A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) (23 page)

Elise lifted herself off his body, pushing forward on her knees and bracing her hands at the sides of his head. His own hands went to her shoulders before sliding down and cupping her breasts. He pinched her nipples just hard enough to send bolts of sensation straight to the juncture of her thighs, stirring the acute ache that throbbed there into a relentless pressure.

She could feel his length pressing up against the folds of her sex, and she reached down between them to position him, her fingers brushing against her own wetness. She rocked forward just a little farther, and now she could feel the blunt head of his cock poised at the entrance to her sex.

Beneath her his hips bucked, and the movement forced the tip of him into her. She kept them there, unmoving, letting anticipation amplify the pleasure that was building, a vortex of craving and yearning and need that was escalating in every cell of her body.

Noah’s hands were on her hips now, his skin bathed in perspiration. Wanting. Waiting.

Elise lowered herself back to her elbows, careful to keep their bodies connected, and kissed him, a hot, openmouthed kiss that he returned. She licked his lower lip, ran her tongue along the edge of his jaw and down his neck. She sucked gently on the tendon that was straining there, licking the salt from his skin.

He made an inarticulate noise but didn’t move.

Ever so deliberately Elise rolled her hips back, seating him halfway within her, reveling in the feel of his completing her the way no man would ever do again.

“Who do you want to be right now, Noah?” she whispered against his ear, feeling her body reach deep within itself. She was close. So very close. She moved again, felt his cock slide deeper, and she gasped as the first spasms of her climax took hold deep within her.

His hands tightened on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Yours,” he rasped, as he pushed her down, impaling himself fully within her. “Yours,” he repeated, thrusting hard and sending Elise hurtling into an abyss of ecstasy. “I want to be yours.”

N
ed Miller was an excellent solicitor.

Or at least that was what Ivory Moore had told Noah. Mr. Miller had been the first one in his family to lever himself to such a lofty station, and he took great pride in that, she’d said. How else might the son of a shopkeeper find himself rubbing shoulders with the upper echelons of the peerage? And not only rubbing shoulders with them, but
advising
them?

Noah strode through the door of the solicitor’s office, letting it bang shut behind him, his polished boots rapping loudly on the wooden floor. He’d dressed this morning with a care he had never taken before and in clothes that were finer than anything he could ever remember wearing. Appearances were critical, but Noah knew that even the damn prince would not be able to find fault. He knew he looked every inch a duke. Now he just needed to convince everyone here.

Noah registered a pause in the hum of industry as heads snapped up to examine the new arrival. All around him were men bent over desks, with stacks of paper and ledgers and pots of ink piled in front of them. On his left a narrow staircase led up to a second story, a series of doors visible along the hallway. On his right a row of chairs lined the wall, currently occupied by a well-dressed woman and what looked to be her maid, as well as two young gentlemen. All waiting for the services of Mr. Ned Miller, it appeared. And all eyeing him curiously.

Perfect.

Noah stopped, looking around with ill-concealed impatience, all the while making sure every soul in the room got a good look. He was quite sure most of the clerks and assistants were familiar with his family’s legal affairs. At least those affairs that concerned a missing heir. And those who weren’t soon would be.

As if on cue, a young clerk approached him nervously. “May I help you?”

“Yes. You can take me to see Mr. Miller,” Noah replied briskly.

“Ah yes, well, Mr. Miller is unavailable at the moment.” The clerk’s eyes darted to the top of the stairs.

Noah let his brows inch up his forehead. “He’ll see me.”

The clerk looked back at Noah, uncertainty flitting over his face. “Would you care to leave a name?” he asked.

“Yes.” He allowed impatience to bleed into his words. “Tell him that the Duke of Ashland wishes an audience. He will be expecting me. My sister wrote earlier on my behalf to advise Mr. Miller of my arrival.”

The bustle around him, which had slowed, now came to an abrupt halt. The clerk in front of him was blinking rapidly. “The Duke of Ashland? But—”

“Would you like me to write it down for you?”

“N-no.” The clerk was backing up toward the stairs. “I’ll tell him, of course, Your Grace. If you would just wait but a moment.”

“Thank you.” Noah watched him hurry up the wooden stairs and knock on the first door.

“Mr. Miller?” The clerk’s voice floated down as he pushed the office door open, hovering in the hall.

Noah was pleased at how easily the sound carried to where he stood.

“Not now, Donnelly.” The response from within was laced with disapproval. “I’m currently busy.”

“Begging your pardon, but there is a man downstairs—”

“I’m busy, Donnelly.” Now the voice sounded angry.

Noah headed to the stairs and started climbing, aware that his audience wasn’t even trying to pretend to work any longer.

The clerk was shifting back and forth on his toes. “He claims he’s the Duke of Ashland, sir.”

“
What?
” Noah had reached the top of the stairs and he heard the scrape of a chair being shoved back.

