How to Marry a Marquis Page 11

  Elizabeth stared down at her hand. Dear Lord, the man had kissed her again! Right there in the hall. Too stunned to pull her hand back, she looked right and left, terrified that a servant might stumble upon them.

  “You had never been kissed before yesterday,” he murmured.

  “Of course not!”

  “Not even on the hand.” He let her fingers drop, then took her other hand and kissed her knuckles.

  “Mr. Siddons!” she gasped. “Are you mad?”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you haven’t been kissed before.”

  “You are mad. Utterly mad. And,” she added defensively, “of course I’ve been kissed on the hand.”

  “Your father doesn’t count.”

  More than anything, Elizabeth wanted to find a hole in the ground and jump in it. She felt her cheeks burn, and she knew that she didn’t have to say a word for him to know that he was right. There weren’t very many unmarried men in her little village, and certainly none of them was urbane enough to kiss her on the hand.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  He looked at her oddly, his brown eyes narrowing. “James Siddons. You know that.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve never been an estate manager before. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Would you like to see my references?”

  “You carry yourself wrong. A servant would—”

  “Ah, but I am not precisely a servant,” he interrupted. “As you are not. I understand you’re of the local gentry.”

  She nodded.

  “Mine is an old family, as well,” he continued. “Our pride, unfortunately, was not lost with our money.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “It makes for awkward moments.”

  “Like this one,” Elizabeth said firmly. “You must return to the drawing room this instant. Lady Danbury is in there, wondering, I’m sure, why the devil I shut the door, and what we are doing, and while I don’t profess to know your mind, I do not wish to make explanations.”

  James just stared at her, wondering why he suddenly felt as if he’d been dressed down by his governess. He grinned. “You’re good at that.”

  Elizabeth had managed to take three steps toward the kitchen. She let out a frustrated breath and turned around. “At what?”

  “At speaking to a grown man as if he were a child. I feel quite put in my place.”

  “You do not,” she retorted, waving her hand toward him. “Just look at you. You don’t look the least bit contrite. You’re grinning like an idiot.”

  He cocked his head. “I know.”

  Elizabeth threw up her hands. “I have to go.”

  “You make me smile.”

  His words, soft and intense, stopped her in her tracks.

  “Turn around, Elizabeth.”

  There was some sort of connection between the two of them. Elizabeth knew nothing of love, but she knew she could fall in love with this man. She felt it deep in her heart, and it terrified her. He wasn’t a man she could marry. He had no money; he’d said so himself. How was she to send Lucas to Eton with an estate manager as a husband? How was she to feed and clothe Susan and Jane? Susan was only fourteen now, but soon she’d want to make her debut. London was out of the question, but even a small local debut would cost money.

  And that was the one thing that neither Elizabeth nor the man standing in front of her—possibly the only man who could ever capture her heart—had.

  Dear God, she’d thought that life had treated her unfairly before, but this…this was nothing short of agony.

  “Turn around, Elizabeth.”

  She kept walking. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Late that night, Susan, Jane, and Lucas Hotchkiss huddled together on the cold floor of the upstairs hall, directly outside their older sister’s bedchamber.

  “I think she’s crying,” Lucas whispered.

  “Of course she’s crying,” Jane hissed. “Any fool could tell she’s crying.”

  “The question is,” Susan cut in, “why is she crying?”

  No one had an answer to that.

  They flinched a moment later when they heard a slightly louder than usual sob, then swallowed uncomfortably when it was followed by a loud sniffle.

  “She has been very worried about money of late,” Lucas said hesitantly.

  “She’s always worried about money,” Jane retorted.

  “It’s only natural,” Susan added. “People who don’t have money always worry about it.”

  The two younger Hotchkisses nodded in agreement.

  “Do we really have nothing?” Jane whispered.

  “I’m afraid so,” Susan said.

  Lucas’s eyes began to glisten. “I’m not going to get to go to Eton, am I?”

  “No, no,” Susan said quickly, “of course you will. We just have to economize.”

  “How can we economize when we have nothing?” he asked.

  Susan didn’t reply.

  Jane nudged her in the ribs. “I think one of us should comfort her.”

  Before Susan could do so much as nod, they heard a loud crash, followed by the unbelievably astonishing sound of their proper older sister yelling, “Goddamn you to hell!”

  Jane gasped.

  Susan’s mouth fell open.

  “I can’t believe she said that,” Lucas breathed reverently. “I wonder who she was damning.”

  “It’s not something to be proud of,” Jane snapped, poking in the soft spot above his collarbone.

  “Ow!”

  “And don’t say ‘damn,’” Susan added.

  “It is so something to be proud of. Even I have never said that.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Men.”

  “Stop bickering,” Susan said distractedly. “I think I had better go in and see her.”

