by Eva Leigh
“Hard like that.” Her words were almost guttural.
“Yes, Jess.” His arm burned deliciously as he gave her everything.
She came again, silently. He could feel the tremors through her body. They went on as she reached another climax. And then she went limp, barely able to support her weight on the bench.
“No more,” she mumbled.
He obeyed at once, taking his fingers from within her. He cupped her mons and she purred in response.
She leaned forward and he did the same so that their foreheads touched. Her honey scent wrapped around him as their breaths slowed.
“Thank you,” he murmured. He ran his hand down the length of her leg, then carefully lowered her skirts.
Her lips curved. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”
“You gave me a gift. I’ve never—” He found himself unexpectedly bashful, which seemed ridiculous after he’d said such carnal things to her, after he’d served her—precisely why he felt tendrils of shyness. “I’m not used to serving like this, on my knees. Wanting a lover to tell me what to do. With everyone else, I’m the one in command. But having you hold the reins feels right.”
She pressed a kiss to his lips. “I hope I was sufficiently dominating.”
“I loved each second of it.” At that moment, he wanted to drop every shield, leaving himself vulnerable. She could wound him irreparably, yet with the intimacies he’d given her, he knew in the deepest part of himself that he could trust her. “But we ought to get back to the others.”
“What about you? You haven’t . . .” Her fingers skimmed over the aching length of his cock.
He hissed in a breath. “We’ve been gone too long. I’ll tend to myself later.”
“Damnation,” she said. “I like picturing that. You, pleasuring yourself.”
Her words put him on the verge of coming in his breeches like a lad. “Then think of that tonight, as you’re lying in your own bed. Think of me with my hand around my cock, wishing it was your hand. Your mouth, your pussy.”
“Demon,” she admonished, her voice halfway between remonstrance and arousal. “I thought for certain that I couldn’t possibly need another orgasm after the half dozen you just gave me. But you are determined, once again, to prove me wrong.”
She presented too much temptation. He had to get her back amongst company, or else he was in serious danger of having her right here in Trask’s conservatory, which, thinking on it, didn’t seem like a bad idea.
She deserves better than a quick fuck on a stone bench. The plan had merit, but he craved her naked.
He fought a groan as he got to his feet. It hadn’t felt painful being on his knees for so long, but his body now protested. At least the pain helped dull the edge of his arousal. He could walk back into the parlor without brandishing an enormous erection.
“My gracious lady.” He offered her his hand.
She slid her palm against his as she rose to her feet, and just like that, the excitement he’d congratulated himself for dousing came flooding back.
“I like the way you say that,” she murmured. “My gracious lady. As if you were a knight and I was a farmer’s daughter.”
“Don’t you mean a princess?”
“I’m no princess,” she said firmly. “Not if she’s stuck in a tower, waiting for rescue. No,” she went on, “I’m the lusty farmer’s daughter who finds the weary knight in the barn and compels him to sate her desires. And he has to obey.”
“Because he’s sworn an oath to serve her in any way.” Shuddering, he clamped his eyes closed. “I’m a hairsbreadth away from tupping you right here and to hell with anyone who might come in and see.”
Her chest rose and fell. “I—”
“Lady Whitfield?” It was Lady Farris, and her footsteps neared.
Jess shoved Noel behind a large potted palm. It didn’t fully conceal him, but hopefully the shadows would do the rest of the job.
“Here,” Jess said brightly.
Lady Farris appeared. “Ah, good. You’re on the verge of being missed.” She eyed Jess, then looked at the potted palm. “You might want to wait here a few moments after we leave, Your Grace, before you return.”
Fuck. Noel emerged from behind the palm. Still, few things couldn’t be repaired with a dash of aristocratic sangfroid. “Lady Farris.” He bowed.
Jess said, “We were talking. Nothing more.”
Lady Farris held up a hand. “Don’t fret. I can’t pass along any scandal because I know nothing.”
