How to Marry a Marquis

Chapter 11

Elizabeth was surprised how unconcerned she was about the state of her home when she and James arrived at her doorstep. The green damask drapes were faded, and the moldings in need of a new coat of paint. The furniture was well-made but well-worn, with pillows strategically placed over the areas most in need of recovering. All in all, the house had a slightly spare look. There were precious few knickknacks; anything of any value had already made its way to pawnbroker or traveling peddler.

Usually she felt the need to explain how her family had fallen on hard times, and to make it clear that they had lived in a much bigger house before her parents died. Lucas was a baronet, after all, and it was embarrassing that they should be reduced to such circumstances.

But with James she simply opened her door with a smile, certain he would see her little cottage the way she did-as a warm, comfortable home. He'd alluded to a well-born background himself, but he'd also said that his family had lost whatever fortunes they had once possessed, so he would understand her inability to purchase new things, her need to economize.

The house was-thankfully!-tidy, and the: air smelled of warm biscuits. "You're in luck today," Elizabeth said with a smile. “Susan must have decided to do some baking."

"It smells delicious," James said.

"Ginger biscuits. Here, why don't you follow me into the kitchen? We're terribly informal here, I'm afraid." She pushed open the door to the kitchen and ushered him in. When he didn't immediately seat himself, she scolded him and said, "You mustn't stand on attention on my account. Your hip is bruised and must pain you terribly. Besides, it's silly for you to stand there while I prepare tea."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, then asked, "Are those your siblings in the garden?"

Elizabeth pushed aside a curtain and peered out the window. "Yes, those are Lucas and Jane. I'm not certain where Susan is, although she must have been here recently. These biscuits are still warm." With a smile, she deposited a plateful in front of him. "I'll call Lucas and Jane. I'm sure they will want to meet you."

James watched with interest as she knocked three times on the windowpane. Within seconds, the kitchen door flew open and two little urchins appeared.

"Oh, it's you, Elizabeth," the little boy said. "I thought you were Susan."

"No, it's just me, I'm afraid. Have you any idea where she's gone off to?"

"She went to the market," the little boy replied. "With any luck someone will give us some meat for those turnips."

"Pity is more like it," the little girl muttered. "Why anyone would give up a perfectly good piece of meat for a perfectly wretched turnip is quite beyond me."

"I hate turnips," James said.

All three Hotchkisses turned their blond heads in his direction.

He added, "A friend of mine once told me that one can learn quite a bit about diligence from a turnip, but I never could figure out what she meant."

Elizabeth started choking on air.

"That sounds like a lot of rubbish to me," the little girl said.

"Lucas, Jane," Elizabeth interrupted loudly. "I would like you to meet Mr. Siddons. He is my friend, and he also works at Danbury House. He is Lady Danbury's new estate manager."

James stood and shook Lucas's hand with all the gravity he would afford the prime minister. He then turned to Jane and kissed her hand. Her entire face lit up, but more importantly, when he looked up at Elizabeth for approval, she was beaming.

"How do you do?" he murmured.

"Very well, thank you," Lucas said.

Jane didn't say anything. She was too busy gazing at the hand he'd kissed.

"I have invited Mr. Siddons for tea and biscuits," Elizabeth said. "Would the two of you like to join us?"

Normally James would have regretted the loss of this time alone with Elizabeth, but there was something positively heartwarming about sitting here in the kitchen with this little threesome who so obviously knew what it meant to be a family.

Elizabeth handed a biscuit to each of her siblings and asked, “What did you two do all day? Did you finish the lessons I laid out for you?"

Jane nodded. "I helped Lucas with his arithmetic."

"You did not!" Lucas sputtered, crumbs flying from his mouth. "I can do it all by myself."

"Maybe you can," Jane said with a superior shrug, "but you didn't."

"Elizabeth!" Lucas protested. "Did you hear what she said to me?"

