a smile that was at once wicked and tender. No one smiled like her.
Then she was gone, racing back to Lady Farris, who lingered in the hallway outside the conservatory. Before she crossed the chamber’s threshold, Jess looked back at him.
In her eyes, there was heat, mirroring his desire. But something else shadowed her gaze—knowledge that whatever hunger they shared, it would not, could not, last.
He wanted to prove her wrong. The thing they shared had no name and no sharp delineation, no easy definition, but it was precious to him and he did not wish to give it up. Yet he could not play the high-handed tyrant, and demand more of her than she was willing to give.
But, damn him, how he yearned for all of her.
Chapter 15
She had to tell him. She would tell him. The moment the Bazaar concluded later today, she would tell Noel everything about her deception. After last night, she had no other choice. He’d given her such ecstasy, and had laid his true self at her feet. He’d shown her, too, a part of herself that she hadn’t known. To command and be served by a lover had given her exquisite pleasure—she’d no idea. She could not repay any of that with duplicity.
The idea had come to her in the conservatory, in the aftermath of what had happened. He had been fearless to reveal himself to her. And she had been unable to repay him with the same kind of honesty.
They had only a day left. She needed to know that when she and Noel parted, and he was left only with memories of her, what he remembered wasn’t based on falsehoods and sham identities. She wanted to show him her, Jess, the farmer’s daughter, the woman who took nothing for granted, and knew what it was to have only simple pleasures and not the heights of elegance and privilege.
She couldn’t do that at the Bazaar, but there was more to London than Lord Trask’s drawing room. There were places where a country girl might find a slightly familiar atmosphere, and that was what had made her think of Covent Garden. She knew her way around a market, and to be back amongst farmers and craftsmen would be a taste of home.
They would be surrounded by hundreds, but she and Noel would be alone together.
Before she could reconsider the idea, she’d blurted it to Noel. And he’d agreed.
Using the directions Lynch had given her, she now walked quickly toward Covent Garden Market. Fashionable London still slept, but the laboring people of the city were up, busily going about their lives, and pulling carts in their sturdy clothes. These were her people, far more than the Bazaar’s wealthy elite. Today, she wore her own clothing, and while the garments of a paid companion were far more delicate than those worn by working folk, she was no baronet’s widow, and attracted less attention.
Mayfair to Covent Garden was a fair distance, yet she didn’t let her steps slow or falter, not when Noel awaited her.
She emerged at the west end of a large square. At one side stood a graceful, tall building with columns, but she barely spared it a glance. Instead, she scanned the busy plaza. How would she recognize Noel without his customarily expensive, elegant tailoring?
A man emerged from the crowd, and she saw then that her concern wasn’t warranted. Even in a slouchy coat and threadbare trousers, with a slightly battered hat atop his head, she knew his long body and confident stride. He’d even forgone shaving, so that his jaw was shaded by dark stubble.
“Looking raffish,” she said, approaching him. Once the distance between them closed, she leaned in to murmur, “And edible.”
His eyes flashed. “Unkind to bring me to this public place and then verbally seduce me.”
“I’ll take pity on you because you’ve been so accommodating, coming here before your customary noon rising.” She glanced at his clothing. “Where did you find such a beleaguered ensemble?”
He looked down at himself and grimaced. “Borrowed some old togs from my friend Holloway. His sartorial ability is inversely proportional to his intelligence.”
“He must be a very smart man.”
“Minx.” He eyed her. “And you’re back in the same dress you wore when I first met you on Bond Street.”
She felt her cheeks warm—a combination of embarrassment about her less-than-stylish clothing and pleasure that he remembered what she’d worn that day.
“Today,” she said, slipping into her broad Wiltshire dialect, “we’re a pair of ordinary folk, out