Noah had been right.
Mrs. Pritchard, once over her initial shock and given an explanation of the afternoon’s events, had proven to be a warm, cheerful woman who had bustled about, fussing over Elise as though she were a lauded royal guest and not a bizarre interloper. She’d shown Elise to the back of the house and let her into a room filled with late-afternoon sunlight streaming through large windows that faced the river. The inside of the house, like the exterior, was a testament to careful design, simplistic, but all the more pleasing because of it.
“I think this room will be suitable,” Mrs. Pritchard said as she moved about, pushing open the windows to let in the breeze.
“It’s lovely,” Elise assured her. She glanced around, taking in the pale walls, the carved headboard of the bed, the washstand, and the large wardrobe against the far wall.
“The tub is just beside the kitchen,” Mrs. Pritchard said, sticking her head into the wardrobe and extracting a folded towel, which she placed on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got some water heating.”
“Please don’t go to too much trouble.” That damn guilt was pricking again. She didn’t deserve this kindness.
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all. I can offer you better than the River Leen can.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure it mattered that she would be clean when she brought Noah’s secrets tumbling down around him.
“Do you have dry clothes?”
“In my pack.” Elise gestured to where Noah had left it, just inside the door.
Mrs. Pritchard opened her mouth and then closed it again.
“I have a dress,” Elise told her. “Don’t worry. The trousers were just for travel. And, as it turned out, for swimming,” she added with a rueful twist to her mouth.
The woman gave Elise another warm smile, even as she considered her intently. “You are very courageous.”
Elise shrugged, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Anyone else would have done the same.”
Mrs. Pritchard looked dubious. “Not many people would have thrown themselves off a bridge after a boy they didn’t know.”
“It was more of a controlled leap,” Elise hedged, thinking the woman’s description made her sound a little like a deranged bat.
Mrs. Pritchard laughed before she once again considered Elise, delight now evident in her expression. “I can see why he’s so taken with you.”
Taken with her? Dear God, but she couldn’t encourage that vein of thought, even if it did make her pulse accelerate. “Mr. Lawson is very kind.” It was all she could think of.
“He certainly is that,” Mrs. Pritchard agreed. Her eyes lingered on the single pink rose Elise still held in her hand. “Though he doesn’t…” She trailed off with a slight shake to her head, and whatever she had been about to say remained a mystery.
Doesn’t what? Elise wanted to demand. What did the man who called himself Noah Lawson not do? A thousand questions swirled through Elise’s mind, questions that she could ask—needed to ask—about Noah. “He doesn’t often bring strange women home,” she said, forcing a light tone to her voice.
“He doesn’t bring anyone home,” Mrs. Pritchard murmured, barely loud enough for Elise to hear. “Aside from the Barrs, of course.”
Elise looked down at the rose in her hand, tucking that bit of information away and trying to pretend that the admission didn’t make her irrationally happy. “You’ve worked for Mr. Lawson for a long time then?”
“Ten years. Don’t know what I would have done if not for Mr. Lawson. My husband, rest his soul, was the coachman at Corley House for Baron Corley. But after my William died, I was turned out. Had nowhere else to go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Mr. Lawson is one of the good ones. He’s become like the son I never had. I’ve been happy here.” Mrs. Pritchard was still for a moment before suddenly dusting her hands on her apron. “Well, let’s see you clean,” she said, reaching for the towel. “I’ll put that rose in some water for you, if you like, while you bathe.”
“I’d like that very much.” Elise brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled deeply, longing and desire rising sharp and fast before she could remember why that was unacceptable. Impossible.
* * *
Elise DeVries was running from something. Or, more likely, someone.
Noah had considered all the possibilities while he had washed and changed, and that had seemed like the most obvious. She was traveling in disguise. With a rifle, for God’s sake, though that didn’t necessarily mean she knew how to use it. He wondered if Elise was her real name even. Not that it mattered. Bloody hell, he would be the last person to cast stones on that account.
He’d considered the possibility that she might be a criminal—but in his experience criminals were not in the habit of risking their lives to save people they didn’t know. And she lacked the wild, hunted look of someone relentlessly pursued by the law. But it was obvious she was hiding something. She had agreed to his hospitality out on the river road, but once they had arrived here, she’d become quieter. A faintly troubled look had shadowed her features, and her easy smile had dimmed.
Well, for one night at least, Noah could make sure she felt protected. Protected and cared for, no questions asked.
