31 in A Flat Major, Noel saw Jess talk briefly with Pickhill before abruptly leaving the room.
With her gone from the chamber, it was as though someone had doused a light.
Her leaving was, in and of itself, not a source of panic. She could have easily gone to refresh herself in the retiring room. However, many minutes went by and she did not return. Alarm needled him. What if she’d fallen ill and needed help?
Lady Haighe entered the parlor, smoothing her hair. Surely she must have been in the retiring room, yet she didn’t look panicked as if she’d come across Jess’s insensate form slumped on the floor.
That still did not answer the burning question as to where Jess might be.
Once the piano piece was over, Noel bowed to Lady Farris. “My lady, an honor.”
He then eased from the parlor. As soon as he was outside the room, he walked quickly down the corridor in search of her. He checked the upstairs drawing room first, but when that yielded no results, he paced from chamber to chamber. There was no sign of her. If she’d gone home, surely she would have informed Lord Trask of her departure. It stood to reason she was someplace in this house. But where?
It came to him then exactly where she might be. She’d said her upbringing was rural—perhaps she’d had enough of urban life these last few days, and sought out someplace that might bring her back to her early years.
There was the garden, but it was somewhat cool tonight, and she hadn’t worn a shawl over her filmy gown. The conservatory made the most sense.
He went quickly to his destination, stepping into a room so warm and humid it was like drinking air.
“Jess?” He spoke lowly. “Jess.”
“Here.”
He strode toward her voice. She sat on a stone bench, wearing a look so troubled his heart clutched.
Noel immediately knelt in front of her. Seeing her like this—drained of the vitality that made her irresistible—was a stab to the gut.
“Talk to me,” he demanded, taking her hands in his. A part of his mind realized that she wore no gloves, so their bare flesh touched. “Tell me if you feel faint or queasy or weak, or—”
“I’m well.” She lifted her head and gave him the smallest of smiles. It seemed taut in the corners, and there was an echoing tightness in his chest. He hated the thought of anything causing her pain or worry.
“I can fetch you wine or sal volatile.” He had to do something.
“None of those are necessary.” Her smile turned rueful. “Much as I enjoy amusing company and thought-provoking discussion, I think I was born with an internal hourglass. When the sand runs out, I’ve had enough. I might cheerfully commit murder for a quiet corner, a cup of tea, and a copy of As You Like It.”
He allowed himself an exhale. While he didn’t like seeing her unhappy, at the very least, her troubles did not seem long lasting. “You’ve a low threshold for murdering people. I’d kill for a good Scotch whiskey.”
“A duke outranks a baronetess,” she said breezily, “so if either of us is to get caught for murder, I’d rather it be you. Less chance of hanging or transportation.”
He grunted with a sudden realization, feeling like ten kinds of boor. Here he’d been concerned about her well-being, but he’d likely contributed to her distress, not eased it.
“Like a prime imbecile, I’m keeping you from your much-desired solitude.” He started to rise, but she held tightly to his hands.
“Stay,” she said with urgency. Then, more calmly, “Please.”
The massive pleasure he felt from her urging him to stay was entirely unreasonable, definitely not ducal, but he didn’t care. “As you wish.”
“Do you know what I was doing here?” she asked after a pause. “I came here—to this place, away from the others, away from the Bazaar—because of how I feel about you. Because I want you.”
The pleasure he had felt moments earlier was dwarfed with this new elation. She brought him to the heights of joy with an ease that ought to have panicked him—and yet he felt no fear.
A long, shuddering breath left him. “Four words,” he murmured. “That’s all it took from you and I’m as primed as a pistol. But, love, if you want me, why come out here?”
“I shouldn’t want you,” she said ruefully.
He stroked the tips of his fingers down her cheek, then along her throat, where her pulse sped. “I’ve never been much interested in