A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (4 page)

Well, that didn’t help. Abigail clearly had no idea where Noah had gone. It could have been Scotland. Or France. Or it could have been the moon. But if she had no idea where he had gone…“Then how do you know he is alive?”

From the front of her dress, Abigail carefully removed a brooch and handed it to Elise. It was heavy, crafted not by a jeweler but more likely by a smith. It was a piece of crude simplistic beauty, tiny strands of steel woven into the shape of a rose.

“He sent this to me, six months after my wedding day, along with a letter.”

“A letter? Your brother announced his resurrection with a
letter
?” Good Lord.

“Yes.” Abigail sniffed, sounding a little defensive. “Once I got over the shock, it was the best wedding gift I could ever have dreamed of.”

“And did this letter tell you where he was?”

“No. It only said that he loved me and that he was proud of me for finding the courage to choose my own happiness. He asked me not to look for him, but to trust that he had found his own measure of happiness.”

“Did it say where he had been sent as a child?”

“No.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “But…”

“But what?”

“Even if you could find Noah, I don’t know if he’ll come back to London.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elise wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Your mother—
his
mother—might die imprisoned, your cousin stands to steal the entire dukedom out from under him, and he won’t return to London?” Abigail had said Noah Ellery wasn’t insane, but Elise was beginning to wonder.

Abigail looked at Elise unhappily. “The only other thing he said in his letter was that our parents were dead to him. And that he would never return to the world that we had both been born into.”

Elise stifled a groan. This was getting more complicated by the second.

“But there was a Nottingham postmark on the letter,” Abigail rushed on. “And my husband recognized the workmanship of the brooch. He apprenticed together with a blacksmith who enjoyed making pieces like this out of leftover bits of metal. And sure enough, we found the man’s initials on the bottom of the piece.”

Elise turned the brooch over and squinted at the tiny letters worked discreetly along the lower edge of the steel stem. “J. B.”

“He’s a smith by the name of John Barr. He lives and works in Nottingham.”

And right now he was the only link to a missing duke. A long shot, to be sure. But a starting place. It was doubtful that Noah Ellery was still in Nottingham. But no matter how carefully a person tried to cover his tracks, small clues were inevitably left behind. And Elise was very good at finding such clues.

Unfortunately, others were already looking as well.

“Does anyone else know about the brooch or that your brother is still alive?” Elise asked urgently.

“Just my husband. And my mother.”

That much had become obvious. “Was it you who told her?”

Abigail nodded. “When I married, my father disowned me. But she defied my father and came to visit me secretly when my first son was born. She was still so heartbroken over Noah. And holding my son in my arms, it broke
my
heart to think about what it would be like to lose a child. Maybe it was a mistake. But I told her. Showed her Noah’s letter.”

“I see. But you’re certain you never showed the letter to anyone else?”

“Oh God.” Abigail’s face had suddenly gone ashen. “The letter. I kept it in a box that held a pair of sapphire earrings I’d saved from my youth. And it was stolen.”

“When?” Elise demanded. King hadn’t mentioned a letter, or the burglary of Abigail’s home. As implausible as it seemed, the all-knowing King had missed two critical pieces of information.

“The day before I left to come here to London. I thought it was the jewelry the thieves were after. But it wasn’t, was it?”

Elise ran her hands over her face in frustration before shaking her head. “No.”

If Abigail was right that she and her mother were the only people who had known about Noah’s letter, it was clear that Ellery, or the men he’d hired, had gotten very, very lucky. They’d targeted Lady Abigail’s house without much hope of finding anything useful and had stumbled upon a gold mine.

“Francis has people looking for Noah, doesn’t he?” Abigail whispered.

Elise debated the wisdom of telling Abigail the rest of it. In the end she said, “Yes. And it is absolutely necessary that I find him first.”

Lady Abigail pressed a hand to her mouth. “They’ll kill Noah if they find him.”

Elise nodded reluctantly, though she was relieved that Abigail understood. “Yes.” She paused. “
If
they can find him. It would seem he’s hidden himself quite well.”

Abigail’s eyes had filled with tears. “What am I going to do?”

