A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (5 page)

“Brave.” He smiled at her again, and she had to look away as her insides went molten. “Here.”

Elise reluctantly turned back to find him holding out a ball of damp linen. “What is that?”

“My shirt. It’s mostly dry. You can…on. Put it on. If you wish. Yours is, ah…” He made an inelegant motion at her torso before looking away.

Elise watched in fascination. Was he blushing? Holy hell, he was, and the urge to reach out and run her fingers along those warm, chiseled cheekbones was a tangible thing. To follow her fingers with her lips and her tongue…

Elise cleared her throat forcefully. This was absurd.
She
was being absurd. A man who looked like this and who treated a woman with the dignity and respect and
kindness
he had just shown her would not be single. He would be married. With strapping sons who looked just like him and lovely daughters who looked just like his beautiful wife.

Right?

“Thank you.” She reached out and accepted his shirt. He stood abruptly, and Elise’s gaze followed him up. He held out a hand to her, and with only a slight hesitation, she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. They stood there in the muck and the tall marsh grass for a long minute, facing each other, Elise’s hand still caught in his.

She could feel the heat of him rolling off his bare skin, and still more warmth bleeding through his palm into hers. Saints help her, she wanted to feel more of him. Wanted to run her fingers over the planes and ridges of muscle, wanted to feel the sun-warmed skin beneath her fingers. She had never, in all her life, been so instantly, desperately attracted to a man. And one who blushed. And used words like
errancy
and
heroine
without apologizing. And who gave her the shirt off his back in an effort to provide her with modesty and protection.

It would be easy to become completely besotted with a man like this. He had the power to make her forget everything around her with a simple smile. It was just as well she would be gone within a day or two, as soon as she completed her search for John Barr here in Nottingham. She couldn’t afford the distraction.

She forced her eyes from his and stepped back slightly, pulling her hand from his. She shook out the rough linen shirt and yanked it over her head, struggling to pull the loose garment over her wet clothes. As soon as she could get this damn shirt on and deal with whatever waited for her up on that road, she would be on her way.

Elise cursed silently, the dry shirt stuck halfway over her head. The muscles in her arms threatened to give out on her as she fought the restrictive wet fabric of her own clothing.

“Do you need help?” There was amusement lacing his words.

“No.” Elise struggled for a few seconds longer. “Yes.” Her arms were trapped at strange angles, and she couldn’t see a thing.

“Hmmm.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No.” He laughed.

She felt his hands slide up her arms, the linen untwisting and sliding over her limbs. He gently tugged the collar of his shirt over her head, his fingers traveling over her shoulders to straighten the seams before deftly tying the laces at her throat. “There you are, milady.” His mouth was curved into a half smile again. “Your knight-errant has slain the beastly shirt with his bare hands.”

And become the first man ever to dress me.

Elise had never experienced anything so strangely intimate in all her life, and it had left her gasping. Gooseflesh rippled over her skin, and heat gathered in her belly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He gave her a brief bow. “Might I have the pleasure of your name, milady?” he asked.

Elise started with the realization that she didn’t yet know his name either. An entire conversation, an entire tangle of debauched fantasies—she was wearing his shirt, for pity’s sake—and she hadn’t even stopped to ask his name.

“Elise,” she said. “DeVries,” she added as an afterthought. There was something liberating about simply telling this man her name. Because for once she was no longer in disguise. She didn’t need to pretend to be someone else. The river had made sure of it. “May I have the pleasure of yours?”

“Noah,” he said.

Elise froze, using every ounce of experience honed on the stage to keep herself from reacting. “Noah.” She forced a soft smile.

He was about the right age. He was blond, like Lady Abigail. Which might mean nothing. The odds of finding a man who didn’t want to be found before she’d really begun to search in earnest were slim. The odds of finding that man in the mud and vegetation of a riverbank were astronomical. Impossible, she might even venture. “So am I to call you Sir Noah?” She said it lightly.

“Lawson. My last name,” he clarified unnecessarily. “Though Sir Noah has a definite ring to it.” He was teasing her again.