John Barr had done the same for Noah a dozen years ago. He hadn’t known Noah’s secrets the winter day he had found a wary eighteen-year-old hiding in his shop close to the forge in an effort to stay warm. In fact John didn’t know his secrets even now, but it had never mattered. He had helped Noah then, and he had helped him throughout the years. Helped him reinvent himself. Helped him find happiness in a new life.
Noah could never repay that debt, but perhaps he could help someone else who might have found herself in a similar situation.
He was powerfully attracted to her; there was no point in pretending otherwise. But there was more to it than just physical magnetism. The moment Elise had jumped off the bridge, the moment she’d smiled up at him with those beautiful eyes, she’d become more than a simple stranger.
And the moment she had sat beside him on a farm wagon and listened to him and not the order of his words, she’d become more than someone he didn’t know. She’d become someone he wanted to know very much.
There were delicious smells coming from the kitchen, and he could hear Mrs. Pritchard humming happily to herself. He paused for a moment, unseen, watching his housekeeper chop vegetables, a satisfied smile on her face. It seemed Mrs. Pritchard was no more immune to Elise’s vivacity than he was. His housekeeper was probably already considering what sort of cake she might bake to celebrate their engagement.
Noah shifted, his pulse leaping. He would have kissed Elise in the garden. Never, in all his life, had he wanted to kiss a woman the way he wanted to kiss Elise DeVries. But he’d hesitated, unwilling to scare her. Hell, it scared him, the way his emotions and desires were piling up in a jumbled order that he couldn’t seem to sort out. Honestly, what sort of man kissed a woman the same day he met her?
A bewitched one, a voice in his head suggested.
“Mr. Lawson.” Elise was standing at the end of the short hall, the door to the small bathroom ajar. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her long, dark hair pulled back neatly from her face, though a few tendrils had already escaped their confines and curled damply along her cheek. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.” She smoothed a hand almost self-consciously over the creases in her dress that betrayed her travels, and Noah found himself mourning the loss of her shirt and trousers.
Which was silly, he knew. If anything, he should claim to have been scandalized at the sight of her in trousers and relieved that she was now garbed in something more…appropriate. Yet this plain, nondescript brown dress she was wearing did not do this extraordinary woman justice. Did not do her spirit justice. If Elise had to wear a dress, it should be vibrant. A crimson or sapphire silk that would shimmer when she moved. No, on second thought, it should be emerald satin, embroidered with crystals that would glow and sparkle when they caught the light. Just as she did.
“Mr. Lawson?”
He started. What had she asked? Something about keeping him waiting long? “Not at all.” He might wait until the end of eternity for this woman if that was what she required. “Though I had thought it was possible you had turned into a mermaid,” he said, and was pleased with how easily that had come out.
She smiled at him then, and the entire hallway lit up. His heart stuttered.
“I’m not sure if you are disappointed or pleased that I didn’t,” she replied.
“Pleased, I think. I would imagine a tail a devilishly hard thing to manage at the dinner table. Though you must admit, you were in that tub a long time.”
“I had to give you time to get your boots off.” She cocked her head and raised a single brow wickedly. “Tell me, Mr. Lawson, how long did that take?”
Noah looked at the ceiling briefly. He’d been ready to cut his boots off with his hunting knife by the time he’d finally managed to struggle out of them. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Ah.” Elise was smirking at him. “If you recall, I did suggest you take them off earlier to avoid such difficulties. Yet you chose not to listen to the voice of reason.”
“Yes, well, that particular voice of reason had just thrown herself off a bridge,” Noah pointed out. “The presence of reason was debatable.”
“I didn’t throw myself off anything. It was a controlled leap. Why must I keep saying that?” she muttered, but there was laughter dancing in her beautiful eyes, and Noah had quite forgotten that anyone else in the world existed until he heard Mrs. Pritchard clear her throat behind him.
“Dinner will be ready shortly, Mr. Lawson,” she said. “I’ll serve in the dining room.”
He started and turned. “Thank you.” Mrs. Pritchard looked between Elise and Noah with a delighted, slightly misty expression before disappearing back into the kitchen. Bloody hell, forget the cake, his housekeeper had already selected the clergyman to perform the wedding ceremony.
He turned back to Elise and offered his arm. The laughter had faded from her eyes, and that troubled look was back. After a second’s hesitation, Elise moved forward and slipped her hand under his arm, allowing him to guide her toward the dining room.