“You are going to do nothing,” Elise told her. “You will stay here as our guest and avoid Francis Ellery. And whatever you do, do not mention your brother, or the fact that he is alive, to anyone outside of these walls. The last thing I need is to return to find out your cousin has somehow managed to have you locked up in Bedlam as well.”

“But—”

“I can find your brother,” Elise told her, trying to infuse her tone with a calm reassurance she wasn’t feeling at the moment. If Noah Ellery had managed to stay invisible for so many years, it wouldn’t be easy. “I am very good at finding people who don’t wish to be found.” That part, at least, was true.

“I can’t lose him again,” Lady Abigail whispered. “Please, Miss DeVries. Find my brother and bring him back.”

E
lise had forgotten the freedom that came with living rough.

Freed of the congestion of London, freed of the constraints of skirts, freed of the expectations demanded of a young Englishwoman, Elise felt almost giddy despite the circumstances. Everything she needed to live was on her person, or strapped to her saddle. The boy’s clothes she wore were comfortable, the horse she rode agreeable and fast, the sun on her face divine, and the forested country she passed through picturesque. Aye, it wasn’t the rugged, rough beauty of the Canadian wilderness where she had grown up, but then again, there was something to be said for the comfort of a wide, maintained road.

And the lack of American snipers.

Elise pulled her cap down lower over her brow as she guided her gelding toward the bridge crossing the River Leen that would lead her into the center of Nottingham. In another life, before she had come to England, she had been recruited by the British in their war against the Americans and had become one of their best trackers and scouts. Years of practice looking for people who didn’t want their presence known had honed her skills and now served her equally well in the employ of Chegarre.

Up ahead on the left, Elise took in the grand edifice of the castle that loomed on a rise and stood watch over the town. Straight ahead, on another rise, the sturdy square tower of St Nicholas Church rose, buildings clustered at its base. Pastureland fell away from the road, divided by stone fences and dotted with homes. Clumps of trees hid the town proper, but wisps of smoke rose beyond, betraying a busy settlement.

She’d start at a tavern, Elise figured, to determine if a smith named John Barr was still in residence. Taverns were always fonts of information, especially if the ale was flowing liberally. And a well-placed question about the availability of a good smith to shoe her gelding wouldn’t be out of place. If there were others on Noah Ellery’s trail, Elise did not want to draw unwanted attention to herself. Or to John Barr, for that matter. Not until she could determine if there was any evidence that John Barr knew the whereabouts of Noah. Or even knew him at all.

As it was, she harbored hope, but her expectations were low. It was entirely possible the smith had moved on. Or died. It was entirely possible that the only connection Noah Ellery had ever had with him was the coincidental purchase of a rose brooch.

She scowled at herself, unwilling to consider defeat before she had even started, and urged her gelding into a jog.

Up ahead on the bridge, a group of boys were playing, long sticks waving wildly in the air as each brandished his wooden sword. Two daredevils had climbed up on the narrow stone wall that ran along the edge of the bridge, parrying and lunging at each other in what sounded like an epic battle between pirates along the rail of a galleon’s deck.

Elise couldn’t help but smile. The scene before her brought back happy memories. She too had played with mock weapons as a child, until she’d been old enough to acquire real ones. Cheered on by their friends, the two boys were becoming bolder. Elise glanced down at the swirling river beneath them and grinned, thinking it was only a matter of time before one of the pint-size sea captains would find himself overboard and sputtering.

Her horse slowed to a walk as she began making her way across the bridge, the gelding pricking its ears as the battle on the bridge wall reached a fever pitch. And then suddenly there was a shriek, and the boy closest to Elise lost his footing on the wall and disappeared over the side, a resounding splash audible a second later.

Every boy on the bridge froze, the color draining from each one of their faces as they rushed to peer over the wall of the bridge. Elise frowned. Where she had expected squeals of laughter and triumph, there was only an awful silence. One of the boys took off, running in the direction of town. From the back of her horse, Elise caught a glimpse of a dark head above the water before it disappeared again. With a sickening lurch of her gut, she realized the boy couldn’t swim.