Noah Lawson. Elise felt an irrational stab of disappointment. Of course he wasn’t the man she was looking for, and the fact that she had harbored such a thought for even a second made her feel not a little foolish. There were many men in England named Noah. Had she truly believed it would be that easy? That she would ride into Nottingham and be met by a man who would simply introduce himself as Noah Ellery, lost heir to the title of Ashland? That he would smile and inquire when they would be leaving for London?

Had she not been so distracted, Elise would have remembered that Noah Ellery would not have introduced himself at all—he lacked the powers of speech to make that possible. But there was nothing wrong with Noah Lawson’s powers of speech. Most of what came out of his mouth was leaving her weak at the knees.

“Lawson!” The shout came from above their heads through the tall grasses. “Are you all right? What are you doing down there?”

Noah glanced at her. “We’re fine,” he shouted back. “Just giving the lass a chance to catch her breath.”

His statement was met with utter silence, followed by a low murmur of male voices. Next there came the sound of snapping twigs as booted feet started down the bank in their direction.

“‘Lass’?” Elise asked.

Noah gave Elise an apologetic shrug. “Better that they have a little warning that you’re probably not what they’re expecting.” He jerked his head in the direction of the road. “Come.” He reached for Elise’s hand again, and she gave it willingly, her legs still feeling leaden and not at all up to the task of climbing a steep riverbank on their own.

He went slowly, allowing her to lean on his arm, and they were halfway up when they met a bear of a man on his way down, his face pinched in concern.

“God’s teeth, man, but we thought you’d fallen back in.” There was relief in the man’s words. His bright-blue eyes went from Noah to Elise. “And I thought you were jesting when you said ‘lass.’” He pushed by Noah to stand in front of Elise.

Elise gazed up at him warily and then, without warning, found herself enveloped in a smothering embrace.

“Thank you,” the man muttered gruffly. “That was my fool son you saved just now.” He drew back just as abruptly, running a hand through his dark hair, liberally sprinkled with grey.

Elise could only nod.

“Well, come on with you two,” the barrel-chested man ordered roughly. “Before people start talking.” He turned back in the direction of the road. “There’s a lot of folk wanting to meet this…lass. You can’t have her all to yourself.”

“I wasn’t ravishing her in the reeds,” Noah said sardonically to the man’s back.

Elise swallowed hard and looked back at the concealing vegetation with some regret. Lust swirled through her veins, and she stamped on it before her thoughts could be detected.

“You’re mostly naked, and she’s wearing your clothes,” the man replied over his shoulder.

“Better mine than yours,” Noah replied.

The bear up ahead laughed, a deep, rolling sound, and Elise wondered at the relationship between the two men. Friends? Family? Either way, their conversation spoke of an easy familiarity, not so different from what she shared with Alex.

Elise started forward again, staggering at the incline, and in a heartbeat she found herself swept up and trapped within a pair of strong arms.

“Put me down,” she demanded, not knowing where to put her hands or where to look. A familiar panic gripped her. “I can walk.”

“No you can’t. You’re stumbling like a drunken sailor,” Noah retorted, tightening his arms around her.

Alarm skittered through her. “I don’t need to be carried.”

“I’ll miss dinner if we go at your pace to the top of this hill. Probably breakfast too.” He continued up the bank, ignoring her resistance.

Elise struggled harder, trying to quell her rising panic but failing. “Please. Put me down. Please.” She knew she sounded desperate and unhinged.

Noah stopped.

Elise shoved herself from his arms and landed gracelessly on her feet, staggering to one knee painfully before righting herself. She couldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought…”

“It was a nice gesture, Sir Noah,” she said weakly, aiming for humor and failing. “But I can’t…” How could she explain herself? What woman panicked the second she was restrained? What woman did not have dreams of being swept up into the strong arms of a handsome man and carried away? “It’s just that I don’t like to feel…” God, she was making a mess of this.

“Helpless,” Noah suddenly supplied. “You don’t like to feel helpless.”

Startled, she looked up at him. “Yes.”

His face was stark. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shoved her tangled hair off her forehead in agitation. “It’s ridiculous, I know. But I can’t—”

“I understand.” He said it so quietly that Elise barely heard him. Yet she believed him.

She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Come, milady.” The haunted expression that had touched his features was gone, replaced once again with a teasing smile. “I would be delighted to have the honor of escorting you up to the road. I will be hungry, probably, but delighted all the same.”

