Page 32 of Would I Lie to the Duke
She barely felt her feet when they touched the ground.
If he lowered his head just a tiny bit more, if she rose up on her toes a fraction... they would kiss.
She needed to learn his taste, as much as she needed to draw another breath. In minute increments, they drew closer, and closer still...
“It’s getting away!” somebody yelled.
The spell between her and the duke broke, and they stepped apart. Twin stains of color stood out on his cheeks, his chest rising and falling.
And then the sparrow took flight from a ledge, out the open window, and into freedom.
She exhaled shakily.At least one of us is getting what we want.
Once everyone had collected themselves, it was time for the next presentation, which was to be held in a dockside warehouse.
Noel brought up the rear of the company as the Bazaar guests filed into the building. The scent of the river lay heavy and dank outside, and within the structure itself, there was a charred scent, as though something had recently been on fire.
Lady Whitfield took several steps back, as though pushed by something unseen. In the dim light within the warehouse, she appeared pale.
He was beside her in an instant. “Are you well, madam?”
“It’s nothing.” She gave him what was likely an attempt at a reassuring smile, but it frayed at the edges. “My sense of smell is sensitive, which can prove inconvenient at times.”
“Fortunate that I decided not to douse myself in sardines and vinegar this morning.”
His jest, weak as it was, had the desired effect. She chuckled softly, and color returned to her cheeks. A darker pink had dusted her face when he’d caught her earlier. He’d seen the way she’d looked at his mouth, too, and she’d been silken and lush against him. Since then, he’d been edgy and aroused, and he was grateful for the opportunity to leave Trask’s drawing room behind for an outing to see another presentation.
“What a remarkable place.” Her gaze roamedthrough the building, and while most of it was empty, a giant metal tank occupied part of the space. From it came a series of lead pipes that snaked through the warehouse, with what appeared to be hand pumps set at intervals, and hoses attached to the pumps.
A Black man in a beautiful ink-blue jacket and mahogany silk waistcoat stood beside the giant tank, while a Black woman in a neat gown with a heavy canvas apron adjusted a few pipe fittings.
“Have we all assembled?” the man asked crisply. “Very good. I am Dionysus Graves. This is my wife, Judith.”
She nodded at her cue, and said, “We present to you our fire-suppression system to be implemented in mills and factories.”
For the next twenty minutes, the Graveses explained that by the time a fire brigade could arrive at a mill, the conflagration would have likely decimated most of the structure and could have cost many lives. Their system could be installed directly in a mill to be used by the workers themselves, and while it might not completely douse a fire, it could curtail the damage and danger considerably. The engineering of the Graveses’ contraption was something to behold, and though Noel had fared relatively well with his education in physics, he marveled at the adroitness of the couple’s minds.
Mrs. Graves said, “Distinguished lords and ladies, we will now demonstrate the effectiveness of our system.” She nodded at her husband, who approached a sizable pile of splintered wood.
Mr. Graves struck a flint, creating sparks. The sparks flew onto the wood, and within a moment, the pile of wood caught fire. It was a significant blaze, throwing tremendous heat.
A soft gasp sounded beside him. Lady Whitfield shook—not from cold. Her eyes went wide, the lurid light from the fire turning them glassy. Her fear was a palpable thing.
It was the fire that terrified her.
At once, he placed his body between her and the blaze. He wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders and guided her quickly toward the exit. “A few more steps,” he murmured, “and then we’ll be well away from it. I’m here. You’re safe.”
“Th-thank you.”
Hearing her stammer in terror shot straight to his heart. She never showed fear.
As he led her to the door, he looked back over his shoulder. Mr. Graves worked one of the pumps whilst his wife held the hose, directing a robust stream of water onto the fire.
Trask sent a questioning look in Noel’s direction. He responded with a hand gesture to indicate that everything was under control, and for Trask to stay with the others.
Once outside, Noel escorted Lady Whitfield toward the waterfront. “The river isn’t the most delightful fragrance, but it should take the smell of smoke away.”
“Again, I’m grateful.” Her voice, he was relieved to hear, was even, but she continued to shiver.
