A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (7 page)

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Noah hastened to add, no doubt catching sight of his housekeeper’s face.

“I was in a position to help Mr. Barr and his son this afternoon,” Elise said, wondering why she felt the need to explain.

“She didn’t help Andrew; she saved him from drowning,” Noah said, giving Elise an exasperated look.

“Um. Yes, well, since I was traveling through Nottingham, Mr. Lawson was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the night. And the chance to dry my clothes,” Elise clarified.

“I see,” Mrs. Pritchard said, clearly not seeing anything.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Noah suggested. “Then I can tell you the whole story. I am being a poor host by leaving Miss DeVries standing dripping in my garden. Perhaps, Mrs. Pritchard, you might see Miss DeVries settled while I change?” He bent and retrieved the fallen cloth and handed it back to his housekeeper.

“Of course.” The housekeeper seemed to give herself a mental shake, and her face creased into a beaming smile. “Please do come inside.”

Noah held the door for her, and the housekeeper bustled back in, Elise following a little more slowly. She had gone but four steps when the sound of joyous barking split the silence and a blur of white fur streaked by her, gravel scattering beneath scrabbling paws.

Three paws, at least, Elise realized, watching the creature that was bouncing around Noah, its entire back end wagging with the force of its tail. It was of an indeterminate breed, its head and body not quite matching, its ears sticking out from its head at illogical angles, and it was missing the lower part of a front leg.

“My dog,” Noah said almost apologetically. “I call him Square.”

“Square?” Elise repeated.

The mutt turned at his name, and within a second it was Elise who found herself the object of much happy attention.

“He doesn’t realize he’s a triangle,” Noah said in a stage whisper. “Don’t tell him.”

A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it. She bent to rub the belly of the dog, who had rolled over at her feet and was looking at her hopefully.

“What happened to his leg?”

“Got caught in a poacher’s trap, I suspect. I found him out by the river eating what was left of a rotting fish. Leg was already half-healed.”

“A survivor,” Elise said quietly, stroking the soft fur.

“Yes.” She could feel the weight of Noah’s gaze on her. “That’s why I couldn’t just…”

“Destroy him.”

“Yes.”

She wanted to look up at him, wanted to discover what she would find in his eyes. Wanted to know what Noah Ellery had survived to become the man he was today. Except she couldn’t. Because she was too afraid of what he might see in hers.

“You can trust me,” he said into the quiet, and his odd words betrayed that her silence had already told him too much. Told him that she understood the meaning of the word
survivor
.

Elise straightened, and the dog gave a disappointed woof. The word
trust
suddenly stuck in her throat like a sharp bone, making it difficult to swallow, difficult to think about anything else. She had no business speaking of trust. She was not at all who he thought her to be. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, come to yank the proverbial rug out from under his feet.

“Come inside,” he said in that same gentle voice.

She glanced down at the pink rose she still held in her hand. She couldn’t go into this man’s house. She couldn’t eat his food, sleep under his roof, accept his generosity—his flowers, for God’s sake—while pretending to be something she was not. While harboring ulterior motives. Guilt soured in her stomach.

Bloody hell, what had happened to her? She was never this…scattered. She was always professional and composed, even when a situation went sideways. Her brother had accused her on occasion of being mercenary, though she’d always considered that a compliment and not a criticism. She never allowed her emotions to swing wildly back and forth, but in the past few hours she had been battered by too many. And this growing feeling of guilt was the last straw.

She should leave, find some space, regroup, and come up with a plan for how to handle Noah Ellery.

“I think it would be best if I found an inn—”

“No. I won’t hear of it. Besides, Mrs. Pritchard is quite pleased to have a guest to dote on. If I send you away now, she’ll likely serve my head on a platter tonight.” Noah was smiling at her again, trying to make her feel at ease, she knew. “Surely you don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Elise found herself smiling back despite all her best intentions. “Pleased? She looked at me like I was a unicorn that had just sprouted out of the rosebushes.”

“You can’t blame her. I’m not in the habit of bringing home strange women. Especially ones dressed in trousers who have asked me to pretend they’re mermaids.” He reached out to touch a long ribbon of her hair that was curling damply over her shoulder.

