Page 13 of Would I Lie to the Duke
Pretend to be a lady for the next three days. Mingle with England’s elite. Steer them toward financing McGale & McGale, but it must be done subtly. She could do this.
“You are enjoying your time in Town, Lady Whitfield?” the duke asked behind her.
“I am now,” she said—which was true. She’d pull off this coup and then, when Lady Catherton healed, they’d be off to the Continent. Jess need not worry about seeing the duke, or anyone else from the Bazaar, again. In the interim, she’d at last have the chance to do what she’d always desired: to be a viable player in the game of business.
“As for myself,” he said, “I consider London suddenly quite delightful.”
“I’m certain you find everywhere delightful.” She reached the landing and waited for him to join her.
“Well, everywhere findsmedelightful.” He reached the landing, and while he kept a respectful distance, her head spun at having him so near, without the protective span of a Bond Street sidewalk between them. “People are inclined to become excessively agreeable in my presence.”
He was spectacularly attractive, and his eyes managed to be both flirtatious and insightful, so astute that she wouldn’t be surprised if he could see her all the way down to her shift and drawers.
“An understandable reaction to a duke.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Madam, are you suggesting that it’s my title that makes me so welcome wherever I go, and not the excellence of my person?”
“Your Grace likely receives bounteous flattery from all and sundry. Surely you can’t be so desperate for a compliment that you thirst for mine.”
A laugh burst from him, intimate and velvety, and heat unfurled within her.
“But you do have my thanks,” she murmured. “It was kind of you to gain me entrance to the Bazaar.”
“Nothing to thank me for.” He waved his hand dismissively. It was a rather beautiful hand, large and veined and masculine, and she had a quick image of that hand stroking up her back. “The Bazaar will benefit from your presence. We need sharp minds. And I’m nothing if not motivated by pure self-interest.Iwanted you here.”
A small explosion of pleasure went off in her chest, though it was dangerous to feel it. “Again,” she said, “you are excessively kind.”
“I’m not excessively anything.” He shrugged, but the movement was sleek and drew attention to his superbly tailored coat, and the shoulders that filled it.
“That is untrue, and we both know it. You are the definition of excess.”
He laughed again, and the world narrowed so that it contained only them. “You are indeed a hawk. No one but a bird of prey can strike with such cutting accuracy.”
“And wolves take particular delight in the hunt.” She was freed from the cage that being a hired companion had locked around her. And he seemed to enjoy her own pleasure in being unchained. “I do agree with you that adding me to the Bazaar will benefit it.”
“A bold claim. Some of the country’s most esteemed financial minds are within that room.”
“They don’t know what I know.” She tapped a finger to her temple.
“I do not doubt that.” His gaze was equal parts sensuality and intelligence. And entirely admiring. “My lady.” He bowed and then moved into the drawing room.
There was a knock from downstairs. From her vantage on the landing, she could observe the butler opening the door. A man with slicked hair stood on the step, a portfolio beneath his arm. She couldn’t quite hear what the man said, but the tone of the butler’s response made it plain that his presence wasn’t welcome. The door closed firmly as the man on the step protested piteously for entrance.
“Damn importunate rascals,” Lord Trask muttered beside her. “Every year, they turn up, hands out, begging for entrance, and every year, I have them turned away.”
“How unfortunate,” Jess said.For them, she added silently. Minutes earlier, she’d been one of their number.
“One came in as a guest,” the marquess continued, his expression grim. “Pretended as if he was here to take part in the Bazaar. But he gave himself away.”
“Gave himself away?” Cold trepidation inched up her back.
“In truth, what he was actually here to do was drum up investors in his own scheme.” Lord Trask scowled. “Thought he was so clever, slipping hints, ingratiating himself, and then, ‘Oh, I happen to have a venture inneed of funding,’” he said in a nasal voice. “Bah! I had Stapleton show him the door as soon as I rooted him out. A blackguard and conniver.”
“Indeed,” Jess murmured. “What a dreadful person.”
She made herself smile serenely. Inside, however, she felt as though she stood on the edge of a cliff, waving her arms to keep herself from plummeting down.
She needed a new strategy—one that was so subtle, so carefully deployed, that not even the highly sensitized Lord Trask would be aware of her maneuvering.