“
Merde
,” she swore, swinging down from the gelding, yanking her boots off, and shucking her coat as she stumbled to the edge of the bridge. She stepped up onto the stone wall, searching the water below her. The boy’s head surfaced again, and without any hesitation, Elise jumped.

She hit the water cleanly, the cold water that closed over her head a jolt to her heated body. She stroked to the surface, searching for the boy. A flash of color, pale against the dark water, caught her eye before it disappeared again. She dove, extending her hands in front of her. It was eerily silent under the water, the sound of her blood pounding in her ears the only thing she could hear. Her lungs started to burn, and she kicked forward once more, her hand suddenly coming into contact with a small body.

Grabbing a fistful of the boy’s shirt, she kicked desperately upward and reached the surface. Drawing in deep breaths, she adjusted her hold on the boy so that her arm was around his neck, keeping his small face above the water. He was struggling wildly, which relieved Elise to no end, but it also threatened to drag them both back under the water.

“Stop moving,” Elise snapped at him, her mouth against his ear.

He tried to turn, his hands flailing.

“I said stop moving,” she growled again. “Or so help me, I’ll let you go.”

The boy stilled.

“Very good. Stay like that.” Elise kicked slowly through the water, allowing the current to drag them downriver. She angled toward the closest bank, trying to pace herself, though it took a long time for her feet to find the bottom. With an effort she tried to push herself forward, only to find her legs were far more fatigued than she’d thought.

“Dammit,” she gasped as the water nearly went over her head.

Suddenly there were strong arms beneath hers, and the weight of the boy vanished from against her body.

“Let go,” someone instructed. “We’ve got him.”

Thankful, Elise released her grip on the boy. The arms beneath her didn’t vanish, however, and she leaned into their steely support, grateful for the help. Now that the melee was over, she found herself suddenly shaky. With the assistance of her rescuer, she half stumbled, half crawled up the bank. The strong arms deposited her carefully, and she sprawled amid a thick blanket of marsh grasses. She was aware she was breathing like a winded racehorse, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Is the boy all right?” she managed.

“He’s fine.” The words were slow but clear, and they came from somewhere up above her. “His father has him.”

“Good.” She looked up, but all she could see against the glare of the sun was the blurred outline of a man. She gave up and lay back against the grass, trying to slow her breathing. “I do hope his father is taking him to swimming lessons now.”

There was a bark of what sounded like surprised laughter.

Somewhere farther up the bank, Elise could hear the babble of voices raised in agitation. She closed her eyes. It sounded as if half the town was standing on the road beyond her. So much for avoiding unwanted attention. What a debacle.

“You’re not going to die on me, are you?” The voice came from lower down, almost directly in front of her this time, and Elise opened her eyes, staring up at a collection of clouds scudding across the blue sky.

“Not yet, I think.” She struggled to sit, her tired muscles still refusing to obey.

A warm hand caught hers and pulled her forward, and Elise was suddenly presented with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

They were smoky green, the color of pine wreathed in mist, the color of still waters that hid great depths. They were ringed with blond lashes, set in a strong, rugged face that spoke of hours spent outdoors. Pale-blond hair fell around his ears in careless waves, the ends damp where they brushed his bare shoulders. Incredible shoulders, wide and powerful, droplets of water sliding over the ridges of muscle to disappear down the front of his chest.

Her mouth went dry, and whatever breath she’d thought she had caught deserted her once again.

He was crouched before her, a look of concern tempered with a half smile stamped across his striking features. “Hmmm. Well, if you die, can I have your horse?” he asked. “As fine an animal as I’ve seen in a long time.”

“My horse?” she repeated. Good Lord. Her wits had completely scattered under that smoky gaze.

He glanced over her head up in the direction of the road. “One of the boys brought it off the bridge for you.”

Elise struggled to draw a normal breath and formulate a thought. The man was trying to put her at ease. It wasn’t his fault that he looked as he did. It wasn’t his fault her body was threatening to make an utter fool of her because of it.

