How to Marry a Marquis

Chapter 6

He watched her all day. He knew just how to trail a person, slipping around corners and hiding in empty rooms. Elizabeth, who had no reason to think that anyone might be following her, was never the wiser. He listened as she read aloud, watched as she marched back and forth across the hall, fetching unnecessary objects for his aunt.

She treated Agatha with respect and affection. James kept listening for signs of impatience or anger, but whenever his aunt acted in an unreasonable manner, Elizabeth reacted with an amused indulgence that James found enchanting.

Her restraint in the face of his aunt's whimsies was nothing short of awe-inspiring. James would have lost his temper by noon. Miss Hotchkiss was still smiling when she left Danbury House at four in the afternoon.

James watched from the window as she strolled down the drive. Her head was bobbing slightly from side to side, and he had the strangest, warmest feeling that she was singing to herself. Without thinking, he started to whistle.

"What's that tune?"

He looked up. His aunt was standing in the doorway of her drawing room, leaning heavily on her cane.

"Nothing to which you'd want to know the words," he said with a rakish smile.

"Nonsense. If it's naughty, then I certainly want to know it."

James chuckled. "Aunt Agatha, I didn't tell you the words when you caught me humming that sailors' ditty when I was twelve, and I'm certainly not about to tell you the words to this one."

"Hmmph." She thumped her cane and turned around. "Come and keep me company while I have tea."

James followed her into the drawing room and took a seat across from her. "Actually," he began, "I'm pleased you invited me to join you. I've been meaning to talk to you about your companion."

"Miss Hotchkiss?"

"Yes," he said, trying to sound disinterested. "Petite, blond."

Agatha smiled knowingly, her pale blue eyes crafty as ever. "Ah, so you noticed."

James pretended not to understand. "That her hair is blond? It would be difficult to miss, Aunt."

"I meant that she is cute as a button and you know it."

"Miss Hotchkiss is certainly attractive," he said, "but-"

"But she isn't your sort of woman," she finished for him. "I know." She looked up. "I forget how you take your tea."

James narrowed his eyes. Aunt Agatha never forgot anything. "Milk, no sugar," he said suspiciously. "And why would you think Miss Hotchkiss isn't my sort of woman?''

Agatha shrugged delicately and poured. "She has a rather understated elegance, after all."

James paused. “I believe you may have just insulted me."

"Well, you must admit that other woman was a trifle… ah, shall we say…" She handed him his tea. "Overblown?"

"What other woman?"

"You know. The one with the red hair and the…" She lifted her hands to the level of her chest and started making vague, circular motions. "You know."

"Aunt Agatha, she was an opera singer!"

"Well," she sniffed. "You certainly shouldn't have introduced her to me."

"I didn't," James said tightly. "You came barreling down the street at me with all of the discretion of a cannonball."

"If you're going to insult me-"

"I tried to avoid you," he cut in. "I tried to escape, but no, you were having none of it."

She placed a dramatic hand on her breast. "Pardon me for being a concerned relative. We've been after you to marry for many years now, and I merely wondered after your companion."

James took a steadying breath, trying to unclench the muscles in his shoulders. No one had the ability to make him feel like a green boy of sixteen like his aunt. "I believe," he said firmly, "that we were discussing Miss Hotchkiss."

"Ah, yes!" Agatha took a sip of her tea and smiled. "Miss Hotchkiss. A lovely girl. And so levelheaded. Not like these flighty London misses I keep meeting at Almacks. To spend an evening there one would think that intelligence and common sense had been completely bred out of the British population.''

James agreed with her completely on that point, but now really wasn't the time to discuss it. "Miss Hotchkiss…?" he reminded her.

His aunt looked up, blinked once, and said, "I don't know where I would be without her."

"Perhaps five hundred, pounds wealthier?" he suggested.

Agatha's teacup clattered loudly in its saucer. "Surely you don't suspect Elizabeth."

