The crowd at Lavoie’s was impressive.
More people than Elise had anticipated had not yet abandoned the malodorous summer heat of London for the clean air and cool breezes of the English countryside. The men, resplendent in formal evening attire, created a perfect dark foil for the women who swirled through the room in brilliantly colored gowns.
Like her, each woman wore an elaborate mask, an artful creation of filigree and feathers and all manner of decorations. Absurd, really, because the identities of many were obvious, but the charade of anonymity allowed indulgence in things that etiquette otherwise made impossible for females. It was one of the things that made Lavoie’s so popular.
Her gaze skipped over each of the tables, where the games of chance were in full swing, the press of players surrounded by even greater throngs of people laughing and drinking and flirting and competing to be heard. Suddenly Elise froze, her surroundings dropping away and her eyes riveted on the man in the center of the room.
Noah was standing near a faro table, surrounded by a bevy of masked women, some fluttering fans in practiced, rapid movements, and others simply gazing up at him. There were a number of men in his circle as well, and Elise could hear a great deal of easy laughter along with the requisite giggles.
Noah was turned out to perfection, his valet quite obviously a man worth his salt, and the effect was stunning. But beyond that, it was the way he held himself that made her fingers curl and her pulse skip. He looked utterly at ease, perfectly at home against the backdrop of wealth and power and titled privilege. He looked every inch a duke. He looked as if he belonged.
“Did your draper run out of fabric, little sister? Or did your dressmaker only get paid for half a gown?”
Elise turned from the heavy curtain that concealed them from the gaming floor. Her brother stood beside her, pretending to study the contents of the glass he was holding casually in his hand.
“Good heavens, Alex, but you certainly know how to compliment a woman. It’s a wonder you aren’t mobbed every night.”
“I’d find more compliments if you had managed to find more clothes,” he said testily.
Elise smoothed her hand over the cool silk of her gown. “There is nothing wrong with my gown.”
“That’s not a gown, that’s a felony waiting to happen.”
“I am dressed no differently than any number of women out there.”
“And any number of those women are not my sister.”
“It’s just another role for me to play tonight, Alex.”
Alex’s eyes met hers. “A role,” he repeated, before taking a sip from his glass. “This night is only the icing on the proverbial cake, as it were. From what I hear, your duke has taken London by storm. In the space of a week, he’s got the ton falling all over themselves in an effort to outdo each other in welcoming Ashland’s heir. It’s become a competition, and the only winner is Noah Ellery.”
Elise felt her chest compress, a reaction that had gotten worse, and not better, with each day that went by without Noah. While she was overjoyed by his success, the hole he had left in her life when he had spread his wings was suffocating.
“Ivory has been brilliant,” Elise said, using cool professionalism to hide the turmoil she felt deep within.
“The duchess only laid out the framework. It’s your duke who has been brilliant.”
“He’s not my duke.”
A dark brow rose slowly. “He might beg to differ. He’s asked after you, you know.”
“I know. Roddy told me.” But it didn’t change anything. She was no longer part of Noah’s world. “I’m leaving for Bath tonight,” Elise said suddenly. She hadn’t made up her mind until this moment.
Her brother crossed his arms and gave her a long look. “The Rumsford affair.”
“Yes.”
“Did the duchess ask you to handle that?”
“Yes,” Elise told him. The exit Ivory had offered to her was still on the table. And now would be a good time to take it, if only for her own sanity.
“Does your duke know that? That you’re leaving?”
Elise frowned. “Why would that matter?”
“He might take exception to your absence.”
“You just said yourself that he is doing just fine without me. Brilliant, I think was the word you used. I can’t imagine anything will change or that I can offer him anything further to benefit him in his new role.” Each word that she spoke was like a tiny shard of glass, penetrating what pieces of her heart remained.
Alex ran his hands over his face. “I see the way you look at him. He looks at you the same way. As your brother, I don’t have to like it, but—”
“There is no room for me in his life,” Elise said, and she knew Alex could hear her heartbreak.
“Because he’s a duke?”
