A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (12 page)

“What you became,” Elise said, “is the man you were always meant to be. Every tragedy, every joy, every achievement and every failure has made you the man who stands before me now. You can’t hide from him forever.”

“I…” Noah trailed off helplessly.

“This is why you haven’t seen or spoken to your sister? Why you’ve hidden on a farm in Nottingham?”

“Yes.”

Elise shook her head before looking up at him intently. “Your parents abandoned the Duke of Ashland when he was ten years old, because they incorrectly believed him to be incapable. Incapable of one day embracing the power and wealth and responsibilities and all the good that might come of those things when that child grew into a man. Do not allow Noah Lawson to do the same. Come with me to London. Your sister deserves to know the man you’ve become.”

“Did you not hear me?” Noah finally found his voice. “I’ll be arrested.” He hated how defensive he sounded.

“You will not be arrested. Thanks to your parents’ vanity, or desperation, or both, Noah Ellery did not exist in Bedlam. Further, the old building and most of its records no longer exist. If you desire to return to London as the Duke of Ashland, I can provide you with a fully plausible explanation for your lengthy absence, complete with any required paperwork and evidence.”

Noah stared at her.

“Chegarre and Associates is a firm with far-reaching resources, Your Grace,” Elise told him. “I would suggest that you use them.”

Noah’s fingers curled into fists, a faint sense of unreality encroaching on this entire conversation. “Has nothing I’ve told you disturbed you?” he asked roughly. “Does the fact that I am a killer not give you pause?”

For the first time, Elise looked away, her composure slipping ever so slightly, a shadow of what looked like grief passing over her features. “No.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I understand that what you had to do is not who you are.”

She was standing stiffly, and with a dawning comprehension, Noah realized that the soldier’s clothing was not a disguise. The rifle she carried was not a theater prop. No more than the haunted look that had crossed her face was fabricated. This soldier standing before him was part of who she was. “You know what it’s like. To kill.”

“Yes.” It was barely audible.

“You were a rifleman.” It wasn’t unheard of. Noah had heard tales from Waterloo of women who had followed their men into battle and fought at their side. He couldn’t imagine that the colonial armies were any different.

“No. I was a tracker, meant to locate American troops and guns and report their movements and numbers.” She was studying the forest, and Noah recalled exactly how easily she had vanished through such terrain. “I too did whatever was necessary so that I might live to see the next sunrise.”

She was paler than he had ever seen her, her eyes fixed inwardly on something that only she could see. But in her voice he could hear the same note of despair and desolation that was so familiar to him. She understood what it was like to be forced into situations where there were only two outcomes. Kill or be killed.

Noah moved then, coming to stand before her, his fingers cupping her jaw, and without thinking about what he was doing, he kissed her.

It was a brief, gentle kiss, one that simply offered the things that she had already offered him. Understanding. Strength. Compassion. He felt some of the stiffness drain from her body, and he dropped his hands, gathering her close to him. She let herself be drawn into his embrace.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Because you were looking back,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

“You sound like my brother.”

“Smart man.”

“He has his moments.” They were silent for a long minute.

“Why did you fight?” Noah asked into the silence.

“Why are you in Nottingham?” She answered his question with her own.

“Because I couldn’t leave Abigail. I needed to know she was safe.”

Elise pulled away from him then. “And I couldn’t—wouldn’t leave my brothers. They were my entire world.” Elise ran her fingers down the barrel of the rifle that still rested against a tree trunk. “This Baker rifle belonged to Jonathon. My oldest brother. But I was always better with it than he.” She smiled sadly. “Our venison stores for winter made it hard for him to argue the fact, though it didn’t stop him from trying.”

“You miss him.”

“Every day.” She raised her eyes to his. “Like you miss your sister. But unlike my brother, Abigail is still here to see. To touch, to talk to—” Elise stopped abruptly, her entire body stilling.

Noah frowned, before he became aware of the sound of Square barking in the distance.

“Does your dog usually bark like that?” Elise asked, picking up her rifle.

“When we’ve visitors.” Noah didn’t like the unease that rooted within him. Bloody hell, but Elise had him jumping at shadows.

