A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (21 page)

I
might suggest jumping off a bridge was somewhat foolish.” Ivory Moore, owner of Chegarre & Associates, poured more whiskey into a crystal tumbler and put it on the desk in front of Elise. Outside, the sun had given up its hold on the day, and the room was cast in a soft glow from the hearth and the lanterns that had been lit.

“It was a controlled leap,” Elise said irritably, and took a healthy swallow, embracing the fire that burned its way down her throat into her belly. She shouldn’t be feeling quite so contrary. She had defied ridiculous odds. She had succeeded in her mission. The Duke of Ashland was safely in London, tucked away in their drawing room with his sister until such time as they could plot his return to his rightful place. She should be celebrating.

Except Elise had spent the better part of the hour detailing the events that had led to the discovery and return to London of one Noah Ellery, Duke of Ashland, and none of it had given her any pleasure. It had been a heavily edited version that she had carefully recited, a monotone list of facts and events as they had happened, starting with Lady Abigail’s frantic plea and ending with Noah Ellery’s reunion with his sister in the drawing room down the hall. And it had left her with an empty coldness that had settled in her gut.

Because, deep down, she knew that in finding the Duke of Ashland, she had lost Noah. She had lost the man who had claimed her heart.

Ivory resumed her seat behind her desk and sat back, and Elise could feel her shrewd brown eyes assessing her. She took another swallow, hoping that Ivory would attribute the color in her face to the liquor. “How was Chelmsford?” Elise mumbled, in an effort to redirect the conversation.

“Successful. Profitable.” Ivory waved her hand dismissively, not biting. “Tell me about Ashland.”

Elise looked up warily. “I just did.”

“No, you told me where he was. How he was living. The details of his past. The names of those closest to him. How long it took you to travel. You told me nothing about the man. His strengths. His weaknesses.”

Elise stared into her whiskey, the amber liquid offering no clever inspiration for answering that question without betraying the depths of her feelings. She took a steadying breath and adopted a mask of neutrality.

“He’s kind. Intelligent. Loyal.” God help her, but it sounded as if she were describing a three-legged dog named Square. “Extremely protective of those he cares about,” she tried. Bloody hell, that wasn’t any better. “Socially aware.”

Ivory had leaned forward and was watching her carefully, a brow raised.

“He endured Bedlam for five years and the streets of London for another three,” Elise continued. “And he believed that what he was forced to do to survive made him…lesser, somehow.”

“Believed? But not anymore?” Ivory missed nothing.

“No. He’s made at least some sort of peace with it.”

“How do you know that?”

Elise fought to keep her expression blank. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. “He mentioned as much.”

“To you?”

“Yes.”

“He trusts you then.” It wasn’t a question, though it needed to be answered.

Elise had a sudden, vivid memory of moments spent in a moonlit river and the storm that had followed. “Yes.”

“Mmmm.”

“I’m not so sure he’s made peace with the choices his mother made.” Elise took a careful sip of her drink, if only to give her hands something to do and prevent her having to look at Ivory. “An abandoned child has a long memory.”

“Indeed. I would imagine that would be more difficult. He’s only a man. Not a saint.”

Elise snorted, unable to help herself. “No, he is not a saint.”

“Mmmm.”

Elise hated when Ivory did that. That single sound told her that Ivory understood far more than required explanation. “Don’t
mmmm
me,” she grumbled. “Just ask me what you want to know.”

“Are you in love with him?”

Elise looked up at her then. There was nowhere to go but the truth. “Yes.”

Ivory sighed and sat back again. Her eyes softened in sympathy, and she picked an opened letter off the desk, a piece of blood-red wax crumbling from the broken seal. “There is a situation that will need attention in Bath shortly,” she said. “If you like, you can leave immediately—”

“No.” Elise placed her glass on the surface of the desk with utmost care. She knew Ivory was offering her a painless exit. Well, not painless, because it was far too late for that, but an easier exit nonetheless. “He is not mine to keep, I know. But I will see this through. I will see him rise to the station he was born to because he was destined to be a leader among men. He has a wonderful heart and a brilliant mind.”