“Why would you keep silent?” In Noel’s experience, information was a loaded weapon, ready to be fired. Everyone wanted to be armed.
“Because I’ve been where she is now,” Lady Farris said, nodding at Jess. “Some men wagered on who would be the first to bed me after I came out of mourning. A friend came to my aid, fortunately, but”—her voice grew tight—“I never want another woman’s body to be the target of speculation and gossip.”
Jess took Lady Farris’s hand. “Thank you.”
“You’ve also my gratitude.” Humbled by the countess, Noel bowed again. “If there’s anything I can do for you—”
Lady Farris held up a finger in warning. “Do not boast of this to your friends.”
“Never,” he said firmly. God, the very idea was disgusting. And to speak of what he and Jess had done to anyone would profane it. He would keep it close and sacred—filthy, but sacred.
“And that’s why I like you, Your Grace.” The countess smiled before turning to Jess. “Shall we return?”
“I won’t forget this,” Jess said earnestly.
“I hope not,” Lady Farris said, her smile widening, “for his sake.”
Jess took her arm, and she and Lady Farris drifted toward the door. They hadn’t gone a few steps before Jess murmured to the countess, “I’ll join up with you in a moment.”
She hurried back to Noel, then cupped the back of his head to pull him down for a searing kiss. He sank into her, lapping her up ravenously.
“I don’t want this to end,” he growled between kisses.
Pulling back slightly, her gaze roved over his face. She looked like a woman reaching toward a retreating light, grasping it before darkness fell.
He wanted to be that light, to burn brightly for her.
“Meet me at Covent Garden Market tomorrow,” she whispered. “Dress as though you were an ordinary man, not a duke.”
“It’s impossible for me to be ordinary.”
She gave a low, velvet chuckle that brought him back to moments earlier, when he’d been inside her, devotedly giving her pleasure. “Six in the morning.”
“Madam, I never stir from my bed at such an unholy hour.” He kissed her again. Her request was an odd one, but he didn’t care. What she offered was more time alone with her, and that was a gift he wouldn’t refuse. “You are the rare exception.”
“An honor, Your Grace.” She gave him a smile that was at once wicked and tender. No one smiled like her.
Then she was gone, racing back to Lady Farris, who lingered in the hallway outside the conservatory. Before she crossed the chamber’s threshold, Jess looked back at him.
In her eyes, there was heat, mirroring his desire. But something else shadowed her gaze—knowledge that whatever hunger they shared, it would not, could not, last.
He wanted to prove her wrong. The thing they shared had no name and no sharp delineation, no easy definition, but it was precious to him and he did not wish to give it up. Yet he could not play the high-handed tyrant, and demand more of her than she was willing to give.
But, damn him, how he yearned for all of her.
Chapter 15
She had to tell him. She would tell him. The moment the Bazaar concluded later today, she would tell Noel everything about her deception. After last night, she had no other choice. He’d given her such ecstasy, and had laid his true self at her feet. He’d shown her, too, a part of herself that she hadn’t known. To command and be served by a lover had
given her exquisite pleasure—she’d no idea. She could not repay any of that with duplicity.
The idea had come to her in the conservatory, in the aftermath of what had happened. He had been fearless to reveal himself to her. And she had been unable to repay him with the same kind of honesty.
They had only a day left. She needed to know that when she and Noel parted, and he was left only with memories of her, what he remembered wasn’t based on falsehoods and sham identities. She wanted to show him her, Jess, the farmer’s daughter, the woman who took nothing for granted, and knew what it was to have only simple pleasures and not the heights of elegance and privilege.
She couldn’t do that at the Bazaar, but there was more to London than Lord Trask’s drawing room. There were places where a country girl might find a slightly familiar atmosphere, and that was what had made her think of Covent Garden. She knew her way around a market, and to be back amongst farmers and craftsmen would be a taste of home.
They would be surrounded by hundreds, but she and Noel would be alone together.
Before she could reconsider the idea, she’d blurted it to Noel. And he’d agreed.
