A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (9 page)

Noah wondered, not for the first time, if Abigail had ever known where he’d been sent. If she’d known the torture he’d been subjected to at the hands of mad-doctors who had told him that they would fix him. Promised that they would have him speaking like an Eton grad within a few months, their treatments guaranteed to work. He wondered if Abigail had known of the cruelty and callousness of the stewards and keepers, who had viewed the patients as less than vermin.

Noah had spent those first months praying that his mother would intervene and save him from Bedlam. But the summer had turned into fall, and then winter, and the cold winds had howled through the cracks in the walls. The keepers continued their torture, and other patients around him fell ill and died from dysentery and cholera and things Noah couldn’t name. And he’d stopped praying. Stopped hoping. He’d accepted that no one would ever come to save him.

And no one ever had.

“You’re the only one who can have her released,” Elise was saying. “Well, there are other avenues I can explore, but I fear they will take too much time and will not save your mother.”

“No.” He turned away from her and started back in the direction of the garden. Miss DeVries had no idea what she was asking him to do. “Like I said, both my mother and father died a long time ago.”

She was suddenly in front of him, as silent and quick as she had been earlier, and her ability to navigate in the darkness was unnerving. Her expression was hard to read in the failing light. “How many times has Lady Abigail asked you for help?” Her voice was deceptively neutral, but the barb jabbed deep, and the wound bled guilt.

Never. Not once.

“I thought so.” She must have read the answer in his silence, and her voice now had a brittle edge. “If you maintain your refusal to help, then at least have the decency to face your sister and tell her that yourself.”

“I can’t. You don’t understand.”

“You might be surprised,” she said, and it wasn’t unkind.

“No.”

“Then I fear, Your Grace, we are at an impasse.”

Noah froze before reflexively glancing around. “Don’t…me…” He stopped. “Don’t address me as such. Ever.”

Elise was silent for a long moment. “No one else here knows who you really are, do they?” she asked abruptly.

A bead of cold sweat ran down his back as it dawned on him the power this woman now held over him. Yet he could answer her with nothing less than the truth. “No.”

She was watching him again, her eyes glittering in the last of the light. “What about John Barr?”

Noah shook his head. There was little point in lying, and the last thing he needed was for her to pose the same question to John. “He knows I am not Noah Lawson. That is all,” he said hoarsely.

“And he’s never asked?”

“No.”

“Mmm.” He thought he detected a note of approval in her mumbled response. “Tell me why you won’t return to London. The real reason.”

He took a steadying breath. He felt a tiny measure of relief that she didn’t know all of it. She didn’t know the truth. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I rather think it does.” There was a gentleness to her words that he couldn’t bear.

Noah stepped around her and kept walking. There was nothing in this world that would ever entice him to speak more about his past to a woman who already knew too many of his secrets. “Get your things. I will drive you into town.”

“And tell your housekeeper what?”

He stumbled before stopping. “Are you threatening me?”

Elise heaved a sigh. “No, I’m not threatening you. But the thing with secrets and lies, Mr. Lawson, is that they have a habit of becoming complicated very quickly. They pile up, they become twisted and convoluted, until you can’t remember what is real anymore.”

Noah could feel the threads of the life he had carefully woven starting to unravel, row by row, stitch by stitch, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His emotions were churning wildly, a mess of things he couldn’t begin to sort out. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t put his words into the right order to verbalize any of what he was thinking.

In the semidarkness Elise put her hand on his arm. “Don’t say anything right now,” she told him, and he wondered, again, how he was so transparent in front of this woman. He pulled away from her, hating how logical she sounded. He heard the compassion, yet the steely strength that lay beneath it was unmistakable.

“Know that whatever secrets of yours I hold will remain just that. You have my word. I will never use them against you. But no matter your decision, you owe your sister an explanation. And it will come from you, not from me. Whether you elect to return to London as Mr. Lawson or the Duke of Ashland is your choice.” She paused. “But I will not leave you unprotected. And I will not leave this farm without you.”

D
inner had been a silent affair, save for the expected murmurings of thanks as Mrs. Pritchard presented them with a simple yet delicious meal of stew and fresh bread. She had thrown both of them quizzical looks, but hadn’t commented on the strained silence, and instead announced quite loudly that she was retiring early. Elise might have found it amusing had she not felt so utterly wretched.

Never had she handled anything as badly as she had the situation with Noah Ellery. She should have done some more digging before she left London, but she had been in a rush, and now she regretted her haste.

That young gentleman was never right in the head, either.

I don’t know where my parents sent him.

Those two statements, made a world apart, suddenly came together to make the hairs on the back of Elise’s neck stand up. Suspicion warred with doubt.

She didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t even want to think it. But if Noah’s reaction when she had informed him of his mother’s current imprisonment in Bedlam was any indication, Elise rather thought she already had her answer. Never, in all her life, had she seen such a visceral, bleak response to a simple reference.

And if what she suspected was indeed true, and Noah Ellery had spent time as a patient—prisoner—in Bedlam as a child, Elise wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what memories haunted this man. Nor, she thought to herself, were they any of her business. But she genuinely regretted not having been adequately prepared. And as a result, the man who had sat across the table from her during that excruciating meal had looked at her only once.

