Elise had found Noah Ellery.
The dawning of that fact had left her reeling. It defied the odds. Approached the realm of the bloody miraculous. Elise still struggled to believe that the gods of fate could have chosen to amuse themselves in such a fashion.
She hadn’t prepared any sort of a plan, which in hindsight was appalling. And embarrassing. And unprofessional. But in her defense, what Elise had prepared herself for when she rode into Nottingham was an arduous search for John Barr in the hopes that he might offer a clue to the whereabouts of Noah Ellery. Well, John Barr had certainly done that.
He had hugged her, introduced himself, and then insisted she have dinner with the next Duke of Ashland.
On the ride back, Elise had interrogated the man who called himself Noah Lawson. Subtly, using every ounce of cunning and care that she had ever learned; and the coincidences had started stacking themselves up like so many pieces of driftwood until they formed a wall that was impossible to ignore. And Elise had long ago learned that there were no such things as coincidences in the business of Chegarre & Associates.
Noah had lied when he said he’d never been to London in the summer. That had been easy to read. He had a sister named Abby. That revelation had been luckier. Elise had wanted to press further, but the shuttered look on his face had made it clear he would not say more on the subject. At least at that time.
I mix up my words.
That remark had wiped away her lingering disbelief. His confession had both touched her and relieved her beyond measure. Aye, he did that when he was flustered, that much had become obvious, though he seemed to think it an insurmountable flaw. Elise had dealt with many men and their flaws in the time she’d been with Chegarre & Associates, and compared to the dangerous and destructive vices and predilections of those individuals, the occasional twisted phrase didn’t even signify.
And it wouldn’t prevent him from speaking up for himself and telling Francis Ellery to go to the devil, she thought with fierce satisfaction.
Elise had made the unforgivable error of assuming that Noah Ellery couldn’t speak. Which made her squirm. Assumptions were dangerous things. In hindsight, Noah’s sister had never said that he couldn’t speak. She had only said that he hadn’t. Elise could only guess that Noah’s tendency to use the wrong word on occasion had kept him from speaking as a child, though that was hardly a question she could simply pose while bouncing along a country road.
In fact she was at an utter loss as to how to best broach the subject of the true nature of her presence in Nottingham. A man who had fled his past, allowed everyone to believe him dead, and built a new life complete with a fictitious name would not be in a hurry to go anywhere with her. Elise simply couldn’t blunder in and blurt out the truth. She’d need to approach this situation carefully, and in a nonconfrontational manner, to secure Noah Ellery’s cooperation. Her job would be so much easier if he wasn’t fighting her and she didn’t have to worry that he might simply disappear again. But for all of that rationale, Elise felt a little as if she had stepped onto a stage with no script memorized and no idea what part she would need to play to see this act to an end.
“My house is just over the ridge,” Noah said beside her, interrupting her thoughts.
He’d barely finished the sentence when they crested that same ridge and Elise looked down into a gently sloping vista. The late-afternoon sun had touched everything with gold, creating a backdrop that seemed magical. Thick clumps of oak, birch, and hawthorn surrounded the yard, casting deep shadows that fell on the roof of a large barn, and obscuring what Elise guessed must be the house. A handful of cows grazed placidly in a fenced pasture carved into a blanket of trees, and a small herd of hogs milled about under a partially covered enclosure. Sunlight sparkled off the river, just visible beyond cropland and the trees that edged the shore.
The air was still thick with the heat of the day, and the breeze had submitted to stillness. Birdsong resonated around her, and occasionally she caught a glance of plumage winging through the leafy boughs.
“This is all yours?” she asked as they started down the gentle incline.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It had been a long time since she had felt…as if she were home. A fragile blanket of peace descended. These were the sounds and the smells that put her in mind of her childhood. Of a time when things had been simple. Until they hadn’t.
Until the war had cost them their home. Until they had fled across an ocean to escape an uncertain future.
Elise opened her eyes to realize too late that Noah was watching her. She bit her lip, wondering what he had seen on her face in that unguarded moment. But he said nothing, only guided his mare around the last bend of the lane and brought it to a stop in front of the barn.
Noah hopped from his perch, and Elise did likewise, going directly to her gelding and untying him.
