Page 57 of Would I Lie to the Duke
They were so different in a multitude of ways. He was a duke, raised in privilege, with nothing forbidden to him. He could dream any dream with the belief that it could truly become reality—but his whole life already was a fantasy come true.
Could he ever understand the desperation that had driven her to carry on such a lengthy deception? And if he did understand that, could he forgive her for the fabrications she’d told him? She’d done her best to stick as close to the truth as she could, but there had been times when a lie had been unavoidable. Seeing this beautiful home and his joy in it only affirmed what she believed: she and Noel had no future beyond the next few days.
“Not much,” he said. “To my dismay. We spent more time in Cambridgeshire, at Roston Abbey, where the seat of the duchy is located. That estate is far grander in scale.”
“Surely not as grand in magic.” She trailed her own ungloved hand along the clever ironwork. Then held her breath as his hand came closer to hers, and closer still, until the very tips of their fingers touched.
He might as well have kissed her.
God above, if she ever brought him to her bed, she’d surely lose her wits from sheer pleasure.
“You think Carriford magical?” he asked, though his voice was low and rough.
She turned to him. “Years from now, I’ll dream of this place.”
His eyes were dark and immeasurably deep. The way he looked at her—as though he’d scaled a mountain and found her at the summit—was a look she’d remember until her last breath.
“I’m glad.” His words rumbled. “There’s a house full of people—but I don’t give a damn about their opinions. It’s whatyouthink that matters.”
“I’m no more qualified to appreciate a fine home than anyone else,” she said gently. “Lady Farris has likely seen more country estates than I have, and Mr. Walditch surely owns a magnificent home.”
“But when I look at Lady Farris,” he said, his voice intent, “I don’t feel the world disappear around me so I am aware only of her. And I assuredly do not want to give Mr. Walditch the moon and the stars and all the things in the sky. I feel those things only for you.”
Her throat tightened. “Noel.”
“This place is special. And so are you.” His gaze held hers and she understood what he’d meant a moment ago, because her awareness was only of him.
God help her—she wanted him to look at her that way forever. They didn’t have forever, though. “What do you know of Honiton?”
If he minded her abrupt change of topic, he didn’t say. “Nothing. Didn’t even know the place existed until you brought the soap wrapper.”
Good. He had no expectations of the place, or where she fit in within it. She’d paid extra to the rider delivering her letter, ensuring that he stopped only to change horses, so that her brother and sister had time to inform the village what to expect. Hopefully, Fred and Cynthia had spoken to everyone, or at least made certain that word would circulate so that no one mistakenly called her “Jess” or “Miss McGale,” or remarked on her fine dresses and the genteel company she kept.
“You must be curious to see the McGale & McGale operation,” she said.
“As I said at the docks— Hell, was it only a few days ago? As I said, there’s always something to learn. Discovering and learning are life’s greatest pleasures. Well,” he amended, his gaze heating, “someof life’s greatest pleasures. There are others.”
“To be sure,” she said huskily. “Many others.”
They could not seem to look away from each other. She faintly heard the voices of the other guests and the head gardener, and beneath all that, birdsong and the drone of insects. Though it was late afternoon, the day was still golden with warmth and languid, and it would be so easy to slip her hand into his and lead him down one of Carriford’s garden paths, where, in the privacy of a green bower, she could show him how much pleasure he gave her.
It would be so easy, so right...
Someone coughed, a discreet servant cough.
Noel moved his hand at the same time Jess stepped away, putting needed distance between them.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” Vale, the butler, said from several yards away. “I was reluctant to disturb you, but the gentlemen were most insistent.”
“Gentlemen?” Noel raised an eyebrow. “One of the guests.”
“Indeed, no, Your Grace. These gentlemen just arrived. They demanded that I pass on a message.” Vale coughed into his hand. “They said, ‘Tell the toff bastard that we’re desperate for his company. Desperate, but not serious.’ Those were the words I was instructed to say verbatim.”
Horrified by the insulting message and the impertinence of the men who demanded Vale deliver it to Noel, Jess looked at him. She expected to see seething anger or even cold disdain on his face.
Instead, he wore the widest smile she’d ever seen from him.
“Convey to them the following message.” He planted his hands on his hips. “‘Don’t expect a place in the country when you sodding buffoons come calling without warning. I’ll be there in ten minutes, so don’t go burning down the house.’”