A new riot of butterflies swarmed and banged against her ribs.

“Very well.” She tried to think rationally. She was not going to win this argument. She was miles from town, darkness was not far off, and all her worldly possessions were either slung over this man’s back or eating hay in his stable. Perhaps this was best. She would use this small window of time to study this man and determine exactly what might best convince the next Duke of Ashland to return to London.

She stepped away, and her hair fell from his fingers. If she was to keep her head, she couldn’t do it while this man was touching her.

“Lead the way, Mr. Lawson.”

N
oah had been right.

Mrs. Pritchard, once over her initial shock and given an explanation of the afternoon’s events, had proven to be a warm, cheerful woman who had bustled about, fussing over Elise as though she were a lauded royal guest and not a bizarre interloper. She’d shown Elise to the back of the house and let her into a room filled with late-afternoon sunlight streaming through large windows that faced the river. The inside of the house, like the exterior, was a testament to careful design, simplistic, but all the more pleasing because of it.

“I think this room will be suitable,” Mrs. Pritchard said as she moved about, pushing open the windows to let in the breeze.

“It’s lovely,” Elise assured her. She glanced around, taking in the pale walls, the carved headboard of the bed, the washstand, and the large wardrobe against the far wall.

“The tub is just beside the kitchen,” Mrs. Pritchard said, sticking her head into the wardrobe and extracting a folded towel, which she placed on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got some water heating.”

“Please don’t go to too much trouble.” That damn guilt was pricking again. She didn’t deserve this kindness.

“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all. I can offer you better than the River Leen can.”

“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure it mattered that she would be clean when she brought Noah’s secrets tumbling down around him.

“Do you have dry clothes?”

“In my pack.” Elise gestured to where Noah had left it, just inside the door.

Mrs. Pritchard opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“I have a dress,” Elise told her. “Don’t worry. The trousers were just for travel. And, as it turned out, for swimming,” she added with a rueful twist to her mouth.

The woman gave Elise another warm smile, even as she considered her intently. “You are very courageous.”

Elise shrugged, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Anyone else would have done the same.”

Mrs. Pritchard looked dubious. “Not many people would have thrown themselves off a bridge after a boy they didn’t know.”

“It was more of a controlled leap,” Elise hedged, thinking the woman’s description made her sound a little like a deranged bat.

Mrs. Pritchard laughed before she once again considered Elise, delight now evident in her expression. “I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

Taken with her? Dear God, but she couldn’t encourage that vein of thought, even if it did make her pulse accelerate. “Mr. Lawson is very kind.” It was all she could think of.

“He certainly is that,” Mrs. Pritchard agreed. Her eyes lingered on the single pink rose Elise still held in her hand. “Though he doesn’t…” She trailed off with a slight shake to her head, and whatever she had been about to say remained a mystery.

Doesn’t what?
Elise wanted to demand. What did the man who called himself Noah Lawson not do? A thousand questions swirled through Elise’s mind, questions that she could ask—needed to ask—about Noah. “He doesn’t often bring strange women home,” she said, forcing a light tone to her voice.

“He doesn’t bring anyone home,” Mrs. Pritchard murmured, barely loud enough for Elise to hear. “Aside from the Barrs, of course.”

Elise looked down at the rose in her hand, tucking that bit of information away and trying to pretend that the admission didn’t make her irrationally happy. “You’ve worked for Mr. Lawson for a long time then?”

“Ten years. Don’t know what I would have done if not for Mr. Lawson. My husband, rest his soul, was the coachman at Corley House for Baron Corley. But after my William died, I was turned out. Had nowhere else to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Mr. Lawson is one of the good ones. He’s become like the son I never had. I’ve been happy here.” Mrs. Pritchard was still for a moment before suddenly dusting her hands on her apron. “Well, let’s see you clean,” she said, reaching for the towel. “I’ll put that rose in some water for you, if you like, while you bathe.”

“I’d like that very much.” Elise brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled deeply, longing and desire rising sharp and fast before she could remember why that was unacceptable. Impossible.

Elise DeVries was running from something. Or, more likely, someone.

