A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (17 page)

Elise shivered slightly, and Noah put a hand around her and pulled her closer to him. His fingers slid over the bare skin of her back where the loosened laces of her shirt had pulled the neck wide enough to expose her shoulder. His touch came to an abrupt halt just above her shoulder blade.

“Elise?” His fingers moved again, exploring the ruined skin at her back and the ridges of scar tissue that had never healed cleanly.

He would not have seen the old wound earlier, as it had always been covered by clothes. She forgot about the injury most days, though sometimes in the damp chill of the winter her shoulder ached.

He leaned back, pulling her shirt farther over her shoulder and down her back, and she heard his swift intake of breath.

“You can blame my brother Alex.” She sighed, putting a hand on the warmth of Noah’s thigh. “It’s just as well he’s good with money and numbers and such. He makes a ghastly surgeon.”

His fingers were tracing the worst of the scar, and she could imagine him trying to determine exactly what sort of injury made such a mark. “You were shot.” It was exhaled on a horrified breath.

“Yes.”

“Jesus, Elise. When?”

“When I wasn’t as invisible as I thought myself to be.”

“What?”

Elise sighed. “American pickets have keen eyes and good aim. Or maybe just mediocre aim. They didn’t kill me, after all, though the wound almost did.”

“And your brother was there? He couldn’t get you to a proper surgeon?” There was an edge to Noah’s voice, as though he blamed Alex for what had been her failure.

Elise frowned. “It took Alex three days to find me. When the men who shot me discovered I wasn’t dead, they bound my hands and feet and carried me back to the vicinity of their camp. They left me there, tied upright to a pine for the better part of the day.” She stopped. “That feeling of helplessness was worse than any pain.”

Noah’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She didn’t need him to say anything because he, of all people, understood that better than anyone.

“By the second day, infection had set in, though I have vague recollections of them pouring water down my throat and demanding answers to questions I could no longer comprehend. On the third day, they gave up and left me for dead. I am told Alex found me that night. Took the bullet out of my shoulder with his knife by the light of a single candle, too afraid to build a fire in case we were discovered. He laid me in a stream and sat with me for the next two days, trying to cool a fever that I can’t remember.” She stopped suddenly, realizing she had probably said more than was necessary, but unwilling to let Alex be cast in a poor light. “So no, my brother couldn’t get me to a proper surgeon. He was two miles behind enemy lines and nine miles from a proper surgeon with nothing but a knife, a rifle, and a dying sister.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I survived because of Alex. He came for me when I had already been crossed off the lists as missing and presumed dead. He came for me when I needed him most. And then he did what he had to.”

Noah was silent, his hands quiet on her skin. The moonlight blinked out and plunged them into darkness as clouds rolled and built.

“Then I am in his debt,” Noah said finally.

Elise turned, wishing she could see his face. “You? He saved my life, not yours.”

“No. I think he saved mine as well. Because he gifted me with you.”

“Perhaps you might wish to thank him in person,” Elise suggested softly.

“I believe I shall.” Noah found her hand in the darkness and threaded his fingers through hers. “But first I will see Abigail. Because it’s been too long since I did so. Because sometimes sisters need their brothers.”

Elise froze and tightened her fingers around his. Moonlight flooded down around them again, flickering once before steadying. “They do,” she agreed, almost afraid to breathe.

“It took too long for me to understand that.” It was barely audible. “And for that, I am truly sorry.”

“I think Abigail will forgive you,” Elise whispered, her throat thickening.

“I hope so. Will you?”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“But—”

She pressed her free hand against his lips. “I do not wish to fight with you, Sir Noah.”

Noah gazed at her for a long moment before releasing her fingers and pushing himself to his feet. He held out a hand to her. “Neither do I.”

Elise put her hand in his and allowed him to help her up, and she was struck that it was this gesture, this extension of a strong hand on a grassy riverbank, that had first stolen her heart. They stood on the bank, neither speaking, as if terrified they might shatter the eerie spell that seemed to have been cast at the river’s edge.

