Elise 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.
“Brave.” He smiled at her again, and she had to look away as her insides went molten. “Here.”
Elise reluctantly turned back to find him holding out a ball of damp linen. “What is that?”
“My shirt. It’s mostly dry. You can…on. Put it on. If you wish. Yours is, ah…” He made an inelegant motion at her torso before looking away.
Elise watched in fascination. Was he blushing? Holy hell, he was, and the urge to reach out and run her fingers along those warm, chiseled cheekbones was a tangible thing. To follow her fingers with her lips and her tongue…
Elise cleared her throat forcefully. This was absurd. She was being absurd. A man who looked like this and who treated a woman with the dignity and respect and kindness he had just shown her would not be single. He would be married. With strapping sons who looked just like him and lovely daughters who looked just like his beautiful wife.
Right?
“Thank you.” She reached out and accepted his shirt. He stood abruptly, and Elise’s gaze followed him up. He held out a hand to her, and with only a slight hesitation, she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. They stood there in the muck and the tall marsh grass for a long minute, facing each other, Elise’s hand still caught in his.
She could feel the heat of him rolling off his bare skin, and still more warmth bleeding through his palm into hers. Saints help her, she wanted to feel more of him. Wanted to run her fingers over the planes and ridges of muscle, wanted to feel the sun-warmed skin beneath her fingers. She had never, in all her life, been so instantly, desperately attracted to a man. And one who blushed. And used words like errancy and heroine without apologizing. And who gave her the shirt off his back in an effort to provide her with modesty and protection.
It would be easy to become completely besotted with a man like this. He had the power to make her forget everything around her with a simple smile. It was just as well she would be gone within a day or two, as soon as she completed her search for John Barr here in Nottingham. She couldn’t afford the distraction.
She forced her eyes from his and stepped back slightly, pulling her hand from his. She shook out the rough linen shirt and yanked it over her head, struggling to pull the loose garment over her wet clothes. As soon as she could get this damn shirt on and deal with whatever waited for her up on that road, she would be on her way.
Elise cursed silently, the dry shirt stuck halfway over her head. The muscles in her arms threatened to give out on her as she fought the restrictive wet fabric of her own clothing.
“Do you need help?” There was amusement lacing his words.
“No.” Elise struggled for a few seconds longer. “Yes.” Her arms were trapped at strange angles, and she couldn’t see a thing.
“Hmmm.”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No.” He laughed.
She felt his hands slide up her arms, the linen untwisting and sliding over her limbs. He gently tugged the collar of his shirt over her head, his fingers traveling over her shoulders to straighten the seams before deftly tying the laces at her throat. “There you are, milady.” His mouth was curved into a half smile again. “Your knight-errant has slain the beastly shirt with his bare hands.”
And become the first man ever to dress me.
Elise had never experienced anything so strangely intimate in all her life, and it had left her gasping. Gooseflesh rippled over her skin, and heat gathered in her belly. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave her a brief bow. “Might I have the pleasure of your name, milady?” he asked.
Elise started with the realization that she didn’t yet know his name either. An entire conversation, an entire tangle of debauched fantasies—she was wearing his shirt, for pity’s sake—and she hadn’t even stopped to ask his name.
“Elise,” she said. “DeVries,” she added as an afterthought. There was something liberating about simply telling this man her name. Because for once she was no longer in disguise. She didn’t need to pretend to be someone else. The river had made sure of it. “May I have the pleasure of yours?”
“Noah,” he said.
Elise froze, using every ounce of experience honed on the stage to keep herself from reacting. “Noah.” She forced a soft smile.
He was about the right age. He was blond, like Lady Abigail. Which might mean nothing. The odds of finding a man who didn’t want to be found before she’d really begun to search in earnest were slim. The odds of finding that man in the mud and vegetation of a riverbank were astronomical. Impossible, she might even venture. “So am I to call you Sir Noah?” She said it lightly.
“Lawson. My last name,” he clarified unnecessarily. “Though Sir Noah has a definite ring to it.” He was teasing her again.
Noah Lawson. Elise felt an irrational stab of disappointment. Of course he wasn’t the man she was looking for, and the fact that she had harbored such a thought for even a second made her feel not a little foolish. There were many men in England named Noah. Had she truly believed it would be that easy? That she would ride into Nottingham and be met by a man who would simply introduce himself as Noah Ellery, lost heir to the title of Ashland? That he would smile and inquire when they would be leaving for London?