  “Yes,” Jane replied, “as I was just saying—”

  “Why does everything have to be your idea?” Lucas said sullenly. “You always—”

  “This was my idea!”

  “Quiet!” Susan practically barked. “Downstairs, the both of you. And if I find out that either one of you has disobeyed me, I shall overstarch your undergarments for a month.”

  The two small children nodded and ran down the stairs. Susan took a deep breath and knocked on Elizabeth’s door.

  No answer.

  Susan knocked again. “I know you’re in there.”

  Footsteps, followed by a vicious yanking open of the door. “Of course you know I’m in here,” Elizabeth snapped. “They can probably hear me all the way to Danbury House.”

  Susan opened her mouth, closed it, and then reopened it again to say, “I was going to ask if something is wrong, but then I realized how ridiculous that sounded, so instead perhaps I might ask what is wrong?”

  Elizabeth’s reply was not verbal. Instead, she turned her head and glared at a red object lying in the corner.

  “Dear God!” Susan exclaimed, scurrying across the room. “Was this the thud I heard?”

  Elizabeth glanced disdainfully at HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS, carefully held in her sister’s hands.

  “This book belongs to Lady Danbury!” Susan said. “You yourself made me promise not to even crack the spine. And you threw it across the room?”

  “My priorities have changed. I don’t care if that book burns. I don’t care if Mrs. Seeton burns.”

  Susan’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Were you damning Mrs. Seeton to hell?”

  “Perhaps I was,” Elizabeth said in an insolent voice.

  Susan clapped a hand to her face in shock. “Elizabeth, you don’t sound like yourself.”

  “I don’t feel like myself.”

  “You must tell me what has happened to make you so upset.”

  Elizabeth let out a short, shallow breath. “That book has ruined my life.”

  Susan blinked. “You have never been given to melodrama.”

  “Perhaps I’ve changed.”


  “Perhaps,” Susan said, clearly growing a little irritated with her sister’s evasions, “you would care to expound upon how this book has ruined your life.”

  Elizabeth looked away so Susan couldn’t see how badly her face was trembling. “I wouldn’t have flirted with him. I would never have approached him if I hadn’t gotten it into my head to—”

  “Dear God!” Susan cut in. “What did he do to you? Did he dishonor you in any way?”

  “No!” Elizabeth cried out. “He would never.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Oh, Susan,” Elizabeth replied, silent tears streaming down her face. “I could love him. I could truly love him.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” Susan asked in a gentle whisper.

  “Susan, he hasn’t two coins to rub together! He’s an estate manager!”

  “But couldn’t you be happy with a simple life?”

  “Of course I could,” Elizabeth snapped. “But what about Lucas’s education? And your debut? And Jane’s watercolors? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said this last week? Did you think I was looking for a husband for the fun of it? We need money, Susan. Money.”

  Susan couldn’t even bring herself to look into her sister’s eyes. “I’m sorry if you feel you have to sacrifice yourself.”

  “The funny part is, I didn’t think it was such a sacrifice. Lots of women marry men they don’t love. But now…” She paused and wiped her eyes. “Now it’s just hard. That’s all it is. Hard.”

  Susan swallowed and softly said, “Maybe you should return the book.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “We can—we can decide how to proceed later. I’m sure you can find a husband without having to practice on—”

  Elizabeth held up a hand. “Let’s not talk about it now.”

  Susan nodded, then smiled weakly as she held up the book. “I’ll just go dust this off. You can return it tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth didn’t move as she watched her sister leave the room. Then she crawled onto her bed and started to cry. But this time she held the pillow over her head, muffling the sounds of her sobs.

  The last thing she wanted was more sympathy.

  Chapter 8

  Elizabeth arrived at Danbury House earlier than usual the following morning, hoping to sneak into the library and replace the book before Lady Danbury finished breaking her fast. All she wanted was to get the dratted thing out of her sight and out of her possession forever.

  She had played out the scene in her mind a hundred times. She would slide HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS back onto the bookshelf and shut the library door firmly behind her. And that, she prayed, would be that.

  “You have caused me nothing but grief,” she whispered into her satchel.

  Dear Lord, she was turning into the veriest idiot. She was talking to a book. A book! It didn’t have any powers, it wasn’t going to change her life, and it certainly wasn’t going to answer her when she was stupid enough to send words in its direction.

  It was just a book. An inanimate object. The only power it held was what she chose to give it. It could only be important in her life if she made it such.

  Of course, that didn’t explain why she half expected it to glow in the dark every time she peered into her satchel.

  She tiptoed down the hall, for once in her life blessedly thankful for Lady Danbury’s firm adherence to routine. The countess would be about one-quarter of the way through breakfast right now, which meant that Elizabeth would have at least twenty more minutes before her employer appeared in the drawing room.

  Two minutes to slip the book back into the library, and eighteen to calm herself down.