Using the directions Lynch had given her, she now walked quickly toward Covent Garden Market. Fashionable London still slept, but the laboring people of the city were up, busily going about their lives, and pulling carts in their sturdy clothes. These were her people, far more than the Bazaar’s wealthy elite. Today, she wore her own clothing, and while the garments of a paid companion were far more delicate than those worn by working folk, she was no baronet’s widow, and attracted less attention.
Mayfair to Covent Garden was a fair distance, yet she didn’t let her steps slow or falter, not when Noel awaited her.
She emerged at the west end of a large square. At one side stood a graceful, tall building with columns, but she barely spared it a glance. Instead, she scanned the busy plaza. How would she recognize Noel without his customarily expensive, elegant tailoring?
A man emerged from the crowd, and she saw then that her concern wasn’t warranted. Even in a slouchy coat and threadbare trousers, with a slightly battered hat atop his head, she knew his long body and confident stride. He’d even forgone shaving, so that his jaw was shaded by dark stubble.
“Looking raffish,” she said, approaching him. Once the distance between them closed, she leaned in to murmur, “And edible.”
His eyes flashed. “Unkind to bring me to this public place and then verbally seduce me.”
“I’ll take pity on you because you’ve been so accommodating, coming here before your customary noon rising.” She glanced at his clothing. “Where did you find such a beleaguered ensemble?”
He looked down at himself and grimaced. “Borrowed some old togs from my friend Holloway. His sartorial ability is inversely proportional to his intelligence.”
“He must be a very smart man.”
“Minx.” He eyed her. “And you’re back in the same dress you wore when I first met you on Bond Street.”
She felt her cheeks warm—a combination of embarrassment about her less-than-stylish clothing and pleasure that he remembered what she’d worn that day.
“Today,” she said, slipping into her broad Wiltshire dialect, “we’re a pair of ordinary folk, out to shop the market.”
He lifted his brow. “Where’d you pick up that accent?”
“Grew up rural.” She narrowed her gaze. “You don’t like it.”
“On the contrary,” he said, lowering his lids, “it makes me think about finding a convenient hayloft and doing all sorts of primal things to you.”
“Now you’re seducing me in public.” But she didn’t mind it. “Suppose there’s nothing we can do about your accent? It’s pure toff.”
“The burden of being woefully overbred—I had elocution lessons as soon as I started to speak. I know,” he said brightly, “I shall pretend to be a gentleman who has fallen on hard times because I dared to court a Wiltshire woman that my family did not approve of.”
He’d no idea how close to the truth he came. “Tragic tale. Shall we get to marketing?”
“Madam, lead the way.” He held out his arm, and she tucked her hand into it.
The market itself was a sprawling, chaotic affair, far more bustling than any other she’d attended. Stalls were arranged against a wall, a few with canopies, while some were either tables or benches set up beneath the open sky. Baskets stood laden with goods, and carts also carried a bewildering array of produce.
Everything that grew from the earth was sold—asparagus, carrots, leafy lettuces and cabbages, baskets of mushrooms. Pie and sausage vendors also shouted to advertise the wares they carried in trays that hung from their necks, and wheels of fresh cheeses were stacked in pyramids. The air was rich with green scents and the loamy soil still clinging to crops.
It was wonderful and dizzying and reminded her powerfully of home, whilst it also stood in marked contrast to the smaller local markets Jess had visited.
“Not so familiar with this place during the day,” Noel said as they wove up and down between the rows of vendors. He nodded toward the tall, columned building at the other end of the piazza. “The Theatre Royal is more my haunt.”
“The noise is less melodious.” Voices of what had to be a hundred vendors clashed, verging on deafening.
“Depends on who’s performing that night.” He shook his head. “My God, I’d no idea what a veritable Babel this place could be.”
“Markets usually are, though this one is of truly biblical proportions. Have you never shopped for your own food?”
