How to Marry a Marquis (8 page)

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She was wrong. So very, very wrong. He was waiting for her at the front door.

"Miss Hotchkiss," he said, his voice so amiable that Elizabeth couldn't quite trust it, "it is a pleasure to see you again."

Elizabeth found herself torn between the desire to flee into the house and the urge to wipe his confident smile right off of his face. Pride won out. She raised one of her blond brows in a supercilious gesture she'd learned from Lady Danbury and said, quite acidly, "Is it?"

One corner of his mouth tilted upward, but one couldn't really call it a smile.

"You don't seem to believe me."

Elizabeth let out a long breath between pursed lips. What the devil was she supposed to do now?

She'd sworn to herself that she wasn't going to practice any more HOW TO MARRY A

MARQUIS edicts on this man. He was clearly far too well versed in the art of flirting to be taken in by any of her pathetic attempts. And after yesterday's turnip debacle, he probably thought her a complete ninny.

Which begged the question: What the devil did he want with her now?

"Miss Hotchkiss," he began, after waiting in vain for her to make a comment, "I had merely hoped that we might develop a friendship of sorts. After all, we will be working together here at Danbury House for some time to come. And we both occupy those governess like in-between

posts-a bit too well-bred to mingle with the servants, yet certainly not part of the family."

She considered his words-or, to be more precise, his tone, which was suspiciously friendly.

Then she regarded his face, which appeared to be equally kind and amiable.

Except for his eyes. There was something lurking in those chocolaty depths.

Something ... knowing.

"Why are you being so nice to me?' she blurted out.

He started, letting out a little cough as he did so. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

She pointed her finger and wagged it slowly. "I know what you're about, so don't try to fool me."

That caused him to raise a brow, which annoyed her, because he had obviously mastered the

look better than she had. He said, "I beg your pardon?"

"You're very charming, you know."

His lips parted slightly, and then, after a brief moment of silence, he said, "I find myself with nothing to say but 'thank you.' "

"It wasn't necessarily a compliment."

"But it might have been?'' he asked teasingly.

She shook her head. "You want something from me."

"Only your friendship."

"No, you want something, and you're trying to charm me into getting it."

"Is it working?"

"No!"

He sighed. "Pity. It usually does."

"You admit it, then?"

"I suppose I must." He held up his hands in defeat. "But if you want me to answer your questions, you're required to humor me and stroll the grounds with me for a few minutes."

She shook her head. Going anywhere alone with this man was a huge mistake. "I can't. Lady Danbury is expecting me."

He flipped open his pocket watch. "Not for another quarter hour."

"And how do you know that?" she demanded.

"Perhaps you recall that I was hired to manage her affairs?'

"But you're not her secretary." Elizabeth crossed her arms. "Estate managers don't set schedules for their employers."

Perhaps she was imagining it, but his eyes seemed to grow warmer and more intense, "I have always found," he said, "that there is nothing so powerful as good information. Lady Danbury is an exacting woman. It seemed prudent to acquaint myself with her schedule so as not to disrupt it."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. He was right, drat the man! The very first thing she herself had done upon entering Lady D's employ was memorize her schedule.

"I can see you agree with me, reluctant though you are to compliment me by admitting it."

She glared at him. Really, this man was beyond arrogant.

"Come, now," he said coaxingly. "Surely you can spare a few moments to help a newcomer to the area."

"Very well," Elizabeth replied, quite unable to refuse when he phrased his request as a plea for

help. She had never been able to turn away from anyone in need. "I shall walk with you. But you may only have ten minutes of my time."

"A most generous lady," he murmured, and took her arm.

Elizabeth swallowed as his hand looped around the crook of her elbow. She felt it again-that odd, breathy awareness that enveloped her whenever he was near.

And the worst part was that he looked as cool and composed as ever.

"Perhaps we could take a short turn through the rose garden?" he suggested.

She nodded, quite unable to say anything else. The heat from his hand had traveled up her arm, and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"Miss Hotchkiss?"

She swallowed and found her voice. "Yes?"

"I hope I am not making you uncomfortable by seeking you out."

"Not at all," she squeaked.

"Good," James said with a smile. "It is merely that I did not know to whom else to turn." He glanced over at her. Her cheeks were stained delightfully pink.

They said nothing as their steps took them through the stone arch that led into the rose garden.

James steered her to the right, past Danbury House's famous Scarlet Scotch Roses, which

bloomed in a brilliant display of pink and yellow.

He leaned down to smell one, stalling for time while he figured out how best to proceed from here.

He had thought about her all night and well into the morning. She was clever, and she was

definitely up to something. He had spent enough time ferreting out secret plots to know when a person was acting suspiciously. And his every instinct told him that Miss Hotchkiss had been behaving out of character the day before.

At first it had seemed odd that she should be the blackmailer. After all, she couldn't be very much older than twenty. She certainly wasn't older than Melissa, who was nearly thirty-two. So she couldn't have any firsthand knowledge of Lady Danbury's extramarital affair.

But she had lived her entire life in the region; she had said so herself.

Perhaps her parents had passed on a confidence. Secrets had a way of lingering in small towns for years.

Not to mention that Miss Hotchkiss had free run of Danbury House. If Aunt Agatha had left any incriminating evidence about, no one was more likely to come across it than her companion.

No matter which way he turned, he was led back to Miss Elizabeth Hotchkiss.

But if he wanted to learn her secrets, he had to make her trust him. Or at the very least, lower her guard enough so that she might let the occasional confidence slip through those delectable pink lips of hers. It seemed to him that the best way to do this was to ask for her assistance. Her sort of woman was polite to a fault. There was no way she would say no if he asked her to help him acquaint himself with the neighborhood. Even if she was the blackmailer-and thus selfish to the core-she had appearances to maintain. Miss Elizabeth Hotchkiss, companion to the Countess of Danbury, could not afford to be seen as anything less than gracious and kind.

