How to Marry a Marquis (12 page)

you smiling?"

James coughed to try to cover up his traitorous lips, and tried to remember the last time a woman had called him a nodcock. The ladies he'd met on his recent jaunt to London had been

the simpering sort, complimenting him on his clothing, his face, his form. When one had

actually gone so far as to compliment the slope of his forehead, he knew it was time to get away.

He'd never guessed, however, just how amusing it would be to be insulted by Elizabeth

Hotchkiss.

"Why are you smiling?" she repeated impatiently.

"Was I smiling?"

"You know you were."

He leaned in far enough to cause her to catch her breath. "Do you want the truth?"

"Er, yes. The truth is almost always preferable."

"Almost?"

"Well, if the other choice is to needlessly hurt another's feelings," she explained, "then- Wait a moment! You're supposed to be answering my question."

"Ah, yes, the smile," he said. "It was the nodcock comment, actually."

"You're smiling because I insulted you?"

He shrugged and held out his hands in what he hoped was a rather charming gesture. "I'm not often insulted by women."

"Then you've been keeping company with the wrong sort of women," she muttered.

James let out a hoot of laughter.

"Be quiet," she hissed, yanking him away from the hedge. "She'll hear you."

"She's snoring loudly enough to summon a herd of sheep," he replied. "I doubt our little antics are going to rouse her."

Elizabeth shook her head, frowning. "I don't like this. She never takes naps. She always says it's unnatural."

James flashed her a grin, preparing to tease her yet again, but he held back when he saw the deep concern in her dark blue eyes. "Elizabeth," he said softly, "what is it you really fear?'

She let out a long sigh. "She might be ill. When people suddenly grow tired. .." She swallowed.

"It can be a sign of illness."

He held silent for several moments before quietly asking, "Were your parents ill before they passed on?"

Her eyes flew to his, and he realized that she had been completely surprised by his question.

"No," she said, blinking. "My mother was killed in a carriage accident, and my father..." She paused and looked away, her expression growing heartbreakingly strained until she finally said,

"He wasn't ill."

More than anything he wanted to question her further, to find out why she wouldn't discuss her father's death. In a shocking flash, he realized he wanted to know everything about her.

He wanted to know her past, her present, and her future. He wanted to know if she spoke

French, and did she like chocolates, and had she ever read Moliere.

Most of all, he wanted to know the secrets behind every tiny smile that crossed her face.

James almost took a step back at that. Never had he felt this kind of burning need to reach into the farthest corners of a woman's soul.

Elizabeth filled the awkward silence by asking, "Are your parents still living?'

"No," James replied. "My father died quite suddenly, actually. The doctor said it was his heart."

He shrugged. "Or the lack thereof."

"Oh, dear," she blurted out.

"It's nothing," he said with a dismissive twist of his hand. "He wasn't a good man. I don't miss him and I don't mourn him."

The corners of her mouth tightened, but he thought he saw a hint of something-perhaps

empathy?-in her eyes.

"My mother died when I was quite young," he added abruptly, not entirely certain why he was telling her this. "I barely remember her."

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said softly. "I do hope it wasn't painful."

James feared that he hadn't been successful in keeping the answer from his eyes, because she just swallowed and said, "I'm sorry," again. He nodded in recognition of her sympathy but didn't say anything.

Elizabeth's eyes caught his for a brief moment, and then she craned her neck to take another

look at Lady Danbury. "It would kill me if Lady D were in pain. I just know she would never tell anyone. She can be insufferably proud. She'd never recognize affection and concern for what they are. All she'd see is pity."

James watched her watch his aunt and was suddenly struck by how petite Elizabeth was. The

fields of Danbury Park stretched out behind her in an endless patchwork of green, and she

seemed terribly small and alone against the vast expanse of land. The summer breeze lifted silky strands of blond hair from her bun, and without thinking James reached out and caught one,

tucking it behind her ear.

Her breath caught, and she immediately raised a hand. Her fingers brushed against his knuckles, and he fought the most insane desire to clasp her hand in his. It would only take the tiniest movement of his fingers, and it was so exquisitely tempting, but he pulled his hand back and murmured, "Forgive me. The wind blew your hair."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, she just pulled away.