Elise looked away.
“Alderidge is a damned duke. And that didn’t stop—”
“Alderidge and Ashland are very different men. There was never any uncertainty as to who Alderidge was. But Ashland is different. We need people to continue to believe in him as a duke. To take him seriously. Which means he’s going to have to marry seriously. A woman with the weight of a title behind her name. Otherwise everything I’ve done, everything we’ve done, has been for nothing. You know this as well as I do, Alex.”
“Perhaps,” he said reluctantly, though he didn’t appear convinced. “I just want you to be happy, Elise.”
“I am happy.”
Alex gave her a look of disbelief.
She held up a hand in defeat. “Or I will be. Honestly, I’ll be fine. I just need to get back to work.”
“Maybe you should—”
“It’s best if I go, Alex.” She couldn’t stand here and try to justify herself anymore. “I’ll play my part here tonight, and then I’ll go.”
“What about Francis Ellery?” Alex demanded.
Elise blew out her breath, feeling suddenly weary. “What about him, Alex?”
“You hate loose ends.”
“Francis Ellery is a loose end that will be snipped very shortly, once he returns to London. Either by the firm’s employees, or more likely by the Duke of Ashland himself. If there is one thing that I’ve learned, it’s that Noah Ellery can take care of himself.” She smiled a little sadly. “He doesn’t need me hovering.”
Alex’s mouth was set, making the scar above his upper lip stand out in stark contrast to the richness of his complexion. But he didn’t offer any further comment.
“Shall we get this over with then?” she asked.
Alex gazed at her before he jerked his head. “If it allows you to put some damn clothes on sooner, then by all means.”
* * *
Noah’s face felt as if it might fall off from the strain of the smile he’d kept plastered on it the entire night.
Be likable, Miss Moore had told him. Approachable and polite. Because, she had lectured more than once, people are far more likely to support those whose company they enjoy than those whom they view as insufferable bastards.
Noah was done with being likable. And approachable. And polite.
He forced himself to relax his fingers around the brandy he’d been nursing all night, afraid that he might break the glass if he kept his current grip. There was still one more act to go, he knew. A coincidental meeting with a member of the French aristocracy who would publicly identify him and remind him of a chance meeting in Venice before moving on. But all he wanted to do was excuse himself from this crush of people and head directly to Covent Square. And Elise. He would not, could not, let another day slip by without seeing her. Touching her. She was as necessary as air.
And it didn’t matter if she wasn’t there when he arrived. Roddy would know where she was. And he’d happily gift the boy the entire Ashland fortune in exchange for her whereabouts. It was likely Elise was—
Walking toward him.
Noah felt the floor shift under his feet, felt the world around him blur, every sound in the room strangely muffled. He put a hand out, finding a chair back on which to steady himself.
Her hair was pulled off her face and left to cascade down her back in a curtain of dark, shining curls. Thin ropes of tiny crystals had been woven through her coiffure, and with each movement they sparkled and danced. From behind her mask of gold, her beautiful eyes were expertly rimmed with kohl. And her gown, what there was of it, was a vision of sin. Deep-emerald silk covered in more tiny crystals that dove daringly low, skimming the swell of her breasts just above her nipples. The silk clung to her waist and her hips before sweeping down and swirling at her feet.
He had fantasized about this dress once. And he had fantasized about the woman wearing it more times than he could count since then. She looked exotic and untouchable, and Noah knew very well that there wasn’t a man in this room who wasn’t imagining just how good all those curves would feel. Or taste.
And the fact that Noah already knew made his breathing shallow and sent heat searing through his veins.
Elise was on Lavoie’s arm, the man looking mildly bored in a calculated, casual way, and Noah gave him credit for not baring his teeth at all the males who sent his sister covetous looks, every debauched thought stamped all over their faces. Lavoie had his head tipped, as if listening to something Elise was saying as they strolled past, and Elise suddenly looked up, meeting his eyes.
It was as if he’d been struck by lightning, with the force with which her gaze sizzled through his body. He tried to think, tried to remember how to breathe. Tried to remember why he shouldn’t pick her up and run out of here as fast as his legs could carry him.
