A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (10 page)

Elise took a step closer to him, refusing to be cowed by his ire. Just as well they got this sorted out now, standing in a deserted lane between the barn and the house where there were no witnesses save for a handful of sparrows. “I am not questioning your honor. I am merely presenting you with the facts.”

“The facts,” he repeated, his lip curling. “You have no idea what facts you speak of.”

“Then tell me.”

He looked away and then looked back at her, an angry flush climbing into his cheeks. “Tell you? Just like that?”

“It would be a start. I will be of far more help if I fully understand what it is we might face when we return to London.”

“Jesus. There is no
we
. You…nerve…” He trailed off, searching for words, and judging by his expression, Elise had no doubt they weren’t going to be pleasant when he found them.

“Your sister begged me to find you,” she said, cutting off whatever he was going to say. “And I did. I will not apologize for doing my job. You’re not the only one who has things in their past they’d rather forget. You’re not the only one who has had to do whatever it takes to survive.” There was a part of her brain that was cautioning her to stop, to simply leave well enough alone, and let Noah Ellery think of her what he would. So long as the job got done, it didn’t matter.

Except, she realized with no little dismay, it did matter. She cared very much about what he thought of her. She cared about him. Dammit.

She softened her tone. “I am not your enemy, though I understand it might seem like it now. I am with you, not against you.”

“Really?” There was an edge to his words. “Is that what you were trying to prove last night in the rose garden? That you are
with me
?”

She could feel the heat rise in her face. “No. That wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what? Something else you don’t feel the need to apologize for?”

“What happened last night between you and me was…perfect. If only for a moment.” She was looking up at him, standing so close that she could see the dark-green flecks in his irises. “So no, I won’t apologize for that.”

He blinked at her, and his expression shifted, as if he too had suddenly become aware of how close they were.

Yet neither of them moved away.

Elise could feel her pulse pounding in her veins, feel a longing ache igniting and thrumming through her body. She tried to suppress it, but it was far too late, common sense and intelligence evaporating in the face of so much heat. She curled her hands into the fabric of her skirts to keep from reaching out to touch him.

His hair was loose and falling over his ears and forehead and was begging to have her fingers run through it. His strong jaw was covered with a day’s worth of stubble, entreating her to feel its texture. There was a ragged edge along the collar of his shirt at the base of his throat, and it was imploring her to run the pad of her thumb over the tear and then along the darkened skin beneath it and across his—

“Anything else?” Noah asked hoarsely.

“I beg your pardon?” Dear God, but it was hopeless. She couldn’t even remember what they had been talking about. After everything, after her lectures and rigid reminders to herself, after carefully cultivating and bolstering her resolve, a second near this man reduced reason to a smoldering pile of ash. She had never wanted a man the way she wanted this one.

“Is there anything else you’d like to not apologize for?”

Elise gazed up at him, realizing with a jolt that the anger had faded from his face altogether and been replaced with something far more dangerous. His smoky gaze caught and held hers, and there was that intense longing she had seen in the rose garden, the want and need that had turned her knees to liquid and her insides to fire. He was still no more immune to whatever arced between them than she was. A reckless hunger pounded through her now with every beat of her heart.

“Yes,” she said. “I will not apologize for this.”

And she kissed him.

It was a rash indulgence, a desperate need to prove that what had happened in the rose garden had been perfect. And right. And inevitable. And she’d meant this kiss to be quick, a brief slaking of a thirst that would likely never be truly satisfied.

Except his hand came up and caught the back of her head, and then he was kissing her back, and whatever shreds of control and restraint she’d been hanging on to disintegrated. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers curling into the tousled blond curls she had so longed to touch. She nipped at his lower lip before letting her mouth travel over the roughness of his jaw, finding that spot at the base of his throat where she could feel his heart hammering. He tasted of salt and heat and man, and she let her hands drop, sliding them under his coat and over the linen of his shirt. Her hands wandered over his chest and around to his back, each ridge of steely muscle defined beneath her touch.

He hissed against her ear, before the hand at the back of her head urged her lips back to his, his mouth coming down hard on hers once again. His free hand slid down her spine and over her rear, pulling her against him. She was straddling one of his thighs, her skirts bunched around her legs, and powerless to move. Not that she had any interest in doing so. The feel of his body pressed against the length of hers was devastating. It robbed her of breath, of thought, of focus, leaving only a mind-numbing need roaring through her body. She made a muffled sound of frustration and yanked the tails of his shirt from his breeches, slipping her hands under the linen and allowing them to roam over his skin.