"Lady Danbury has been very good to me," she said, her voice catching. "There is no way I could ever repay her many kindnesses."

James had never before heard his gruff, outspoken aunt referred to as kind. The ton respected her, feared her, even laughed at her cutting jokes, but never before had he seen the love he felt for the woman who had quite possibly saved his soul reflected in another's eyes.

And then his body became completely foreign to him and he felt himself moving forward. He

wasn't controlling the motion; it was almost as if some higher power had entered his form,

causing his hand to reach out and cup the back of Elizabeth's head, his fingers sliding into the silk of her hair as he pulled her to him, closer, closer, and then ...

And then his lips were on hers, and whatever mesmerizing force had caused him to kiss her fled, and all that was left was him-him and an overpowering need to possess her in every way a man could possess a woman.

As one hand sank ever deeper into her hair, the other snaked around her, settling into the

delicate curve at the small of her back. He could feel her beginning to respond to him. She was a total innocent, but she was softening, and her heart was beginning to beat faster, and then his heart started to pound.

"My God, Elizabeth," he gasped, moving his mouth to her cheek, and then to her ear. "I want...

I want..."

His voice must have woken up something within her, because she stiffened, and he heard her

whisper, "Oh, no."

James wanted to hold on to her. He wanted to slide her to the ground and kiss her until she had lost all reason, but he must have been more honorable than he'd ever imagined, because he let her go the instant she began to pull away.

She stood across from him for several seconds, looking more shocked than anything else. One

tiny hand was clasped over her mouth, and her eyes were wide and unblinking. "I never

thought..." she murmured into her hand. "I can't believe ..."

"You can't believe what?"

She shook her head. "Oh, this is awful."

That was a bit more than his ego could bear. "Well, now, I wouldn't say-"

But she had already run off.

Chapter 7

Elizabeth arrived at Danbury House the following morning with one overriding goal in mind: to stay as far away from James Siddons as humanly possible.

He had kissed her. He had actually kissed her. Worse, she had let him. And even worse, she had run off like a coward-all the way home. Only once in all her years as Lady Danbury"s companion had she ever cried off work early, and that was when she'd had a lung fever. Even then, she had tried to remain at her post, leaving only when Lady Danbury had threatened to care for her

herself.

But this time all it took was one kiss from one handsome man, and she was sniveling like a

ninny. Elizabeth had been so mortified by her actions that she'd sent Lucas back to Danbury

House with a note for Lady D explaining that she was feeling quite ill. It wasn't entirely a lie, Elizabeth reasoned. She'd been hot and flushed, and her stomach had felt altogether queer.

Besides, the alternative to lying was death by mortification. All in all, it took Elizabeth very little time to decide that her little fib was entirely justified.

She'd spent the evening holed up in her room, obsessively poring over HOW TO

MARRY A MARQUIS. There weren't too many references to kissing. Mrs. Seeton obviously

thought that anyone who'd been smart enough to purchase her book was smart enough to know

that one was not supposed to kiss a gentleman to whom one did not have a deep and potentially lasting connection.

And one certainly shouldn't enjoy it.

Elizabeth groaned, remembering all this. So far the day was progressing like any other, except for the fact that she had looked over her shoulder so many times that Lady Danbury had asked if she had developed a nervous tic.

Embarrassment forced her to stop twisting her neck, but she still jumped a little every time she heard footsteps.

She tried to tell herself that it shouldn't be terribly difficult to avoid him.

Mr. Siddons must have a thousand duties as estate manager, nine hundred of which required his presence outside. So if Elizabeth just barricaded herself in Danbury House, she ought to be safe.

And if he decided to pursue the odd task that took him indoors ... well, then, she was certain she could find some reason to leave the house and enjoy the warm English sunshine.

And then it started to rain.

Elizabeth's forehead fell against the glass of the sitting room window with a dull thud. "This can't be happening," she muttered. "This simply cannot be happening."