“I promise you won’t miss dinner.” She couldn’t help the smile she felt creeping across her own lips in response.

She tucked her hand under his arm again, wondering why it was so easy to be with this stranger. Why he seemed to understand her and accept her in ways that no stranger ever should. He had, in the ridiculously short time she had known him, set her off course and peeled back layers that Elise had thought she’d made impenetrable.

Just as well she would be on her way within the hour.

N
oah Lawson leaned on the back of a cart and studied the woman who called herself Elise DeVries, trying not to appear as if he was doing so.

He’d been driving with John and Sarah, almost at the foot of the bridge, when he had heard the shriek and the splash. With stunned disbelief he’d watched as an unfamiliar lad on a rangy bay gelding had vaulted from his horse, jumped up on the low wall, and without a second’s hesitation, thrown himself off the bridge.

Except it hadn’t been a lad. It had been a woman—something he had discovered the instant he had waded into the river to help her as she struggled with the current and the weight of the boy. She’d tensed at first and then relaxed and allowed him to help her up on the bank. And after that—Noah wasn’t sure what had happened after that.

She had made a joke, he remembered, as she lay back against the thick grass, her wet clothes clinging to her body, leaving nothing to his imagination. She had curves that positively begged to be touched. Glorious breasts that her threadbare shirt couldn’t conceal. Hips that flared and framed a beautifully rounded backside that would feel decadent beneath his hands. Long legs that he instantly imagined wrapped around him. It had been almost embarrassing, his immediate carnal response to the sight of her, and he had been relieved to crouch as long as he had with her in the grass. It had taken him long minutes to get his body under control, and his wet breeches would have done absolutely nothing to hide his desire.

He’d concentrated on keeping his eyes on her face and his mind out of the gutter.

And then she’d sat up and smiled at him, and whatever physical response he’d had seemed to pale in comparison to the instant connection he’d felt deep into the very marrow of his bones. It defied reasonable explanation, but he’d forgotten to be cautious and careful. He’d forgotten to focus on his words, the way he did with people he didn’t know. He’d simply been…captivated. Completely disarmed.

She was beautiful in an unexpected way, her complexion darker than was common, with hazel eyes that danced unapologetically with humor, and thick hair the color of dark coffee that he wanted to touch, even as disheveled as it was. Within seconds he’d found himself teasing her, unable to help himself, caught in the warm rays of her smile. Feeling as if he had known her for a lifetime, instead of scant minutes. Feeling dangerously at ease.

Perhaps it was this that now, upon reflection, unsettled him. He didn’t really know who she was or where she was from. That lack of knowledge should have put him on edge. Should have sent him running as quickly as he could in the opposite direction. Except he wasn’t running. Instead he was trying desperately to figure out how he might keep this extraordinary woman close to him for just a little longer.

Perhaps because he saw in her himself as he had been years ago. One did not disguise oneself without cause. Without cause one did not react like a panicked wildcat when one’s free will was taken away, however innocently. He of all people understood that, and for some irrational reason, he wanted to assure her of it. Wanted to help her. Wanted to know her.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she had saved a boy he considered family.

John would undoubtedly thrash his son to within an inch of his life, once he stopped shaking and convinced himself that Andrew was truly fine. His wife, Sarah, hadn’t let go of Andrew, and their son’s expression ranged through excitement at the attention, embarrassment at the cause, and apprehension for the repercussions he knew were coming.

Miss DeVries, on the other hand, had fixed a pleasant smile on her face as she was interrogated by a crowd of townspeople who, alerted to the commotion, had come running. The group was dwindling now, its curiosity sated. The strange novelty that was Miss DeVries would be put away for later discussion and retellings.

Noah had hovered at first, deflecting the most brazen of the town gossips, but Elise had waved him off, advising him that she could hold her own. And she had, but now her smile was starting to fray at the edges, and Noah could recognize the signs of strain. He had felt her muscles trembling with fatigue as they climbed that damn hill, and he couldn’t imagine she had many reserves left.

As if she could read his mind, Elise turned, making her way toward him. Or, more accurately, making her way to her gelding, which was currently tied to the back of his cart.

She gave him a tired smile and went to her horse’s head. “Can you recommend an inn?” she asked wearily. “Something with a good stable and a reasonable ale? And maybe the possibility of a warm bath?”

