A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (8 page)

Very gently she put the toy rifleman back in the box. “Yes.”

Noah led her out into the warmth of the early evening, the shadows long and the breeze calm. Elise walked beside him, not touching him, though she was aware of his every move. She kept her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the garden and on the dark smudges of trees near the river as they approached the edge of the rose beds, afraid that, if she looked at him, her wits would scatter and her train of thought would be lost. Again.

Noah had caught her in the hallway after her bath, unprepared and unready for the sight of him. He’d changed into clothes that were more formal, and his coat and breeches, though simple in style and suited for the country, were exceptionally tailored and perfectly fitted. Elise caught her breath. Dressed as he was, with his graceful, powerful carriage, it was easy to imagine him in evening wear, commanding a ballroom. He looked every inch a duke.

And then he’d smiled at her and the world around her had dimmed and she’d struggled once again to remember why she was here. Struggled to remember that Noah Ellery was a job.

This had to end. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable confrontation. The confrontation that, in all likelihood, would turn this man against her with every fiber of his being. And if that was the case…then so be it. Lady Abigail hadn’t hired her to behave like a love-struck fool. She’d hired Elise to find her brother and bring him safely back to London.

Elise stopped near the edge of the rose garden, unwilling to walk any farther. It wasn’t as if she could outrun what was coming. Noah came to a stop beside her.

“I’m not who you think I am,” she said quietly. Which was a ridiculous thing to say. She had no idea who Noah thought she was, though she couldn’t think of another way to start.

“Are you in trouble with the law?”

Elise looked at him with surprise. That wasn’t a question she had been expecting. “No.”

“So you’re not a thief?”

“No.”

“Is someone trying to hurt you?”

“What? No.” She could feel her brows draw together. “Why do you—” She stopped, understanding. He thought she was running from something. Or someone. A reasonable assumption. One that, in his place, she might have been tempted to make. Yet still he had offered her his home.

She thought of Mrs. Pritchard.
I had nowhere else to go
, the housekeeper had said. Somewhere down near the river, Square barked. Another lost soul that Noah had extended his care and protection to. And now he was trying to do the same for her.

Mr. Lawson is one of the good ones.
Noah certainly was that.

“No, I am not a thief.” Elise sighed heavily, wishing for an irrational moment that it were just that easy. “But that doesn’t mean you know me or—”

“What you did today on the bridge told me everything I need to know about you.” He moved in front of her so that she was forced to look up.

“No.” She closed her eyes briefly. She couldn’t go down this rabbit hole again. “Not everything.”

“I know you don’t like rats, you swear in French, and you sometimes snore.”

“That’s not—”

“I know I don’t mix up my words with you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Noah was searching her eyes. “Today, when I misspoke, you didn’t care.”

“Of course not.” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “Does it happen often?”

“When I’m anxious.”

She’d already guessed that. “I made you anxious?”

“Not you. It was me. At the time I was worried that you’d think me too forward. Or foolish. Or both.” He paused. “I didn’t want you to go. I wanted you here. I wanted…”

Elise looked up at him, her gaze caught in his smoky green one. “You wanted what?” She wished that question back the second it left her lips because the answer was clear in his smoldering eyes.

In the fading light, his hand found hers where it rested against her skirts. His fingers twined through hers, warm and strong. “I wanted to know what it would feel like to touch you,” he whispered. “I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss you.”

Desire ripped through her, an intense, primitive thing that left her trembling, a throb building low in her belly. He lifted his other hand and drew his finger along the side of her face, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of her lower lip. She was aware that her breath was coming in shallow gasps, but then so was his. This…thing that was arcing between them was beyond anything she had ever experienced—beyond anything she had ever needed to control.

She put her free hand up to catch his, intending to pull it away, but his fingers simply curled around hers, imprisoning them in his warmth and sending more heat licking through her limbs. He shifted, stepping closer, his body a breath from hers. She should pull away. She should say something. She tried desperately to think, but it was as if she were drugged, unable to form even the most rudimentary of—

His lips touched hers and everything else ceased to exist.

He kissed her gently, reverently, as though afraid she might shatter. He let go of one of her hands, his fingers sliding around the nape of her neck, caressing the soft skin beneath her heavy braid, and she melted into his touch, unable to resist. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the corners of her mouth, and the throb that had started in her belly became an unbearable ache. She opened beneath his advances, drawing him closer, needing more of him. She heard him groan softly, and her fingers convulsively tightened on his, her other hand coming up to curl into his coat.