"What can't be happening?" Lady Danbury asked briskly. "The rain? Don't be a nodcock. This is England. Hence, it must be raining."

"But not today," Elizabeth sighed. "It was so sunny this morning when I walked over."

"Since when has that ever made a difference?"

"Since ..." She shut her eyes and swallowed a groan. Anyone who'd lived her whole life in Surrey ought to know that one could not depend on a sunny morning.

"Oh, never mind. It's not important."

"Are you worried about getting home? Don't be. I'll have someone drive you home.

You shouldn't expose yourself to the elements so soon after an illness." Lady

Danbury's eyes narrowed. "Although I must say you look remarkably recovered."

"I don't feel remarkably recovered," Elizabeth said, quite honestly.

"What did you say was wrong with you?"

"My stomach," she mumbled. "I think it was something I ate."

"Hmmph. No one else fell sick. Can't imagine what you ate. But if you spent the afternoon casting up your accounts-"

"Lady Danbury!" Elizabeth exclaimed. She certainly hadn't spent the previous afternoon casting up her accounts, but still, there was no need to discuss such bodily functions.

Lady D shook her head. "Too modest by half. When did women get to be so prissy?"

"When we decided that vomit wasn't a pleasant topic of conversation," Elizabeth retorted.

"That's the spirit!" Lady Danbury chortled, clapping her hands together. "I declare, Elizabeth Hotchkiss, you sound more and more like myself every day."

"God help me," Elizabeth groaned.

"Even better. Exactly what I would have said." Lady Danbury sat back, tapped her

index finger to her forehead, and frowned. "Now, then, what was I talking about?

Oh, yes, we wanted to make sure that you wouldn't have to walk home in the rain.

Don't fear, we'll find someone to drive you. My new estate manager, if need be. Lord knows he won't be able to get anything done in this weather."

Elizabeth gulped. "I'm certain the rain will let up soon."

Lightning forked through the sky-just to spite her, she was sure-followed by a clap of thunder so loud Elizabeth jumped a foot. "Ow!" she yelped.

"What did you do to yourself now?"

"Just my knee," she replied with a patently false smile. "Doesn't hurt a bit."

Lady Danbury snorted her disbelief.

"No, really," Elizabeth insisted. "Funny how I never noticed that end table there, though."

"Oh, that. Moved it there yesterday. Mr. Siddons suggested it."

"That figures," Elizabeth muttered.

"Beg pardon?"

"Nothing," she said, a little too loudly.

"Hmmph," was Lady Danbury's reply. "I'm thirsty."

Elizabeth immediately warmed to the prospect of having something to do besides stare out the window and worry that Mr. Siddons was going to make an appearance.

"Would you care for tea, Lady Danbury? Or perhaps I can have Cook prepare some lemonade."

"Too early in the morning for lemonade," Lady D barked. "Too early for tea, as a matter of fact, but I'll have some anyway."

"Didn't you take tea with breakfast?" Elizabeth pointed out.

"That was breakfast tea. Different entirely."

"Ah." Someday, Elizabeth thought, she would receive a sainthood for this.

"Make sure Cook puts biscuits on the tray. And don't forget to ask her to fix something for Malcolm." Lady D craned her head this way and that. "Where is that cat?"

"Plotting his latest scheme to torture me, no doubt," Elizabeth muttered.

"Eh? What was that?"

Elizabeth turned toward the door, still looking over her shoulder at Lady Danbury. "Nothing at all, Lady Danbury. I'll just-"

Anything else she might have said was lost as her shoulder bumped into something large, warm, and decidedly human.

Elizabeth groaned. Mr. Siddons. It had to be. She had never been a particularly lucky woman.

"Steady, there," she heard him say, a split second before his hands gently grasped her upper arms.

"Mr. Siddons!" Lady Danbury trilled. "How lovely to see you so early in the morning."

"Indeed," Elizabeth muttered.

"Won't you join us for tea?" Lady D continued. "Elizabeth was just off to fetch a tray."

Elizabeth was still refusing-on principle, although she wasn't entirely certain which principle-to look at his face, but she felt his wolfish smile nonetheless.