A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (20 page)

Elise felt something soar within her.

“A duke?” The man’s head fell back on the ground, and he groaned. “He never said you were a duke.”

“Ah well, I’m sure that little detail slipped his mind in his clumsy rush to claim the ducal throne. I know I probably don’t look the part at the moment, but then I hadn’t expected your colleague to bleed quite so much in his attempt to kill me. A very unpleasant business, the assassination of a duke. Really, you ought to have demanded more money.”

The man at his feet swore.

“And then there is, of course, the issue I have with your intentions toward the lady.”

The assassin’s eyes cut toward Elise where she was leaning on the Baker, still dressed only in her shirt. “That ain’t no lady—” he managed to sneer, before the tip of Noah’s knife twisted into the fabric of his trousers near his groin.

“Careful,” Noah said.

“She shot me!”

“And I might ask her to do it again.” Noah considered him, his knife twisting just an inch. “Or not. I should think you owe her an apology.”

“What?” The killer looked at Noah as though he’d lost his mind.

“You were planning on raping her, then killing her, I believe. Or perhaps the other way around? Either way, I take exception to it. Apologize.”

“You’re crazy,” the assassin wheezed.

“So I’ve been told.” Noah smiled an empty smile. His knife slid along the fall of the man’s breeches, the buttons sliding to the earth as the threads were neatly sliced.

“I’m sorry,” the killer gasped in Elise’s direction.

Noah pushed himself to his feet. “I thought so. Don’t go anywhere,” he said, his voice glacial. “If you behave, I might remember to take you out towards town when we leave and deposit you in the vicinity of a proper surgeon.” He glanced at Elise before looking back. “Everyone knows the forests can be dangerous. Poachers and the like. Bad luck to be mistaken for a side of venison, though a sight more believable than explaining how you got shot while trying to kill a duke.”

The assassin cursed again.

Noah turned to Elise. “Come with me.” His eyes were hot and hard, and an electrified thrill went straight up her spine and her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.

He caught her hand in his and led her into the house through the open kitchen door, slamming it behind him with his foot. Noah turned, spinning her around and pressing her back against its solid surface. “You’re shaking,” he said. He took the rifle from her hand and set it aside, along with his knife.

“Yes.” She hadn’t known until he said it. She’d been aware only of the arousal that was clawing its way through her, a desperate need that had left her wet and wanting and unsteady.

“You’re safe, Elise.”

“I know that,” she breathed, looking up at him, drowning in the heat and the power that blazed from his every pore. “That’s not why I’m shaking.”

He went still before his mouth was on hers, his fingers yanking at the bottom of her shirt, shoving it up over her hips, his hands on the smooth skin of her ribs and her lower back. He had known it was coming, this storm. It had been building in him, emotions dammed inside that demanded a physical release. A release that would validate the realization that they were still alive when death had come so very near. It heightened his senses, set fire to his blood, and made every touch almost unbearable in its sharp ecstasy.

Elise was wrenching the buttons of his breeches, pulling at the fall until it fell open. His cock sprang free from where it had been straining against the fabric, and she took his length in her hand, closing her fingers around him, and white-hot pleasure roared through him. He groaned, a guttural sound that was torn from somewhere deep within.

“I need you,” he said hoarsely, and it was the only warning she had before he bent, his hands cupping her ass, and he hauled her up against him.

Elise wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, inching herself up until he could feel the length of him slide through the slick heat of her sex. He pushed them harder against the door, pinning her back and shoulders and moving one hand between them, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. Her head fell back against the door, her eyes glittering, a feverish color staining her cheekbones. Without a second’s hesitation, he thrust himself deep.

She whimpered and tightened her legs, a vise of trembling muscle wrapped around his waist. Her entire body was straining now, and her hips jerked, hard, fast movements that lacked control as she sought release. He didn’t want control. He wanted her, all of her as she was, uninhibited and unreserved. Alive.

He tightened his hands on her backside, and he moved then, deliberately driving into her wet heat, hearing the tiny, broken sounds of pleasure she made with each thrust. The friction of their bodies was relentless, the pleasure vicious and hot. It was too much and not enough at the same time. She bore down on him, and just like that, he felt her inner muscles convulse around him and she cried out, her fingers clamping into the muscles of his shoulders, her face buried in the hollow of his throat.

His vision dimmed, the roar of release streaking through his very bones, an inferno of fire and flame. Then the waves of pleasure came, one after the other, with such savage intensity that it left him gasping for air. He thrust hard, once, twice, before he pulled himself all the way out and spilled himself at the cleft of her buttocks. He was shaking and spent, and if Elise hadn’t been wrapped so tightly around him and braced against the door, he might have simply slid to the ground.

He held them there, each of them breathing hard. Presently Elise unfolded her legs and slid along his body to find her own feet, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

“I was afraid,” he said, realizing the truth as he spoke it. “Not for me. For you. Afraid I might have lost you.” His forehead was against hers, their sweat mingling.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, her breathing not yet settled.