She felt him shudder beneath her touch, the muscles beneath her palms flexing as he moved. She shifted, the rigid bulge of his erection trapped against her hip. Another sound of frustration rose in the back of her throat. There was nothing in this world that she wouldn’t give at this moment to be able to feel all of him against all of her. All of him within her.

Noah’s hands had caught her head now, keeping her at the mercy of his wickedly talented tongue. He dipped his head, his lips moving from hers to the underside of her jaw, and his hands trailed over her collarbones to her shoulders, then down to her breasts. Involuntarily she arched against his touch, every nerve ending in her body demanding more. He stroked the slopes of her breasts, first with his hands and then with his mouth, before his palms cupped their heavy fullness through the fabric of her dress and his thumbs circled and teased the sensitive peaks of her nipples. Her head fell back slightly, her thighs clenching the hardness of his thigh as her body sought release. She was wet and aching and somewhere she had lost control of what she had started, but she was long past the point of caring.

He moved slightly, and his hands dropped to her waist, pushing her harder against the steely length of his thigh. She was unable to do anything except revel in the feel of this man around her and beneath her. His breath was ragged and uneven. It gave her an unseemly amount of satisfaction to know that her touch undid him as completely as his did her.

“Noah,” she managed to whisper, not sure if it was a plea or a warning.

Her voice seemed to penetrate his skull, for he jerked back and swore softly.

Saints help her, she was in trouble. Her world had tilted from the pleasure she had found in this man’s arms while they groped and fumbled at each other’s clothing like a couple of frenzied adolescents. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be like to take this man to her bed and allow him to do what he would.

But they were still standing in a middle of a lane, forgotten buckets of milk at their feet and a sea of discord between them. She straightened, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her skirts.

Noah was jamming the tails of his shirt back into his breeches, his movements erratic. He stopped. His eyes searched hers, desire shadowed by confusion. “I don’t understand what you do to me.”

“That makes two of us then,” she replied softly. A world of regret and self-reproach would descend on her the moment she walked away. Never had she allowed so much control to slip so far. “But whatever this is, it changes nothing.”

H
e’d lost his mind.

For real this time. Noah might have found that funny had his life not been crumbling under him.

He swung the ax down harder than was necessary, and another log split beneath the blade, the pieces sent flying from the force. He left them where they lay, among a hundred similar pieces, and seized another log, setting it up on the wide stump. He swung the ax again, and his muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain. Embraced it, even. He needed something mindless, something to drive out whatever madness had gripped him since he had pulled a beautiful woman from the River Leen.

He’d gone down to the barn this morning, certain he had a firm grip on what he needed to do, determined that he would see Elise DeVries safely away from his farm. Away from him. Except…except somehow he’d found himself kissing her again. And not just kissing her. Wanting her with an intensity that defied reason. Ignoring everything that had brought her into his life in the first place.

I don’t understand what you do to me.

He’d blurted out that truth while his mind was still sluggish and drugged with lust. She was like an addiction, something that he was powerless to resist, even though he understood just how dangerous she was. He’d never experienced anything like it before, and it disturbed him beyond words.

Thwack.
Another log fell victim to his blade.

Even now he could feel his blood heat and his groin tighten just thinking of her. Thinking of her lush curves, her clever mouth, the way she seemed to know how to touch him exactly as he wished to be touched. She was not shy, nor was there a trace of coyness or guile. She was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and it aroused him to no end.

And then there were her words that he had tried not dwell on.

I am with you, not against you.

Well, she wasn’t, really, was she? Her very presence threatened everything he had built.

Yet deep down, had Noah truly believed that his past would stay buried forever? Had he really expected that no one would ever recognize him? He’d been told from an early age that he was the spitting image of his father. It was likely that time had only amplified the likeness, and there was probably a good amount of luck involved in the fact that no one had ever recognized him. Or, at the very least, questioned his origins. Yes, he might avoid busy coaching inns where travelers from London were likely to congregate, but unless he was to become a total recluse, it would be impossible to avoid strangers completely.

When Noah had left London for good, he’d not given much thought to the distant future, other than his wish to stay invisible and remain reasonably close to Abigail so that he might watch over her undetected. Once he’d settled here, days had turned into weeks and then months and then years, and Noah had allowed time to create an illusion of safety.

But it had been just that, really. An illusion. And perhaps he should be thankful it was Elise DeVries who had shown up on his doorstep and not a Runner or a magistrate. Which didn’t mean he was going anywhere near London. No matter what sort of tale she spun.

“You expecting winter early?” Mrs. Pritchard was standing near the corner of the house, her hands on her ample hips, surveying the carnage around him that had once been a neat stack of logs waiting to be split.