Elise was already moving, slipping through the trees and the thick foliage. Noah followed, nearly crashing into Elise’s back as she stopped abruptly near the edge of the wood. He peered over her shoulder, feeling ridiculous, and even more so when a wagon pulled up in front of his house and Sarah was helped down by her husband. At their feet Square bounced happily and was rewarded with a rub from John.

“It’s John and Sarah, for God’s sake,” Noah grumbled. He watched as Sarah carefully lifted a bundle of green fabric out of the back of the wagon and headed toward the house, raising a hand in greeting as Mrs. Pritchard opened the front door.

“Sarah looks pretty,” Elise commented by his side.

For the first time, Noah noticed that Sarah was indeed dressed up, in a gown of pale blue. Beside her John had on neat breeches and a coat Noah had never seen before. They looked as if they were going to—

“Bloody hell.” Noah ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Elise turned to look at him in concern.

“They’re here to pick us up. For the picnic.”

Elise blinked at him.

“The one they invited you to after you plucked Andrew out of the river. The one you agreed to attend as their guest of honor.”

“Ah.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I had forgotten.”

“Will you come?”

She hesitated. “Is it necessary for you to attend this picnic?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Attending will leave you exposed. There will be crowds.”

Noah marshaled his patience. “The crowds that you mention are made up of neighbors. Friends. People who know me. Though I can make excuses on your behalf.”

“Absolutely not. If you are going, then I must as well.”

“You
must
?” Noah raised his brows.

“Yes.”

“As what? My bodyguard?”

“If you insist on calling it that.”

“For the love of—” Noah ran his hands through his hair. “We’ve been over this. Even if I believed that there were assassins on my trail, I do not need you hovering over me.”

“I won’t hover. In fact, you won’t even know I’m there. I’ll channel my inner Robin Hood.”

“That’s absurd. I know these people. There will be no
assassins
at the picnic.” He let sarcasm creep into the last.

Elise shrugged. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

He tried to be irritated, but something in the way she said it made him feel warm inside. It made him want to kiss her all over again. He cleared his throat. “Fine. Then you will attend the picnic with me like a regular human being. You will not hover. You will be a gracious guest of Sarah Barr’s. And you will not bring your rifle.”

“Yes to the first three. But I’m bringing my rifle.” Her jaw was set.

“Tell me you’re jesting.”

“Does it look like I am? I need to be sure I can keep you safe.”

“So what? You’re going to walk around with a loaded rifle and point it at everyone until I give you some sort of secret signal that they are a friend?”

Elise flushed. “If I have to.”

“You do not need a damn rifle at a damn picnic.”

“Fine. I’ll leave it hidden in the wagon if that sounds better.”

“No, it doesn’t sound better. It still sounds crazy.” He laughed without humor. “And I would know, wouldn’t I?”

Elise’s lips thinned, and she looked away. “I don’t like fighting you,” she said suddenly. “I wish you would trust me.”

“Trust you?” Noah felt his forehead wrinkle. “You are the warden to my darkest secrets. You know more about my past than any other person. I have no choice but to trust you.”

Elise shook her head and met his eyes again. “You’ve confided in me, and for that I am grateful. Honored. And there will never come a time when I betray that confidence. But trust is very much a choice. And if you truly trusted me, we would not be having this argument.”

It was Noah’s turn to look away.

“You’re wanted, Noah. Needed. Loved. Not just for what you have the potential to do, but simply because of who you are.” The steel was back in Elise’s voice. “Your sister believes in you. She always has, and I think you know that.”

Noah didn’t give a damn about Francis Ellery or his debts or whatever designs he had on the Ashland fortune, though it angered him that he had drawn Abigail into his greed-driven machinations. But Elise was partly right. For the first time, Abigail needed her brother more than he had ever needed her. At the very least, she needed to know she wasn’t alone. And as for his mother…Noah closed his eyes. Every time he tried to find the forgiveness he knew he should possess, all he could see in his mind’s eye was the curtain at the window dropping as she turned away from a terrified child.