Because, dammit, he had a carriage now. With a door. And a lock.
“Oh,” Elise breathed in startled recognition, stopping before Noah, looking up at him and putting her hand to her magnificent cleavage. “C’est formidable.”
Lavoie raised a dark brow. “Comtesse, are you acquainted with His Grace?”
The extensive knot of people he had been standing with parted to make way for Elise and Lavoie. Elise removed her hand from her brother’s arm and extended it toward Noah. “But of course we are acquainted.”
Noah took Elise’s hand in his, feeling the heat of her fingers. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. He watched as her eyes went hot and her breath hitched. “Indeed. We had the good fortune…meeting…” He stopped, his mind blanking, his concentration and train of thought disrupted by the almost uncontrollable need to possess her.
“Of meeting in Venice,” she said easily. “His Grace showed me the gods.”
“Neptune and Mars.”
“In the Doge’s Palace.”
“Yes.” With an effort Noah released her hand. It was easier to think when he wasn’t touching her. “I am very sorry to hear of the death of your husband.”
“And I of your father.”
Noah nodded in acknowledgment. “You are visiting then?” he asked.
“Oui. I very much like your country, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps I might be able to show you more of it sometime.”
“Oui, I would like that very much. Mr. Lavoie can give you my direction. But please, do not let me keep you from your friends and your fun.” She gave him another slow smile, but this one seemed bittersweet. “Bonne chance, Your Grace,” she whispered.
She placed her hand back on Lavoie’s arm. That was all that was supposed to happen, Noah knew. A quick but necessary public affirmation from a wealthy widow that Noah had indeed existed beyond the borders of England.
But as he watched her walk away, there was a growing sense of disquiet, his initial exhilaration at seeing her giving way to something that approached dread.
Bonne chance, Your Grace.
She had wished him well, but now, as Elise disappeared from view with her brother, it sounded like a goodbye.
* * *
Elise wasted no time pulling a shawl tightly over her shoulders and slipping through the private door from Alex’s office that led into the narrow dead-end alley that ran between the buildings. She headed in the direction of the street. She would hire a hackney to take her back to Covent Square so that she might pack for her departure for Bath. The Rumsford file was in Ivory’s top desk drawer, Elise knew, and she would review it once she had made her travel arrangements.
Tonight had been a mistake. She should never have insisted on playing this part. Because being so close to Noah, yet being impossibly far away, had been almost more than she could bear. She willed herself not to cry. It had been everything she could do not to simply throw herself into his arms in front of—
The door behind her crashed open, and Elise jerked and spun, only to find Noah standing at the end of the alley. They remained motionless for a long minute, staring at each other.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Go back inside. Please.” She turned and kept walking toward the street.
“Where are you going, Elise?” Noah repeated, and she could hear the sounds of his boots behind her.
Elise stopped at the top of the alley, her back to the street. “I’m going home, Your Grace.” She wished she’d asked Alex for the use of his carriage. She wished she were already rolling away from this club. She wished she were anywhere but here. Because she didn’t know if she would be strong enough to say goodbye to Noah a second time.
He closed the distance between them, stopping in front of her. “Stay with me.”
The backs of her eyes burned. “I can’t, Noah. I will not risk everything that you have accomplished and the future that lies before you. You will do so much good. I can’t be visible in this world.”
“Then I don’t want this world if I can’t have you in it.” He reached toward her but she stepped back.
“I will not let you sacrifice everything.” Elise glanced up the street, looking for a hackney, but the stretch was devoid of equipages, with only a handful of drunken revelers laughing as they stumbled along the pavement. “Your Grace—”
“Stop calling me Your Grace,” he growled. “I want you to say my name. The way you did when we first met. The way you did when you refused to let me hide.” He took another step closer. “And the way you did when I was deep inside you and you were stealing my very soul.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, and the heart she’d thought was already broken shattered further. Her hands tightened involuntarily around her shawl, the edges of a steel brooch she had pinned at the front cutting into her palm. Courage and strength. She had never needed them more than she did now.
