a midnight lagoon. She might drown but never miss the lack of air.
He raised one of his eyebrows, his look subtly daring. “Go on, miss.” Beneath his words, the message was clear. You got yourself into this situation. Can you get yourself out? “Tell us how I’m correct.”
The hell with it. All day she’d listened to people telling her that she was wrong and her energies misguided. Now it suddenly became extremely important that Jess prove to him and to the men hovering around him that she knew exactly of what she spoke.
“The storm three days ago caused part of the roof to cave in at Buxton’s other business,” she said. “The furniture mill in Lambeth.” As she spoke, the duke slowly nodded.
“We are speaking of his silver plate manufactory,” the first man said as if she was a child. He added in a condescending tone, “Which is located in Croydon. The storm could not have harmed both establishments.”
“And it did not.” She spoke as calmly as possible, since any hint of feeling in her voice would immediately be seized upon by the men as proof that she was overly emotional. “But Buxton has pulled nearly half his laborers employed at the plate manufactory to work on repairing and rebuilding his furniture mill. With that many men absent from the plate manufactory, it will be impossible to deliver his goods by the promised date.
“Therefore,” she concluded, “as the duke said, investing in Buxton’s silver plate operation is not a sound decision. Not at the moment. But I would advise reconsidering the possibility by the end of summer, when buyers are beginning to think of entertaining their families for Christmas and Boxing Day.”
It was as though all traffic had stopped on busy Bond Street. The silence that followed her pronouncements reverberated outward, so that even the hoofbeats of horses pulling carriages seemed muffled. The men surrounding the duke gaped at her, while the duke smiled.
It was a devastating smile. Brilliant and assured and ever so slightly carnal. Yet what made her breath catch was the genuine admiration in his eyes. He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, which, given the disparity in their ranks, was astonishing.
A hot flare of desire sparked in her belly—something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not that long ago, she’d been engaged. She and Oliver had grown up together, gone to the same dame school, sat three pews apart at church. The attraction between them had been gradual, more like a warm blanket than a devastating conflagration. Even his lovemaking, after they’d agreed to marry, had been undemanding and gentle.
When he’d withdrawn his suit, she had barely missed him. Her body craved touch and release, but she’d barely gotten that with Oliver. So she’d resigned herself to a life deprived of sensation. It wasn’t what she wanted for herself, but there were things in life she had to accept.
Now, on this stretch of Bond Street, she was flushed and more fiercely aware of the duke than she’d ever been for any man.
“You are a veritable hawk amongst the doves, miss,” he murmured.
She heard herself reply, “Meaning, Your Grace?”
“That you’re an expert hunter, as opposed to this cote of prey.” He made a flicking motion with one long, elegant finger toward the men surrounding him. “Have pity on them and try to eat only one or two.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I cannot help if they are so easily devoured. The meat would be too flavorless, though.”
He laughed, the sound warm and husky. “A palpable hit.”
Words sprang to her lips, but before she could speak them, the crowd around the duke surged back to life—and new men joined the swelling group of hangers-on.
“Your Grace,” many voices cried out at once. “A moment of your time, Your Grace.”
The crowd moved like a flood pouring down the pavement, carrying the duke along with it. He glanced back at her.
“Your Grace,” she called after him. He could have some advice for her, some insight as to how to crack the difficult London marketplace.
But she couldn’t be heard above the countless other demands for his attention. And in a short moment, he was gone, swept up in the human tide.
She stood alone on the sidewalk, watching the space where he’d been.
Today on Bond Street had been a setback, yet she wouldn’t admit defeat. She hadn’t time for flirtations with a duke.
Perhaps, someday when she was old, she’d reminisce fondly about the time she flirted with a