His mouth left hers to skim her jaw and the side of her throat, each touch of his lips precise and deliberate and leaving her gasping. She pressed herself against him, feeling the hard evidence of his desire through the fall of his breeches, and he brought his mouth back to hers, more demanding now. She slipped her other hand from his, letting both hands move around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as his own hands slid down the curve of her back. He plundered her with his tongue, an electric mating of their mouths that made her wonder if he might just take her here, in the middle of this glorious garden—

She gasped and yanked herself from his arms, horrified and shaking and breathing hard. What the hell was she doing? What the hell was she
thinking
?

“I can’t do this.” Her voice was a ragged whisper.

“I’m sorry.” He was breathing as hard as she was. “I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t…”

Her heart twisted painfully. “Please don’t be sorry,” she said miserably. “It’s me who needs to apologize.”

Confusion clouded his eyes. “Apologize for what?”

“For not telling you why I’m here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Elise took a deep breath. If there was even the smallest doubt that this incredible man who had just kissed her witless in a rose garden was Noah Ellery, she would know within a moment.

She looked him squarely in the eye. “Your sister, Abigail, sent me to find you.”

H
e couldn’t breathe.

The air was sucked from his chest in a whoosh, and blackness crowded the edges of his vision. It was only through sheer force of will that Noah managed to stay on his feet, for his knees were threatening to buckle and his stomach was threatening to rebel. An icy sweat covered his skin, and nausea was rolling through him in waves. Nothing could have prepared him for the beautiful ambush that was this woman.

She was watching him silently, those hazel eyes of hers almost gold in the setting sun. She knew. She knew, she knew, she knew. It pounded through his head, echoing deep in his bones.

She knew who he was, or who he had been, though how she had discovered his identity was horrifyingly unclear. He tried to put his thoughts in order, but his mind refused to cooperate.

She reached out a hand, as if to steady him, but he jerked away from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice seemingly coming from a great distance. “This was…” She blew out a breath. “This was not how I intended this at all.”

“No,” he managed to say, the words jumbled in his head and not making sense. He wanted to deny everything, but he couldn’t seem to form the necessary sentences.

“Just hear me out—”

“No.”

Elise looked down at her hands. “I know very well that you are Noah Ellery, heir to the duchy of Ashland. Pretending otherwise is a waste of our time.”

His breath was coming back, small sips of air that were pushing the darkness from the edges of his vision. “Not me.”

Elise sighed in obvious frustration, and with what looked like regret on her face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He wasn’t a terrible liar. He was a brilliant liar. He had lived a lie for fifteen years, and no one had ever discovered his secret until now.

“Abigail needs you.”

He focused on those words, focused on the implications of that sentence.

Abigail needs you.

She had not made mention of his father. Or his mother. Only his sister.

The one person in his childhood who had not looked at him with pity. Or anger. The one person who had defended a small boy when no one else would. The one person who had never tried to fix him.

The urge to retch diminished slightly, though a new dread curled through him. What had happened to Abigail? Was she hurt, was she—

“She’s fine.” Elise was watching him carefully, and he hated that her blindsiding him had made him give so much away. “But she needs your help. She needs you to come home. To London.”

He stared at her before he spun, charging out of the garden into the darkening pastures. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to move. He could no longer simply stand still under the assault of the secrets that Elise DeVries wielded.

He wasn’t sure how far he had gone before he stumbled to a stop, the greyness of twilight making a valiant effort to stay the shadows. Somewhere closer to the river, an owl hooted, an eerie sound that echoed across the pasture. With a start he realized that Elise stood beside him. He’d not heard her, nor had he expected her to be able to keep up over the uneven ground.

“Who are you?” he asked abruptly, a welcome anger replacing the shock. Replacing the feeling of betrayal and the humiliation. He had trusted her. Let down his guard and allowed himself to believe that he felt a connection with this woman. Jesus Christ, but he had
kissed
her.

“I work for the firm of Chegarre and Associates in London. I was hired to find you.”

“What is Chegarre and Associates?” he snapped. “Lawyers? Investigators?” Though if they were investigators somehow tied to the Runners, he would already have been arrested.

“Not exactly. We help people find solutions to situations that are…difficult. People turn to us when regular channels of the law or society have failed them.”

That meant nothing to him. “And I’m…believe—” He stopped and concentrated on his words, letting the anger run freely, letting it crystallize his thoughts. “And I’m supposed to believe anything you say?”