“I know.”

Elise lifted her head, and her eyes searched his. “What happens now, Your Grace?”

She had called him by his title before and he had always rejected the address, resisted the truth. But then he hadn’t been ready. Perhaps then he had lacked the understanding or the faith in himself to do what needed to be done. No longer.

“Collect the sheets in the bedroom and burn them. See what you can do about the floor. I’ll leave her a note, but I don’t want Mrs. Pritchard thinking I killed you when she gets back. Or alternatively, that you killed me.”

There was a heady power in those words, a beginning of…something that had been missing for far too long.

“Very good, Your Grace,” Elise replied, her mouth curving into a slow smile.

“I’ll need to send word to the neighbors and arrange to have the Carter boys look after the farm for a while.” Noah was thinking out loud. He glanced down at his bloodstained chest and then at Elise’s wildly tumbled hair and her soiled shirt. “How long until you can be ready to depart?”

“Not long, Your Grace.” There was approval shining from her eyes. Approval and something else that made him catch his breath.

“Good.” The Duke of Ashland met her eyes. “We’re going to London.”

I
n the end they took the mail coach back to London, sacrificing any personal comfort for the swift, punishing pace of multiple teams, something that their own horses could never have survived. There were no stops along the way save those where the horses were changed and mail and passengers loaded and unloaded. Conversation was limited, not only by the presence of the other passengers who rode with them, but also by the sense of urgency that had suddenly asserted itself. Every mile that passed saw Noah retreat deeper into a contemplative silence. Elise did not try to fill the quiet with inane conversation. Both she and Noah needed time to think, because weighty issues drew nearer with each town and hamlet that they passed through. The Duke of Ashland would need a very clever plan.

It was unlikely that anyone had followed them or had any reason to suspect they were anything other than a pair of weary travelers, but they had taken no chances. Both wore caps to partially conceal their features and had dressed in simple, unmemorable clothing. A country man and his younger brother, traveling to London in search of work in one of the many factories, if anyone should ask.

No one did.

They disembarked in London under heavy skies and a steady drizzle, which suited Elise immensely. There were no showy open equipages on the road, filled with dandies and their ladies hoping to see and be seen. Pedestrians kept their heads down and their steps brisk, no one wishing to linger in the damp. Not that she expected to be recognized, but Elise was nowhere near ready to present the Duke of Ashland to London. She led them south through the streets on foot, wending past familiar landmarks as they drew closer to Covent Square.

Noah’s face was set in hard lines, his eyes guarded, his expression grim and unreadable. She admitted that there was a small part of her that mourned for Noah Lawson. Mourned on his behalf the loss of a life so very different from the one he would step into. Mourned the loss of the simple pleasures like games of soldiers and chess with children at a dining room table where the chairs didn’t match. Noah was doing the right thing, she knew. But it wasn’t without cost.

They reached Covent Square, skirting the northwest corner of St Paul’s Church and making their way along the piazza to the old townhome. As they climbed the worn steps, Noah glanced up once at the building’s worn facade and then met her eyes, a faint shadow of uncertainty flitting across his face, the first she’d seen since they’d left for London.

“Is Abigail here?” he asked, gesturing at the heavy wooden door.

“Yes,” she told him. “She should be. Your sister agreed to stay with us until such time as the matter with your mother could be resolved. Or until you might be located.”

She saw a muscle in his jaw flex.

From her pocket Elise withdrew the steel rose she had collected from Noah’s room before they’d left Nottingham. “I think she’d like this returned to her in person,” Elise said quietly. She pressed the brooch into Noah’s hand. His fingers closed over hers, the warm steel caught between them.

“Elise—”

The door suddenly swung open. “It’s raining enough to drown the ducks,” Roderick said unnecessarily. “Are ye coming in or not?”

Elise started, and her hand dropped from Noah’s. “Hello, Roderick.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Miz Elise.” He peered past her to examine Noah. “And a good afternoon to ye, sir,” he said.

“Er, good afternoon,” Noah responded, sounding a little taken aback.

Roddy beamed and swung the door wider, and Elise and Noah stepped in. The boy closed the door smartly behind them, following them farther into the hall.

Elise turned to Noah. “Your Grace, may I introduce Roderick. Roddy, His Grace, the Duke of Ashland.”

“Ah.” Roddy’s eyebrows rose just a fraction. “Then my greeting was lacking. A good afternoon to ye, Your Grace,” he said with cheerful aplomb. “And a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”

Noah was studying the boy curiously. “A pleasure to meet you, Roderick.”

“The duchess is in her study,” Roddy volunteered. “Got back just this morning. Shall I fetch her for ye?”

Elise would speak with Ivory soon enough. “No, I’ll find her a bit later. Is Lady Abigail available, Roderick?”