Noah had considered all the possibilities while he had washed and changed, and that had seemed like the most obvious. She was traveling in disguise. With a rifle, for God’s sake, though that didn’t necessarily mean she knew how to use it. He wondered if Elise was her real name even. Not that it mattered. Bloody hell, he would be the last person to cast stones on that account.

He’d considered the possibility that she might be a criminal—but in his experience criminals were not in the habit of risking their lives to save people they didn’t know. And she lacked the wild, hunted look of someone relentlessly pursued by the law. But it was obvious she was hiding something. She had agreed to his hospitality out on the river road, but once they had arrived here, she’d become quieter. A faintly troubled look had shadowed her features, and her easy smile had dimmed.

Well, for one night at least, Noah could make sure she felt protected. Protected and cared for, no questions asked.

John Barr had done the same for Noah a dozen years ago. He hadn’t known Noah’s secrets the winter day he had found a wary eighteen-year-old hiding in his shop close to the forge in an effort to stay warm. In fact John didn’t know his secrets even now, but it had never mattered. He had helped Noah then, and he had helped him throughout the years. Helped him reinvent himself. Helped him find happiness in a new life.

Noah could never repay that debt, but perhaps he could help someone else who might have found herself in a similar situation.

He was powerfully attracted to her; there was no point in pretending otherwise. But there was more to it than just physical magnetism. The moment Elise had jumped off the bridge, the moment she’d smiled up at him with those beautiful eyes, she’d become more than a simple stranger.

And the moment she had sat beside him on a farm wagon and listened to him and not the order of his words, she’d become more than someone he didn’t know. She’d become someone he wanted to know very much.

There were delicious smells coming from the kitchen, and he could hear Mrs. Pritchard humming happily to herself. He paused for a moment, unseen, watching his housekeeper chop vegetables, a satisfied smile on her face. It seemed Mrs. Pritchard was no more immune to Elise’s vivacity than he was. His housekeeper was probably already considering what sort of cake she might bake to celebrate their engagement.

Noah shifted, his pulse leaping. He would have kissed Elise in the garden. Never, in all his life, had he wanted to kiss a woman the way he wanted to kiss Elise DeVries. But he’d hesitated, unwilling to scare her. Hell, it scared him, the way his emotions and desires were piling up in a jumbled order that he couldn’t seem to sort out. Honestly, what sort of man kissed a woman the same day he met her?

A bewitched one
, a voice in his head suggested.

“Mr. Lawson.” Elise was standing at the end of the short hall, the door to the small bathroom ajar. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her long, dark hair pulled back neatly from her face, though a few tendrils had already escaped their confines and curled damply along her cheek. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.” She smoothed a hand almost self-consciously over the creases in her dress that betrayed her travels, and Noah found himself mourning the loss of her shirt and trousers.

Which was silly, he knew. If anything, he should claim to have been scandalized at the sight of her in trousers and relieved that she was now garbed in something more…appropriate. Yet this plain, nondescript brown dress she was wearing did not do this extraordinary woman justice. Did not do her spirit justice. If Elise had to wear a dress, it should be vibrant. A crimson or sapphire silk that would shimmer when she moved. No, on second thought, it should be emerald satin, embroidered with crystals that would glow and sparkle when they caught the light. Just as she did.

“Mr. Lawson?”

He started. What had she asked? Something about keeping him waiting long? “Not at all.” He might wait until the end of eternity for this woman if that was what she required. “Though I had thought it was possible you had turned into a mermaid,” he said, and was pleased with how easily that had come out.

She smiled at him then, and the entire hallway lit up. His heart stuttered.

“I’m not sure if you are disappointed or pleased that I didn’t,” she replied.

“Pleased, I think. I would imagine a tail a devilishly hard thing to manage at the dinner table. Though you must admit, you were in that tub a long time.”

“I had to give you time to get your boots off.” She cocked her head and raised a single brow wickedly. “Tell me, Mr. Lawson, how long did that take?”

Noah looked at the ceiling briefly. He’d been ready to cut his boots off with his hunting knife by the time he’d finally managed to struggle out of them. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Ah.” Elise was smirking at him. “If you recall, I did suggest you take them off earlier to avoid such difficulties. Yet you chose not to listen to the voice of reason.”