The air began to move suddenly, the sultry heat being touched by the first stirrings of a cool breeze that was gaining momentum and rattling the leaves. The moonlight vanished again before reappearing as more clouds drifted past. In the distance Elise could see brief flashes of light. A low rumble reached her ears.

“We should hurry,” Noah whispered.

Elise nodded wordlessly and allowed herself to be guided through the trees and across the fields toward the house. The heat from Noah’s broad palm was creeping up through her arm and warming her entire body, though the temperature outside was dropping rapidly.

The first raindrops fell just as they hurried into the yard, Square making a beeline up the narrow lane for the shelter of the barn, and Elise and Noah slamming the door of the house behind them as the wind suddenly gusted.

The house had descended into utter blackness, making it almost impossible to see him. She could only feel him, his heat, his touch. She concentrated on taking steady breaths, desire making her ache everywhere. Nothing that she hadn’t felt the last time they had stood before each other, their clothes wet and dripping, her hand caught in his.

But this need was different. Something had changed. Something harder, hotter, more desperate than ever before had settled within her, demanding release.

A flash of lightning illuminated everything for a brief second before thunder rolled. It would seem the gods of the sky were as restless as she.

“You would have beaten me, you know,” Noah said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” She tried to see his face but it was impossible.

“If I had tried to best you on that shooting field, you would have beaten me.”

“What are you talking about?” She was momentarily distracted. “Why is that important?”

“I’ve never met a woman with your confidence.”

Elise smiled faintly. “I think you called it arrogance.”

“I was wrong. It’s confidence. And it’s breathtaking.” He pulled her closer, and she stumbled forward, her other hand coming up to rest on his chest. Beneath her palm she could feel the scattering of hair and the heat from his bare skin. Outside, the wind gusted again and rattled the glass panes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not sure what else she should say.

“I want to be able to do what you can.”

Her head came up in surprise. “What? You mean with a rifle? Because I can assure you I can teach you how to handle the Baker far faster than I can teach you how to swim—”

“I’m not talking about swimming and shooting. I’m talking about…” He stopped. “Knowing who you are. I don’t know if the man I have become here, now, can ever reconcile with the man who needs to exist in London.”

“They are the same person, Noah. Lawson, Ellery, Ashland, the name matters not. Your journey is only relevant to the lessons it has taught along the way, not to its final destination.”

In the dark his other hand found the side of her face, his fingers pulling her wet hair over her shoulder before tracing the edge of her jaw. “But you are so sure. So sure of who you are.”

“I’m sure when I’m with you.” That uncomfortable truth slipped out before she could stop it, before she could return it to the deep recesses of her mind where it had dwelt unobserved and unacknowledged.

The hand that still held hers tightened. “I don’t understand.”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Elise dropped her head, resting it against the broad expanse of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

His free hand settled gently against the back of her neck, keeping her close against him. “I rather think it does.”

Elise felt her lips curl. “Now you’re stealing my lines.”

“You owe me a few.”

A silence fell as Elise tried to find words that would explain, while Noah waited patiently.

“When I’m with you, like this, without an audience, I forget myself. I forget the role I am supposed to play, forget the lines I am supposed to deliver. With you I can step from the shadows,” she said quietly. “But the rest of the time, I’m an actress, Noah. A woman who manipulates illusion to achieve whatever ends have been set out for me, whether it’s on a theater stage or in a London ballroom. Today I was just a girl with a gun. Tomorrow I might need to be someone else. A week from now, you’ll no longer recognize me.
I’ll
no longer recognize me.”

“You’re so much more than just a girl with a gun.” He said it fiercely and with such passion that she felt her stomach drop and her pulse race. “I see you, Elise DeVries. No matter what clothes you might wear or what mask you might assume, I see your courageous heart and I see your beautiful mind. I see your compassion and your hope, your resilience and your strength. If you do not know who you are, know that I do.”