Had she not been so distracted, Elise would have remembered that Noah Ellery would not have introduced himself at all—he lacked the powers of speech to make that possible. But there was nothing wrong with Noah Lawson’s powers of speech. Most of what came out of his mouth was leaving her weak at the knees.
“Lawson!” The shout came from above their heads through the tall grasses. “Are you all right? What are you doing down there?”
Noah glanced at her. “We’re fine,” he shouted back. “Just giving the lass a chance to catch her breath.”
His statement was met with utter silence, followed by a low murmur of male voices. Next there came the sound of snapping twigs as booted feet started down the bank in their direction.
“‘Lass’?” Elise asked.
Noah gave Elise an apologetic shrug. “Better that they have a little warning that you’re probably not what they’re expecting.” He jerked his head in the direction of the road. “Come.” He reached for Elise’s hand again, and she gave it willingly, her legs still feeling leaden and not at all up to the task of climbing a steep riverbank on their own.
He went slowly, allowing her to lean on his arm, and they were halfway up when they met a bear of a man on his way down, his face pinched in concern.
“God’s teeth, man, but we thought you’d fallen back in.” There was relief in the man’s words. His bright-blue eyes went from Noah to Elise. “And I thought you were jesting when you said ‘lass.’” He pushed by Noah to stand in front of Elise.
Elise gazed up at him warily and then, without warning, found herself enveloped in a smothering embrace.
“Thank you,” the man muttered gruffly. “That was my fool son you saved just now.” He drew back just as abruptly, running a hand through his dark hair, liberally sprinkled with grey.
Elise could only nod.
“Well, come on with you two,” the barrel-chested man ordered roughly. “Before people start talking.” He turned back in the direction of the road. “There’s a lot of folk wanting to meet this…lass. You can’t have her all to yourself.”
“I wasn’t ravishing her in the reeds,” Noah said sardonically to the man’s back.
Elise swallowed hard and looked back at the concealing vegetation with some regret. Lust swirled through her veins, and she stamped on it before her thoughts could be detected.
“You’re mostly naked, and she’s wearing your clothes,” the man replied over his shoulder.
“Better mine than yours,” Noah replied.
The bear up ahead laughed, a deep, rolling sound, and Elise wondered at the relationship between the two men. Friends? Family? Either way, their conversation spoke of an easy familiarity, not so different from what she shared with Alex.
Elise started forward again, staggering at the incline, and in a heartbeat she found herself swept up and trapped within a pair of strong arms.
“Put me down,” she demanded, not knowing where to put her hands or where to look. A familiar panic gripped her. “I can walk.”
“No you can’t. You’re stumbling like a drunken sailor,” Noah retorted, tightening his arms around her.
Alarm skittered through her. “I don’t need to be carried.”
“I’ll miss dinner if we go at your pace to the top of this hill. Probably breakfast too.” He continued up the bank, ignoring her resistance.
Elise struggled harder, trying to quell her rising panic but failing. “Please. Put me down. Please.” She knew she sounded desperate and unhinged.
Noah stopped.
Elise shoved herself from his arms and landed gracelessly on her feet, staggering to one knee painfully before righting herself. She couldn’t look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought…”
“It was a nice gesture, Sir Noah,” she said weakly, aiming for humor and failing. “But I can’t…” How could she explain herself? What woman panicked the second she was restrained? What woman did not have dreams of being swept up into the strong arms of a handsome man and carried away? “It’s just that I don’t like to feel…” God, she was making a mess of this.
“Helpless,” Noah suddenly supplied. “You don’t like to feel helpless.”
Startled, she looked up at him. “Yes.”
His face was stark. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She shoved her tangled hair off her forehead in agitation. “It’s ridiculous, I know. But I can’t—”
“I understand.” He said it so quietly that Elise barely heard him. Yet she believed him.
She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“Come, milady.” The haunted expression that had touched his features was gone, replaced once again with a teasing smile. “I would be delighted to have the honor of escorting you up to the road. I will be hungry, probably, but delighted all the same.”
“I promise you won’t miss dinner.” She couldn’t help the smile she felt creeping across her own lips in response.
She tucked her hand under his arm again, wondering why it was so easy to be with this stranger. Why he seemed to understand her and accept her in ways that no stranger ever should. He had, in the ridiculously short time she had known him, set her off course and peeled back layers that Elise had thought she’d made impenetrable.
Just as well she would be on her way within the hour.