How to Marry a Marquis

Chapter 14

The following afternoon found Elizabeth skulking near the front gates of Danbury House, cursing at herself first for her idiocy, then for her cowardice, and finally just because.

She'd followed Susan's advice and left her notebook- the one in which she scribbled all of her household accounts-at Danbury House the day before. Since the notebook was so essential to everyday life, she was required to retrieve it during the garden party.

"There is nothing suspicious about my presence here," she said to herself. "I forgot my notebook. I need my notebook. I can't possibly survive until Monday without it."

Of course that didn't explain why she had brought the notebook-which had never before left the Hotchkiss cottage-with her in the first place.

She'd waited until nearly four, when the guests would probably be outside enjoying the warm country sunshine. Lady Danbury had mentioned tennis and tea on the south lawn. It wasn't precisely on the route Elizabeth would need to take in order to retrieve her notebook, but there was no reason that she could not make a special trip to find Lady Danbury to ask her if she'd seen the notebook.

No reason except her pride.

God, Elizabeth hated this. She felt so desperate, so grasping. Every time the wind blew, she was certain it was her parents up in heaven, retching as they watched her debase herself. How horrified they would be to see her this way, making up flimsy excuses just to attend a party to which she had not been invited.

And all this just to make the acquaintance of a man who probably stooped.

She groaned. She'd been standing at the front gate, leaning her head against the bars for twenty minutes. If she waited here much longer, she was liable to slip through and get her head stuck, just like Cedric Danbury at Windsor Castle.

There could be no more putting it off. Holding her chin up and shoulders back, she marched forward, purposefully skirting the area near James's cottage. The last thing she needed right now was an audience with him.

She slipped through the front door of Danbury House, her ears perked for party noise, but all she heard was silence. The notebook was in the library, but she was pretending she didn't know that, so she moved through the house to the French doors leading out to the back terrace.

Sure enough, a dozen or so stylishly clad ladies and gentlemen were milling about on the lawn. A couple of them were holding tennis racquets, some were sipping punch, and they all were laughing and chattering away.

Elizabeth bit her lip. Even their voices sounded elegant.

She nudged out onto the terrace. She had a feeling she looked as timid as a mouse, but that was really of no matter. No one would expect Lady Danbury's companion to stride brazenly into the party.

Lady D was holding court at the far side of the terrace, sitting in an overstuffed chair that Elizabeth recognized as belonging to the blue room. The velvet-covered monstrosity was the only piece of indoor furniture that had been removed to the terrace, and it definitely played the part of a throne, which Elizabeth imagined was Lady D's intention. Two ladies and a gentleman sat with her. The ladies were nodding attentively at every word, the gentleman's eyes were glazed over, and no one seemed to think it odd that Malcolm was laying on Lady D's lap, belly up with his paws splayed out like an X. He looked like a little kitty corpse, but Lady Danbury had assured Elizabeth time and again that his spine was fantastically flexible and that he actually liked the position.

Elizabeth edged a little closer, trying to make out Lady D's words so that she could interrupt at the least disruptful moment. It wasn't very difficult to follow the conversation; it was more of a monologue than anything else, with Lady Danbury as the star player.

She was just about to step forward and try to catch Lady Danbury's attention when she felt someone grasp her elbow. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Golden hair, cerulean eyes-"handsome" was far too rugged an adjective to describe him. This man had the face of an angel.

"More punch, if you please," he said, handing her his cup.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, you don't understand. I-"

"Now." He smacked her on the rump.

Elizabeth felt her color rise, and she thrust his punch glass back at him. "You are mistaken. If you'll excuse me."

The blond man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Elizabeth felt a wary shiver scoot down her spine. This wasn't a man to cross-although one had to think that even the most ill-tempered sorts couldn't get that upset over a glass of punch.

With a little shrug, she dismissed the incident from her mind and made her way to Lady Danbury, who looked up at her in surprise. "Elizabeth!" she exclaimed. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Elizabeth schooled her features into what she hoped was a winsome, apologetic sort of smile. After all, she had an audience. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, Lady Danbury."

"Nonsense. What is the matter? Is there a problem at home?"

"No, no, it's nothing so dreadful." She stole a glance at the gentleman at Lady Danbury's side. His coloring was rather like James's, and they seemed to be of a similar age, but his eyes somehow looked years younger.