“He said that you should have been advised of his arrival by his sister…” The clerk’s voice trailed off.

Noah ignored the clerk and pushed the office door the rest of the way open. “Mr. Miller?” he asked, addressing a middle-aged man with a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He was standing behind a desk, his hands on his hips. In his peripheral vision, Noah saw another person seated in the room, but for now he kept his attention on the solicitor.

“Can I help you?” Mr. Miller was examining Noah’s appearance and frowning slightly.

“Your clerk wasn’t sure if you were available.” Noah made it sounded like an accusation. Behind him the clerk slunk away.

The solicitor bristled. “I have appointments with other clients, sir. Important clients. So if you care to wait downstairs, I will be there in due time.” He turned to the other occupant of the room. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. This is most irregular—” He stopped in alarm as the man drew himself to his feet.

Noah looked over. The man Miller had addressed as “Your Grace” was clad completely in black, a day’s worth of stubble on his face and his sun-bleached hair tied back in a careless queue. He was tall and imposing and met Noah’s eyes with his own ice-grey ones, giving Noah an almost imperceptible nod.

“Alderidge?” Noah forced himself to grin widely. “Bloody hell, Alderidge, you look like a damn pirate. Don’t they have valets in India? Or at the very least, scissors?”

The Duke of Alderidge met his broad smile with one of his own. “And if it isn’t Ashland crawling out from the Tuscan vineyards or wherever the hell you’ve been hiding.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the solicitor’s mouth fall open.

“I’ve been hiding in the English countryside as of late, if you must know. The weather is not nearly as agreeable as Italy. However, if one is to become a duke, one must understand the people who form the very foundation of this country, do you not agree?” He waved his hand in the direction of Mr. Miller. “One does not become a successful solicitor without studying the law first, aye?”

“Indeed. Though I can’t imagine your father was overly enthusiastic at the idea.”

“My father wasn’t overly enthusiastic about any of my social…explorations. They mortified him,” Noah admitted with a wry shake of his head.

Alderidge sobered abruptly. “My condolences on his death.”

“Thank you.” Noah let the joviality slide from his face. “We certainly had our differences, but I will miss him. I came as soon as Abigail’s letter finally caught up with me notifying me of Father’s passing.”

Alderidge nodded. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do.”

“Thank you. I came directly here as soon as I arrived in London. Haven’t even been to the house in Mayfair yet. Perhaps, if it’s not too much of a hassle, you might stop by and let my mother know I’ve arrived back in town? I wrote, of course, advising her and Abigail of my intention to return, but it was impossible to give them more than a vague idea. Travel is notoriously unreliable.”

“Of course. I’ve only been back in London a day myself. Happy to do so.”

“Drinks later? Cards?”

“Aye. I’d like that. You still owe me a good bottle of brandy from the last time we played in Bombay.”

“I’m still not convinced you weren’t cheating.”

“All good pirates cheat, Ashland.”

“Your Grace?” Mr. Miller finally spoke up, though Noah wasn’t sure whom he was addressing. Judging from the look of horror on the solicitor’s face as the man looked between them, Noah wasn’t sure he did either.

“Are we done, Mr. Miller?” Alderidge asked. “If I’m to stop by Mayfair to see the duchess, I’ll need to get moving. I’m sure there is a pile of paperwork waiting for you here, Ashland. But you’re in good hands with Mr. Miller.”

The solicitor swallowed audibly. “Er, about that.”

The Duke of Alderidge looked at the solicitor and then at Noah. “Are Mr. Miller and his associates not handling your estate anymore, Ashland?”

Noah shrugged. “He was listed in my father’s papers, and my father always spoke highly of this firm. But I fully admit I have been absent for far too long to be sure. A failing on my part, I know.”

“You are the Duke of Ashland?” Mr. Miller blurted.

“I am.” Noah frowned.

“What a bizarre question,” Alderidge commented, sounding displeased.

“In Mr. Miller’s defense, we’ve never met,” Noah pointed out.

“Ah, of course.” Alderidge shrugged. “Well, you can take it from me, Mr. Miller. The man who stands before you is indeed the Duke of Ashland. If you do a good job on the paperwork, maybe he can find you a good bottle of brandy too.”

The solicitor sat down hard in his chair. “But you were presumed dead.”

“What?” Noah laughed, though there wasn’t any humor in it. “That’s absurd.”

“Your father never spoke of you.”

“My father had a seizure two years ago and couldn’t speak,” Noah snapped.

“B-but before then. You didn’t exist. You were nowhere to be found in England.”

“This may come as a surprise to you, Mr. Miller, but there are other places on the globe where one might receive an education befitting a duke. An absence on the roll at Eton does not negate my existence.”

“I never attended Eton either,” Alderidge interjected.