"She does have access to your personal effects," he pointed out. “Could you have saved anything that might be incriminating? For all you know, she has been snooping through your things for years."

"No," she said in a quiet voice that somehow screamed authority. "Not Elizabeth. She would never do such a thing."

“Pardon me, Aunt, but how can you be certain?''

She impaled him with a glance. "I believe you are aware that I am a good judge of character, James. As proof, that should suffice."

"Of course you're a good judge of character, Agatha, but-"

She held up a hand. “Miss Hotchkiss is all that is good and kind and true, and I refuse to listen to another disparaging word."

"Very well."

"If you don't believe me, spend a little time with the girl. You will see that I am correct."

James sat back, satisfied. "I'll do just that."

He dreamed about her that night.

She was bent over that damned red book of hers, her long blond hair loose and shimmering like moonlight. She was wearing a virginal white nightgown that covered her from head to toe, but somehow he knew exactly what she looked like underneath, and he wanted her so badly…

Then she was running from him, laughing over her shoulder as her hair streamed behind her, tickling his face whenever he drew close. But every time he reached out to touch her, she eluded his grasp. And every time he thought he was close enough to read the title on her little book, the gold-leaf lettering shifted and blurred, and he found himself stumbling and gasping for air.

Which was exactly how James felt when he sat up straight in his bed, the light of morning just beginning to touch the horizon. He was vaguely dizzy, breathing hard, and he had only one thing on his mind.

Elizabeth Hotchkiss.

When Elizabeth arrived at Danbury House that morning, she was frowning. She had sworn that she wasn't going to do as much as look at the cover of HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS, but when she'd arrived home the previous day, she'd found the book laying on her bed, its bright red binding practically daring her to open it.

Elizabeth had told herself she was just going to take one peek; all she wanted to do was see if there was something about being witty and making a man laugh, but before she knew it, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, engrossed.

And now she had so many rules and regulations floating around her head she was positively dizzy. She wasn't to flirt with married men, she wasn't supposed to try to give a man advice, but she was supposed to give a suitor the cut direct if he forgot her birthday.

"Thank heavens for small favors," she murmured to herself as she entered Danbury House's great hall. Her birthday was more than nine months away, far enough in the future so as not to disrupt courtships she might possibly-

Oh, for goodness' sake. What was she thinking? She'd told herself she wasn't going to let Mrs. Seeton tell her what to do, and here she was-

"You look rather serious this morning."

Elizabeth looked up with a start. "Mr. Siddons," she said, her voice squeaking a bit on the first syllable of his name. "How lovely to see you."

He bowed. "The feeling, I assure you, is mutual."

She smiled tightly, suddenly feeling very awkward in this man's presence. They had dealt together quite famously the day before, and Elizabeth had even felt that they might call themselves friends, but that was before…

She coughed. That was before she'd stayed up half the night thinking about him.

He immediately held out his handkerchief.

Elizabeth felt herself blush and prayed it wasn't too obvious. "It's not necessary," she said quickly. "I was just clearing my throat."

THUMP!

"That would be Lady Danbury," Mr. Siddons murmured, not even bothering to turn toward the sound.

Elizabeth stifled a commiserating grin and turned her head. Sure enough, Lady Danbury was at the other end of the hall, thumping her cane. Malcolm was on the floor next to her, smirking.

"Good morning, Lady Danbury," Elizabeth said, immediately making her way toward the older woman. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm seventy-two years old," she retorted.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Elizabeth replied with a perfectly straight face, "since I have it on the best of accounts that you are no more than sixty-seven."

"Impertinent chit. You know very well I'm sixty-six."

Elizabeth hid her smile. "Do you need assistance getting to the drawing room? Have you eaten yet this morning?''

“Had two eggs already and three pieces of toast, and I don't want to sit in the drawing room this morning."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. She and Lady Danbury spent every morning in the drawing room. And of Lady D's many lectures, her most favorite was on the prophylactic qualities of routine.