James had seen things. Dark things. It was there in his eyes, when he thought she wasn't watching him.

But she had to stop fantasizing about James. There was nothing wrong with this gentleman here. Looking at him objectively, she had to admit that he was devastatingly handsome. And he definitely didn't stoop.

He just wasn't James.

Elizabeth gave her head a mental shake. "I fear I've left my notebook here," she said, looking back at Lady Danbury. "Have you seen it? I do require it before Monday."

Lady D shook her head as she sank her hand into Malcolm's copious ecru fur and rubbed his belly. "I cannot say that I have. Are you certain you brought it? I've never known you to bring that sort of thing before."

"I'm certain." Elizabeth swallowed, wondering why the truth felt so much like a lie.

"I wish I could help you," Lady Danbury said, "but I do have guests. Perhaps you would like to conduct a search on your own. There cannot be more than five or six rooms where you are likely to find it. And the servants know you have free rein of the house."

Elizabeth straightened and nodded. She'd been dismissed. "I'll go look right now."

Suddenly the man standing next to Lady Danbury jumped forward. "I'd be happy to assist."

"But you can't leave," one of the ladies whined.

Elizabeth watched the tableau with interest. It was clear why the ladies had been so interested in remaining at Lady D's side.

"Dunford," Lady Danbury barked, "I was just telling you about my audience with the Russian countess."

"Oh, I've met her already," he said with a wicked grin.

Elizabeth's mouth fell open. She'd never met anyone who couldn't be cowed into submission by Lady Danbury. And that smile-good God, she'd never seen anything like it. This man had clearly broken many hearts.

"Besides," he continued, "I rather fancy a good treasure hunt."

Lady Danbury frowned. “I suppose I had better introduce you, then. Mr. Dunford, this is my companion, Miss Hotchkiss. And these two ladies are Miss and Mrs. Corbishley."

Dunford looped his arm through Elizabeth's. "Excellent. I'm sure we shall find that errant notebook in no time."

"You really needn't-"

"Nonsense. I cannot resist a damsel in distress."

"It's hardly distress," Miss Corbishley said in a waspish voice. "She lost her notebook, for goodness' sake."

But Dunford had already whisked Elizabeth away, through the terrace doors and into the house.

Lady Danbury frowned.

Miss Corbishley glared at the terrace doors as if she were trying to set the house on fire.

Mrs. Corbishley, who rarely saw reason to hold her tongue, said, "I'd dismiss that woman, were I you. She's far too forward."

Lady Danbury fixed her with a scathing glance. "And on what do you base that assumption?"

"Why, just look at the way-"

"I have known Miss Hotchkiss longer than I have known you, Mrs. Corbishley."

"Yes," she replied, the corners of her mouth pinching in a most unattractive manner, "but I am a Corbishley. You know my people."

"Yes," Lady Danbury snapped, "and I never liked your people. Hand me my cane."

Mrs. Corbishley was too shocked to comply, but her daughter had the presence of mind to grab the cane and thrust it into Lady Danbury's hands.

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Corbishley sputtered.

Thump! Lady Danbury rose to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Miss Corbishley asked.

When Lady Danbury answered, her voice sounded distracted. “I have to talk with someone. I have to talk with someone right away."

And then she hobbled off, moving faster than she had in years.

"You do realize," Mr. Dunford said, "that I shall be in your debt until the day I die?''

"That's a very long promise to make, Mr. Dunford," Elizabeth replied, her voice tinged with amusement.

"Just Dunford, if you please. I haven't been called Mister in years."

She couldn't help but smile. There was something uncommonly friendly about this man. It had been Elizabeth's experience that those blessed with amazingly good looks tended to be cursed with amazingly bad temperaments, but Dunford seemed to be the exception that proved the rule. He'd make a fine husband, she decided, if she could get him to ask her.

"Very well, then," she said. "Just Dunford. And who were you trying to escape? Lady Danbury?"

"Good God, no. Agatha is always good for an entertaining evening."

"Miss Corbishley? She did seem interested…"

Dunford shuddered. "Not half so interested as her mother."

"Ah."

He quirked a brow. "I gather you're acquainted with the type."

A little burst of horrified laughter escaped her lips. Good God, she was that type.

