Page 7 of Would I Lie to the Duke
Her thoughts broke apart as she became aware of a small crowd moving down the sidewalk, consisting of four more tastefully dressed men revolving like planets around the sun as they fought to gain the sun’s attention.
Catching sight of the man at the center of their solar system, she understood why.
Some men possessed a quiet handsomeness that stole upon you gradually. It took a look and then another look before you could appreciate the angle of his jaw or the shape of his lips. You felt comfortable around a chap like that, as if easing into warm bathwater.
Not this man. There was nothing subtle about his looks. He wasspectacularlyhandsome, so much so that Jess felt faintly annoyed, as if he’d made himself beautiful strictly to let everyone know how good life was to him.
He possessed a faultless jawline, and his lips were ripe as a summer fruit onehadto bite. His nose was perfectly proportioned to his masculine face, and thick dark eyebrows arched above equally dark eyes that shone with intellect and a flash of wicked wit. He didn’t have the height of a colossus, but he did have along, lean body that surely made his tailor weep with gratitude to have such an impeccable canvas to display the exquisitely fitted clothing he wore now.
Energy and vitality radiated from him, along with the kind of health and polish that could only come from having whatever he desired whenever he desired it. This man had money. He had power. With every long stride he took—though his strides were hampered by the people crowding around him—he declared silently,All of this belongs to me.
It was strange, Jess realized, to desire someone whilst simultaneously resenting them.
“Excuse me,” she said to a passing lady. “Who is that?”
The middle-aged woman in pearls sniffed as if offended that not only had Jess been importune enough to ask her a question, but also because Jess was ignorant of the spectacular man’s identity.
“That,” the woman said haughtily, “is His Grace, the Duke of Rotherby. Take a good eyeful, gel, because looking from a distance is as close as you’ll ever get.” Seemingly pleased with the set-down she’d given Jess, the lady walked away, trailed by her footman, who carried an armful of ribbon-tied boxes.
Jess was too astonished to care that she’d been insulted. Naturally, she knew who the Duke of Rotherby was. Or rather, she’dreadabout him for years in periodicals and newspapers. He was always mentioned in breathless prose, cutting a dashing figure through theton, admired by all and sundry, and his presence at a social gathering ensured that it was declared a success.She had known that he’d inherited his dukedom at a relatively young age, but the fact that he was an extremely attractive man in his prime had never occurred to her.
The men circling the duke all clamored for his attention, their voices overlapping and creating a cacophony of well-bred syllables. He answered the questions, but that gleam of roguish—nay,rakish—humor in his eyes captivated Jess’s attention. He seemed the possessor of some naughty secret, and damn if she didn’t want to know what it was.
As he and his followers drew closer, she heard one of the men say, “Will you be at Viscount Marwood’s ball tonight?”
“That depends,” the duke answered, andof coursehe had a deliciously low voice that sounded like gravel on velvet. “We’ll see if married life has dampened Marwood’s wilder impulses.”
“So, you’ll go if he’s tamed?”
The duke raised a brow. “God, no. Then again, if he’s grown complacent in his married state, an intercession might be in order.”
“What do you think of Buxton’s silver plate manufactory, Your Grace? A sound investment, I believe.”
She recognized the name Buxton from her daily perusals of the newspaper. He was a noted figure in manufacturing, and to ask the duke a question about the realm of industry was odd. Clearly, he was a man devoted to the pursuit of pleasure, and likely had no interest in finances and commerce.
“Not at present, it isn’t,” the duke said. “Production will be down and orders won’t be fulfilled.”
That was unexpected.
The man who’d asked the question made a scoffing noise. “Not so. Buxton himself said a fortnight ago that he’d hired men by the score to ensure demand’s met.”
“The duke is correct.” Jess didn’t realize she’d spoken the words aloud until the duke and his cronies all stopped midstride and turned toward her.Hellfire.
“Your pardon, miss,” one of the acolytes said with a condescending smile, “but you speak of matters which a young person of middling means cannot understand.”
“And which do not concern you,” the first man added. “Certainly not awoman.”
“But you’re wrong,” she said.
Jess found her gaze locked with the duke’s. Though a distance of several feet separated them, she sensed his awareness as if their bodies were snugly pressed together. It was not unlike being drawn into the dark, hot depths of 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. “Thefurniture 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.”