“Have your bags packed at dawn,” was all he’d said before vanishing back out into the night.

Elise had given him a minute and then silently followed him, old instincts taking over. He hadn’t gone very far—only to the edge of the trees at the far end of his pasture, where he had stood staring out at the river for the better part of an hour. Elise had circled and scouted the surrounding forests and bush, but had found no sign of another human. No sign that anyone else had found or followed Noah Ellery. That knowledge made her breathe a little easier, though the similar knowledge that she should have done that the second she had arrived at this farm left her uncomfortable. She’d allowed herself to become distracted and, as a result, exposed them both to a potential danger.

She’d waited with him, unseen, until he had returned to the house. She’d slipped into her bedroom and tried to find sleep, though she had done nothing but toss and turn all night, the bed ropes creaking beneath her and her thoughts in a turmoil. But the only thing that had been clear, when she had finally abandoned her efforts at sleep and stolen from the house, was that she wasn’t packing any bags unless the Duke of Ashland was riding with her.

The cow she was milking shifted, and Elise started, realizing she had lapsed into inactivity. She sighed and readjusted her stool, resting her forehead against the animal’s warm side, and resumed her rhythmic motions. In the east the sky had been washed a pale platinum that heralded the beginning of sunrise. She closed her eyes briefly, the familiar routine going a long way to soothe her troubled mind, even if it hadn’t inspired any answers.

Maybe she should have told Roddy to fetch her a cow—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Noah’s demand came from the barn door, and Elise started, yanking harder on the teat than she had intended. The cow stomped its hind leg in annoyance.

“I would think that would be obvious,” she said mildly, unable to see him. “And I’d trouble you to keep from yelling at any female in the immediate vicinity until I’m done.”

“Why are you milking my cow?”

“Because it helps me think. And it needed to be done.”

Noah muttered something vile, and there was a thump from the other side of the animal. A faint cloud of dust rose, the first rays of dawn illuminating the motes dancing in the beams. From beneath the animal, Elise could see the edge of her pack on the ground.

“You forgot your things in the house,” Noah said. “And your rifle. I took the liberty of fetching both for you. Please step away from my cow.”

Elise continued to milk, the steady gurgle of the streams hitting the bucket the only sound in the silence.

“Did you not hear me, Miss DeVries?”

She didn’t respond.

“Do you require me to saddle your horse for you?” he asked.

Elise remained mute.

She heard a string of muttered curses. “Are you ignoring me on purpose?” Noah demanded from somewhere on the other side of the bovine barrier that still stood between them.

“Yes.”

“You have to go.” She could hear the frustration in his words.

“And I will. So long as you’re with me.” There was no way she was surrendering ground on this. Her hands kept a steady pace, the streams of milk starting to subside as the bucket filled.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Miss DeVries. Nor can you stay in my house.”

“That’s fine. I’ll sleep here.” Probably made more sense anyway. Staying in that house would render it much more difficult to come and go undetected if there was indeed someone watching. It would be smarter for her to stay in the barn.

“What do you mean, here? In Nottingham?”

“No. In your barn.” The last of the milk dripped into the bucket.

“I—you—
no
.” The chain of syllables was strangled. “You’ll sleep in my barn over my dead body.”

“And that would be exactly what I’m trying to prevent.”

Noah made an inarticulate noise. Elise ignored him and reached for the bucket, setting it carefully aside next to the others, before standing from where she’d been crouched on the stool. She gave the cow a pat on the rump, shooed the animal out of the barn, and turned to face Noah.

Whatever she had been going to say next died on her tongue. He was still standing near the doorway, beams of new sunlight illuminating the lines of his body and gilding him. He was dressed in rough clothes, and the worn fabric of his breeches and coat hugged his frame and did nothing to conceal the power that lay beneath them.

Just like that she was back in the rose garden, remembering how he had felt beneath her hands. How his warmth had bled through fabric and into her skin, joining the heat that had been building from within her. Her eyes came to rest on his lips as she remembered just how masterfully he had kissed her, how breathless he had left her. How utterly unable she had been to resist him and the powerful attraction that had caught her and held her fast. And based on the shiver that rippled across her skin now, it would seem that after everything, nothing had changed.

The desire to kiss him again, to touch his face and erase the worry and frustration and anger that creased it now, was overwhelming. Until she remembered that it was she who had put all those things there.

She swallowed, that unhappy guilt sitting like a weight in her chest along with an equal measure of regret. The sense that something irreplaceable was irrevocably slipping away from her was acute.

Collect your damn wits
, she ordered her consciousness. Noah Ellery was a job, not a suitor, and she needed to remember that. Otherwise emotions would start to get in the way of good judgment and common sense, and that was a dangerous place to be. She raised her eyes, hoping her expression hadn’t given any of her thoughts away, but he wasn’t looking at her.

Instead he was staring at the buckets of milk. “You milked
all
my cows,” he said, and she had no idea if he was angry or pleased. At least they were no longer discussing sleeping arrangements.

“You have excellent milkers,” she said. “Lovely dispositions. Makes everything so much easier when you’re not fighting for cooperation.” She put emphasis on the last sentence.