He heard Elise sigh unhappily. There was a faint rustle of fabric, and she held something out to him in the palm of her hand. Something that gleamed dully in the fading light. “Abigail gave me this to give to you. So that you would know I spoke the truth when I found you.”

He recognized it instantly, though he’d never expected to see it again. He reached out and took the brooch from Elise, careful not to touch her. The steel rose was warm against his skin, the edges smooth where it lay in his hand. He remembered the day he’d had John make it for her. He wrapped his hand around it tightly and closed his eyes.

“Abigail’s husband is a smith. He recognized Mr. Barr’s work, so I came to Nottingham to find him, and hopefully, a clue to your whereabouts.” Her voice was quiet and without inflection. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect you.”

Noah opened his eyes and stared out at the river, a silver ribbon now just beyond the trees. He knew exactly what Abigail’s husband did for a living. It had been one of the reasons why he’d chosen such a gift. But he’d never considered the possibility that the workmanship of the brooch would ever be recognized.

When news of Abigail’s defection from the ton had first broken, Noah had read the details of it in the scandal sheets in London. Each report had been vindictively exhaustive, a spiteful and malicious account of how the daughter of a duke had thrown her entire future away and soiled the Ashland name with disgrace and humiliation.

When Abigail had fled London for Derby, Noah had followed, choosing Nottingham to settle in. Close enough that he might check up on Abigail from time to time, but far enough away that an accidental encounter was improbable. Noah had never been prouder of his sister in his entire life. And he’d asked John to make her that brooch so that she might know it. It had been a risk. But he had trusted her to keep the secret of his existence to herself. And it would seem she’d kept that trust. Until now.

“Is Abigail all right? She has her health?”

“Yes, but—”

“Her husband, her children—they are well?”

“As far as I know. That’s not why—”

“Do they need money?” Noah didn’t have much compared to the Ashland fortune, but he would sell whatever he had to if she needed help.

“No. But—”

“Who else knows that you’re here?” he demanded.

“No one, of course.” Elise was looking faintly annoyed. “Chegarre and Associates deal in secret and confidential matters, and we take that very seriously. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I doubt there is anything you can tell me that I haven’t already heard. But I am uninterested in the contents of your past, aside from the few facts that relate directly to our current predicament. It is not my job to judge people, or form opinions. My job is to assist those who need it. Like Lady Abigail. Like you.”

Noah wondered exactly how much this woman really knew about his past. If she knew what he had done, what he had become.

“Your father is dead,” Elise said before he could finish that thought. “And your mother—”

“Stop.” Hatred, resentment, and the old echoes of terror—they all rose up with a strength that almost choked him. It was stupid, he knew. He should be beyond this sort of reaction, and further, he should be feeling regret or sorrow or grief. A normal person would feel such things when informed of the passing of a parent. But he couldn’t muster any of those emotions. They’d been snuffed out long ago in the hell into which he’d been cast by the two people he’d trusted most. “You came all the way from London to tell me that my father was dead?”

“Yes, but that’s not all—”

“You should have saved yourself the trouble,” he snapped. “There is nothing you can tell me about the Duke or Duchess of Ashland that I want to hear. As far as I am concerned, they both died long ago.”

Elise’s lips thinned. “Abigail said you might say that—”

“Further,” Noah gritted through clenched teeth, “know that there is nothing that will ever entice me back. Tell me, am I still assumed dead in the hallowed halls of London?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“I plan to stay that way, Miss DeVries. Nothing you do or say will change my mind.”

“You have a responsibility to—”

“I do not have a responsibility to anything,” he growled. “Not to my father, not to my mother. Not to Ashland’s piles of properties and strings of titles and coffers of money.”

“If you ever let me finish a sentence, I was going to say you have a responsibility to your sister.”

He resented the faint wash of guilt even as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have told me that Abigail is not in any danger. Or distress.”

“Perhaps, but the same cannot be said for your mother—”

Noah held up his hand. “You will return to London, or wherever it is that you came from—”

“London. Your sister is in London at the moment.”

He hadn’t known that. But it didn’t matter. “Then tell Abigail that you were unable to locate me. Or tell her whatever you need to make her understand that I can’t go back. Ever.”
To London. To who I once was.

“You want me to lie to your sister?”

“You seem quite good at it. Lying, that is.” Noah saw her flinch, but he hardened his heart.

“I never lied to you.”

“You knew who I was and let me believe—” He couldn’t even say it out loud.