But Elizabeth ignored the question, instead sniffing the air with obvious distaste. “What on earth is that smell?''

"I went fishing again," Lucas replied.

"You must go wash yourself immediately. Mr. Siddons is our guest, and it isn't polite to-"

"I don't mind a bit of a fishy smell," James interrupted. “Did you catch anything?''

"I almost had one that was thiiiiiissss big," Lucas said, spreading his arms nearly as wide as they would go, “but he got away."

"Isn't that always the case," James murmured sympathetically.

"I did catch two medium-sized ones, though. I left them in a bucket outside."

"They're quite disgusting," Jane put in, having lost interest in her hand.

Lucas turned on her in an instant. "You don't say that when you get to eat them for supper."

"When I eat them for supper," she shot back, "they don't have eyes."

“That's because Lizzie chops off their heads, you nodcock."

"Lucas," Elizabeth said loudly, "I really think you should go outside and wash off some of that smell."

"But Mr. Siddons-"

"-was just being polite," Elizabeth cut in. "Do it now, and change your clothing while you're about it."

Lucas grumbled, but he did as he was told.

"He's such a trial sometimes," Jane said with a world-weary sigh.

James had to cough to keep from laughing.

Jane took this as agreement and further explained, ”He is only eight."

"And how old are you?"

"Nine," she replied, as if that made all the difference in the world.

"Jane," Elizabeth said from over at the hearth, where she was putting water on for tea, “may I speak with you for a moment?"

Jane politely excused herself and moved to her sister's side. James pretended not to watch as Elizabeth leaned down and whispered something in her sister's ear. Jane nodded and ran off.

"What was that all about?" he had to ask.

"I thought she might do with a washing up as well, but I didn't want to embarrass her by asking in front of you."

He cocked his head. “Do you really think she would have been embarrassed by that?''

"James, she's a nine-year-old girl who thinks she's fifteen. You're a handsome man. Of course she'd be embarrassed."

"Well, you would know better than I," he replied, trying not to let his pleasure show at her having complimented his looks.

Elizabeth motioned to the plate of biscuits. "Aren't you going to try one?"

He took one and bit into it. "Delicious."

"Aren't they? I don't know what Susan does with them. I've never managed to make mine come out as nice." She took one and bit into it.

James stared up at her, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her nibbling away. Her tongue darted out to catch an errant crumb, and-

"I'm back!"

He sighed. One of life's most unexpected erotic moments, interrupted by an eight-year-old boy.

Lucas grinned up at him. "Do you like to fish?"

"It's one of my favorite sports."

"I should like to hunt, but Elizabeth won't let me."

"Your sister is a very wise woman. A boy your age should not handle a gun without the proper supervision."

Lucas pulled a face. "I know, but that's not why she doesn't let me do it. It's because she's too softhearted."

"If not wanting to watch you mangle a poor, innocent rabbit," Elizabeth cut in, "means that I am too softhearted, then-"

"But you eat rabbit," Lucas argued. "I've seen you."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and grumbled, "It's different when it has ears."

James laughed. "You sound like young Jane with her aversion to fish eyes."

"No, no, no," Elizabeth insisted, "it's entirely different. If you recall, I am the one who always cuts off the fish heads. So clearly I am not squeamish."

"Then what's the difference?" he prodded.

"Yes," Lucas said, crossing his arms and cocking his head in a perfect imitation of James, "what's the difference?"

"I don't have to answer this!"

James turned to Lucas and said behind his hand, "She knows she hasn't a leg to stand on."

"I heard that!"

Lucas just giggled.

James exchanged a very male glance with the little boy. "Women do tend to get annoyingly sentimental when it comes to small, furry creatures."

Elizabeth kept her eyes on the stove, pretending to fix the tea. It had been so long since Lucas had met a man he could look up to and admire. She worried constantly that she was depriving him of something important by raising him herself, with only sisters for company. If she'd allowed any of her relations to take him in, he still wouldn't have had a father, but at least he would have had an adult male in his life.