Ivory appraised her. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Mmmm.” She turned the letter over in her fingers, a faint line between her brow. More wax crumbled to the desk.

Elise scowled. “You don’t think it’s a good idea that I stay. Being that he’s a client. And a duke.”

Ivory dropped the letter, a rueful expression on her face. “I didn’t say that. God knows I cannot cast stones on that account. It would be…neater if you removed yourself from the situation, for both your sakes. But I cannot discount the fact that he will need you and your skills.”

Elise stood, unable to remain seated any longer. “Good. Because I won’t leave him.” She realized that wasn’t quite right. She would leave him. When he didn’t need her anymore. But that wasn’t yet. “I will see this through.”

Ivory picked up a heavy ledger that rested next to the letter and opened it to a marked page. The ledgers, which chronicled the secrets and scandals of some of the most prominent English families, had been started by Ivory’s late husband, the wily and elderly Duke of Knightley, and had been continued by his widow and her associates.

“I assume you’ve already looked at this,” Ivory said.

Elise stopped by the hearth, the heat drying whatever dampness still lingered in the fabric of her trousers. “Of course. Immediately after Lady Abigail arrived. But there was nothing of note, other than the scandal of Lady Abigail marrying beneath her station.”

“Agreed.” Ivory scanned the brief entries. “The late duke and his father before him were exceedingly ordinary. Managed the ducal estates with a reasonable degree of competency, or at least hired those who could. Participated in Parliament. Invested carefully with better-than-average results. If they kept mistresses, they did so discreetly and predictably. Likewise, if their wives involved themselves in anything beyond what was expected of a duchess, I have no record of it. No duels, no extortions, no scandalous affairs, no illegitimate children. The late duke was a shining example of a perfect English aristocrat.”

“Until that perfect, shining example decided his ten-year-old heir was flawed and had him committed to Bedlam.”

Ivory closed the ledger. “Yet there is nothing here that suggests that. Which means that however the late duke had his son secreted away, he did it well. If there had been rumors, Knightley would have heard them. Would have confirmed them and recorded them.”

“Then it is safe to assume that we may construct a past for the new duke as we see fit.”

“Perhaps.” Ivory reached across the desk and retrieved Elise’s glass, downing the last of the whiskey.

“Perhaps? No one knows where Noah Ellery has spent the last twenty years of his life.”

“Except, possibly, the man who paid you to find him. You told me King knew Ashland had been in London twelve years ago.”

Elise braced her hands on the mantel, leaning closer to the fire. That still bothered her because of its lack of transparency. “‘I owe him a great debt.’”

“I beg your pardon?”

“‘I owe him a great debt.’ That’s what King said to me when I asked why he cared.”

Ivory was silent for a moment. “Noah Ellery lived on the streets for a good while. I think it’s likely that your duke might have had the opportunity to save his life, or perhaps that of another who was important to King.”

“Then how did King know who he was? His true identity?”

Ivory shrugged. “Perhaps Ashland told him?”

Elise frowned.

“Even if he didn’t, there is very little that King cannot discover for himself should he take the notion,” Ivory reminded her. “King is a businessman first and foremost.”

Elise gave Ivory a long look over her shoulder, thinking about the last time her employer had done business with the man.

“Don’t start,” Ivory said, catching Elise’s eye.

“Don’t start on what, Duchess?” The voice came from the doorway.

“Alex,” Ivory said warmly as she rose, coming around her desk, “you made good time. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Roddy had quite a bit to say when he showed up at my door.”

Elise pushed herself from the mantel and turned, watching her brother greet Ivory before stepping toward Elise and regarding her intensely, as if searching for damage.

“Little sister,” he said, drawing her to him briefly before holding her out at arm’s length. “You look…”

“Like a boy?” Elise supplied.

“Different.”

Elise laughed, though it sounded forced. “I look different every day, Alex. It’s my job.”

Alex considered her, and Elise was afraid she hadn’t fooled anyone. “Roddy tells me you found our long-lost duke.”

“I did,” she said carefully, metering her words to sound nothing less than professional.

“That was quick, even for you.”

Elise shrugged carelessly. “I had some good luck on the way there. And the service of a mail coach on the way back.”