"I'd give an entire guinea for those thoughts," Dunford said.

Elizabeth shook her head, not certain whether to continue laughing or dig a hole-and jump in it. "Those thoughts are far too expensive for-" Her head jerked. Was that James's head she'd seen poking out from the blue room?

Dunford followed her stare. "Is something wrong?"

She waved an impatient hand at him. "Just one" moment. I thought I saw-''

“What?'' His brown eyes grew sharp. “Or who?''

She shook her head. “I must be mistaken. I thought I saw the estate manager."

He looked at her with a blank expression. "Is that so very odd?"

Elizabeth gave her head a little shake. There was no way she was even going to try to explain her situation. "I… ah… believe I might have left the notebook in the sitting room. That is where Lady Danbury and I usually spend our days together."

"Lead on, then, my lady."

He followed her into the sitting room. Elizabeth made great pretense of opening drawers and the like. "A servant might have confused it with Lady Danbury's things," she explained, "and put it away."

Dunford stood by as she searched, clearly too much of a gentleman to pry too deeply into Lady Danbury's belongings. It didn't matter much if he did look, Elizabeth thought wryly. Lady D kept all of her important possessions locked away, and he certainly wasn't going to find the notebook, which was tucked away in the library.

"Perhaps it's in another room," Dunford suggested.

"It might be, although-"

A discreet knock at the open door interrupted her, Elizabeth, who'd had no idea how she was going to finish her sentence, gave swift and silent thanks to the servant standing in the doorway.

"Are you Mr. Dunford?" the footman asked.

"I am."

"I have a note for you."

"A note?" Dunford reached out one hand and took the cream-colored envelope. As his eyes scanned the words, his lips settled into a frown.

"Not bad news, I hope," Elizabeth said.

"I must return to London."

"Immediately?" Elizabeth wasn't able to keep the disappointment from her voice. He didn't make her blood rush like James, but Dunford was certainly marriage material.

"I'm afraid so." He shook his head. "I'm going to kill Riverdale."

"Who?"

"The Marquis of Riverdale. A rather good friend of mine, but he can be so vague. Look at this!" He shook it in the air, not giving her any opportunity to look. "I can't tell if this is an emergency or if he wants to show me his new horse."

"Oh." There didn't seem to be much else to say.

"And how he found me, I'd like to know," Dunford continued. "The man dropped out of sight last week."

"It sounds serious," Elizabeth murmured.

"It will be," he said, "once I strangle him."

She gulped to keep from laughing, which she sensed would be very inappropriate.

He looked up, his eyes focusing on her face for the first time in several minutes. "I trust you can continue without me."

"Oh, of course." She smiled wryly. "I've done so for more than twenty years already."

Her comment caught him by surprise. "You're a good sort, Miss Hotchkiss. If you'll excuse me."

And then he was gone. "A good sort," Elizabeth mimicked. "A good sort. A bloody good sort." She groaned. "A boring good sort."

Men didn't marry "good sorts." They wanted beauty and fire and passion. They wanted, in the words of the infernal Mrs. Seeton, someone utterly unique.

Well, not too unique.

Elizabeth wondered if she'd go to hell for burning Mrs. Seeton in effigy.

"Elizabeth."

She looked up to see James, grinning at her from the doorway.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Reflecting upon the sweet hereafter," she muttered.

"A noble pursuit, to be sure."

She looked up sharply. His voice struck her as a little too amiable. And why was it that his smile made her heart stop, when Dunford's-which, objectively speaking, had to be the most startling combination of lips and teeth in all creation-made her want to give him a sisterly pat on the arm?

"If you don't open your mouth soon," James said in an annoyingly bland voice, "you're going to grind your teeth to powder."

"I met your Mr. Dunford," she said.

He murmured, "Did you, now?"

"I found him quite pleasant."

"Yes, well, he's a pleasant sort."

Her arms straightened into two angry sticks at her sides. "You told me he was a rake," she accused.

"He is. A pleasant rake."

Something was wrong here. Elizabeth was certain of it. James seemed a bit too unconcerned that she'd met Dunford. She wasn't sure what sort of reaction she'd been expecting, but complete dispassion was definitely not it. Her eyes narrowing, she asked, "You're not acquainted with the Marquis of Riverdale, are you?"

He started choking.

