Page 82 of Would I Lie to the Duke
Lord Pickhill seized the topic and said with forced brightness, “I saw one of their stallions race not long ago. Magnificent creature.”
The conversation continued, yet Jess paid it no heed. She was aware only of the tension emanating from Noel, and how her own body felt strung taut to the point of snapping.
It was a very long ride back to London. The miles ticked by, and anxiety climbed. Thank God she wore gloves to keep her fingernails from digging trenches in her palms. As it was, her hands ached from being clenched for hours.
Signposts on the city’s outskirts announced their imminent arrival. And then they were in London proper.
Noel had given his carriage drivers directions to each of his guests’ homes because they were not going straight to Rotherby House. Instead, the carriages containing the guests, their servants, and their baggage stopped at each person’s residence. The route must have been planned at Carriford, because it became evident that Jess would be the last guest delivered to their doorstep.
They said goodbye to Lord Pickhill, and then LadyHaighe, and then, abruptly, Jess was alone in the carriage with Noel. But the vehicle didn’t move.
She blinked at him, words drying up as her heart pounded so hard surely he had to hear it.
“I need to tell my coachman your direction,” Noel said flatly. “However, I don’t know where you live.”
“Number eighteen, Hill Street.” It was, in fact, four doors down from Lady Catherton’s actual address, but she didn’t want him to know where she resided and potentially speak to anyone who knew she was not, in fact, a baronet’s widow.
Noel relayed the information to the footman, who in turn passed the address on to the coachman, as well as the driver of the second coach that carried Jess’s maid. And then they were off again. It would be a short ride, less than five minutes.
Now. Tell him now.
But every time she opened her mouth, no words came out. It was as if she’d exhausted all her supply of language. All the speeches she’d planned on the ride from Carriford were gone. Noel returned to his tense silence, so nothing was said.
The carriage came to a stop. She glanced out the window to see that they’d arrived at their fictitious destination. From her vantage, she could see the town house where she actually resided. She heard the sounds of her trunk being taken down from the second carriage, and her abigail speaking with the driver.
Jess had to do it. Had to tell him the truth, and suffer the consequences.
A familiar carriage came to a stop farther up thestreet. A footman jumped down and opened the vehicle’s door. He reached forward to help out the carriage’s occupant.
It was Lady Catherton.
Here. Now.
She’d arrived at her house without any notice.
“Jess—?”
Dragging her gaze back to Noel, she blurted, “I can’t see you again. I’m sorry, Noel. I’m so terribly sorry.”
His expression blanked, as though she’d shot him in the center of his chest and he could not comprehend how the bullet had lodged between his ribs. “I—”
“Please,” she begged. “I can’t say more. I have to go.”
She leapt from the carriage and shut the door behind her before he could say anything. “Drive on,” she hissed at the coachman.
“Don’t,” Noel said. He appeared in the carriage window. “Jess, no. Not like this.”
“It has to be,” she said desperately. “I’m leaving. That can’t be changed. You’ll forget me, and... and I want you to.”
The confusion in Noel’s gaze iced into angry hurt. His jaw firmed. “I see.”
She wouldn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. Instead, she said to the coachman, “Drive, for God’s sake.”
“Your Grace?” the servant asked.
“You heard her,” Noel intoned. Not a hint of emotion or affect in his voice. “No reason to linger.”
He sat back, disappearing into the carriage, then the vehicle rolled forward.