But clearly it had been too long since she had invited a man to share her bed, because she was shamelessly staring at the way his body moved as he shifted. Subtle shadows carved their way across his torso, created by lean muscle rippling under golden skin. A scattering of dark-blond hair covered his chest and trailed down past his navel. Her eyes dropped farther south, and she let her gaze wander over the sharp ridges of muscle that formed a V over his hips before disappearing into the front of his breeches. His free hand rested on a powerful thigh, long, capable-looking fingers spread out over the top of his knee. She imagined what those fingers would feel like against her bare skin. Because she already knew what his arms had felt like beneath her, the hard strength of his body against hers.

When he was pulling you from the water like a drowned river rat, you fool, not drawing you into a lover’s embrace.

A terrible realization struck her with the completion of that thought. Without needing to check, she knew her cap was gone. Her braid had come unpinned, and she could feel the heavy weight of her sodden hair on her back. A glance at her waterlogged clothes plastered to her body confirmed her worst suspicions. When she’d bound her breasts tightly beneath her loose, baggy shirt, they were unnoticeable, but there was nothing unnoticeable about them now. The bindings had come loose and slid down to bunch at her waist. Worse, the threadbare fabric of her worn shirt was almost transparent, and stuck to her skin as it was, she might as well have been wearing nothing. The curves of her breasts were clearly visible, as were the dark areolas of her peaked nipples.

The man’s eyes were still on her face and not on her chest, which Elise was choosing to interpret as a testament to his chivalry, but no one in his right mind would mistake her for anything other than what she truly was. A woman dressed as a boy.

“No, you can’t have my horse,” she muttered, attempting to peel her shirt away from her breasts with her free hand. “I need it to flee a lot of awkward questions.”

The man was watching her again. “They are going to want to know who you are,” he said quietly, jerking his chin in the direction of the voices beyond them. The understanding she saw in those incredible eyes made her blink.

She managed a weak smile. “Do you suppose anyone will notice if I just swim back to where I came from?” She was trying to make her mind work, but like her muscles, it seemed lethargic, her usual ingenuity depleted. “You can tell them that I was a mermaid.”

“A mermaid.” His mouth twitched and he glanced over her head again. “You have to give me something better than that. I’ll tell them whatever you want, but a mermaid might be reaching.”

Elise frowned at his question.
I’ll tell them whatever you want
? Not
Who are you?
Or
Why are you dressed like a boy?
Those were the questions most people would have started with. “Why are you being so…kind?” she asked, not sure if
kind
was the right word.
Perceptive
might be better. Or
accepting
.

“Someone was kind to me once in a situation not so different from this one.” His eyes flickered to her unorthodox trousers and her bare feet before returning to her face. “And you saved the son of a dear friend minutes ago.”

“Right.” Elise sighed, knowing that there was going to be no avoiding what was coming next. She gazed down, startled to realize that this man still held her hand, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Unnerved, she withdrew it and wrapped her arms around herself, not sure if it was her exhaustion or the physical beauty of this man that was still addling her wits. Why could she not come up with something clever to say? Why could she not come up with the myriad of plausible excuses and explanations that were always ready? Why did she not want to?

“It is safer to travel alone as a boy than as a woman,” she said. There, that was a truth. Simplified truths were always better—safer—than elaborate lies, anyway.

“Ah. Well, then, I can work with that. I’ll keep the worst of the questions at a distance for you.”

Elise could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You drag me out of a river, threaten to claim my horse, and now you appoint yourself my knight-errant?”

“Well, if you’re not going to die, I think you’re owed at least a little errancy for saving a lad.”

“
Errancy
? Is that even a word?”

“It is for a heroine.” He smiled at her then, and Elise felt the bottom of her stomach pitch wildly. Oh, dear God. The man had dimples. She was not going to survive this. Not without giving in to the insane urge to kiss him silly if only to discover if he tasted as good as he looked.

She uttered a strangled laugh that sounded a little unstable in her own ears, and his smile disappeared back into a look of concern.

That was better. “I’m not a heroine.” At present she was a part-time actress and a woman people hired to make their problems go away. There was nothing heroic about that.

“I’m afraid you are at the moment. You should prepare yourself to be treated as such. What you did was—”

“Reckless? Foolish?” She didn’t want to hear any more compliments from this man. If he didn’t stop with all this gentle kindness, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. Which would undoubtedly be both reckless and foolish.