"I have decided to sit in the garden," Lady D announced.

"Oh," Elizabeth said. "I see. That's a lovely idea. The air is quite fresh this morning, and the breeze is rather-''

"I am going to take a nap."

That announcement completely robbed Elizabeth of speech. Lady Danbury frequently dozed off, but she never admitted to it, and she certainly never used the word "nap."

“Do you need assistance walking to the garden?'' Mr. Siddons asked. "I would be happy to accompany you."

Elizabeth jumped a few inches. She'd completely forgotten his presence.

"Not at all," Lady D said crisply. "I don't move very quickly these days, but I'm not dead. Come along, Malcolm." Then she hobbled away, Malcolm trotting along at her side.

Elizabeth just stared after them, one hand clapped to her cheek in shock.

"It's truly remarkable how well she's trained her cat," James said.

Elizabeth turned to him, a stunned look on her face. “Does she seem ill to you?"

"No, why?"

She waved her arms awkwardly in the direction of Lady Danbury's retreating form, completely unable to verbalize the extent of her shock.

James regarded her with an amused expression. "Is it so very odd that she might wish to take a nap in the garden? The weather is fine."

"Yes!" she said, concern making her voice overloud. "This is very strange."

"Well, I'm sure she-"

"I tell you, it's strange." Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't like this. I don't like this one bit."

He cocked his head and gave her an assessing glance. "What do you propose we do?"

She squared her shoulders. "I'm going to spy on her."

"You're going to watch her sleep?" he asked dubiously.

“Do you have any better ideas?''

“Better than watching an elderly woman sleep? Well, yes, actually, if hard-pressed I believe I could come up with one or two pastimes that would be-''

"Oh, shush!" she said irritatedly. "I don't need your assistance, anyway."

James smiled. "Had you asked for it?"

"As you so kindly pointed out," she said with a lofty lift of her chin, "it isn't so terribly difficult to watch an old woman sleep. I'm sure you have other, more important duties. Good day."

James's lips parted in surprise as she stalked off. Hang it all, he hadn't meant to offend her. "Elizabeth, wait!"

She stopped and turned around, probably more surprised by his use of her given name than she was by his outburst. Hell, he had surprised himself. It was just that she had occupied his thoughts for days, and he'd begun to think of her as Elizabeth, and-

"Yes?" she finally said.

"I'll come with you."

She gave him a rather annoyed look. “You do know how to be quiet, don't you? I don't want her catching us spying on her."

James's lips began to twitch, and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing. "You may feel confident that I shall not give us away," he said with full gravity. "I pride myself on being a rather good spy."

She scowled. "That's an odd statement. And- I say, are you all right?''

“Right as rain, why?''

"You look as if you're about to sneeze."

He caught sight of a floral arrangement and mentally latched on to it. "Flowers always make me sneeze."

"You didn't sneeze yesterday in the rose garden."

He cleared his throat and thought fast. "Those aren't roses," he said, pointing at the vase.

"Either way, I can't take you along," she said with a dismissive nod. "There are flowers all along the perimeter of the garden. I can't have you sneezing every two minutes."

"Oh, I won't," he said quickly. "Only cut flowers do this to me."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I have never heard of such an affliction."

“Neither have I. Never met anyone else who reacts the same way. It must be something in the stem. Something that… ah… releases into the air when the stem is cut."

She gave him another dubious look, so he embellished the tale by saying, “It gives me a devil of a time when I'm courting a lady. God help me if I attempt to offer her flowers."

"Very well," she said briskly. "Come along. But if you botch this-"

"I won't," he assured her.

"If you botch this," she repeated, louder this time, "I shall never forgive you."

He let his head and shoulders dip slightly forward in a small bow. "Lead the way, Miss Hotchkiss."

She took a few steps, then stopped and turned around, her blue eyes turning just a little bit hesitant. "Earlier, you called me Elizabeth."