He eyed her. “Dukes and ducal heirs are rarely tasked with marketing. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin or how to manage it. I’d bobble the whole thing and wind up being arrested for disorderly conduct.”
“Observe me, then, and learn.” She winked at him before heading toward one stall selling an abundance of fruits. Addressing the red-faced woman behind the table, she said, “Morning, love.”
“Morning, missus,” the woman answered in a thick London accent. Her eyes gleamed when she looked at Noel, despite his shabby clothing. “Fine day for it, eh, my lad?”
“As fine as the roses in your cheeks,” he replied.
“Go on, now,” she said, turning even more ruddy.
Jess smiled to herself. “Can’t help yourself, can you?” she murmured under her breath.
“It’s not my fault if women universally find me charming.”
“Is that what you did with me? Flirt out of habit?”
His gaze heated. “Madam,” he said lowly, “you ensnared me from the moment you gave those Bond Street bucks a verbal drubbing. But, then, you’re well aware of how I love to bend to your will.”
Now it was her opportunity to turn pink. “You’re shameless.”
“Under the right conditions.” His smile was small and private, just for her pleasure. Jess gladly fell under its spell.
“What’re you looking for, missus?”
The fruit vendor’s voice broke through the haze surrounding Jess. Snapping to attention, she said, “These cherries seem nice enough.” In truth, they were rosy red and looked as though they’d been harvested at their peak. “How much for half a peck?”
“Fourpence, love.”
Noel dug into his pocket, but with a tiny movement, Jess stilled him. “Those strawberries look on the verge of spoiling. How’s about you throw in a basket of ’em, and the half a peck of cherries, and I’ll give you fourpence?”
The woman let out a long, gusty exhale. “You’re trying to ruin me, you are.” When Jess merely stared at her, she threw up her hands. “As you please. The cherries and the strawberries for the bargain price of fourpence.”
Jess handled the rest of the transaction, pulling the coins from her hamper in exchange for the fruit.
“Mind you keep an eye on that bloke of yours,” the vendor said, handing over a small basket of strawberries. She glanced at Noel, who studied the papery husks s
urrounding a heap of gooseberries. “A face like his will have half the morts chasing after him like cats swarming at Billingsgate.”
“I’ve younger siblings,” Jess confided, “so I know how to throw a punch.”
“Right you are, love. Enjoy—the fruit and the bloke.”
With the vendor’s laughter ringing behind her, Jess tucked her purchases into her hamper before drawing Noel away. She offered him a strawberry, and when he took it, she plucked one for herself.
“A demon in the marketplace.” He took a bite of strawberry and made a hum of pleasure.
“I’m not to be underestimated.” She bit into the berry and the flavor was ripe with the season.
“I will never make that mistake.”
They walked companionably together up and down the market rows, eating strawberries and dropping the hulls to the ground. As they strolled, Noel pointed out sights to her, such as a dog sleeping beneath one of the vendor’s tables, and two children handing a peach back and forth between them as they took alternating bites.
It felt both comfortable and deliriously exciting to be with him like this. As if they were any couple doing a bit of shopping together for their evening meal, as if they could be any couple, with the possibility of a future together.
They had no future, but she clung to the pretense that, for a little longer, they did.
“Secondhand goods,” a man cried from where he crouched beside a gray blanket. “Only the best. Anything you want, it’s here.”
“A moment,” Noel murmured to Jess. He guided her to the man with his blanket covered in every variety of things. There were needle cases, shoes, scarves, poppets, and candlesticks. Turning his attention to the vendor, Noel asked, “How much for the pewter comb?”
“It’s silver, it is. Swell bloke like you can have it for a penny.”
Jess opened her mouth to protest the exorbitant price, but Noel gave a small shake of his head. He pulled a coin from his pocket and dropped it into the man’s palm. “Here’s a shilling.”
“A moment, gov, and I’ll have change for you.” The man counted out the change before handing the coins to Noel. “Take the comb, and bless you for a gentleman.”