Roddy’s face brightened. “Oh aye. She’s in the kitchens with Cook again. Been baking all afternoon.” A small hand disappeared into the pocket of his coat, and he withdrew what looked like a tart wrapped in a handkerchief. “She gave me
five
,” he said, before he frowned, looking disgruntled. “Told me to eat them all. Said I needed some more meat on my bones.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noah smile.

“Could you fetch her, please? And accompany her to the drawing room? We’ll wait there.”

Roddy stuffed his tart back in his pocket. “Aye. D’ye want tea brought up too? I can ask Cook while I’m there.”

“No, thank you,” Elise said. “We just need Lady Abigail.”

Roddy shrugged. “As ye wish,” he said, and disappeared into the bowels of the house.

Elise turned back to Noah. “Roderick is—”

“I know exactly what Roderick is,” Noah said, his mouth curling slightly at the corners. “He had his clever hands in my pockets within three seconds of me stepping into this house.”

Elise bit her lip. “He’s slipping.”

“No, he’s quite good. Unfortunately, I have more experience than I care to remember with boys just like him.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Elise felt her heart squeeze. Of course he hadn’t.

Noah held up the brooch still in his hand. “Would he have taken it?”

“No. Roddy generally looks for small concealed weapons or anything else of interest that might be problematic. Or helpful, depending on the situation.”

Noah gave her a long look.

“Come,” she said, pulling him farther into the hall. She led him deeper into the house, the scents of wax polish and baking mingling pleasantly. Wood paneling gleamed on the walls, reflecting the soft glow from the sconces that had been lit against the gloom of the day. She ducked into the drawing room.

A fire had been lit in the hearth, chasing away the damp, and Elise moved directly to the long windows overlooking the square and released the heavy drapes, allowing them to close over the glass. Elise doubted very much that Francis Ellery had any idea where Abigail was, or that he cared where she had gone, but she didn’t wish to take any chances. Certainly not with Noah here.

She set about lighting the candelabra to provide supplementary light. Surreptitiously she watched Noah as he wandered the room, his fingers trailing over the back of the upholstered rosewood sofa. He stopped near the tall, narrow bookcase that towered to the high ceiling and pulled out an expensively bound book, opening it and closing it once before replacing it on its shelf. He continued to the hearth and past, pacing to the window, where he pulled back a heavy curtain before letting it drop.

“Noah.”

He stopped and raised his head.

Elise crossed the room and stopped in front of him. She took his hand in hers, pulling his fingers open to reveal the steel rose. The edges had pressed deep grooves into his palms where he’d been gripping it hard.

“I was ten when she saw me last.” He was staring down at the brooch.

“A long time,” Elise agreed softly.

“I don’t know what to tell her.” His lifted his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I thought I did, but I don’t. What if I’m not what—”

“She’s never wanted perfect, Noah. She only wants you.”

She heard him exhale heavily.

She closed his fingers back over the brooch. “Don’t forget how strong your sister really is,” she whispered. “Let your sister know you.” She went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek. He caught her and pulled her to him, holding her tightly as though he might never let go. She wrapped her arms around his back and rested her head against his chest.

From the hallway the sound of hurrying feet and raised voices filtered into the room.

Elise lifted her head. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” she whispered, before stepping away from him completely.

In the next second, the door of the drawing room was pushed all the way open, Roddy darting out of the way of Lady Abigail as she came to an abrupt stop just inside the door. Her hair was coming loose from its braid, she had a smear of flour across one reddened cheek, and a soiled apron was draped over her plain dress. Elise heard her gasp as she caught sight of Noah.

“The lad said the Duke of Ashland was here,” she said, her voice breaking. “I thought he was telling tales.”

“No.” The duke crossed the room to stand in front of his sister. “He was telling the truth.”

“Noah.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“Yes.” His hands were clenched at his sides. “It’s still me. Though I imagine I look and sound a little different than you remember.”

Abigail put a hand to her mouth, a single tear escaping and making a sharp track through the flour on her cheek. A sob caught in her throat.

“This belongs to you.” He held out the steel rose. “And it’s long past time I returned it.”

Abigail reached for the brooch, her hand stopping just shy of Noah’s. “I’m afraid, if I touch you, I’ll wake,” she whispered. “And discover that this is a dream and you’re not real and you’ll vanish again.”

“I’m real, Abby. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Abigail’s hand closed over the rose, and another tear slid down her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Noah.”

In a heartbeat Noah had enfolded his sister in his arms, Abigail clinging to him as she cried in earnest now. “I’ve missed you too, Abby,” he said fiercely.

Elise watched them, a lump in her own throat. She caught Roderick’s eye and jerked her head in the direction of the door, and the boy nodded before ducking out the way he had come. Elise followed silently, slipping past Noah and Abigail and making her way to the door.

Abigail was trying to talk through her tears now, a rapid string of questions and exclamations that were barely coherent. Elise couldn’t make out Noah’s murmured responses, but she didn’t need to.

The Duke of Ashland was finally home.