“Yes, well, that particular voice of reason had just thrown herself off a bridge,” Noah pointed out. “The presence of reason was debatable.”

“I didn’t throw myself off anything. It was a controlled leap. Why must I keep saying that?” she muttered, but there was laughter dancing in her beautiful eyes, and Noah had quite forgotten that anyone else in the world existed until he heard Mrs. Pritchard clear her throat behind him.

“Dinner will be ready shortly, Mr. Lawson,” she said. “I’ll serve in the dining room.”

He started and turned. “Thank you.” Mrs. Pritchard looked between Elise and Noah with a delighted, slightly misty expression before disappearing back into the kitchen. Bloody hell, forget the cake, his housekeeper had already selected the clergyman to perform the wedding ceremony.

He turned back to Elise and offered his arm. The laughter had faded from her eyes, and that troubled look was back. After a second’s hesitation, Elise moved forward and slipped her hand under his arm, allowing him to guide her toward the dining room.

“The dining room?” she asked. “Your house has a dining room?”

“It’s not a grand room,” he said, seizing on a distraction that would smooth the troubled crease between her brows. Nothing like the opulent St James’s Square dining room he remembered from his childhood. “But the Barrs all fit at the table when they come.”

He stopped just inside the door. The gardens were visible through multiple windows, affording its occupants a beautiful view. There was a long, serviceable table in the center of the room, a table he had built with timber from his own land. Though the chairs didn’t all match, and two of them had tall blocks of wood placed on the seats. “For the smaller children,” he told Elise, catching her studying them. “They are always included.”

She nodded silently, and he couldn’t tell if she approved or thought it absurd.

“I was never allowed to share meals with my parents as a child,” he said, having no idea why he felt the need to explain himself to her. “I ate in the nursery. Alone.”

“Your family was wealthy then.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Yes.” His explanation had betrayed another bit of his past, and it seemed pointless to deny it now. If she was surprised, she hid it well.

“Your parents are—”

“Gone.” An old pain, one that time had managed only to dull, twisted.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” It was easier if she believed them dead. It was what he did.

“Mmmm.” Her hand slipped from his arm, and she walked farther into the room, putting the bulk of the table between them.

At the near end of the table, Mrs. Pritchard had put out place settings for two. The single pink rose he had given Elise had been put in a jar of water between the settings. He always ate with his housekeeper, usually at the small table in the kitchen, but it was clear tonight that Mrs. Pritchard had no intention of joining them, visions of a romantic evening no doubt dancing in her head.

Noah watched Elise walk past the crockery and glass, her fingers trailing over the surface of the table. She stopped at the far end, where a chessboard had been pushed to the side, a small box of brightly painted lead soldiers beside it.

“Do you play?” Noah asked.

“Chess or soldiers?” A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

“Either one.” He said it in jest.

She picked up a small rifleman, its deep-green coat vivid in the last rays of sunlight streaming in the windows. “Yes,” she whispered, and Noah had no idea which part of his question she had answered.

“The soldiers are Andrew’s,” he said slowly, filling the strange silence. “And he maintains my dining room table makes the best battlefield. It’s his older sisters who wage war on the chessboard, and if you find yourself sitting across from either of them and let your attention slip, they will show you no mercy.”

Elise turned the little soldier over. “Do you have children?” she asked suddenly.

“No.” The question startled him with its abrupt directness.

“A wife?”

“No.”

“Are you engaged? Or otherwise promised?”

“No.”

“Mmm.”

Noah blinked, the rapid questions having left him slightly off balance. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Elise asked.

“Married. Or otherwise promised?” He realized he was holding his breath waiting for her answer, and forced himself to exhale.

“Oh.” She looked nonplussed. “No.”

They stood, gazing at each other. Noah wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. There were strange undercurrents swirling in the room that he didn’t understand. Her expression was intense, her eyes troubled once again.

“Will you accompany me outside?” Noah asked impulsively. “There is still time before dinner. And I’d like to show you the rest of the garden.” And he hated this…distance that he could feel her putting between them in this room.