The solicitor cleared his throat. “But there was nothing that—”

“I know I’ve been away from London for a very long time, but I was in contact with my family. Ask my sister or my mother. Either one will certainly vouch for my continued existence, if not for my exact location at any given time.” Noah found himself speaking slowly, concentrating on each word.

Behind his desk the solicitor was sweating.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Miller?” Alderidge asked.

Mr. Miller pulled at his collar, as if he found the air in the room suddenly a little thin. “Your sister…er…”

“Lady Abigail?” Noah supplied.

“Was difficult to reach.”

Noah scoffed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “What do you mean, difficult? She lives in Derby, not in Damascus.”

“Um, yes. Of course, but—”

“What about my mother? She lives a half mile from here in Mayfair.” Noah spoke carefully. This was the critical part.

“Um.” The solicitor’s eyes were shifting about the room, as if he were searching for escape. “It would seem that your mother has had some difficulties as of late.”

“Difficulties?” Noah placed his hands on the edge of Miller’s desk. “What sort of difficulties?”

“What the hell is going on, Mr. Miller?” Alderidge demanded from behind him.

The solicitor looked up at Noah. “Perhaps this should be a private conversation, Your Grace—”

“Alderidge stays.”

“Right. Very good then.” Mr. Miller took a deep breath. “It would seem your mother has been committed to Bedlam.”

A deafening silence fell in the office, and Noah let it stretch. Mr. Miller’s fingers were white on the arms of his chair.

“By whom?” Noah kept his tone even.

“Er, by your cousin. Mr. Ellery. I have been told that he makes a monthly payment to the hospital on her behalf. Out of his own funds, of course, not the duchy’s,” he added hastily, as if this detail might lessen the awfulness.

“Why was my mother committed to Bedlam?”

“Well. Um. It would seem that she was suffering from some, ah, delusions.”

“What sort of delusions, Mr. Miller?”

“Um. She, er, insisted that you were…alive.”

Noah stared down stonily at the solicitor. “She was committed to Bedlam for insisting that I was alive,” he repeated.

“Y-yes.”

“Are you delusional, Mr. Miller?” Noah asked.

“N-no.”

“So you will attest that I am standing before you, very much alive—”

“Showing a remarkable amount of restraint, I might add,” Alderidge growled from behind him.

“Yes, yes.” Ned Miller nodded.

“Is my sister aware of my mother’s current predicament, Mr. Miller?” Noah asked grimly.

“She is.” Mr. Miller was trying not to squeak.

“Did she not petition you for assistance?”

“She did.”

“And is there a reason that you chose…not…to provide that assistance?” Anger on Abigail’s behalf had arisen, making each word a chore.

Mr. Miller flinched. “Your cousin, Mr. Ellery, was handling it, Your Grace. And being that it was a family matter, I thought it best to respect the privacy of yours.”

“Ah yes. Francis.” Noah took his hands from the edge of his desk and straightened. He smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. “I should have known.”

Mr. Miller frowned and watched warily as Noah flexed his hands into fists before relaxing them again. “Would you like me to—”

“I would like you to listen very carefully, Mr. Miller. You will see to the paperwork that is required for me to assume control of the duchy. I will be back tomorrow at this time, and I expect everything to be in order. Can you do that, Mr. Miller?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Because right now I need to leave to extract my mother from Bedlam, where, as I understand it, she languishes for the crime of telling the truth.”

“I will come with you,” the Duke of Alderidge said.

“But Mr. Ellery said you were dead,” Miller wheezed. “Insisted on it.”

“My cousin is up past his eyeballs in debt, Mr. Miller. Something that you might have determined for yourself should you have taken the time to investigate. Where else would he get the funds he so desperately needs if not from my family’s coffers?”

The solicitor reddened, and he started to splutter. “He’s not had a penny from me,” he managed.

“And for that I am thankful. Francis Ellery tried to make a fool of the both of us, Mr. Miller,” Noah said quietly. “And as such, you will not mention this conversation to my cousin should you have the unfortunate opportunity to see him.”

Miller nodded fervently.

“I will handle Mr. Ellery.”

Noah retreated back down the staircase to the main floor, his footsteps preceded by the sounds of frantic scuffling as the legion of clerks who had been listening at the bottom of the stairs fled back to their desks and feigned work. The expensively dressed people waiting in the chairs along the wall simply gawked. Noah kept his eyes straight ahead, his posture stiff, and his expression grim. There was little need for acting now.

He stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of the street. He took a deep breath, letting some of the tension of the morning drain from him.

It had taken an extraordinary amount of concentration to keep his words in order. But he had done it, and any slip would likely be attributed to his fury. A fury that hadn’t required much fabrication as that little drama had played out. He would have given anything to have had Elise at his side with her calm determination. But he knew that that was impossible. Instead he owed a great debt to the man who had now stepped out into the sunshine behind him.