A blinding flash of light assaulted her eyes, followed by an instant rumble of thunder. His words made her want to weep with their quiet conviction. It was ironic, really. Each one so sure of the other. Both seeing more from without than they could from within.

“I’m so tired of pretending,” she whispered. “Sometimes I’m not sure I can even remember who I once was. Or even who I want to be tomorrow.”

“Who do you want to be tomorrow?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Elise closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about tomorrow.”

He stilled. The hand at the back of her neck tightened, his fingers threading through the hair at the nape of her neck. His other hand released hers, and his fingers traveled over her upper arm, over her collarbone, coming to rest against the side of her face. “Then let’s talk about now.” His mouth was an inch away from hers.

She could hear his hunger and his need in the rasp of his words. She raised her other hand to his chest and ran both over the planes of his pectorals, down over his abdomen, and around his back, pressing her body against his. Her breasts were heavy, and the damp fabric of her shirt was chafing at her sensitive nipples.

He pulled her head back gently. “Who do you want to be right now?” he asked, his mouth against her ear. His voice was rough and full of promise. Her insides melted into a pulsing liquid heat. Dampness gathered between her legs. He would claim her now, unless she stopped him. Unless she pulled back out of his reach and retreated.

She swallowed, the words stuck in her throat.

“Right now, at this very moment, who do you want to be, Elise?”

“Yours,” she whispered. “I want to be yours.”

He found her lips in the darkness as a rumble of thunder ripped across the sky and the rain pounded on the roof and the windows. It mirrored the tumult that was coursing through his body, the need and hunger for this woman eclipsing everything that was reasonable and comprehensible. He had kissed her before he understood who she was and what she would ask of him, caught up in a vortex of intense desire he was powerless to fight. And he had kissed her after, still unable to resist her, but this, this was different. This was a melding of hearts and souls, a gut-wrenching acknowledgment that they were bound by more than just circumstance and fate. This was far more than a mere kiss, and there would be no going back from wherever this led them.

He pushed his hands farther into the mass of her wet hair, his lips slanting hard across hers. It was a confession, an assertion of the kaleidoscope of emotions that were warring for supremacy within him. And beneath this onslaught, she met him halfway. Exactly where he knew she would be.

He tried to pace himself because, God help him, he knew he should be gentle and patient and careful. He wanted to be all those things—she deserved all those things—but this need that filled him was wild and like nothing he had ever experienced before. He was unbearably hard, his erection throbbing at the wet restriction of his breeches. Against his chest he could feel the firm pressure of her breasts, and he ran his hands down the length of her spine, gathering her tightly within his embrace. The urge to claim her, to take her swiftly against the wall, on the table, on the floor, anywhere he might bury himself deep within her heat and find release from this torment, was making him light-headed.

Another roll of thunder crashed across the sky, shaking the very walls of his house. He dropped his hands to her ass, pulling her hard against him, desperately afraid he wouldn’t have the control to make this perfect for her. His hands moved to stroke the sides of her breasts, her skin fiery beneath the sodden coolness of her shirt, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. He wanted all of her against all of him. His hands moved to the hem of her shirt and pulled up at the fabric, trying to work it from her body and over her arms, but it was wet and twisted and uncooperative, and against his mouth, Elise made a sound of frustration.

Without his thinking, his fingers released the hem and moved to the ties at the neck of her shirt, curling into the seams, pulling at the worn linen. The threadbare fabric would rip, he knew, if he pulled hard enough, rending from her throat down the length of her torso. His fingers tightened, and he felt the first frayed edges give way. Somewhere beyond his haze of lust his conscience reminded him that this was not careful or patient. He felt completely out of control, and he barely recognized himself at this moment.

Without warning, Elise broke their kiss. “Do it,” she gasped.

Noah went still. She couldn’t possibly have divined what he’d been thinking.

She brought her hands up to his and covered them with her own. “I want nothing between us.” Her breath was coming in shallow gasps. “Nothing.”