A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) by Kelly Bowen

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