t finished between us.
After a quick exchange with Lord Trask, Noel clapped his hands together. “We’re all here. Shall we venture forth, my friends?”
There was a chorus of agreement. Noel strode forward and offered Jess his arm. He started when someone tapped a fan on his shoulder.
“You have two arms, you know,” Lady Haighe said pointedly.
“Horrendously remiss in not offering it to you.” Noel extended his free arm to her. She glanced at it as though debating whether or not to grant him her favor, and then, with a sly smile, she rested her fingers on his sleeve. Noel murmured, “You honor me.”
“Don’t I, though?” The older woman sniffed.
Jess couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Men far outnumbered the women of the Bazaar—there was no shortage of other gentlemen to escort Lady Haighe. Yet how could Jess begrudge Lady Haighe her desire for Noel’s attention?
Mr. Walditch attended Lady Farris, and with all the company accounted for, they went down to a row of waiting carriages. Jess, Lady Haighe, and Mr. Parley climbed into Noel’s coach. Then they were off.
Other than her walk to Lord Trask’s, she hadn’t been out after dark in London. Nights at the family farm or in her village were long and quiet, and she had often taken solitary rambles through the darkened countryside.
In London, she had to return to the town house and spend the evening with a solitary meal and her stack of newspapers. When she’d walked tonight, she had been too preoccupied with thoughts of the coming evening, and being with Noel again. Now it was all she could do to keep from hanging her head out of the carriage window and watching the city at night. There were people, so many people, parading up and down the lamp-lit streets as though it was high noon. Shop windows were also illuminated like glowing jewel boxes, and orange sellers and piemen cried their wares.
“It’s a risk for me to show my face at Vauxhall,” Noel said, snaring her attention. “Last time I was there, I caused something of a disturbance.”
“Surely not,” Lady Haighe insisted. “A man of your rank.”
“The management was a trifle displeased when I borrowed three carts full of colored lanterns. And the singers. And the orchestra. And the cooks, and—”
“Essentially, you stole Vauxhall,” Jess said, fighting a smile.
“Borrowed, madam. It was my intention to return it. Eventually.”
“God preserve us from overindulged men.” Lady Haighe sniffed.
“We are a blight,” Noel said solemnly. “Yet I trust tonight that between yourself and Lady Whitfield, you will curb my more profligate tendencies.”
“If I had a frigate every time a man made a woman responsible for his actions”—Jess snorted—“I’d have an armada.”
“A woman in command?” Mr. Parley seemed slightly appalled.
“Why not?” Noel lifted a brow. “Queen Elizabeth commanded one and look how well that turned out for the nation.”
“Really, Your Grace,” Jess said, attempting to sound vexed. “If you insist on saying such things, I will have no choice but to like you.”
His gaze gleamed in the half-light of the carriage. “Like is a lukewarm emotion. Better to inspire something with a little more heat. Hate me if you must, but I’d rather that than passionless liking.”
Jess pressed her lips together. There was no danger of anything passionless—not where he was concerned.
They crossed Vauxhall Bridge, and the caravan came to a stop. Footmen helped the ladies out, and Jess admired the gates to the pleasure garden as