He glanced at her, his brows drawn together. “I thought you were from London.”

“I am.”

He frowned at the buckets.

“Believe it or not, people from London know how to milk cows,” she told him. “They do have cows in London. Lots of them.”

He was shaking his head. “You didn’t grow up in the city.”

Elise bent to lift two of the heavy buckets. “No,” she agreed, looking down at the milk in her hands and thinking that was likely obvious and not worth arguing.

Noah moved to block her way, his hands over his chest. “Where are you from? Originally.”

Elise readjusted her grip on the handles. “The country.” She smiled blandly at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take these up to Mrs. Pritchard. There are two more buckets that need to be brought up.” She jerked her head toward them.

“That’s not how this works,” Noah said, not budging. “You owe me a truth about yourself since you seem to know so much about me.”

Elise hesitated. She didn’t owe him anything. And she did not often share much about her past with anyone. But on the other hand, Noah was no longer ordering her to leave, or threatening to saddle her horse, or otherwise dragging her off his property. Perhaps this was an opportunity. She’d offer him an abbreviated, carefully censored version of her past, if only in an attempt to make inroads with a man whom she needed to trust her again. “Near York.”

“You’re from Yorkshire.”

“No. Canada.”

Noah stared at her. “In the colonies.”

“That is correct. Now get out of my way. These are heavy.” She pushed by him, but he was faster.

“You grew up on a farm there.”

“Yes.”

“Is that where you were born?”

“It’s where my brothers and I were all born.”

“Your brothers? You said you only had one.” His words were laden with suspicion.

Elise closed her eyes, cursing herself for the slip. “My oldest brother died. Only Alex is left.” A swell of sorrow caught her off guard, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Perhaps it was the surroundings that raised old, happy childhood memories, bittersweet now with the reminder of so much loss. Her brothers had been the world to her—they’d raised her from the time of their parents’ death, when she was six. “Alex and Jonathon were both soldiers. Third York Regiment under Major William Allen. Jonathon was killed in the defense of York.” She had no idea why she’d felt compelled to explain that, other than to remind herself that he had died fighting for something that they had all believed in.

Alex had been fighting beside him when he’d died. Though to this day, he had yet to speak about what had happened out on the battlefield. Elise had been there that day as well, though she had never been issued a regimental jacket or trousers. As always, she’d been a ghost, her commanding officers sending her deep into enemy territory to find their troops and observe them and collect information on their movements, positions, and capabilities. Information that had not, in the end, been able to save her brother.

“I’m sorry,” Noah said, and his words sounded stiff, as if even the smallest acknowledgment of sympathy or compassion would derail his determination to keep her at a distance.

Elise just nodded and ducked by him, continuing up toward the house.

“Is that why you left your farm?”

Elise had a momentary flash of blackened timbers and smoking ruins. “There was no farm left. After the British retreated, the Americans razed the buildings, slaughtered the animals, and burned the orchards.” She saw Noah glance around him as though he was imagining what it might be like to return home after a long absence to find everything you had built destroyed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“So am I.” But that was the nature of war.

“Why did you come to London?” Noah was in front of her again, and she was forced to stop.

Because the militia had been left behind when the British regulars had retreated and there had been nothing left in York except danger. Angry American officers looking for excuses to punish those who had remained loyal to the Crown. She wasn’t sure she was at all comfortable with the direction his questions had taken. “For the theater.” That was suitably flippant and misleading. Yet partially true.

“The theater?”

“Yes. I am a part-time actress at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. When I’m not busy locating missing dukes, that is.” She edged by him and resumed walking toward the house.

“You’re an actress?” He was beside her now, and he sounded incredulous. He could make of that what he would. But better incredulous than angry.

“Sometimes.” She adjusted her grip on the heavy handles, making sure not to slosh the milk.

“Well, that would explain a lot,” he muttered under his breath.

Elise stopped abruptly. “What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“You’re quite accomplished at deceiving everyone. You had me fooled from the very beginning. You had us all fooled.”

Elise put the buckets down and put her hands on her hips, anger rising at the suggestion that everything that had happened since she had ridden out onto that Nottingham bridge yesterday had been some sort of diabolical plot. “You think I arranged to ride into Nottingham and save a drowning boy so that I could worm my way into your presence? You think that I take pleasure from being the one who has brought the past crashing into your very peaceful existence here?”

Noah was silent, and for the life of her, she couldn’t read his expression.

“There is something that one learns when one is an actress,” Elise said. “Every night you go out on that stage. Every night you pretend to be someone you’re not. But eventually the curtain is drawn, and your audience goes home, and the costumes and the face paints get put away.” She looked up at him. “No one can pretend forever to be someone they’re not.”

“I’m not pretending, if that is what you are implying.” His face was set in angry lines. “The man you came here to find no longer exists.”

Elise shook her head. “You are not ten years old anymore, Your Grace,” she said, deliberately using his title. “You are a duke, whether you like it or not. You are a man with wealth and power at his fingertips should you choose to use them. But most importantly, you are a man with a sister and a mother who need you very much.”

She saw a flash of fury in his eyes. “Are you questioning my honor now?”