Alex winced. “Barbarous way to travel.”

“But fast.”

“And what about the small issue with the assassins?” he inquired.

“They are no longer an issue.”

“Ah.” Alex considered her. “You dispatched them?”

“Ashland did. Well, one of them. The other he left for me.”

Her brother looked reluctantly impressed. “I think I might like this duke.” He paused. “Though I must confess I find myself less than pleased that Francis Ellery’s actions might have put you in more danger than I would have liked.” His voice was cold. “I wish I’d known this earlier.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Francis Ellery will shortly be on his way to a delightful weeklong country retreat, courtesy of the Marquess of Heatherton’s rather…unexpected yet generous invitation. I went to his lordship’s home immediately after Roddy’s arrival and caught the marquess just as he was preparing to leave. I suggested that Heatherton might wish to travel with a guest. I thought it might be helpful if Ellery was absent from London in the immediate future.”

“Well done,” Ivory murmured.

“Wasn’t it?” Alex looked rather pleased with himself.

“And the marquess just agreed to this?” Elise asked.

“Heatherton took with him three cases of my finest French brandy as a…parting gift. His lordship was well compensated.” Alex’s eyes narrowed. “But now I wonder if I shouldn’t have just left Ellery for King to toy with.”

Ivory frowned at him.

Alex held up a hand. “Just because I don’t like King doesn’t mean he’s not useful, Duchess.”

“The last thing we need is for Francis Ellery to show up dead somewhere right now. Coinciding with Ashland’s sudden appearance, it would be too suspicious,” Ivory said.

“She’s right. Francis Ellery’s absence buys us time,” Elise interjected. “Which is important because His Grace has been missing for twenty years. A seamless reintroduction into London society is going to require some skill.”

Alex steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “How much skill, exactly?”

Elise glanced at Ivory. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Why?” He looked pained. “Please tell me the new duke is not a half-wit.”

“He is not a half-wit,” the Duke of Ashland said from the doorway.

Noah took in the study, and the people gathered in it.

There was Elise, standing close to the hearth, watching him with eyes he couldn’t read. Next to her stood a man with the same dark hair, the same rich complexion. His eyes were a shade more golden than Elise’s, and a narrow scar traveled from his ear to catch the side of his upper lip. Her brother, Noah surmised, noting the instinctive way the man positioned himself in front of her. His respect for the man grew.

The other occupant of the room was a simply dressed woman, her chestnut hair caught up elegantly. She wasn’t vibrant like Elise, but she was beautiful nonetheless in a way that he couldn’t quite describe. Dark-brown eyes assessed him as she leaned against the front of a massive desk.

“Your Grace.” It was this woman who spoke first. “Welcome to London.” She straightened, and her eyes slid past him and she smiled warmly. “Lady Abigail. I trust you are most pleased to be reunited with your brother.”

Behind Noah his sister sniffed. “You have no idea,” she said.

It had been an emotionally wrought hour, an impossible time in which to share two lifetimes’ worth of regrets and happiness, but they had made a start. And if the gods were willing, they would have years ahead to make up for those already lost.

“Your Grace, may I introduce Miss Ivory Moore.” Elise pushed by her brother to come and stand closer to Noah. “Miss Moore is the proprietor of Chegarre and Associates and will be assisting you in your return to London society.”

“A pleasure, Miss Moore.” Noah inclined his head.

“It is a pleasure indeed,” she said sincerely, and pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear with her hand. A golden band glinted from her ring finger, exotically fashioned and set with a polished ruby. Noah might have thought it a wedding ring, had she not been introduced as Miss Moore.

“And this is my brother,” Elise said, shifting slightly, “Alexander Lavoie. He too will be working with us.”

“Lavoie?” he asked, confused.

“DeVries was our mother’s name. I made it mine when I started acting.”

“Ah.” Noah eyed the hard-looking man whose attempt at a pleasant expression was not quite enough to mask his underlying suspicion. “Mr. Lavoie. Miss DeVries has spoken of you quite highly.”

Lavoie’s gaze slid to Elise briefly, and a faint wash of color rose into her face.