He lifted his brow. “Where’d you pick up that accent?”
“Grew up rural.” She narrowed her gaze. “You don’t like it.”
“On the contrary,” he said, lowering his lids, “it makes me think about finding a convenient hayloft and doing all sorts of primal things to you.”
“Now you’re seducing me in public.” But she didn’t mind it. “Suppose there’s nothing we can do about your accent? It’s pure toff.”
“The burden of being woefully overbred—I had elocution lessons as soon as I started to speak. I know,” he said brightly, “I shall pretend to be a gentleman who has fallen on hard times because I dared to court a Wiltshire woman that my family did not approve of.”
He’d no idea how close to the truth he came. “Tragic tale. Shall we get to marketing?”
“Madam, lead the way.” He held out his arm, and she tucked her hand into it.
The market itself was a sprawling, chaotic affair, far more bustling than any other she’d attended. Stalls were arranged against a wall, a few with canopies, while some were either tables or benches set up beneath the open sky. Baskets stood laden with goods, and carts also carried a bewildering array of produce.
Everything that grew from the earth was sold—asparagus, carrots, leafy lettuces and cabbages, baskets of mushrooms. Pie and sausage vendors also shouted to advertise the wares they carried in trays that hung from their necks, and wheels of fresh cheeses were stacked in pyramids. The air was rich with green scents and the loamy soil still clinging to crops.
It was wonderful and dizzying and reminded her powerfully of home, whilst it also stood in marked contrast to the smaller local markets Jess had visited.
“Not so familiar with this place during the day,” Noel said as they wove up and down between the rows of vendors. He nodded toward the tall, columned building at the other end of the piazza. “The Theatre Royal is more my haunt.”
“The noise is less melodious.” Voices of what had to be a hundred vendors clashed, verging on deafening.
“Depends on who’s performing that night.” He shook his head. “My God, I’d no idea what a veritable Babel this place could be.”
“Markets usually are, though this one is of truly biblical proportions. Have you never shopped for your own food?”
He eyed her. “Dukes and ducal heirs are rarely tasked with marketing. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin or how to manage it. I’d bobble the whole thing and wind up being arrested for disorderly conduct.”
“Observe me, then, and learn.” She winked at him before heading toward one stall selling an abundance of fruits. Addressing the red-faced woman behind the table, she said, “Morning, love.”
“Morning, missus,” the woman answered in a thick London accent. Her eyes gleamed when she looked at Noel, despite his shabby clothing. “Fine day for it, eh, my lad?”
“As fine as the roses in your cheeks,” he replied.
“Go on, now,” she said, turning even more ruddy.
Jess smiled to herself. “Can’t help yourself, can you?” she murmured under her breath.
“It’s not my fault if women universally find me charming.”
“Is that what you did with me? Flirt out of habit?”
His gaze heated. “Madam,” he said lowly, “you ensnared me from the moment you gave those Bond Street bucks a verbal drubbing. But, then, you’re well aware of how I love to bend to your will.”
Now it was her opportunity to turn pink. “You’re shameless.”
“Under the right conditions.” His smile was small and private, just for her pleasure. Jess gladly fell under its spell.
“What’re you looking for, missus?”
The fruit vendor’s voice broke through the haze surrounding Jess. Snapping to attention, she said, “These cherries seem nice enough.” In truth, they were rosy red and looked as though they’d been harvested at their peak. “How much for half a peck?”
“Fourpence, love.”
Noel dug into his pocket, but with a tiny movement, Jess stilled him. “Those strawberries look on the verge of spoiling. How’s about you throw in a basket of ’em, and the half a peck of cherries, and I’ll give you fourpence?”
The woman let out a long, gusty exhale. “You’re trying to ruin me, you are.” When Jess merely stared at her, she threw up her hands. “As you please. The cherries and the strawberries for the bargain price of fourpence.”
Jess handled the rest of the transaction, pulling the coins from her hamper in exchange for the fruit.
“Mind you keep an eye on that bloke of yours,” the vendor said, handing over a small basket of strawberries.