Noah frowned at the request. After everything, it seemed unconscionable to simply send her on her way. He couldn’t send her away. Not only did that strike him as terrifically callous, he suddenly, more than anything, needed more time with this woman. The strength of that impulsive desire startled him. “You’ll sleep with me tonight,” he blurted.

Elise jerked her head up so fast that it startled the gelding. “I beg your pardon?”

Dammit, that had come out wrong. “You’ll
stay
with me tonight. I have a bath.”

Elise’s mouth had slackened slightly, and Noah could feel a faint heat climbing into his cheeks. Hell, that wasn’t at all what he was trying to say. He hated when this happened.

He took a deep breath and concentrated. “What I am trying to say is that I can offer you a place to stay for the night. I have a good stable for your horse and a bathtub. And dinner. I can feed you dinner.”

“Ummm.” Elise blinked at him.

“I have a housekeeper,” he hurried on before she could say no. “Cooks. She does. Very well.” He was inexplicably anxious now, afraid she would slip away from him, and his words were coming in the wrong order. “Please. Least I can do.”

Elise was shaking her head. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I must keep moving—”

“There you are.” John was hurrying toward them, Sarah on his heels.

The petite woman was paler than usual, and she went directly to Elise, clasping her hands briefly in her own. “You are our guardian angel,” she said, a slight wobble to her words. “We owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

Elise nodded, looking a little uncomfortable under the weight of so much gratitude. “Thank you, but I am only happy that it ended well.”

“Thanks to you,” Sarah said, her grey eyes warm. “And if there is ever anything you need, anything at all, please, all you need to do is ask.”

“Thank you,” Elise said again. “But all I need is directions to an inn—”

“Never! You’ll not be staying at some flea-ridden, hole-in-the-wall inn by yourself.” Sarah sounded horrified. “You can stay with us—”

“She can stay with me,” Noah said hurriedly. “And Mrs. Pritchard. I’ve already offered.”

John and Sarah both stared at him, and Noah willed himself not to look in their direction. He knew very well why they were looking at him the way they were. This was a complete departure from his usual aversion to strangers.

“There are six children who live in your home, one of whom I think will benefit from having his family close to him tonight. Your beds are full. But I have the space. And Mrs. Pritchard will be pleased to have someone to cook for besides me.” He knew John and Sarah couldn’t argue with that logic.

Elise was shaking her head again. “While those are both generous offers, Mr. Lawson and…” She trailed off, and a faint crease appeared in her brow as she gazed at John and Sarah. “I’m sorry, I do not know how to address you.”

“Have you not introduced yourself to her?” Noah asked John with incredulity.

The bear of a man blinked at Noah and then at Elise.

“I believe you introduced yourself earlier as the father of the fool son I saved,” Elise said with a faint twitch to her lips.

“I beg your pardon.” John sounded as horrified as his wife had earlier. “John Barr at your service. And this is my wife, Sarah.” He glanced at Noah. “And I beg you to reconsider Mr. Lawson’s offer of hospitality.”

Elise had gone quite still, a peculiar expression on her face. She clasped her hands in front of her then and smiled. “Very well. I would be pleased to accept your offer, Mr. Lawson. Thank you.”

A thrill of something he couldn’t quite identify shot through Noah’s gut. He wondered briefly at her sudden change of heart but realized he didn’t really care. The idea of having this woman in his house was making it hard to breathe. Hard to think.

“Splendid.” Sarah clasped her hands and turned her gaze to Miss DeVries, though every few seconds she’d glance at Noah out of the corner of her eye. “Then you simply must come to the summer ball tomorrow night. Well, we call it a ball, but it’s not so much a ball as a picnic with dancing under a large tent later,” she clarified. “You must come as our guest.”

Miss DeVries shifted. “That is a lovely offer, I’m sure, but—”

Sarah took her hand again. “Say you’ll come. Please. It would be an honor to have you there.”

Miss DeVries hesitated a second before replying. “It would be my pleasure.”

Another thrill danced along Noah’s spine.

“Thank you,” Sarah said, squeezing her hand one more time. She smiled and drifted back to where her son waited, gathering him in her arms again and pressing a kiss to his damp hair.