He suddenly felt the brush of Elise’s lips over his and his eyes snapped open. “Don’t look back, Noah Ellery. Because I believe in you too. And when you understand that, then you’ll trust me.”

Noah stared at her, a tiny ember of impossible hope igniting and struggling to cast light into the dark pit that was his past.

E
lise gazed at herself in the long cheval glass, not knowing whether to be dismayed or pleased.

“The color suits you.” Behind her, Sarah beamed. “You look beautiful.”

She did look lovely, Elise admitted without conceit, considering her reflection with the same objectivity she applied backstage at the theater when evaluating a costume. The dress Sarah had presented her with was not elaborate, suitable for a country picnic, but all the more striking for its simple lines. It fit her almost perfectly, save that the bodice was a little tight, but the skirts flowed softly over her hips and swirled around her ankles. It was lawn green, and against her skin and her brown hair, the hue was flattering. A band of white embroidery in a whimsical pattern edged the bodice and the hem, and the whole effect was, indeed, beautiful.

But beautiful was noticeable. Elise did not want to be noticeable. She bit her lip. Her brown dress would be far better. No one remembered a woman in a mousy brown dress who, with enough skill, could simply fade into the background and remain invisible for as long as required.

“The dress is gorgeous,” Elise said, framing a suitable excuse in her mind. “But I can’t borrow such finery—”

“It’s yours.” Sarah smiled at her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The dress. It’s a gift. I know I can never repay the debt our family owes you, but please accept this as a token.”

Well, hell. There was no way to duck out of this one without being grossly insulting or just plain rude, and Elise had no desire to be either. “Then thank you,” she said, meeting Sarah’s eyes. “It is my privilege to accept it.” She ran her hands over her dress.

“Mr. Lawson will have a heart seizure when he sees you,” Sarah said, sounding infinitely smug and satisfied at once.

Elise ignored the way her stomach flip-flopped and the sudden self-consciousness that assailed her. “I hardly think my appearance will affect anyone’s health one way or the other,” she muttered.

Sarah made a noise of disbelief. “Any red-blooded male will—”

“Will there be many people there?” Elise asked, not wishing to continue along a vein of conversation for which she had a dearth of clever answers. And, she reasoned, if she would not be able to remain wholly unnoticed, then at least she could educate herself on what to expect.

“It is always well attended,” Sarah told her, slanting Elise a look to let her know she’d fooled no one. “Everyone from the area is invited. Landowners, tradesmen, merchants. The local gentry often stop by, though they tend to simply parade about in an effort to remind everyone why they should be admired. There are games before supper; a shooting contest for the men, croquet for the women. And after, there is music and dancing.” Sarah grinned at her. “Even if Mr. Lawson tries to hoard you all to himself, I’ll make sure to introduce you to some people I think you’d really like.”

“Sounds delightful.” It did sound like fun, Elise reflected. It sounded a great deal like the harvest dances that they’d had in York when friends and family would gather to let loose and enjoy an evening of revelry before the cold came and winter set in. Except she wasn’t here to have fun. She wasn’t here to dance. And she certainly wasn’t here to make friends.

The last left her strangely sad.

“Here.” Sarah was reaching into a small bag that rested on the bed. “Your outfit is not yet complete. John made this for you.”

Elise shook her head. “No, please. I don’t need anything else—” The words died as Sarah ignored her and bent slightly, fastening something to the front of her bodice.

The woman stepped away, and Elise gazed down at the brooch that now rested against her chest. It was done in fine steel, similar to the rose Noah had given to Abigail, except this one was the silhouette of a tree. Twisted strands of steel were bound together to form a trunk before they spread out, each delicate branch interlocking with another.

Sarah met Elise’s eyes in the mirror. “It is an oak, meant to symbolize strength and family. The courage and strength you gave so selflessly to our family will never be forgotten.”

Elise reached up to touch the brooch. “Thank you,” was all she managed through a throat that had gotten suspiciously tight.

“You will be a part of our family forever,” Sarah said. “Even if your travels take you far away.”