“Your home is beautiful,” she said, waiting, her horse’s lead rope grasped tightly in her hand.
“You haven’t seen the house.” Noah had unhitched his mare from the cart and was leading it toward Elise.
“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured. And it didn’t. The natural beauty and peace that surrounded her here were worth a hundred gilded palaces.
“Well, I built it, so have a care with my pride when you do see it.” He was grinning at her as he gestured for her to follow him into the cool, dim interior of the barn.
Every fiber in her body ignited. Bloody hell, but she couldn’t think when he smiled at her like that. The urge to taste those gentle, curving lips overwhelmed her again. She let Noah walk on ahead of her, her eyes lingering on the way his ill-fitting shirt pulled across the width of his shoulders, the way his breeches clung to his hips and powerful legs.
“You can put your gelding in the first stall on the left if it suits,” he said over his shoulder.
Elise jerked, startling her horse for the second time in as many hours. “Thank you.” She berated herself under her breath. Whatever happened, she could not allow herself to be smitten by a man whom a client was paying her to retrieve. Well, she amended, if she was being honest, she was probably already smitten. But she could be smitten from a distance. What she couldn’t do was become involved with Noah Ellery. Intimately, emotionally, physically. Not only was it unprofessional, the distraction could be dangerous.
She sighed. This all would have been a great deal easier if the heir to Ashland had been an arrogant pig.
“You can put your tack in here,” he added, his voice muffled and floating from an unseen alcove. “There’s space for a few saddles and hooks for bridles beside the harnesses.”
Elise realized that Noah had already unharnessed his mare while she was still standing motionless, lost in her musings. Quickly she led her gelding into the barn, and was greeted with a neatly swept dirt floor and the clean scent of good hay. She untacked her horse, setting her pack and rifle to the side, and secured the horse in the stall Noah had indicated. By the time she’d put away her saddle and bridle, Noah had already tossed hay into the stall and hung a bucket of water on the inside.
“Ready?” he asked.
No, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready at all. She hadn’t yet prepared a single argument, nor organized a well-rehearsed explanation that would build her case to convince a dead man to return to London.
Noah bent, swinging her pack effortlessly over his shoulder.
“I can carry that,” Elise protested.
“I know you can.” He made no move to give it to her.
He had to stop doing things like this. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now come. I’m starving.” He headed out of the barn.
Not knowing what else to do, Elise grabbed her rifle, still wrapped carefully in its cloth, and followed him as he headed up the lane toward the trees.
* * *
The house was beautiful.
Elise didn’t have to pretend admiration as they drew nearer. She supposed it would be called a cottage, but it wasn’t like the many small, poorly erected abodes she’d passed on her way through the countryside. This was a solid building, and the attention to detail and careful craftsmanship in its construction were obvious. The walls were built of stone, almost a honey color in the late light. It was a single story, sprawling away from the lane, the small panes in the many windows glittering in welcome. The roof wasn’t thatch, as she’d been expecting, but covered in slate, much like a London home. But for all its beauty, it faded into the background, for surrounding the cottage, as far as Elise could see, were gardens.
Roses in shades of brilliant pink exploded from a sea of green, competing with the vibrant crimsons and purples of hollyhocks and cornflowers. It lacked the precise severity that so many of the London gardens boasted and instead had been allowed to flourish, empty spaces filled with color. It was a little as Elise imagined a fairy garden would look if such a thing existed.
“Damask roses,” Elise whispered.
“You know your roses,” Noah said beside her, sounding pleased.
No, I don’t. I don’t know anything about roses, except that a seven-year-old boy once planted them as a gift for his mother.
Elise stopped next to a profusion of blooms and reached out to touch a pink rose, the petals impossibly soft beneath her touch. “Is the garden yours?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Yes.” He had come to stand beside her.
The intoxicating scent of roses swirled around her, accompanied by a subtle concert provided by a host of bees and birds. “It’s…” She paused, thinking beautiful seemed inadequate. “Exquisite.”
He was silent, though Elise could feel his eyes on her.
“I think perhaps I should like to sleep out here tonight,” she said softly. “Amid all this perfection.”