"James?" She rushed to his side.

"Just a bit of dust," he gasped.

She gave him a pat on the back, then crossed her arms, too lost in her own ponderings to spare him any more sympathies. "I think this Riverdale fellow is a relation of Lady Danbury's."

"You don't say."

She tapped her finger against her cheek. "I'm sure she's mentioned him. I want to say he's her cousin, but maybe he's actually a nephew. She has scads of siblings."

James forced one corner of his mouth into a smile, but he doubted it was convincing.

“I could ask her about him. I probably should ask her about him."

He had to change the subject, and fast.

"After all," Elizabeth continued, "she'll want to know why Dunford left so suddenly."

James doubted that. Agatha was the one who'd hunted him down and demanded he get Dunford-that unscrupulous rake, she'd called him-away from Elizabeth.

"Perhaps I ought to find her right now."

Without even a second's pause, he starting coughing again. The only other way to keep her from leaving the room was to grab her and ravish her on the floor, and he had a feeling she wouldn't consider that appropriate behavior.

Well, perhaps that wasn't the only other way, but it was certainly the one that held the most appeal.

"James?" she asked, concern clouding her sapphire eyes. "Are you certain you're all right?"

He nodded, wrenching out a few more coughs.

"You really don't sound well." She laid a warm, gentle hand on his cheek.

James sucked in his breath. She was standing close, far too close, and he could feel his body growing tight.

She moved her hand to his forehead. "You look rather queer," she murmured, "although you don't feel warm."

He said, "I'm fine," but it came out halfway on a gasp.

"I could ring for tea."

He shook his head quickly. "Not necessary. I'm-" He coughed. "I'll be fine." He smiled weakly. "See?"

"Are you sure?" She drew her hand back and studied him. With each blink, that cloudy, unfocused look disappeared from her eyes, to be replaced with a brisk air of utter competence.

Pity. The cloudy, unfocused look was a much better prelude to a kiss.

"You're well?" she reiterated.

James nodded.

"Well, if that's the case," she said, her voice exhibiting what he thought was a remarkable lack of concern, "I'm going home."

"So soon?"

One of her shoulders rose and fell in an oddly endearing shrug. "I'm not about to accomplish anything more today. Mr. Dunford has been called back to London by this mysterious marquis, and I doubt I'm going to wring a proposal from the blond Adonis who mistook me for a serving wench."

"Adonis?" Good God, was that his voice? He'd never known he could sound so peevish.

"Face of an angel," she elaborated. "Manners of an ox."

He nodded, feeling much better. "Fellport."

"Who?"

"Sir Bertram Fellport."

"Ah. The one who drinks too much."

"Precisely."

"How do you know these people?"

"I told you, I used to mix in higher circles."

"If you're such good friends with these people, don't you want to say hello?''

It was a good question, but James had a good answer. "And let them see how far I've fallen? Absolutely not."

Elizabeth sighed. She knew precisely how he felt. She'd endured all the village whispers, the pointed fingers and titters. Every Sunday she brought her family to church, and every Sunday she sat ramrod straight, trying to act as if she wanted to dress her siblings in outdated frocks and breeches that were perilously worn in the knees. "We have a lot in common, you and I," she said softly.

Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked like pain, or maybe shame. Elizabeth realized then that she had to leave, because all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around his shoulders and comfort him-as if a tiny woman like herself could somehow shield this big, strong man from the worries of the world.

It was ludicrous, of course. He didn't need her.

And she needed not to need him. Emotion was a luxury she couldn't afford at this point in her life.

"I'm going," she said quickly, horrified by the tang of huskiness she heard in her voice. She hurried past him, wincing as her shoulder brushed his arm. For the barest of seconds she thought he might reach out and stop her. She sensed him hesitate, felt him move, but in the end he just said, “I shall see you Monday?''

She nodded, and hurried out the door.

James stared at the empty doorway for several minutes. Elizabeth's scent still hung in the air, a vague mix of strawberries and soap. Innocent stuff, to be sure, but it was enough to set his body tightening and make him ache for the feel of her in his arms.

In his arms, hell. Who was he trying to fool? He wanted her under him, surrounding him. He wanted her on top of him, beside him.

He just wanted her. Period.

What the hell was he going to do about her?