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I overstepped."

James watched the play of emotion across her face. She wasn't certain whether to allow him the liberty of her given name. He could see her naturally friendly nature battling with her need to keep him at arm's length. Finally she tightened the corners of her mouth and said, “It is of no great import. We servants are not terribly formal here at Danbury House. If the cook and butler call me Elizabeth, you may as well, too."

James felt his heart fill with a rather absurd satisfaction. "Then you must call me James," he replied.

"James." She tested it out on her tongue, then added, “I should never refer to you as such, of course, if someone asked after you."

"Of course not. But if we are alone, there is no need to stand on occasion."

She nodded. "Very well, Mr.-" She smiled sheepishly. "James. We should be on our way."

He followed her through a maze of hallways; she insisted on taking a circuitous route so as not to rouse Lady Danbury's suspicions. James didn't see how their presence in the ballroom, breakfast room, and hothouse all in one morning could cause anything but suspicion, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Elizabeth was clearly taking a quiet satisfaction in her position as leader, and besides, he was rather enjoying the view from the rear.

When they finally emerged in the open air, they were on the east side of the house, close to the front, about as far away from the garden as possible. "We could have exited through the French doors in the music room," Elizabeth explained, “but this way we can make our way behind those hedges and follow them all the way around."

"An excellent idea," he murmured, following her around the back of the hedges. The shrubbery stood twelve feet tall, completely shielding them from view of the house. To his great surprise, as soon as Elizabeth turned that corner around the back of the hedges, she started running. Well, perhaps not running, but she was certainly moving somewhere between a brisk walk and a trot.

His legs were much longer than hers, though, and all he needed to do to keep up was lengthen his stride. "Are we truly in such a rush?" he inquired.

She turned around but did not stop walking. "I'm very worried about Lady Danbury," she said, then resumed her hurried pace.

James viewed this time alone with Elizabeth as an excellent opportunity to study her, but his pragmatic sensibilities still forced him to comment, "Surely life at Danbury House is not so mundane that the oddest occurrence of the summer is a woman of six and sixty taking a nap."

She whirled around again. "I'm sorry if you find my company dull, but if you recall, you were not forced to accompany me."

"Oh, your company is anything but dull," he said, flashing her his smoothest smile. "I simply do not understand the gravity of the situation."

She skidded to a halt, planted her hands on her hips, and leveled at him her sternest stare.

"You'd make a rather good governess with a stance like that," he quipped.

"Lady Danbury never takes naps," she ground out, positively glaring at him after that comment. "She lives and breathes routine. Two eggs and three pieces of toast for breakfast. Every day. Thirty minutes of embroidery. Every day. Correspondence is sorted and answered at three in the afternoon. Every day. And-''

James held up a hand. "You've made your point."

"She never takes naps."

He nodded slowly, wondering what on earth he could possibly add to the conversation at that point.

She let out one final hmmphing sound, then turned back around, charging ahead at full speed. James followed, his legs moving in a long easy stride. The distance between them widened slightly, and he had just resigned himself to having to increase his speed to an easy trot when he noticed a protruding tree root up ahead.

"Mind that-"

She landed on the ground, one arm stretched out like an elegant winged bird, the other thrust forward to break her fall.

"-root," he finished. He rushed forward. "Are you injured?"

She was shaking her head and muttering, "Of course not," but she was wincing while she said it, so he wasn't inclined to believe her.

He crouched beside her and moved toward the hand she'd used to break her fall. "How is this hand?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, pulling her hand back, and picking off the bits of dirt and gravel that had embedded in her skin.

"I'm afraid I must insist upon ascertaining that fact for myself."

"Somehow," she grumbled, "this has to be your fault."

He couldn't hold back a surprised smile. "My fault?"

"I'm not sure how or why, but if there is any fairness in this world, this is your fault."

