The Scoundrel’s Seduction Page 12

  Élise turned to the window. She drew the gauze curtain aside and gazed out. Sam moved to her side. For a long minute, they both looked out over the water. The sun had begun to set over the hills on the opposite bank, and it cast a golden stream of light over the lake, its beam ending at the cottage.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she turned to him. “I might almost feel free here.”

  Good, he thought.

  “But I will never forget that I am not.”

  What could he say? He couldn’t tell her this would be temporary, that she would be back to her home and to her friends soon. How could that work? She was a risk—not only from the British perspective, but also from their enemies’. He couldn’t throw her back to the wolves in London to fend for herself. Someone, on one side or the other, would make sure she was silenced.

  Would she ever be safe anywhere?

  Resolve hardened within him. He’d get to the bottom of this. Learn those secrets she didn’t trust him enough to share. After their encounter in the carriage this afternoon, he believed deep in his soul that whatever those secrets were, they wouldn’t expose her as Dunthorpe’s accomplice.

  Then he’d find a way to keep her safe. He slipped his arm around her and tugged her close to him. She fit against his body as if they were perfectly matched puzzle pieces. He angled his head and pressed his lips into her hair, breathing her in. She had a scent that seeped right into his blood and heated it—utterly feminine with hints of violets and erotic sweetness.

  He heard the door latch and straightened, stepping away as he dropped his arm from where it held her tucked against him. There was no point in hiding, but he had no desire to make either Élise or Laurent uncomfortable.

  Laurent strode into the salon carrying two bags—one he’d had when he’d met them in London and the other the bag containing a few basic items they’d kept stored in the boot of the carriage.

  He grinned at Sam. “Good to be home, isn’t it?”

  Sam glanced at Élise, whose gaze searched the room.

  “This is your home?” she asked.

  “Close as I’ll ever get to having one, I suppose.”

  “It’s a lovely choice.”

  Laurent winked at her and walked to the stairs with the bags. Sam and Élise followed him up.

  Sam showed her the three bedrooms, all of which had windows that looked out over the lake.

  She glanced at him from under her lashes when he took her into the largest room and told her this was where she’d be sleeping. “And you will be my guard?”

  “Of course.”

  “There is a room just next door,” she pointed out.

  “Yes.” There was. But that didn’t make any difference. The fact that they felt such a mad attraction for each other had not diminished her desire for freedom. She still might try to run.

  He didn’t blame her for wanting her freedom; he respected her for it. It didn’t mean he was going to let her escape.

  “I’ll go start dinner,” Laurent said. “It’ll be good to have something warm tonight.”

  Their meals had consisted mostly of cold meats, cheeses, and breads since they’d left London. But when they’d passed through Kendal just over an hour ago, it had been market day. Laurent had purchased enough provisions to last a week, and he had also bought a gallon of hearty stew for dinner. Sam’s stomach grumbled at the thought of it.

  Élise insisted on helping Laurent, so they all returned to the kitchen, where Sam built a fire in the stove and Laurent tended to the pot of stew. Sam went with Élise to fetch water from the well. Élise rinsed dusty dishes and silver while Sam roamed around the pantry, finding a bottle of wine and a jug of ale.

  They worked in an easy silence, murmuring occasional questions and suggestions to one another. Soon the kitchen was filled with the savory scent of the stew. Élise put the bread Laurent had bought into the oven to warm, and then she went into the dining room, her arms laden with clean napkins and silverware, to set the table.

  As a daughter and a niece of comptes and the wife of a viscount, she was accustomed to being waited upon hand and foot, but she was surprisingly self-reliant and adaptable. And despite the fact that her entire life had been turned upside down a week ago, she still faced the world with a cheerful outlook that Sam found refreshing. He’d forgotten long ago, even before his marriage to Marianne, how to be positive.

  Laurent chuckled, and Sam realized he’d been standing stock-still, gazing at the empty doorway Élise had just disappeared through.

