I met her. I saw how you looked at her. How she looked at you.”
“Like a swindler looks at their mark,” Noel spat.
“Lady Whitfield—”
“Is no lady,” Noel snarled.
“That’s what upsets you?” McCameron planted his hands on his hips. “The fact that she’s a commoner?”
“I don’t give a rat’s arse if she’s a commoner. She used me.” His throat burned and he tried to swallow around it. “Jess deliberately set out to seduce me so she could bring in investors to that sodding soap operation.”
“Did she seduce you?”
“Yes,” Noel answered at once. Then, “Maybe. No. I don’t goddamned know.”
“I didn’t see everything,” McCameron mused. “If she targeted you specifically, that’s unforgivable.”
The fog of alcohol did nothing to cloud his remembrance of the Bazaar. How drawn he’d been to Jess, how she had asked him to go slowly. Whenever she’d talked of McGale & McGale, she had spoken to other members of the Bazaar, and he’d added himself to the discussion.
“I made some inquiries,” McCameron continued, “into Jessica McGale and the McGale family.”
“You’ve too much time on your hands,” Noel grumbled. “Nosing around my affairs like a hound.”
“We’re not all of us titled toffs used to pissing our lives away.”
Stung, Noel leveled a finger at his friend. “Ought to get yourself a woman.”
McCameron’s jaw tightened. “Tried that. She wanted someone else.”
“Shit,” Noel muttered as contrition tightened around him. “Was badly done of me, bringing her up. I didn’t mean—”
“About the McGales,” McCameron said, plowing doggedly ahead. “There was a fire—”
“I know about that,” Noel mumbled.
“Her parents died about eight months before that fire. She had to take over running the operation, and then the fire happened. She took a position as a companion, most likely to save up enough to rebuild.”
“Doesn’t matter what her motivation was. She lied. The whole time, she lied. To further her own ambition.”
He’d told himself that he would never be taken in by a liar. He’d never be hurt by someone’s deceit.
But he had. He bloody well had.
“Aye, she did.” McCameron nodded. “Can’t help but wonder, if I was in her place, and stood to lose it all, what would I do? How far would I go to take care of the people I love?”
“Damn it.” Noel tugged his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know a fucking thing.”
“Do any of us?”
“Curse you—I’m sobering up.”
“Ah, now that’s a shame,” McCameron said.
“Always looking out for me,” Noel accused. “Like you did back at Eton. All of you, setting me down a peg, opening my eyes, making me think.” He spat the last word as though it was a vile practice. “Why? Why’d you all do that? Could have left me to sink into the mire of my own pride—yet you didn’t. Why’d any of you take the trouble?”
McCameron exhaled a tiny laugh. “Because, jackass, we saw that you had the potential to be something great. To this day, every single one of us believes it still.”
“Amazing that four men could be so very wrong,” Noel said after a moment.
“Amazing that you’re still a prideful bastard,” McCameron replied. “I’d suggest we go in search of a drink, but you’re sotted enough as it is.” He moved forward and once again slid his arm around Noel, then hauled him to his feet. “Time to drag you home. And when you pass out, I’ll help myself to what’s left of your cellar.”
Chapter 28
“Mind where you step, Cyn,” Jess cautioned, guiding her sister through the Bond Street throng. “You’ll crash into one of the fine folk and make them drop their parcels, and that’s no way to make an impression on Mr. Daley.”
“Can’t help it,” Cynthia whispered. “There’s so much. Have you ever seen such hats, Jess?” She stared as a woman in an enormous feathered bonnet glided past. “I think there’s a whole forest of birds on that one. I want to feed her crackers.”
“Gawking later.” Holding on to her sister’s elbow, Jess maneuvered them toward Daley’s Emporium. She tried, without success, to navigate around her memories of meeting Noel here, but their spectral selves haunted the pavement, ghostly apparitions that only served to remind her of what had been lost. “Business first.”
Bless her, Cynthia snapped to attention. “Right you are. This is the place?” She stared at the sign proclaiming Mr. Daley’s shop.
“It is.” Jess drew in a steadying breath. “Remember what I told you.”
“Don’t touch anything and don’t stare at the customers,” Cynthia echoed, then rolled her eyes. “Remember what I told you. I’m not a