“I—” she started, but never got a chance to finish because a heavy arm snaked around her neck and yanked her backward, the cold blade of a knife biting into the skin at her throat.
“Yes, do stop calling him Your Grace.” It came from behind her, and with every syllable the blade at her throat bit a little deeper.
She froze, forcing herself to remain calm. Forcing herself to acclimate before she reacted mindlessly. Her assailant was strong, far stronger than she. He reeked of gin, and his accent was not that of the street. In fact it was a cultured voice that was familiar.
Francis Ellery.
“Don’t struggle, my little ladybird,” Ellery said in her ear. Something cold and hard was dragged across the tops of her breasts, and with horror Elise realized he held a dueling pistol in his other hand.
Noah had also frozen, his hands clenched at his sides, but now they relaxed as his entire body uncoiled. She’d seen that look once before. Except this time he did not have a knife. In his elegant evening clothes, he had no weapon. No knife, no sword, not even a rag with a piece of broken glass.
“Let her go,” Noah said, and his voice was flat. “For I must warn you, the lady has far more resources at her disposal than the creatures you tormented in your childhood.”
“Christ on a pony, it really is you,” Ellery said. “A talking version of the little idiot boy who hid behind his sister’s skirts. I honestly didn’t believe it when I heard.”
“I can imagine your disappointment, Mr. Ellery.”
“Mister. I should be called Your Grace. Not mister.”
“Yes, the men you sent to kill me mentioned as much.”
Elise felt Francis tighten his hand on his knife.
“They won’t be coming to collect the rest of their payment, if you were wondering.” Noah looked as if he was trying to gauge where his best angle was going to be. “Let the woman go. Your quarrel is with me.”
“It is. But I’d as soon kill you both.” He extended his pistol and aimed it at Noah. “Perhaps they’ll think it was a lover’s quarrel.” He laughed at this. “Kind of sounded like one.”
Elise felt an icy-cold sweat prick her skin. Noah was circling, looking for his opening. She knew he was going to get one chance at this, but there was a voice in her head telling her that he wouldn’t be fast enough. It would be hard for Francis to miss with his pistol at such close range.
“My father was an idiot,” Francis said. “But he always maintained that, if one wanted a job done properly, one should do it oneself. He was right in that, at least.”
Elise’s fingers brushed the brooch at the front of her shawl. She wriggled slightly, enough to hide her movements as she slid the steel from the fabric, grasping the sharpened end between her fingers. Noah’s eyes dropped briefly, an instant acknowledgment, before they flickered back to Ellery.
“I can’t let a half-wit become a duke,” Francis sneered. He adjusted his grip on Elise. “You’ll breed nothing but more half-wits.” The pistol left her chest and wavered in front of her. “But at least you won’t be breeding with this one—”
Elise brought her hand down and slammed the pointed end of the brooch into Ellery’s thigh, as close to his groin as she could manage.
He grunted in pain, his hold slackening enough for Elise to twist and wrench herself from his grip. At the same time, Noah charged forward, putting himself between Francis and Elise, his shoulder driving into his cousin’s waist.
The report of the pistol was deafening.
Noah staggered back onto Elise, her heavy skirts tangling around her legs, and she found herself trapped under Noah’s weight as they both fell to the ground. Francis had been knocked onto his back, but he was stirring, pushing himself to his feet. Elise struggled under Noah, her heart in her throat.
Noah was breathing still, she could feel it, but the side of his head was covered in blood that looked almost black in the dim light. He groaned and tried to rise, but his movements were sluggish and unsteady, and he collapsed back on top of her almost instantly.
Francis had gained his feet now, and he approached them, tossing the pistol to the side. He brought his knife up in front of him.
Elise tried to free her skirts and her legs from underneath Noah’s bulk, but they were hopelessly tangled. She was trapped. Rage such as she had never known coursed through her, obliterating the fear.
“You’ll never survive this,” she told Francis. “If you kill either of us, you will be hunted down like an animal and destroyed. And you will never see it coming.”