Elise tightened her fingers over the brooch just as Sarah put her arms around her and gave her a gentle hug. How had this happened, this enfolding into the lives of people she had never intended to know? Since she had arrived in England, Elise had always been content to dwell around the edges of relationships, either intimate or otherwise. Mostly due to the fact that she was almost always in character, and each association, however enjoyable it might be, was fleeting. Because eventually she would need to become someone else.

Until now. Now there was a part of her that wished for something…less calculated. Less simulated. Something more real. Perhaps it was her rural surroundings that brought back this desire to belong. Perhaps it was the realization that there were, indeed, places left to her where people required nothing more from her than…herself.

Noah, freshly scrubbed and changed, was leaning against the wagon, deep in conversation with John, when the women emerged from the house. He looked up and caught sight of Elise, and his conversation ended abruptly mid-sentence. John too fell silent, his eyes widening slightly in his broad face.

For all the time she had spent on the stage, for all the provocative roles she had played in her tenure at Chegarre & Associates, she should be inured to the attentions of any man. But she felt the weight of Noah’s gaze all the way through her body and down to the very tips of her toes. It made her feel flushed and restless and shy all at once.

“Doesn’t Miss DeVries look lovely?” Sarah said from beside her, giving her husband a meaningful look.

John straightened and cleared his throat. “You do look exceptionally lovely tonight, Miss DeVries,” he said, immediately going to his wife’s side. “Almost as lovely as my Sarah.”

Sarah swatted at John’s arm but she was smiling as she did so.

“I’m biased.” John grinned at her.

“Mr. Lawson?” Sarah prodded.

“Yes,” Noah whispered hoarsely. “Lovely.” His eyes were still on Elise, an intense stare that was doing nothing to put her at ease. He covered the distance between them, gathering Elise’s hand in his and pressing his lips to the backs of her knuckles. His eyes never left hers as he released her hand, though she could still feel the dizzying sensation of his lips on her skin. His eyes dropped, and his hand went to the brooch pinned in the center of her bodice. Very gently he traced the edges of the steel, the backs of his fingers grazing the slopes of her breasts. Elise sucked in a breath, her nipples tightening instantly, and resisted the urge to arch against that tantalizing touch. John and Sarah still stood not four feet away.

“The brooch is stunning, Mr. Barr,” Elise said, trying desperately to keep her words even. “I will treasure it always.”

“You’re very welcome,” John told her, though it seemed as if his words were coming from a distance, because all she could concentrate on was the feel of Noah’s touch.

“Truly beautiful,” Noah said then, though Elise had no idea if he was speaking of the brooch. She had a brief vision of him pushing the edges of her bodice aside and replacing his fingers with his lips, and heat streaked through her.

“It represents her courage and her strength,” Sarah supplied.

“It’s perfect,” Noah said, his hand dropping from the brooch to skim her waist before it fell to his side. Elise released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and the world came back into focus.

John and Sarah moved away, John helping his wife up onto the front seat. Noah led Elise closer to the rear, where a second bench seat spanned the width of the wagon. She chanced a look at him and swallowed. His eyes were hot, his jaw tight, and he looked as if he wanted to devour her.

“Do I have a piece of river weed in my hair?” she whispered close to his ear, trying desperately for a light tone.

He started. “What?”

“Or in my teeth?”

Noah blinked.

“You’re staring.”

Noah laughed and ducked his head. “You’re stealing my lines.”

“Yes.”

“You’re magnificent,” he said, the laughter fading as his eyes dropped to her mouth and Elise took a hasty step back. If she didn’t put some distance between them, she would give him exactly what he wanted regardless of where they might be standing because, God help her, she wanted it too.

It had been easier earlier when he’d been immersed in his memories, the old remnants of fear and anger enough to suppress the heat that seemed to flare every time they drew near each other. In that forest his touch had been one of gentle understanding, offered in support, not desire. A shared acknowledgment of things that had come to pass and had made both who they were.

Elise had been horrified at Noah’s confession, unable to imagine what it would be like for a child to endure what he had. She’d been furious on his behalf that it had been allowed to happen. Though she could admit to none of those things. Demonstrate none of those emotions. Noah had been right. He didn’t need her pity. He didn’t need her outrage, her horror, or her anger. Those were all emotions that amplified the destructive power of secrets like those that Noah had entrusted to her care. Secrets like those had to be handled carefully.