“Come,” Noah said to Elise, trying to sound casual. “Leave your horse tied to the back.” It was easier to concentrate on his words now. “Ride up front with me.”

Elise nodded slowly. “Yes,” was all she said, and Noah suspected she had simply run out of energy to argue. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barr.”

“And you, Miss DeVries. I look forward to seeing you again soon under more ordinary circumstances.”

She smiled tiredly at John before she headed to the front of the wagon.

“A word, Noah.” John caught him by the arm before he could follow her.

“What?” Noah turned to face him.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you talking about?” Noah frowned in confusion.

John pulled Noah back, farther away from the cart, his voice low. “Miss DeVries. Who is she?”

“What?” That made no sense. “What are you asking?”

“Why did you offer to take her back to your home?”

“Because she needs a place to stay for the night. Because she saved your son from drowning.” He knew he sounded defensive and strove to lighten his tone. “You should be kissing her feet right now.”

John raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I know. I might yet.” He smiled faintly. “I will never be able to repay that debt. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

John shuffled his feet, looking almost embarrassed. “In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you like this. Comfortable with anyone so quickly.”

Noah knew what John was implying. He knew that Noah avoided busy coaching inns and kept away from taverns that served the travelers who came from London and the surrounding areas. John had never asked for details, but he knew very well that whatever was in Noah’s past was meant to stay there.

And it had been fifteen years. Fifteen years since Noah Ellery had ceased to exist. Fifteen years since he had rebuilt his life as Noah Lawson.

At the very beginning, when he’d first landed on London’s streets, he’d feared men in woven smock coats armed with chains and rope would appear to drag him back to the cage he’d fled. At the beginning he’d been convinced every unfamiliar man might be a Runner, hired privately to hunt him down and arrest him. But no one had ever come. And then, when he had left London, distance accompanied by more time had dulled any lingering fear. No one had come looking for the man once known as Noah Ellery. And the notion that Elise DeVries was here in Nottingham for that reason was so patently far-fetched that it didn’t merit further consideration.

“I like her.” It sounded odd, even in his own ears. “She’s different. I just…I don’t know how to explain it.”

John gave him a long look and scratched his head as if the conundrum of a pretty woman in the front of Noah’s cart was in equal parts amusing and baffling. “I like her too, but you know nothing about her. I think you’re bewitched.”

I know she is kind. And funny. And fierce. And maybe I am bewitched.

She was watching him.

Noah could feel Elise’s eyes on him as he turned his mare in the direction of home and set it to a steady trot. He said nothing, comfortable with the silence. It was always others who struggled with the quiet, who felt compelled to fill the void with chatter, or expected him to do the same. But Elise said nothing. A mile slipped by. And still she simply watched him as he drove.

Another mile passed.

“Is there a piece of river weed in my hair?” He found the fact that it was he who spoke first vastly ironic.

“No.” If she was embarrassed to be caught studying him, she didn’t show it.

“My teeth?”

Her lips twitched. “No.”

“Are you cold?”

She made a strange sound, and he took his eyes off the rump of his mare long enough to see her bite her lower lip. “No,” she said. “No, I’m quite warm, thank you.” She gestured at his shirt still draped over her own wet clothes.

Noah nodded, returning his attention to the road. The sight of her in his shirt was stirring things in him he hadn’t experienced before. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, perhaps because they were surrounded by people, but now, on this road, alone, it made him feel…possessive. Protective. Made him remember how she had felt beneath his hands when he had drawn the linen over her head and down her body.

Made him want to know what it would feel like to take it back off. What it would be like to peel those damp layers from her skin and run his hands over every curve and—

“You should take your boots off now,” Elise said beside him.

“I beg your pardon?” He was horrified to think that the licentious direction his thoughts were headed in was so clearly apparent on his face.

“Your boots. They’re soaked. If you leave them to dry on your feet, it’ll take a team of oxen to pry them off later.”

He almost sagged in relief. But he was not taking his boots off. Or any other article of clothing. He’d borrowed the only shirt available, one that was uncomfortably small, specifically so she wouldn’t have to endure a three-mile-long cart ride next to a half-naked man. He might not be a knight, but nor was he a cretin. “I’ll take them off when we get back.”