That Night on Thistle Lane (Swift River Valley #2)

Dylan watched her walk past them into her gardens, mumbling about dealing with the basil before it went to seed. He glanced at Noah. “Not a word.”


“Nope. Not me.” Noah put his feet up on another chair and settled back in the late-afternoon warmth. “I don’t know which I want more—the identity of this stalker or of my princess. Wouldn’t you have said that was a Victorian dress?”

“I’d have said it was a dark blue dress.”

“It was dark brown, Dylan.”

He shrugged. “I’m not big on colors.”

“And you’re engaged to a graphic designer who loves color?”

“A case of opposites attracting, at least on that one. We have other things in common.” His gaze was fixed on Olivia, kneeling in a sunny herb patch, checking what Noah assumed was basil. Finally Dylan added, “Olivia and I are good together, Noah.”

“No question about it. I’m happy for you.”

“So, do you think she knows who your princess is?”

Noah debated answering, then said, “Yes, I think she does.”

Dylan sighed. “I’m betting she does, too.”

“A friend from Boston, maybe?”

He shifted his gaze to Noah. “I doubt it.”

“Then a friend from Knights Bridge?”

“It doesn’t have to be a friend. She knows everyone in town.”

Noah looked up at the sky and contemplated the cloud formations. “If my princess is from Knights Bridge, and Olivia and Maggie don’t want to tell me—”

“Then you need to forget about her,” Dylan said.

“Meaning they’ll never give her up and they’ll never forgive me if I find her and she doesn’t want to be found.” Noah dropped his feet onto the stone terrace and sat up straight. “She wrote the note.”

“Who? Olivia?”

“My princess.”

Dylan got to his feet. He looked pensive, tight.

“I’m not speculating, Dylan. I’m as certain about this as I was about starting my own company—about knocking on your window when you were sleeping in your car. She wrote that note and got it to you because she thought you might know who her swashbuckler was and could get it to him.”

“If that’s the case, she took great pains to conceal her identity.”

“Otherwise she would have just handed you the note herself, or Maggie and Olivia would have told you who she is.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want her swashbuckler to know who she is.”

Noah ignored the amusement in Dylan’s voice. “Olivia and Maggie know it was me dressed up like a musketeer last night. I don’t think they’ve told her. Olivia said she was to give you the note because you might know the identity of the swashbuckler mentioned in the conversation. You invited a fair number of the guests, after all.”

“She wasn’t asked to get it specifically to Noah Kendrick. You, in other words.”

“Right. No name.”

Olivia moved to another cluster of herbs. Noah didn’t think she could hear the discussion between him and Dylan but suspected she had a fair idea of what was on their minds. He was rarely confident of his ability to read body language with any accuracy. He really didn’t know what Olivia was thinking, or even his best friend of nearly thirty years. In contentious board meetings, dealing with the occasional backstabber, the ever-present sharks in the water, Dylan was better at getting at what was going on beneath the surface. Noah tended to focus on what he wanted. For the past four years, what he wanted had centered on business.

Not right now. Right now, what he wanted was his princess.

He got to his feet and stood next to Dylan. “My princess last night doesn’t know it was me behind the mask.”

“Do you think she’d be disappointed to find out she danced with the founder of NAK?”

Dylan spoke as if disappointment was unimaginable. Noah remembered the persona he’d adopted last night. “I’m no D’Artagnan,” he said.

“You’re as good with a sword as any musketeer.”

“That’s different. Anyway, if this woman has information on my mystery man, then it could help that I’m just…you know. Me.”

“Your average, garden-variety California billionaire,” Dylan said with some humor.

“All right, maybe it won’t help.”

His friend groaned suddenly. “Are you confused at all? A mystery woman, a mystery stalker, small-town loyalties…” He held up a hand before Noah could answer. “Never mind. I know you’re not confused.”

“Do you have a short list of possibilities of who my Edwardian princess might be?”

Dylan looked uncomfortable. “Noah…”

“Ah. A very short list. You don’t have to tell me. I won’t compromise you with your new friends here. I like a good challenge.”

“Then you still plan to stay?”

Noah hadn’t changed his mind. Not even close. “It’ll be fine. Nobody knows me in Knights Bridge except Maggie and her sister.”

“But you’re determined to find out who your princess is,” Dylan said.

“As much as ever. I’ll just keep it to myself when I do. Relax, Dylan. Think of me as taking a few days to enjoy the bucolic surroundings.”

“You don’t like bucolic surroundings.”