Page 74 of Would I Lie to the Duke
A glance behind him confirmed that everyone at the table continued to chat amongst themselves and with the McGales.
Noel reached down and took Jess’s hand. They’d removed their gloves for eating, so their palms pressed snug against each other. Her fingers were like the opening stanzas of a poem he knew by heart.
He stroked his thumb back and forth over hers, her skin soft but not in the same way as most ladies. There was a slight hardiness in the feel of her, as if she did more than pour tea, write letters, and practice at the pianoforte.
“You must feel at home here,” he murmured.
She glanced at him. “Why do you say that?”
“You mentioned a rural upbringing. Unless you made that up to hide the fact that you and your jewel-thieving family traveled from glamorous city to glamorous city, breaking hearts and stealing precious gems.”
“We only turned to stealing so that we might pay for our dear old gran’s medical treatments.” She guided them off the path and down a sloping hill, where tall grasses brushed against their clothing. When he stiffened at the sound of something rustling in the brush, she said, “Don’t worry—there are several mousers at this farm that keep everything rodent-free.”
Grateful, he exhaled. “I’m certain McCameron would give me a roasting if he knew my loathing of mice and rats. An inescapable part of being a soldier, he said. That, and weevils.” He shook his head. “No, thank you, kindly.”
She made a quiet scoffing noise. “Farm life’s not for you, then. Because there’s no avoiding a host of wriggling things and creatures with pincers and many, many legs.”
They reached the bottom of the hill, and stood on the banks of a cheerful river, water streaming over rocks and gently chuckling. The last strains of daylight played upon the river’s surface.
“So, your life wasn’t just rural, it was downright agrarian.”
“I grew up on a farm,” she said after a moment. “There were no glamorous cities or carefully plotted robberies. Just cows and goats and a fair share ofmanure.” She shot him a look. “You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“Here, now,” he said in mock affront, “I once had to wear a woolen waistcoat instead of one made of silk. Never say I’m not adaptable.” With his free hand, he stroked a finger along her cheek and then down her neck. Her warm, silken flesh thickened his thoughts far more than any mead they had imbibed.
“Carriford suits you well enough,” she said, leaning into his touch. “Is a farm entirely too rustic?”
He looked behind him at the fields that stood at the top of the slope. “Don’t know if I’d make for much of a farmer. But with the right inducement, I’d be willing to try.” He stroked across her lower lip, and smiled when she playfully nipped at him. “If it means hayloft trysts with you, then I am certainly amenable.”
He regarded her. “On Bond Street, and at the Bazaar, you were in your element. Lady Hawk. I’ve never seen a woman, no, never seen apersonso confident and knowledgeable about the world of finance. Surely, I thought, this is where she belongs. This is who she is.”
She said nothing, but her gaze was clear and direct.
“Yet here you are, at this farm, and there’s something about you, something... looser.”
“A woman with loose morals?” She lifted a brow.
“The very best kind. But my meaning is that you’ve got a softness out here, a centered calm I didn’t feel in London.” He shook his head. “Pay me no regard. I think the smoke-free air has addled my brain so I can only spout nonsense. Which makes me ideally suited for politics.”
“You would begin a policy of government-mandated carousing.” She squeezed his hand, and an echoing squeeze centered in his chest. “Perhaps I’m Lady Hawk and also the girl from the farm. Perhaps people don’t have to be fully one thing or the other. For example, there’s you.”
“One hundred percent ducal stock, which makes me phenomenally overbred. Unless,” he added thoughtfully, “my mother had a wild affair with the groundskeeper—but I doubt it, given that I have my father’s eyes, nose, and severe reaction to shellfish.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I swell up and itch all over—”
“Noel.” She pressed her lips together as if fighting a smile. “Lord Trask warned me about you.”
“About my sensitivity to shellfish?” He raised a brow.
She stroked a finger along the base of his thumb. “He said you were a dazzling comet—with the underlying message that you were all flash and fire, with little substance.”
“The rotter,” Noel said without rancor. “Thank God I’m too indolent to challenge him to a duel.”
“But there’s deep nuance to you.” She stepped closer to him, the distance between their bodies mere inches. “The way you are with your friends, the way you care for them... you have a good heart. A wonderful heart.”
In a whisper, she said, “And it’s softer than you think it is. Perhaps more than you want it to be—but you can’t help yourself. You’re made the way you’re made, and it’s beautiful.”