“The dining room?” she asked. “Your house has a dining room?”
“It’s not a grand room,” he said, seizing on a distraction that would smooth the troubled crease between her brows. Nothing like the opulent St James’s Square dining room he remembered from his childhood. “But the Barrs all fit at the table when they come.”
He stopped just inside the door. The gardens were visible through multiple windows, affording its occupants a beautiful view. There was a long, serviceable table in the center of the room, a table he had built with timber from his own land. Though the chairs didn’t all match, and two of them had tall blocks of wood placed on the seats. “For the smaller children,” he told Elise, catching her studying them. “They are always included.”
She nodded silently, and he couldn’t tell if she approved or thought it absurd.
“I was never allowed to share meals with my parents as a child,” he said, having no idea why he felt the need to explain himself to her. “I ate in the nursery. Alone.”
“Your family was wealthy then.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Yes.” His explanation had betrayed another bit of his past, and it seemed pointless to deny it now. If she was surprised, she hid it well.
“Your parents are—”
“Gone.” An old pain, one that time had managed only to dull, twisted.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” It was easier if she believed them dead. It was what he did.
“Mmmm.” Her hand slipped from his arm, and she walked farther into the room, putting the bulk of the table between them.
At the near end of the table, Mrs. Pritchard had put out place settings for two. The single pink rose he had given Elise had been put in a jar of water between the settings. He always ate with his housekeeper, usually at the small table in the kitchen, but it was clear tonight that Mrs. Pritchard had no intention of joining them, visions of a romantic evening no doubt dancing in her head.
Noah watched Elise walk past the crockery and glass, her fingers trailing over the surface of the table. She stopped at the far end, where a chessboard had been pushed to the side, a small box of brightly painted lead soldiers beside it.
“Do you play?” Noah asked.
“Chess or soldiers?” A ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“Either one.” He said it in jest.
She picked up a small rifleman, its deep-green coat vivid in the last rays of sunlight streaming in the windows. “Yes,” she whispered, and Noah had no idea which part of his question she had answered.
“The soldiers are Andrew’s,” he said slowly, filling the strange silence. “And he maintains my dining room table makes the best battlefield. It’s his older sisters who wage war on the chessboard, and if you find yourself sitting across from either of them and let your attention slip, they will show you no mercy.”
Elise turned the little soldier over. “Do you have children?” she asked suddenly.
“No.” The question startled him with its abrupt directness.
“A wife?”
“No.”
“Are you engaged? Or otherwise promised?”
“No.”
“Mmm.”
Noah blinked, the rapid questions having left him slightly off balance. “Are you?”
“Am I what?” Elise asked.
“Married. Or otherwise promised?” He realized he was holding his breath waiting for her answer, and forced himself to exhale.
“Oh.” She looked nonplussed. “No.”
They stood, gazing at each other. Noah wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. There were strange undercurrents swirling in the room that he didn’t understand. Her expression was intense, her eyes troubled once again.
“Will you accompany me outside?” Noah asked impulsively. “There is still time before dinner. And I’d like to show you the rest of the garden.” And he hated this…distance that he could feel her putting between them in this room.
Very gently she put the toy rifleman back in the box. “Yes.”
* * *
Noah led her out into the warmth of the early evening, the shadows long and the breeze calm. Elise walked beside him, not touching him, though she was aware of his every move. She kept her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the garden and on the dark smudges of trees near the river as they approached the edge of the rose beds, afraid that, if she looked at him, her wits would scatter and her train of thought would be lost. Again.
Noah had caught her in the hallway after her bath, unprepared and unready for the sight of him. He’d changed into clothes that were more formal, and his coat and breeches, though simple in style and suited for the country, were exceptionally tailored and perfectly fitted. Elise caught her breath. Dressed as he was, with his graceful, powerful carriage, it was easy to imagine him in evening wear, commanding a ballroom. He looked every inch a duke.
And then he’d smiled at her and the world around her had dimmed and she’d struggled once again to remember why she was here. Struggled to remember that Noah Ellery was a job.
This had to end. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable confrontation. The confrontation that, in all likelihood, would turn this man against her with every fiber of his being. And if that was the case…then so be it. Lady Abigail hadn’t hired her to behave like a love-struck fool. She’d hired Elise to find her brother and bring him safely back to London.