He'd already arranged to have a bank draft forwarded to her family-anonymously, of course. Elizabeth would never accept it otherwise. That ought to stop all this nonsense about her marrying the first able-bodied-and able-walleted-man she could get to propose.

But h would do nothing about the muddle he was in. When his aunt had chased him down earlier that afternoon and told him that Elizabeth had gone off with Dunford, he'd felt a rush of jealousy unlike anything he'd ever dreamed possible. It had squeezed around his heart, pounded through his blood, and left him half irrational, unable to think of anything other than getting Dunford out of Surrey and back to London.

London, hell. If he could have figured out a way to send Dunford to Constantinople he would have done it.

He was through trying to convince himself that she was just another woman. The thought of her in another man's arms made him physically ill, and he was not going to be able to carry off this charade of finding her a husband much longer. Not when every time he saw her he was nearly overcome with the desire to haul her off into a closet and ravish her.

James groaned with resignation. It was becoming clearer to him every day that he was going to have to marry the chit. That was certainly the only avenue that would offer his mind and body any measure of peace.

But before he could marry her, he was going to have to reveal his true identity, and he couldn't do that until he'd taken care of this blackmail business for Agatha. He owed his aunt this much. Surely he could put aside his own needs for one measly fortnight.

And if he couldn't solve this riddle within a fortnight-well, then, he didn't know what the hell he was going to do. He sincerely doubted he could last much longer than two weeks in his current state of distress.

With a loud and unapologetic curse, he turned on his heel and strode outside. He needed some fresh air.

Elizabeth tried not to think of James as she scooted past his cozy little cottage. She wasn't successful, of course, but at least she didn't have to worry about stumbling over him this afternoon. He was back in the sitting room, presumably laughing over the way she'd fled the scene.

No, she admitted to herself, he wasn't laughing at her. It would make things so much easier if he were. Then she could hate him.

As if the day weren't bad enough, Malcolm had apparently decided that torturing Elizabeth was more fun than listening to Lady Danbury lecture the Corbishleys, and the immense cat was presently trotting alongside her, hissing at regular intervals.

"Is this truly necessary?" Elizabeth demanded. "To follow me out just to hiss at me?''

Malcolm's reply was another hiss.

"Beast. No one believes you hiss at me, you know. You only do it when we're alone."

The cat smirked. Elizabeth would swear to it.

She was still arguing with the blasted cat when she drew alongside the stables. Malcolm was growling and hissing with complete abandon, and Elizabeth was jabbing her finger at him and demanding silence, which was probably why she did not hear the approaching footsteps.

"Miss Hotchkiss."

Her head jerked up. Sir Bertram Fellport-the blond Adonis with the face of an angel-was standing in front of her. Rather too close, in her opinion. “Oh, good day, sir." She took a discreet and, she hoped, inoffensive step back.

He smiled, and Elizabeth half expected a gaggle of cherubs to appear about his head, singing of angels on high. "I am Fellport," he said.

She nodded. She knew that already, but she saw no reason to inform him of this. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Did you find your notebook?"

He must have been listening to her conversation with Lady Danbury. "No," she replied, "I did not. But I am certain it shall turn up. These things always do."

"Yes," he murmured, his sky-blue eyes regarding her with uncomfortable intensity. "Have you worked for Lady Danbury long?''

Elizabeth inched back another baby step. "Five years."

He reached out and stroked her cheek. "It must be a lonely existence."

"Not at all," she said stiffly. "If you'll excuse me."

His hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist with painful force. "I don't excuse you."

"Sir Bertram," she said, somehow keeping her voice even over the pounding of her heart, "may I remind you that you are a guest in Lady Danbury's home?"

He tugged on her wrist, forcing her to move closer to him. “And may I remind you that you are in Lady Danbury's employ, and thus obligated to see to her guests' comfort?"

Elizabeth looked up at those stunningly blue eyes and saw something very ugly and cold. Her stomach knotted, and she realized that she had to get away now. He was pulling her toward the stables, and once he had her out of sight, there would be no escape.

She let out a scream, but it was cut short by the vicious clamping of his hand over her mouth. “You're going to do what I say," he hissed in her ear, "and afterward, you're going to say, Thank you.' "

And then all of Elizabeth's worst fears were realized as she felt herself being dragged into the stables.