Noah yanked another log from the dwindling pile and set it on the stump. Sweat was running into his eyes, and his shirt was plastered to his body.

Thwack.

“Needs to be done sooner or later,” he mumbled. “Wood’ll dry faster this way.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her skepticism was loud and clear.

Noah avoided looking at his housekeeper. Instead he reached for yet another log and heaved it onto the stump. He gazed down at the rings just visible in the stump where a long saw had severed the trunk. They circled around and around, getting smaller and smaller the closer they got to the center. Just like his thoughts, piling into indecipherable circles, leading nowhere logical.

“I have a sister,” he said abruptly, leaning on the handle of the ax and staring down at the gouges and slashes that covered the top of the stump. He had no idea why he’d said that. Except that Abigail had been his only regret. It was strange, how much he still missed someone who had been gone for so long. And speaking about her out loud suddenly made her seem closer.

“You do?” He could hear the surprise in his housekeeper’s voice.

“She lives in Derby. With her husband and her children.”

“You’re an uncle.” Now Mrs. Pritchard sounded delighted.

“Yes.” It struck Noah that he had never really thought about it like that. That he had never really considered what Abigail’s children would be like. If they would be gentle and generous in the same way she had been as a child. Another layer of guilt settled over him like dark coal dust. Noah had spent so much time focusing on his own life, on maintaining and protecting his new, perfect reality, that he had given very little thought to the reality of hers, save the thought that she was content. “She needs my help. My sister, that is.”

“So when are you leaving?”

Noah glanced up. “What makes you think I’m leaving?”

Mrs. Pritchard frowned. “She’s your sister.”

“I haven’t seen her in a very long time.”

“So?” His housekeeper was starting to sound like Elise.

“She wants me to come to London.”

Mrs. Pritchard’s frown deepened. “If you’re worried about the farm, you don’t need to be. I’m here, and the Carters’ youngest two boys are always looking for work. They were an excellent help last year at harvest.”

“I wasn’t worried about the farm.” The farm was the last thing he was concerned about.

“Then what are you worried about?”

Everything else.
But nothing he could tell Mrs. Pritchard. Nothing that would take away the damned guilt that had been building since the moment Elise had uttered the words
Abigail needs you
.

“She’s your sister,” his housekeeper repeated firmly, piling more guilt onto the already substantial pile. “You do what you need to do. Nothing else really matters.”

“It’s not quite that simple.”

“Only if you choose to make it complicated.”

Noah sneered to himself silently. He hadn’t chosen anything.
Complicated
had been chosen for him.
Complicated
had been set in motion the day his parents had arranged to have him smuggled from their house in a carriage with bars. “Maybe,” he said, if only so he didn’t have to argue. He pulled the ax off the stump and raised it over his head.

“Has your sister ever helped you when you’ve needed it?”

Thunk.
The ax glanced off the log awkwardly, and the wood thudded to the ground. Memories of a defiant girl in pigtails and pinafores leaped to his mind. Abigail had been his biggest champion and his most valiant defender. At least until he had grown big enough to fight his own battles. And then she’d taught him how to fight smart and fight dirty.

Noah kicked the fallen log to the side and jammed the blade of the ax into the stump again in frustration.

“Does this—whatever involves your sister—have something to do with Miss DeVries?” his housekeeper asked.

“Yes. No. Sort of.” He mopped his face with his sleeve, not even knowing where to begin if he had to offer a further explanation.

“I think you need to tell me exactly what is going on.”

“What do you mean?” It was a pathetic attempt to stall.

“Do you think me a complete bottle-head, Mr. Lawson?” Mrs. Pritchard asked, though there was no venom in her words.

“No.” He cleared his throat. “Of course not.”

“I have been with you now for ten years, Mr. Lawson. Ten years, and in those ten years, I have never heard you mention a sister. Or a mother, or a father. Or a childhood home, for that matter. Did you think that I never noticed? Never wondered?”

“But you never asked.”

“Because it never mattered. Until now, it would seem.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yes, so you keep saying. And now you’re out here chopping wood like a man possessed, avoiding Miss DeVries and more likely to give yourself an apoplexy than resolve whatever it is that needs resolving.”

Noah ran his hands through his sweat-soaked hair. “I’ve tried talking to El— Miss DeVries. She refuses to listen to reason.” That, and he seemed unable to keep his hands off her. Which was a whole different kettle of unreasonable. And unacceptable. “She’ll be returning to London shortly.” Alone.

Mrs. Pritchard crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Is she in danger? Your sister?”

Noah shook his head. If he believed that, he’d be halfway to London already and damn the consequences. “No. She’s fine.”

“Are you in some sort of danger?”