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “Mrs. Pritchard would have a fit if I let you sleep out here,” he told her. He paused, his laughter fading. “But thank you. Perhaps after dinner I could show you the rest.”
Elise took a deep breath. She should not be complimenting him. She could not be standing in his rose garden, discussing things that would never come to pass. She would not be touring his gardens after dinner. She should be having a very frank conversation with him that she very much doubted he would want to participate in. This was pointless, this subtle but deliberate probing. She could beat around the bush forever, poking and jabbing randomly at the periphery, hoping that something useful would emerge. And in the meantime the Duchess of Ashland would be dead, and Francis Ellery would have inherited a fortune.
The better course of action was to simply tell him the truth. Did she really think that if she confronted Noah he would run? And if he did, then he was not the man she needed him to be anyway. Not the man his sister needed him to be. And there was nothing that Elise could do to fix that, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.
If the worst happened, Elise would be better off cutting her losses and returning to London to start exploring other options.
And really, the rose garden was as good a place as any. “Mr. Lawson,” she started, unsure how to phrase what she had to say, but knowing she needed to say it.
Noah reached past her and selected one of the blooms, neatly snapping the stem. He held it out to her with a soft smile. “For you, my lady.”
Elise thought she might never remember how to draw a full breath again. “For what?”
“For being you.”
No man had ever given her a rose for simply being herself. And certainly not while standing in a magical garden bathed in golden sunlight. All thoughts of London slipped away, and she was overcome by such longing that it robbed her of whatever wits she had left.
Very slowly she reached out to accept the rose, her fingers brushing his. Neither made a move to pull away. She ventured a glance up at his face, and the possessive look she saw reflected in his eyes made everything around her fade to nothing. In that moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or what she was doing there. Couldn’t remember why it was impossible for her to reach out and touch him, or simply step forward and kiss him.
“Heavens, Mr. Lawson, but I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped by faerie folk— Oh my.” The sound of a door banging and the abrupt end of a sentence had Elise whirling in alarm.
A woman was standing frozen just at the front of the house, a cloth dangling from her fingers unheeded. Her brown eyes were opened in shocked surprise, wisps of silver hair falling around her flushed face.
Noah retreated hastily, his hand dropping from Elise’s. “My apologies for the lateness of the hour, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said, adjusting the pack on his shoulder and heading toward his housekeeper.
Mrs. Pritchard’s gaze flew to Noah, then to Elise, and back.
“May I introduce Miss DeVries,” Noah said as he gave the older woman a quick kiss on the cheek. “Miss DeVries, this is Mrs. Pritchard.”
The expression on Mrs. Pritchard’s face was one of stunned astonishment.
“A pleasure to meet you.” Elise spoke up, trying her best to inject warmth and normalcy into her words. As if she hadn’t just been caught in a rose garden, dressed in wet trousers, a breath away from kissing a man she should never kiss.
Mrs. Pritchard blinked at her, as if believing her to be real for the first time. “And you,” she replied faintly. “Welcome.”
“Miss DeVries will be staying with us tonight,” Noah continued conversationally, as if this sort of thing happened regularly.
Which, Elise suspected, based on the comically bewildered look on Mrs. Pritchard’s face, was far from the case.
“What happened to your shirt?” She was staring at Noah’s bedraggled, ill-fitting garment.
“I loaned mine to Miss DeVries,” Noah told her.
Mrs. Pritchard’s eyes snapped back to Elise. “You what?” She wheezed slightly.
“Hers was wet.”
The cloth dropped from Mrs. Pritchard’s hands to flutter unnoticed to the ground.
“It’s a bit of a long story,” Noah hastened to add, no doubt catching sight of his housekeeper’s face.
“I was in a position to help Mr. Barr and his son this afternoon,” Elise said, wondering why she felt the need to explain.
“She didn’t help Andrew; she saved him from drowning,” Noah said, giving Elise an exasperated look.
“Um. Yes, well, since I was traveling through Nottingham, Mr. Lawson was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the night. And the chance to dry my clothes,” Elise clarified.
“I see,” Mrs. Pritchard said, clearly not seeing anything.