"What's the biggest fish you've ever caught?" Lucas asked.

“On land or on sea?''

Lucas actually poked him in the arm when he said, "You can't catch a fish on land!"

"I meant on a pond."

The little boy's eyes grew wide. "You've fished on the sea?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth looked at him with a bemused glance. His tone was so matter-of-fact.

"Were you on a ship?" Lucas asked.

"No, it was more of a sailboat."

A sailboat? Elizabeth shook her head as she pulled some dishes out of the cupboard. James must have well-connected friends.

"How big was the fish?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe about this big." James measured a length of about two feet with his hands.

"Hells bells!" Lucas yelled.

Elizabeth nearly dropped a saucer. "Lucas!"

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Lucas said without much thought, and without even turning to face her. His attention never wavered from James as he asked, “Did he put up a fight?"

James leaned down and whispered something in Lucas's ear. Elizabeth arched her neck and strained her ears, but she couldn't make out what he said.

Lucas nodded somewhat glumly, then stood up, crossed the room to Elizabeth, and gave her a little bow. Elizabeth was so surprised that this time she did drop what she was holding. Thankfully, it was just a spoon.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Lucas said. "It isn't polite to use such language in front of a lady."

"Thank you, Lucas." She looked over at James, who offered her a secret smile. He tilted his head toward the boy, so she leaned down, handed Lucas a plate of biscuits, and said, "Why don't you and Jane go and find Susan? And you may eat these biscuits on the way to town."

Lucas's eyes lit up at the sight of the biscuits, and he quickly grabbed them and left the room, leaving Elizabeth openmouthed in his wake. "What did you say to him?" she asked in amazement.

James shrugged. "I can't tell you."

“But you must. Whatever it was, it was terribly effective."

He sat back, looking terribly pleased with himself. "Some things are best left between men."

Elizabeth frowned playfully, trying to decide whether she ought to press him further, when she noticed a darkening stain near his eye. "Oh, I completely forgot!" she blurted out. "Your eye! I must find something to put on that."

"It will be fine, I'm sure. I've had far worse injuries with far less attention paid to them."

But she wasn't listening, as she shuffled hurriedly through her kitchen in search of something cool.

"You needn't go to any trouble," he tried again.

She looked up, which surprised him. He'd thought she was far too involved in her search to be listening, let alone responding to him.

"I won't argue with you about this," she stated. "So you might as well save your breath."

James realized she spoke the truth. Elizabeth Hotchkiss wasn't the sort to leave projects unfinished or responsibilities unmet. And if she insisted upon tending to his bruised eye, there was very little he-a peer of the realm, a man twice her size-could do to stop her.

"If you must," he murmured, trying to sound at least a little bit put out by her ministrations.

She twisted her hands around something in the sink, then turned around and held it out to him. "Here."

“What is that?'' he asked suspiciously.

"It's just a wet cloth. What did you think-that I was going to slap Lucas's catch of the day on your face?"

"No, you're not angry enough today for that, although-"

She raised her brows as she covered his bruised eye with the cloth. "Are you intimating that you think you might someday anger me enough so that-"

"I'm not saying anything of the kind. God, I hate being fussed over. You merely- No, it's a bit to the right."

Elizabeth adjusted the cloth, leaning forward as she did so. "Is that better?"

"Yes, although it seems to have grown quite warm."

She jerked back a few inches and straightened. "I'm sorry."

"It's just the cloth," he said, not nearly noble enough to pull his gaze off of what was directly in front of him.

He wasn't sure if she realized he was staring at her breasts, but she let out a little "Oh!" and jumped away. "I can cool this off again." She did so, then held out the wet cloth. "You had better do this yourself."

He moved his gaze to her face, his expression as innocent as a puppy dog. "But I like it when you do it."

"I thought you didn't like to be fussed over."

"I didn't think I did."