  “Never thought I’d see you like this, Hawk,” Laurent said in a low voice.

  Sam had never thought he’d see himself like this, either. Being smitten like an untried greenling … and without having complete knowledge of the woman or her motivations. Hell, it was unlike him, and it was also rather pathetic. He gave a heavy sigh. “Leave it alone, Laurent,” he grumbled.

  “’Course,” the lad said lightly. “Won’t mention it again.”

  “Good.”

  “But …” Laurent said, and there was a hint of boyish mischief in his voice. “It makes me happy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I like her,” he said bluntly. “I don’t believe she is to blame for any of what has happened to her.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Laurent shook his head as he swirled the long wooden spoon in the pot. “Nah. She’s innocent as a child. But now …” He whistled through his teeth. “Dunthorpe’s friends are her enemies.”

  “You believe that’s who attacked us in London?”

  “Sure, I do.” Laurent slanted a glance in Sam’s direction. “Don’t you?”

  “Probably. But we can’t be completely certain.”

  Laurent snorted. “Who else could it be? The poor lady has earned powerful enemies in this world through her association with Dunthorpe and through no fault of her own.” Laurent blew on a spoonful of stew and took a testing sip. With a nod, he took a pair of thick cloths and pulled the pot from the flame. “I’m glad with so many powerful enemies, she’s gained a powerful friend in you.”

  “And you?” Sam asked quietly.

  “Aye, of course she has a friend in me, but powerful?” Laurent shook his head.

  “Give yourself more credit, lad. You are more than capable of protecting a defenseless woman.”

  At the doorway, Laurent looked over his shoulder back at Sam. His brown eyes were sad when he said, “I know.”

  They sat around the square table. Laurent ladled soup into their bowls while Élise sliced the warm bread she’d fetched from the oven. Sam buttered his bread generously, and they ate in relative quiet for several minutes, savoring the flavors of the meat, barley, and vegetable concoction.

  Eventually, Élise sighed. “It is so delicious. It was very wise of you to choose this tonight, Laurent. There couldn’t be a more perfect dinner.”

  He flashed her a grin. “Did you hear that, Hawk? The lady believes I am wise.”

  “I’d have to agree with her in this case,” Sam said mildly.

  “I hope you will remember me as the wise one,” Laurent told Élise.

  “Remember you? Why do you say this, as if I will never lay my eyes upon you again?”

  “You may not,” Laurent said gravely. “I must leave tomorrow, to return to London.”

  “What?” Élise’s eyes were as big and blue as a wind-tossed sea.

  “I must submit our report to our superiors and receive orders about how to proceed.”

  “Ah. I understand. But you will be back, yes?”

  Laurent’s uneasy gaze met Sam’s.

  “Possibly,” Sam said. “Or they might send someone else.”

  “Carter?”

  “Possibly,” Sam said noncommittally.

  Élise frowned. Then she looked down into her half-empty bowl. “I will miss you, Laurent. You are the friendliest of my gentlemen jailors.”

  Laurent cocked a brow in Sam’s direction. “You see? Friendly and wise.”

 
Sam gave a low snort.

  “Don’t worry, my lady,” Laurent said. “Before I depart in the morning, I will prevail upon Hawk to be on his best behavior.”

  She gave a ladylike huff, as if to expect Sam to be on any sort of good behavior was preposterous.

  She was right about that. Good behavior wasn’t something that would come easily to him—not when he was alone with this woman in this place.

  But while he was a bastard by blood, he was a gentleman by nature. He wouldn’t harm her. He would protect her with every bit of himself.

  Élise knew that, too, but still, there was a spark of concern in those blue eyes when she glanced at him.

  Several minutes later, he rose, his chair scraping over the hardwood as it moved back. He gathered the plates and bowls, raising a brow at Élise before taking hers. “Finished?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll wash these, then.”

  He escaped into the kitchen, where he washed the dishes in the water they’d hauled in from the well.