"Perhaps you realize that I am new to the area," he began.

She nodded slowly, her eyes wary.

"And you told me yesterday that you have lived in this village your entire life,"

"Yes..."

He smiled warmly. "I find myself in need of a guide of sorts. Someone to show me the sights.

Or, at the very least, to tell me about them."

She blinked. "You want to see the sights? What sights?"

Damn. She had him there. It wasn't as if the village were brimming with culture and history.

"Perhaps 'sights' isn't the best choice of words," he improvised.

"But each village has its own little quirks, and if I am to be effective as manager of the largest estate in the district, I need to be aware of such things."

"That's true," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "Of course, I'm not certain what precisely you would need to know, as I've never managed an estate. And one would think that you, also, would be at a loss, since you have never managed an estate before, either."

He looked at her sharply. "I never said that."

She stopped walking. "Didn't you? Yesterday, when you said you were from London."

"I said I hadn't been managing estates in London. I did not say that I had not done so prior to that."

"I see." She turned her head to the side and looked at him assessingly. "And where were you managing estates, if not in London?''

She was testing him, the damnable chit. Why, he wasn't certain, but she was definitely testing him. But he wasn't about to let her trip him up. James Sidwell had immersed himself in disguise more times than he could count, and he had never slipped. "Buckinghamshire," he said. "That is where I grew up."

"I have heard it is beautiful there," she said politely. "Why did you leave?"

"The usual reasons."

"Which are?"

"Why are you so curious?"

She shrugged. "I'm always curious. Ask anyone."

He paused and plucked a rose. "These are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Mr. Siddons," she said with an exaggerated sigh, "I fear there is something you do not know about me."

James felt his body tense, waiting for whatever admission was forthcoming.

"I have three younger siblings."

He blinked. What the hell did that have to do with anything?

"Hence," she continued, smiling at him in such a way that he was no longer quite so sure that she was up to anything other than amusing conversation, "I am quite proficient in recognizing when a person is evading a question. In fact, my younger siblings would call me frighteningly proficient."

"I'm sure they would," he muttered.

"However," she continued personably, "you are not one of my siblings, and you are certainly under no obligation to share your past with me. We all have a right to our private feelings."

"Er, yes," he said, wondering if maybe she was nothing more than what she seemed-a nice young country-bred miss.

She smiled up at him again. "Have you any siblings, Mr. Siddons?"

"I? No. None. Why?"

"As I said, I am endlessly curious. A person's family can reveal a great deal about his character."

"And what does your family reveal about your character, Miss Hotchkiss?"

"That I am loyal, I suppose. And that I would do anything for my brother and sisters."

Including blackmail? He leaned toward her, barely an inch, but it was still enough to make her lower lip tremble. James took a primitive satisfaction in that.

She just stared at him, obviously too inexperienced to know how to handle such a predatory

male. Her eyes were huge, and the clearest, darkest blue James had ever seen.

His heart began to beat faster.

"Mr. Siddons?"

His skin turned hot.

"Mr. Siddons?"

He was going to have to kiss her. That's all there was to it. It was the stupidest, most ill-advised idea he'd had in years, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do to stop himself. He moved in, closing the gap between them, savoring the anticipation of the moment his lips would land on hers, and-

"Eep!"

What the hell?

She made some sort of nervous chirping sound and jerked away, her arms flailing.

And then she slipped-in what, he didn't know, since the ground was dry as bone, but she waved her arms madly to keep from falling to the ground, and in the process smacked him under the

chin. Hard.

"Ow!" he howled.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "Here, let me see to that."

She stepped on his toe.

"Ouch!"

"I'm sorry sorry sorry." She looked terribly concerned, and normally he would have milked this for all it was worth, but damn it, his foot really hurt.

"I'll be fine, Miss Hotchkiss," he said. "All I need is for you to step off of my toe, and-''

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, for what seemed the hundredth time. She took a step back.

He winced as he flexed his toes.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He shuddered. "Don't say that again."

"But-"

"I insist."

"At least let me see to your foot." She bent down.

"Please don't." There were few situations in which James thought begging appropriate, but this was one of them.

"All right," she said, straightening up. "But I should-''

Smack!

"Oh, my head!" she yelped, rubbing the top of her scalp.

"My chin," James barely managed to get out.

Her blue eyes filled with worry and embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"Brilliant aim, Miss Hotchkiss," he said, shutting his eyes in agony. "Right where you whacked me with your hand."

He heard her gulp. "I'm sorry."

And that was when he made his fatal mistake. Never again would he keep his eyes closed

around a suspiciously clumsy female, no matter how appealing she was. He didn't know how she managed it, but he heard a surprised yelp, and then somehow her entire body crashed into his, and he went tumbling toward the ground.

Well, he thought he'd hit the ground.

If it had occurred to him to hope, he would have hoped to hit the ground.

But as it turned out, he should have prayed he'd hit the ground. It would have been so much

more pleasant than the rosebush.

Chapter 5

"I'm sorry!''

"Don't say that," he growled, trying to decide which bit of him hurt the worst.

"But I am!" she wailed. "Here, let me help you up."

"Don't," he yelled frantically, finishing with a somewhat quieter, "touch me. Please."

Her lips parted with mortified horror, she started blinking rapidly, and for a moment James

thought she might cry. "It's perfectly all right," he forced himself to lie. "I'm not hurt." At her incredulous stare, he added, "Very much."

She swallowed. "I'm so clumsy. Even Susan refuses to dance with me."

"Susan?"

"My sister. She's fourteen."

"Ah," he said, then added under his breath, "Smart girl."