“What? Why would you think that?” Noah stared at Mrs. Pritchard.

“Miss DeVries asked me if I had noticed anything odd lately.” There was a worried frown on her face now. “She wanted to know if there had been any strangers stopping by, anyone asking questions about you or another man named Noah. Anyone I might have noticed in town who wasn’t known, or that another local may have remarked upon.”

“When did she ask you this?”

“This morning. When she was making jam.”

“
What?
” He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—that Elise had alarmed his housekeeper with her ridiculous stories or that she seemed to have absolutely no intention of leaving. “Where is she now?” he demanded.

Mrs. Pritchard shrugged. “I don’t know. But she changed back into that awful shirt and trousers that had been drying in her room and left.”

“Left for where?”

Mrs. Pritchard’s frown had turned into a scowl. “I don’t know, Mr. Lawson. I wasn’t the one giving her roses in the garden last night and ignoring her the next day.”

Noah shoved his way into the darkened interior of the barn, letting his eyes adjust to the light. In the corner Elise’s pack still rested on the floor where he had deposited it earlier. A bizarre mixture of relief and annoyance washed through him. His eyes scanned the wall, and he noticed that her gelding’s bridle was still hanging from its hook, along with its saddle.

Wherever she had gone, she hadn’t gone far. His eyes turned back to where her pack lay. The heavy buckles gleamed dully in the light, peeking out from under an oiled cloth. He froze. Her rifle was missing.

Where the hell could the woman have gone?

He stalked out to the rear of the barn, allowing his eyes to roam over the pastures where they rolled down toward the trees. In the distance a movement caught his eye—a familiar waving tail and a lopsided gait. The dog lifted his head and sniffed the air and then, with a bark, disappeared into the trees. What the hell was Square doing down by the river?

Was that where Elise had gone? Had she gotten it in her head to go hunting after she had made jam and milked his cows? It wouldn’t surprise him, but bloody hell, this had to stop. Before he could reconsider, he was striding toward the thick ridge of trees. Whatever the woman was doing, it wasn’t anything good. He needed her on her horse and down the road back to London, not roaming about his property and threatening his sanity.

He reached the edge of the trees and paused. The wind was up today, and the leaves danced above his head, the branches of the hawthorns and birches rattling and swaying. He entered the forest, and as he went deeper, the sound became muted, the larger, thicker oaks spreading their limbs to provide a thick canopy above. He followed one of the many deer trails that wound its way through the trees in the direction of the river, but there was no sign of Elise. No sign of Square either. He pressed on.

The sunlight here was shut out, the forest darkened and cool, though none of this bothered Noah. He came here often just to stand in the peace and the silence. The branches were thick, the ancient trunks twisted and gnarled, and the very air itself whispered of the magic and legends that abounded in these forests. But today the forest was silent.

Too silent.

Something was out of place.

Very slowly Noah drew his hunting knife from its sheath at his waist.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Noah spun, every muscle in his body tensing, his knife coming up in an instinctive arc.

Elise was standing not three feet from him, her eyes flitting over his knife briefly before coming back to his face. “That knife will be useless if they have pistols.”

She was indeed dressed again in her shirt and trousers, a faded and worn blue coat of some military origin buttoned up over her torso. Her hair was pulled back tightly from her face and covered entirely by a battered cap. There was a collection of pouches strapped to her waist and across her chest, and her rifle was cradled in the crook of her arm. Had he not heard her speak, he would have dismissed her as a young soldier. He barely recognized her. And she looked nothing like the woman who had been bent over a milk bucket this morning. A woman who had looked at him with desire and then kissed him senseless in the middle of a lane. This Elise looked hard and remote and…dangerous.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he demanded, if only to cover the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Elise glanced pointedly up at the limbs of a massive oak above them.

Noah forced himself to take a deep breath and impaled her with a stare. “And just what the hell did you think you were doing?” he growled through clenched teeth. “Swinging through the trees trying to find your inner Robin Hood?”

Elise gestured to the forest around them. “Reconnaissance.”

“You can’t be serious.” He forced his eyes to remain on her and not dart away to examine his surroundings. He would not acknowledge the absurdity of such a notion. He could not—
would
not buy whatever blarney she was still trying to sell.

Elise only gazed at him, her hazel eyes like darkened caramel in the shadows of the forest. “I could have slit your throat. Or shot you. You need to be more careful.”

Noah let his irritation show. “First, I’m not sure why I need to say this again, but I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Second, you need to stop suggesting otherwise. Not only is it alarming my housekeeper, your continued suggestions that I am helpless are damn insulting. Any other man might demand pistols at dawn.”