  Having a few feet of distance between him and Élise helped bring his boiling attraction to a low simmer, though he knew it wouldn’t be so easy once Laurent was gone.

  His longing for her was a deep ache under his skin, a never-ending pulse of need. He didn’t think he could ignore it for long.

  * * *

  Sam woke at dawn to see Laurent off. He’d pulled the mattress from the bed in the adjacent bedroom to the floor of Élise’s bedroom the night before, and at the first sign of a lightening sky, he slid out from under the covers. He pulled on his trousers and slipped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Unlike the London house, this one did not have locks on its bedroom doors. Fortunately, though, the front door did have a lock, and with the lake bordering the house on two sides, there were few routes of escape.

  Still, Sam didn’t like leaving her alone. He intended to keep his eyes and ears open … just in case.

  He hurried downstairs, slipping on his shirt and tucking it in as he descended. He found Laurent in the kitchen, grabbing a water skin and a few slices of dried beef for his saddlebags.

  “About ready?” he asked the boy.

  “Yes. Horse is all saddled and ready to go.”

  They’d agreed that Laurent would take one of the horses, leaving the second horse and the carriage. Sam felt more comfortable having the animal here, because even though the chances were slim of anyone finding them, the horse would provide a faster means of flight, if necessary.

  “Good,” he said. “Laurent … I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” the lad said.

  “I need you to deliver a message to my brother.”

  Laurent raised a brow. “The duke?”

  “Yes. I need you to tell him he can send correspondence to the King’s Arms in Kendal.”

  Laurent frowned. “Correspondence regarding the search for the dowager duchess?”

  “Yes, and anything else he might need to tell me. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I think they’re close to finding some real information about my mother’s whereabouts.”

  Sam hadn’t mentioned to Laurent that his mother’s last-known whereabouts were relatively close by, in Preston, which they’d driven through early yesterday morning.

  His brothers and Esme were on their way to Preston, too, though they were probably traveling in a much more leisurely fashion than he, Laurent, and Élise had. They would likely arrive a few days from now. He would consider sending them a message, too, depending on how things went here and how long he would need to stay, but for now, informing Trent was the best he could do.

  As isolated as this house was, he felt close to something here. Closer, at least, to finding his mother.

  Not for the first time, he wondered what she was doing right now. Where she was … If she was happy … For so long he’d truly believed she was dead, but since the Hawkinses had learned about Steven Lowell, everyone’s hope had shifted.

  If they found her, Sam wanted to know. He wanted to see her in the flesh. Make sure she was well and then discover why she’d left them in the way she had.

  Laurent frowned. “You’ve never let your brother know your whereabouts before. I mean, I know you’re not telling him the location of the cottage, but Kendal is very close—”

  “True, but I think it’s the right thing to do this time. Definitely don’t tell him anything about Lady Dunthorpe or the situation that led us here.”

  Laurent looked affronted. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know.” Sam gave the lad a crooked smile—the closest thing to a genuine smile he could conjure on the best of days. Unless Élise was nearby. Smiles seemed to come more naturally to him in her presence. “Go on, then,” he said gruffly.

  He walked Laurent to the front door. Laurent unwound the reins from the hitching post and stood beside the horse. “Take care of her,” he told Sam in a low voice.

  Sam gazed at the young man. He’d known Laurent since he was eleven years old, when he was brought to Adams’s house, the illegitimate son of a lady and a French émigré. His mother had wanted him to be fostered by gentlemen. Her ambition had been for him to become something, someone who made a difference in the world. She’d wanted nothing more than for Laurent to be a hero. Illegitimate though he was, his mother had adored him. Just like Sam’s mother had adored him.

  Perhaps it was the similarity in their upbringing that had forged the bond between Sam and Laurent. From the beginning, he’d looked after the boy. When Laurent was thirteen, Sam had begun to take an active role in training him.

  He’d been innocent and eager then. And now he was almost a man.

  “I will, lad,” he said softly.