"If it is my fault," he said with what he thought was the utmost gravity, “then I really must make amends by attending to your injuries."

"I don't have-"

"I rarely take no for an answer."

With a loud sigh, she thrust her hand forward, muttering a rather ungracious, "Here."

James flexed her wrist gently. She made no reaction until he gingerly bent her hand back. "Oh!" she blurted out, clearly irritated with herself for showing her pain.

"It didn't hurt very much," she said quickly. "I'm sure it isn't sprained."

"I'm certain you're right," he agreed. There was no indication of swelling. "But you ought to favor the other one for a day or so. And you might want to go back to the house and get some ice or a cold piece of meat to put on it."

"I haven't time," she said briskly, rising to her feet. "I must check on Lady Danbury."

“If she is indeed, as you worry, taking a nap, then I tend to think your fears for her escape are somewhat exaggerated."

Elizabeth glared at him.

"In other words," he said, as gently as he could, “there is no need for you to risk your own life and limb by rushing."

He could see her weighing her words, but she finally just shook her head and said, “You are free to make your own decisions." Then she turned on her heel and dashed away.

James let out a groan, trying to remember why he was tagging along after her, anyway. Aunt Agatha, he reminded himself. This was all about Aunt Agatha. He needed to find out if Elizabeth was the blackmailer.

His gut was telling him that she was not-anyone who exhibited the sort of concern she did for an overbearing and more often than not vastly annoying old lady surely wouldn't blackmail her.

Yet James had no other suspects, and so he trotted along after her. As she rounded another corner, he lost sight of her, but his long strides soon found her standing utterly straight and perfectly still, her back to the hedge, with her head twisted so that she could look over her shoulder.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"Nothing," she admitted, "but I do seem to have developed the most awful crick in my neck."

James held down the smile he felt bubbling up within him and kept his tone serious as he said, "Would you like me to take a look?"

She turned her head back to the front and then, with an uncomfortable grimace, tilted it to the side and back up. James winced as he heard a loud cracking sound.

She rubbed her neck. "Do you think you can do it without being seen?''

Images of his past missions-in France, in Spain, and right here in England-flew through his mind. James was an expert at not being seen. "Oh," he said offhandedly, "I think I might manage it."

"Very well." She stepped back. "But if you suspect- even for a second-that she can see you, draw back."

James grinned and saluted her. "You're the general."

In that moment, Elizabeth forgot everything.

She forgot that she had no idea how she was going to support her younger siblings.

She forgot that Lady Danbury was acting very strangely and that she feared her employer might be terribly ill.

She even forgot every blasted edict in Mrs. Seeton's little book, and most of all, she forgot that this man made her stomach flip every time he raised his eyebrows.

She forgot everything but the levity of the moment and the rascally smile on James Siddons's face. With a little laugh, she reached forward and swatted him playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh, stop," she said, barely recognizing her own voice.

"Stop what?" he asked, his expression almost ludicrously innocent.

She mimicked his salute.

“You have been issuing orders with great facility and frequency," he pointed out. "It is only natural that I might compare you to-"

"Just check on Lady Danbury," she interrupted.

James smiled knowingly and crept around the corner of the hedge.

"Do you see anything?" Elizabeth whispered.

He ducked back. "I see Lady Danbury."

"That's all?"

"I didn't think you were interested in the cat."

"Malcolm?"

"He's on her lap."

"I don't care what the cat is doing."

His chin dipped down as he shot her a vaguely condescending look. "I didn't think you were."

"What is Lady Danbury doing?" Elizabeth ground out.

"Sleeping."

“Sleeping?''

"That is what she said she'd be doing, isn't it?"

She scowled at him. "I meant, is she sleeping normally? Is her breathing fitful? Does she seem to be moving about?"

"In her sleep?" he asked doubtfully.

"Don't be a nodcock. People move about in their sleep all the-" Her eyes narrowed. "Why are 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.