That earned him a half-beleaguered, half-sarcastic, one-hand-on-hips pose. She looked rather ridiculous, and somehow at the same time amazing, standing there with a dishrag hanging from her hand. "Are you trying to convince me that I am your angel of mercy, come from heaven to-"

His mouth spread into a slow, hot smile. "Precisely."

She threw the cloth at him, leaving a wet spot in the middle of his shirt. "I don't believe you for one second."

"For an angel of mercy," he muttered, "you have a rather short temper."

She groaned. "Just put the cloth on your eye."

He did as she asked. Far be it from him to disobey her when she was in such a temper.

They stood regarding each other for a moment, and then Elizabeth said, "Take that off for one second."

He took his hand away from his eye. ' The cloth?''

She nodded once.

"Didn't you just order me to put it back on my eye?"

"Yes, but I want to get a look at the extent of the bruising."

James saw no reason not to comply, so he leaned forward, lifting his chin and tilting his face so that she could easily look at his eye.

"Hmmph," she said. "It's not nearly as purple as I would have expected."

"I told you it wasn't a serious injury."

She frowned. "I did knock you to the ground."

He arched his neck a little farther, silently daring her to put her mouth within kissing distance again. “Perhaps if you looked closer."

She wasn't falling for it. "I'm going to be able to see the color of your bruise better by moving closer? Hmmph. I don't know what you're up to, but I'm far too smart for your tricks."

That she was too innocent to realize he was trying to sneak a kiss both amused and delighted him. After a moment of thought, however, he realized that it horrified him as well. If she was that ignorant to his true motives, what the hell was she going to do when faced with libertines whose aims were considerably less noble than his?

And she would, he knew. He might possess a rake's reputation, but he tried to live his life with a certain modicum of honor, which was more than he could say for much of the ton. And Elizabeth, with that moonbeam hair of hers, not to mention those eyes, and that mouth, and-

Hell, he hadn't meant to sit here and total up her attributes. The point was, she had no powerful family to defend her, and thus gentlemen would try to take advantage of her, and the more he thought about it, the less convinced he was that she would be able to make it to the altar with her purity-and her soul-intact.

"We're going to have to have another boxing lesson tomorrow," he blurted out.

“I thought you said-''

"I know what I said," he snapped, "but then I started thinking."

"How very industrious of you," she murmured.

"Elizabeth, you must know how to defend yourself. Men are cads. Scoundrels. Idiots, one and all."

"Yourself included?"

"Especially me! Do you have any idea what I was trying to do right then when you were inspecting my eye?"

She shook her head.

His eyes grew hot with fury and need. "If you'd given me one more second, just one more blessed second, I would have had my hand behind your neck, and before you could count to one, you would have been in my lap."

She made no comment, which, for some asinine reason he couldn't quite define, infuriated him. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" he demanded.

"Yes," she said coolly. "And I shall regard this lesson as a critical part of my education. I'm far too trusting."

"You're damned right about that," he grumbled.

"Of course, it does present an interesting dilemma for tomorrow's lesson." She crossed her arms and regarded him with an assessing look. “After all, you told me that I must study the more, er, amorous aspects of courtship."

James had a feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming next.

"You tell me I must learn to kiss, and"-here she shot him a look that was dubious in the extreme-"you tell me that you must be the one to teach me."

James couldn't think of any words that might possibly present him in a flattering light, so he kept his mouth shut and tried to maintain his dignity by glowering at her.

"Now you tell me," she continued, "that I should trust no one. So why should I trust you?"

"Because / have your best interests at heart."

"Ha!"

As set-downs went, it was short, to the point, and remarkably effective.

"Why are you helping me?" she whispered. "Why have you made this bizarre offer of your services? Because it is bizarre, you know. Surely you must realize that."

"Why have you accepted?" he countered.