You let me believe that there was something between us.

He had believed that there existed a connection that he had never felt with another woman, something extraordinary. The disappointment was as humiliating as it was excruciating.

Elise looked away. “I didn’t know who you were right away. And if you are referring to what happened in the garden…that was real.” She sounded subdued. “It should never have happened, and for my lack of professionalism, I apologize. But only for that.”

A tiny fragment of hope twisted in his gut, and he hated himself for it. He knew better. “You need to go.” She couldn’t stay here.

“No.” She turned back to him, gazing at him steadily. “I will not leave here without you.”

“You will.” It was a command.

“Your cousin, Francis Ellery, knows you are alive.” She said it with no warning.

“What?” For the second time, it was as if she had gut-punched him.

“The letter you sent to your sister with that brooch was stolen from her home very recently. I believe it was taken by Mr. Ellery, or individuals working at his behest. Further…er, investigation on my part has also indicated that Francis Ellery has hired two assassins to find you and make sure that your death is not just an erroneous rumor.”

“Assassins.” He had never heard anything so utterly ludicrous in his entire life. Especially in light of the fact that she said
assassins
the same way others said
tax collectors
. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

Elise cocked her head. “You should. You sent that letter to Abigail via the regular post. And while it certainly arrived anonymously, that letter bore a Nottingham postmark that will inevitably lead these men here, if it hasn’t already.”

Noah threw up his hands in a show of exasperation, ignoring the uncertainty that was gnawing at him.

Elise frowned. “I don’t think you truly understand what is at stake here. How much wealth. How much power. And the lengths your cousin will go to to ensure he becomes the next Duke of Ashland. I cannot—will not—leave here when your safety may be at risk.”

“First, Miss DeVries, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I do not need you to tend me like a nursemaid. Second, my cousin, like everyone else, believes me dead. There is no reason for him to be looting my sister’s house looking for evidence of my existence or hiring
assassins
.” He sounded like an idiot saying that out loud. It was preposterous.

Elise shook her head. “Unfortunately not. The reason Abigail returned to London—the reason she hired me is because, upon the death of your father, your mother made the mistake of publicly insisting that you were alive.”

Noah felt his stomach drop again. “How…mother…” He couldn’t find the words.

Elise winced. “Abigail told her. She regrets it now. But perhaps you can understand the dilemma I’m faced with. I will not leave you unprotected.”

Noah laughed, a sound that was dry and humorless, thinking of the rifle that now leaned against the wall in Elise’s room. He no longer doubted for a second that she knew how to use it. “How do I know you’re not an assassin?”

She was quiet for the space of two heartbeats. “I’m not an assassin.” She sounded strange. “If I were, you’d already be dead.”

“Jesus.” He rubbed his hands over his face. He felt as if he’d stepped into the pages of a story where reality had been discarded in favor of fancy and farce. He didn’t know what to believe. “I don’t want the title,” he said, pretending, just for a moment, that everything Elise had told him was true. “Go back to London and tell Francis he can have it with my compliments.”

“He’s in the process of murdering your mother.”

“What?”

“Since her public claim of your existence, Mr. Ellery has had your mother committed to Bedlam to discredit those claims. And the duchess will be dead within a month unless you can prove her right.”

He thought he’d heard her wrong. “Bedlam,” he repeated slowly.

“That is correct. Last I saw her, she was shackled and in an opiated haze.” Elise was watching him intently again.

“Abigail wants me to return to London to rescue my mother from Bedlam.” The irony was too much, and Noah found himself laughing, great heaving breaths that bordered on hysterical. There was no humor in his laughter, and after a few seconds, it faded as fast as it had risen, leaving nothing but a great yawning pit of…nothingness. After everything—the years of terror and despair and pain—he should have taken an unnatural satisfaction in such a predicament. But it was all he could do to keep his own memories of that hell from becoming completely unleashed and crippling his ability to think.

It had been his father who had woken him in the dead of night, cajoling his sleepy son from the warmth of his bed with murmurs of new puppies in the stables to see, leading him out of the house to where Noah had found not pups but grim-faced men with unforgiving strength. His father had given his captors a brisk nod, ordered Noah to behave, and left him struggling as the men locked Noah into a barred carriage as though he were a dangerous beast. He’d pressed his face up against those bars, terror coursing through his small body, and seen his mother watching from an upstairs window. And as the carriage had bumped and jarred its way to the top of the drive, she’d simply let the curtain drop.