  “I’ll try to return as quickly as possible.” Laurent’s lips twisted. “If Adams allows it.”

  Sam nodded. He hoped Laurent would return, and he hoped Carter would be with him. The three of them were of a mind about the moral basis of their position. Together, he knew, they’d make the best decision about how to handle Adams’s orders—no matter what they might contain.

  “Do you have your pistols?”

  “Of course,” Laurent said smoothly. He patted his right pocket, presumably where he was keeping one of them.

  “Good. Be on the lookout for Dunthorpe’s men.” As far as they knew, none of the enemy had seen either Laurent or Carter, but one could never be too careful. Sam was quite sure they’d seen him—and clearly—which put him at a great disadvantage the moment he entered their sphere again. Especially considering that Dunthorpe had been very good at hiding the identities of those who’d been in league with him. Sam might not know he was facing an enemy until it was too late.

  “I will,” Laurent said.

  “You’ll be spending the night at Masterson’s?”

  Masterson was one of them, but he kept a stable façade as a tollgate-keeper on the turnpike north of Preston. They had several such men scattered throughout the country. This particular posting kept Masterson in a position to keep an eye on travelers heading north.

  Sam and Laurent had briefed the man on the circumstances as they’d passed through the tollgate on the way here, though they hadn’t dallied long, not wanting to reveal Masterson’s true identity to Élise.

  “I don’t know.” Laurent’s fingers restlessly stroked the edge of the saddle. “I could probably make it a good twenty miles farther—”

  “No,” Sam interrupted. “Stay there tonight. We’re safe here, so you needn’t push yourself. From here to Preston is a good day’s ride, and you’ll need to give Masterson the full details, as well as question him to ascertain if anyone suspicious has passed through.”

  A slight frown pulled at Laurent’s brows at that thought. “All right. I’m to Masterson, then.”

  Sam nodded and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Good. Be careful. I’ll await your word.”

  Laurent nodded in return and mounted the horse. In moments, he had disappeared into the wood and th
e clomp of hoofbeats faded into the encroaching dawn.

  When he could no longer hear the retreating horse, Sam returned to the house and closed the door behind him before locking it securely.

  Alone, at last, with Élise.

  Chapter Nine

  Six days had passed, and the ridiculous man hadn’t so much as looked at her. He had thrust the scoundrel part of himself aside until it didn’t exist, until all that remained was the stoic gentleman.

  Élise sat on the shoreline now, hugging her knees against her chest, breathing in the crisp, clean afternoon breeze. Sam was on the bank behind her a few yards back, watching her every move, no doubt, but she’d grown accustomed to his presence there and was no longer self-conscious under his constant scrutiny.

  Élise pressed her lips together in frustration. It was not like she had expected Sam to throw himself at her the second Laurent left them. But this—this was absurd. He went through the motions as a proper gentleman jailor should do, but he spoke of nothing more significant than the weather, and when he looked at her, he seemed to look through her. His expression never wavered from that irritating emotionless look he was so skilled at presenting to the world. It was as if his body was present, but his mind, his soul, was somewhere else.

  That frustrated her to no end. It was insufferable that she was being kept prisoner, but this ignored-while-being-watched state was beyond endurance.

  She’d kept her annoyance—or perhaps if she were being honest with herself, her hurt—to herself in order to pretend to be the docile prisoner these last few days. Sam’s lack of “presence” was only solidifying her desire to escape, and she’d spent many of her lonely hours occupying herself with scheming thoughts.

  As a result of her outward passivity, Sam had grown more lax in the way he watched over her. He still slept on the mattress he’d kept in her bedchamber, and he still hovered over her for the majority of the day. But there were times he left her alone for short periods, which seemed to be growing longer every day.

  Despite her confused frustration about Sam’s withdrawal, she found it easy to play the part of a contented soul. This isolated spot soothed her, the lake a balm to her agitated thoughts. She’d spent long hours here at the shore watching the tiny waves lap over the pebbles and making her peace with Dunthorpe.