Elizabeth paused. There was no way to answer his question. She was a terrible liar, and she certainly couldn't tell him the truth. Oh, he'd have a fine time with that-learning that she wanted to spend one last week, or if she was lucky a whole fortnight, in his company. She wanted to hear his voice, and breathe his scent, and catch her breath when he drew too near. She wanted to fall in love and pretend it could last forever.

No, the truth was not an option.

"It doesn't matter why I've accepted," she finally replied.

He stood. "Doesn't it?"

Without even realizing it, she took a step back. It was so much easier to fake bravado when he was sitting down. But at his full height, he was the most intimidating male specimen she'd ever come across, and all her recent ramblings about feeling so comfortable in his presence seemed rather foolish and premature.

It was different now. He was here. He was close. And he wanted her.

That easy feeling had fled-the one that allowed her to be so true to herself in his company, to say whatever was on her mind without fear of embarrassment. It had been replaced by something infinitely more thrilling, something that stole her breath and her reason and her very soul.

His eyes never left hers. The rich brown color smoldered and darkened as he closed the distance between them. She couldn't blink, she couldn't even breathe as he drew ever nearer. The air grew hot, and then electric, and then he stopped.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he whispered.

She couldn't make a sound.

One of his hands settled at the hollow in the small of her back. "If you don't want me to, tell me now, because if you don't…"

She didn't think she moved, but her lips parted in silent assent.

His other hand slid behind her head, and she thought she heard him murmur something as his fingers sank into the silk of her hair. His lips brushed against hers, once, twice, then moved to the corner of her mouth, where his tongue teased the sensitive skin of the edge of her lips until she was forced to gasp her pleasure.

And all the time, his hands were moving, caressing her back, tickling the nape of her neck. His mouth moved to her ear, and when he whispered, she felt it every bit as much as she heard it.

"I'm going to pull you closer." His breath, and his words, were hot against her skin.

Some barely conscious part of Elizabeth realized that he was according her an uncommon respect, and she managed to find her voice long enough to say, “Why are you asking me?"

"To give you the chance to say no." His gaze-hot, heavy, and very male-swooped down over her face. "But you won't say no."

She hated that his confidence was not misplaced, hated that she could refuse him nothing when he held her in his arms. But she loved the crackling awareness that washed over her-a strange sense that for the first time in her life, she understood her own body.

And when he pulled her close, she loved that his heart was racing every bit as fast as hers.

His heat seared her, and she felt nothing but him, heard nothing but the rushing of her own blood, and a softly worded, "Damn."

Damn?

He pulled away.

Damn. Elizabeth stumbled backward, plopping into a chair that got in her way.

"Do you hear that?" James whispered.

"What?"

A murmur of voices. "That," he hissed.

Elizabeth shot up like a bullet. "Oh, no," she groaned. "It's Susan. And Lucas and Jane. Do I look presentable?"

"Er, almost," he lied. "You might want to…" He made vague "fixing" motions around his head.

"My hair?" She gasped. "My hair! What did you do to my hair?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," he muttered.

"Oh dear oh dear oh dear." She scurried over to the sink, pausing only to look over her shoulder to say, "I have to set an example. I swore to God five years ago I would set an example. And look at me."

He'd been doing little else all afternoon, James thought glumly, and all it had gotten him was frustration.

The front door slammed. Elizabeth jumped. “Does my hair truly look mussed?'' she asked frantically.

"Well, it doesn't look as it did when we arrived," he conceded.

She patted her head with quick, nervous movements. "I can't possibly fix it in time."

He chose not to answer. It was his experience that wise men did not interrupt a lady's toilet.

"There's only one thing to do," she said.

James watched with interest as she dunked her hands in a small pot of water that had been sitting on the counter. It was the same pot she'd used to wet the cloth for his eye.

The children's voices drew closer.

And then Elizabeth, whom he had previously considered a reasonably sober and rational human being, heaved her hands upward, splashing water all over her face, her bodice, and in all truth, all over him.

Her sanity, he decided as he slowly shook the water from his boots, was a question that clearly needed revisiting.