“No, I’ll be a duke,” he said as he met her eyes. “As soon as this one dies—”
The man stopped abruptly midsentence, the knife sliding out of his hands. He had a faintly surprised expression on his face as he dropped to his knees, before sinking into an ignoble heap.
In the spot where Ellery had once stood, there was another figure. Against the gaslights of the street beyond, it was difficult to make out his face. The man bent slightly, pulling the long rapier-like blade that was buried in Francis’s side out from the corpse, wiping the blood on Francis’s coat before sheathing it in what looked like a walking stick. He turned a little into the light, and now Elise saw the red-gold hair and aquiline features.
With smooth movements he stepped over Ellery’s body and crouched beside Noah. He pushed him gently onto his back, away from Elise. She scrambled out from underneath Noah and came to kneel beside him, her fingers pushing his hair aside, looking for the wound. Whatever rage she’d felt had drained away, replaced with a numbing terror.
“Take a deep breath, Miss DeVries,” King said from beside her. “He’s survived much worse and lived to tell the tale.”
Elise exhaled, trying to steady herself.
King peered closer. “The bullet only grazed his skull. He’ll need stitches, and he’ll have a ghastly headache, but he won’t die.”
Noah stirred, his eyes opening. They found Elise, and he smiled faintly. “You did say dueling…pistols…unreliable.”
This time Elise didn’t fight the burn behind her eyes or the tightness in her throat. Relief poured through her, making her wobbly. “I did,” she said, as a tear leaked down her cheek.
Noah’s eyes went to the man crouched beside her, and this time he frowned, as if trying to reconcile the face he saw with the present.
“I do believe my debt has been settled,” King said.
The sound of raised voices intruded. King stood and peered around the corner of the alley and up the street toward the entrance to Lavoie’s. “We’re about to have company in a few minutes,” he said. “There is a small crowd gathering, no doubt to investigate the sound of that shot, though it will be somewhat difficult for them to determine exactly where it came from in this warren of buildings.” He stepped out onto the pavement and raised his walking stick, and within seconds a carriage rolled to a stop in front of the alley. A giant of a man stepped from the interior and waited, presumably for orders.
“Fetch the body,” King instructed. “Wrap it and put it in the carriage. It has a hole in it, so have a care with the upholstery.”
Beside Elise, Noah was struggling to his feet. Elise stood, her shawl slipping from her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around Noah’s waist and braced him, though he swayed like a sapling in a windstorm and his eyes weren’t quite focused.
“Joshua?” Noah sounded dazed.
King went to Noah’s other side and drew the duke’s arm over his shoulder. “I’m going to need a minute to get His Grace safely away from here,” he said to Elise. “I don’t think any of us want anyone wondering at the coincidence of the Duke of Ashland suffering a wound from a dueling pistol on the same night Francis Ellery vanished.” His eyes evaluated Elise’s bare shoulders and cleavage in cool detachment. “Distract and delay these would-be heroes, Miss DeVries. Redirect them. Ideally, keep them from ever making it to this alley. I will put my trust in your clever tongue and the fact that you currently look like a courtesan only a king could afford.”
“The body can’t be found,” Elise said, finally finding her voice.
King gave her a look of sharp disapproval. “Please desist from insulting my intelligence, Miss DeVries. Or I may start questioning yours.”
Elise slid out from Noah’s side. She bent and retrieved an object from the ground where it lay. She straightened, and with fingers that were no longer shaking, pinned the steel brooch to the inside of Noah’s evening coat. “Courage and strength, Noah,” she said. “You have both.”
A shout came from somewhere on the street.
“Miss DeVries, you need to go,” King warned. “Or this is going to become a situation that not even Chegarre will be able to explain away.”
Noah’s brow had wrinkled. “Don’t leave me, Elise,” he said, his words slow and slightly slurred.
The sound of voices was drawing closer.
“Hurry, Miss DeVries—”
“I’m not leaving you, Noah,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his one last time. “I’m setting you free.”