Elise stopped near the edge of the rose garden, unwilling to walk any farther. It wasn’t as if she could outrun what was coming. Noah came to a stop beside her.
“I’m not who you think I am,” she said quietly. Which was a ridiculous thing to say. She had no idea who Noah thought she was, though she couldn’t think of another way to start.
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
Elise looked at him with surprise. That wasn’t a question she had been expecting. “No.”
“So you’re not a thief?”
“No.”
“Is someone trying to hurt you?”
“What? No.” She could feel her brows draw together. “Why do you—” She stopped, understanding. He thought she was running from something. Or someone. A reasonable assumption. One that, in his place, she might have been tempted to make. Yet still he had offered her his home.
She thought of Mrs. Pritchard. I had nowhere else to go, the housekeeper had said. Somewhere down near the river, Square barked. Another lost soul that Noah had extended his care and protection to. And now he was trying to do the same for her.
Mr. Lawson is one of the good ones. Noah certainly was that.
“No, I am not a thief.” Elise sighed heavily, wishing for an irrational moment that it were just that easy. “But that doesn’t mean you know me or—”
“What you did today on the bridge told me everything I need to know about you.” He moved in front of her so that she was forced to look up.
“No.” She closed her eyes briefly. She couldn’t go down this rabbit hole again. “Not everything.”
“I know you don’t like rats, you swear in French, and you sometimes snore.”
“That’s not—”
“I know I don’t mix up my words with you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Noah was searching her eyes. “Today, when I misspoke, you didn’t care.”
“Of course not.” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “Does it happen often?”
“When I’m anxious.”
She’d already guessed that. “I made you anxious?”
“Not you. It was me. At the time I was worried that you’d think me too forward. Or foolish. Or both.” He paused. “I didn’t want you to go. I wanted you here. I wanted…”
Elise looked up at him, her gaze caught in his smoky green one. “You wanted what?” She wished that question back the second it left her lips because the answer was clear in his smoldering eyes.
In the fading light, his hand found hers where it rested against her skirts. His fingers twined through hers, warm and strong. “I wanted to know what it would feel like to touch you,” he whispered. “I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss you.”
Desire ripped through her, an intense, primitive thing that left her trembling, a throb building low in her belly. He lifted his other hand and drew his finger along the side of her face, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of her lower lip. She was aware that her breath was coming in shallow gasps, but then so was his. This…thing that was arcing between them was beyond anything she had ever experienced—beyond anything she had ever needed to control.
She put her free hand up to catch his, intending to pull it away, but his fingers simply curled around hers, imprisoning them in his warmth and sending more heat licking through her limbs. He shifted, stepping closer, his body a breath from hers. She should pull away. She should say something. She tried desperately to think, but it was as if she were drugged, unable to form even the most rudimentary of—
His lips touched hers and everything else ceased to exist.
He kissed her gently, reverently, as though afraid she might shatter. He let go of one of her hands, his fingers sliding around the nape of her neck, caressing the soft skin beneath her heavy braid, and she melted into his touch, unable to resist. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the corners of her mouth, and the throb that had started in her belly became an unbearable ache. She opened beneath his advances, drawing him closer, needing more of him. She heard him groan softly, and her fingers convulsively tightened on his, her other hand coming up to curl into his coat.
His mouth left hers to skim her jaw and the side of her throat, each touch of his lips precise and deliberate and leaving her gasping. She pressed herself against him, feeling the hard evidence of his desire through the fall of his breeches, and he brought his mouth back to hers, more demanding now. She slipped her other hand from his, letting both hands move around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as his own hands slid down the curve of her back. He plundered her with his tongue, an electric mating of their mouths that made her wonder if he might just take her here, in the middle of this glorious garden—
She gasped and yanked herself from his arms, horrified and shaking and breathing hard. What the hell was she doing? What the hell was she thinking?
“I can’t do this.” Her voice was a ragged whisper.
“I’m sorry.” He was breathing as hard as she was. “I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t…”
Her heart twisted painfully. “Please don’t be sorry,” she said miserably. “It’s me who needs to apologize.”
Confusion clouded his eyes. “Apologize for what?”
“For not telling you why I’m here.”
“I don’t understand.”
Elise took a deep breath. If there was even the smallest doubt that this incredible man who had just kissed her witless in a rose garden was Noah Ellery, she would know within a moment.
She looked him squarely in the eye. “Your sister, Abigail, sent me to find you.”