“Why don’t we go inside?” Noah suggested. “Then I can tell you the whole story. I am being a poor host by leaving Miss DeVries standing dripping in my garden. Perhaps, Mrs. Pritchard, you might see Miss DeVries settled while I change?” He bent and retrieved the fallen cloth and handed it back to his housekeeper.
“Of course.” The housekeeper seemed to give herself a mental shake, and her face creased into a beaming smile. “Please do come inside.”
Noah held the door for her, and the housekeeper bustled back in, Elise following a little more slowly. She had gone but four steps when the sound of joyous barking split the silence and a blur of white fur streaked by her, gravel scattering beneath scrabbling paws.
Three paws, at least, Elise realized, watching the creature that was bouncing around Noah, its entire back end wagging with the force of its tail. It was of an indeterminate breed, its head and body not quite matching, its ears sticking out from its head at illogical angles, and it was missing the lower part of a front leg.
“My dog,” Noah said almost apologetically. “I call him Square.”
“Square?” Elise repeated.
The mutt turned at his name, and within a second it was Elise who found herself the object of much happy attention.
“He doesn’t realize he’s a triangle,” Noah said in a stage whisper. “Don’t tell him.”
A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it. She bent to rub the belly of the dog, who had rolled over at her feet and was looking at her hopefully.
“What happened to his leg?”
“Got caught in a poacher’s trap, I suspect. I found him out by the river eating what was left of a rotting fish. Leg was already half-healed.”
“A survivor,” Elise said quietly, stroking the soft fur.
“Yes.” She could feel the weight of Noah’s gaze on her. “That’s why I couldn’t just…”
“Destroy him.”
“Yes.”
She wanted to look up at him, wanted to discover what she would find in his eyes. Wanted to know what Noah Ellery had survived to become the man he was today. Except she couldn’t. Because she was too afraid of what he might see in hers.
“You can trust me,” he said into the quiet, and his odd words betrayed that her silence had already told him too much. Told him that she understood the meaning of the word survivor.
Elise straightened, and the dog gave a disappointed woof. The word trust suddenly stuck in her throat like a sharp bone, making it difficult to swallow, difficult to think about anything else. She had no business speaking of trust. She was not at all who he thought her to be. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, come to yank the proverbial rug out from under his feet.
“Come inside,” he said in that same gentle voice.
She glanced down at the pink rose she still held in her hand. She couldn’t go into this man’s house. She couldn’t eat his food, sleep under his roof, accept his generosity—his flowers, for God’s sake—while pretending to be something she was not. While harboring ulterior motives. Guilt soured in her stomach.
Bloody hell, what had happened to her? She was never this…scattered. She was always professional and composed, even when a situation went sideways. Her brother had accused her on occasion of being mercenary, though she’d always considered that a compliment and not a criticism. She never allowed her emotions to swing wildly back and forth, but in the past few hours she had been battered by too many. And this growing feeling of guilt was the last straw.
She should leave, find some space, regroup, and come up with a plan for how to handle Noah Ellery.
“I think it would be best if I found an inn—”
“No. I won’t hear of it. Besides, Mrs. Pritchard is quite pleased to have a guest to dote on. If I send you away now, she’ll likely serve my head on a platter tonight.” Noah was smiling at her again, trying to make her feel at ease, she knew. “Surely you don’t want to be responsible for that.”
Elise found herself smiling back despite all her best intentions. “Pleased? She looked at me like I was a unicorn that had just sprouted out of the rosebushes.”
“You can’t blame her. I’m not in the habit of bringing home strange women. Especially ones dressed in trousers who have asked me to pretend they’re mermaids.” He reached out to touch a long ribbon of her hair that was curling damply over her shoulder.
A new riot of butterflies swarmed and banged against her ribs.
“Very well.” She tried to think rationally. She was not going to win this argument. She was miles from town, darkness was not far off, and all her worldly possessions were either slung over this man’s back or eating hay in his stable. Perhaps this was best. She would use this small window of time to study this man and determine exactly what might best convince the next Duke of Ashland to return to London.
She stepped away, and her hair fell from his fingers. If she was to keep her head, she couldn’t do it while this man was touching her.
“Lead the way, Mr. Lawson.”