Elise straightened her skirts, which didn’t need straightening, unable to meet Noah’s eyes at the moment. She fumbled for something benign to say. “You look very handsome yourself.” Dear God. She sounded like a stammering debutante. She, who had cleverly conversed with princes and generals and governors when circumstances required. And she had been good at it. But then again, she hadn’t been violently attracted to any of them.

Noah extended his hand, and after a second’s hesitation, she placed hers in it. He squeezed it, a slight pressure that nonetheless sent new sparks shooting across her skin.

“I put your rifle in the back,” he said quietly. “It’s under the bench.”

Elise stilled. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“It seemed easier than arguing with you about it in front of John and Sarah.” His voice was gruff.

She slanted him a look. It wasn’t exactly a victory, but she would take it. “Of course. How thoughtful.”

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “Come. Your chariot awaits, milady.”

Elise glanced at the back of the wagon and the wooden bench seat.

“I regret it’s not a carriage,” Noah said.

She looked down at her hand still clasped within his. At this moment there wasn’t anywhere else she’d rather be. “I don’t.”

I regret it’s not a carriage.

Noah had made the remark flippantly, his mind addled by the vision that was Elise DeVries. But now Noah wondered if it might be worth embracing his title if only to have a fleet of carriages at his disposal. Enclosed, private travel spaces where he might draw the curtains and then draw Elise onto his lap and have his way with her.

The tough soldier who had listened to him with a steady and unflinching heart that emotionally charged afternoon had been replaced with an ethereal princess. The transformation was as unnerving as it was breathtaking. Elise was every inch a woman, and it was an effort not to let his hands run over her beautiful curves, displayed to perfection in that green dress. Her hair had been pinned up in some fashion, though long tendrils had escaped to caress the gentle slope of her neck and frame her face. It required all his concentration not to bury his fingers in her hair so that he might taste her lips and her skin. He’d sat ramrod stiff beside her on that damned wagon bench, a bench not wide enough to afford them separate spaces. Every bump, every lurch of the wagon had nudged them together, thigh against thigh, hip against hip. At one point Noah had put a hand at her back to steady them over a deep rut in the road. He’d felt her shiver in the summer heat and he’d withdrawn his hand, afraid her reaction would make him forget that they weren’t alone. Given the time and place, this temptation that was Elise wasn’t fair.

And then, when they’d arrived, he’d regretted even more the lack of a private carriage where he might simply keep Elise hidden away and all to himself.

As the Barrs’ wagon had joined other similar equipages, there’d been shouts of welcome over the sounds of a pipe and fiddle already pulsing through the air. They’d joined the jovial crowd, making their way through knots of people, Sarah’s arm linked securely through Elise’s as Sarah embarked on a series of exhausting introductions.

Elise was a picture of relaxed politesse, but she turned back often, as if to make sure Noah was still there. He trailed behind and watched as the women turned curious but friendly smiles on Elise. The older men doffed their hats with a flourish and a twinkle in their eye, and the younger men stammered like fools as they tripped over themselves in their introductions.

Noah had forced himself to relax his jaw, aware he was gritting his teeth.

“I see you’re still bewitched.” John appeared suddenly by his side and thrust a cup of ale into Noah’s hand.

“I am not bewitched.” Noah watched as a man in a dark coat bent over Elise’s hand and was rewarded with a pretty smile.

“You look ready to strangle Stuart Howards.” John gestured to the dark-coated man, who was now waving his hands expansively and telling some sort of tale with great animation, much to Elise and Sarah’s amusement.

“I have no interest in strangling anyone,” Noah replied testily. “Miss DeVries is very…amiable.”

“Amiable? You’re full of it, Noah Lawson.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re bewitched, and so is she.” John laughed, a deep rumbling sound. “I may be older than you, but I’m not blind. Or stupid. The two of you nearly incinerated the back of my wagon with the looks you were giving each other.”

Noah felt himself flush. “It’s complicated.” He took a deep swallow of ale.