  Elizabeth had her hand in her satchel and was clutching the book as she rounded the corner. The library door was ajar. Perfect. The less noise she made, the less likely it would be that anyone would stumble upon her. Not that there was much activity in this part of the house before Lady D finished her breakfast, but still, one couldn’t be too careful.

  She slid sideways through the door’s opening, her gaze firmly fixed on the shelf where she’d found the book earlier that week. All she had to do was cross the room, put the book back, and leave. No detours, no unnecessary stops.

  She pulled the book out, her eyes focused on the shelf. Two more steps, and—

  “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

  She screamed.

  James drew back slightly in surprise. “My deepest apologies for startling you.”

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “You’re shaking,” he said in a concerned voice. “I really did startle you, didn’t I?”

  “No,” she said, her voice overly loud. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting anyone. The library is usually vacant this time of the morning.”

  He shrugged. “I like to read. Lady Danbury told me I may make free use of her collection. I say, what’s that in your hand?”

  Elizabeth followed his eyes to her hand and gasped. Good God, she was still holding the book. “It’s nothing,” she blurted out, trying to shove it back into her satchel. “Nothing.” But her nerves made her fingers clumsy, and the book tumbled to the ground.

  “It’s that book you were trying to hide from me the other day,” he said with a triumphant gleam in his eye.

  “It’s not!” she practically yelled, dropping to the floor to cover it. “It’s just a silly novel I borrowed, and—”

  “Is it any good?” he drawled. “I might like to read it.”

  “You’d hate it,” she said quickly. “It’s a romance.”

  “I like romance.”

  “Of course everybody likes romance,” she blathered, “but do you really want to read about it? I think not. It’s very melodramatic. You’d be bored silly.”

  “You think?” he murmured, one corner of his mouth rising into a rather knowing sort of half-smile.

  She nodded frantically. “When all is said and done, it’s really a book for women.”

  “That’s rather discriminatory, don’t you think?”

  “I’m just trying to save you some time.”

  He crouched down. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  She shifted so that she was sitting squarely on the book. “It’s good to be thoughtful.”

  He moved closer, his eyes glowing. “That’s one of the things I like best about you, Elizabeth.”

  “What?” she squeaked.

  “Your thoughtfulness.”

  “You couldn’t possibly,” she returned, practically jumping on his words. “Just yesterday you thought I was blackmailing Lady Danbury. How thoughtful is that?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject,” he scolded, “but just for the record, I had already decided you weren’t the blackmailer. It is true that you were the initial suspect—after all, you do have rather free access into Lady Danbury’s belongings—but one doesn’t require very much time in your company to make an accurate assessment of your character.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” she said acerbically.

  “Get off the book, Elizabeth,” he ordered.

  “No.”

  “Get off the book.”

  She groaned audibly. Her life couldn’t have possibly come to this. “Mortification” couldn’t even begin to describe the state of her mind. And “beet” couldn’t begin to describe the state of her cheeks.

  “You’re only making it worse.” He reached down, and somehow managed to grab the corner of the book.

  She immediately hunkered down. “I’m not moving.”

  He leered at her and wiggled his fingers. “I’m not moving my hand.”

  “You lecher,” she breathed. “Fondling a lady’s backside.”

  He leaned in. “If I were fondling your backside, you’d be wearing a decidedly different facial expression.”

  She smacked him on the shoulder. It was probably no less than he deserved, James thought, but he was damned if he was leaving the library without getting
a good look at her little red book.

  “You can insult me all you want,” she said in a lofty voice, “but it will have no effect. I am not moving.”

  “Elizabeth, you resemble nothing so much as a hen trying to hatch a book.”

  “If you were any kind of a gentleman—”

  “Ah, but there’s a time and place for gentlemanly behavior, and this isn’t one of them.” He jammed his fingers farther under her, getting a few more inches of the book under his hand. One more shove, and he ought to be able to hook his thumb around the edge of the book, and then it would be his!

  Her jaw clenched. “Get your hand out from under me,” she ground out.

  He did the opposite, lurching his fingers forward yet another half inch. “A remarkable feat, really, saying all that between your teeth.”

  “James!”

  He held up his free hand. “Just one moment, if you will. I’m concentrating.”

  As she glared at him, he hooked his thumb around the top edge of the book. His mouth spread into a lethal smile. “You’re sunk now, Miss Hotchkiss.”

  “What do you—Aaaaaaaaccccccck!”

  With one big heave, he yanked the book out from under her, sending her sprawling.

  “Nooooooooooo!” she yelled, sounding as if the very fate of the world rested in her ability to retrieve her book.

  James raced across the room, triumphantly holding the book high in the air. Elizabeth was a full foot shorter than he was; she’d never be able to reach.

  “James, please,” she begged.

  He shook his head, wishing he didn’t feel like quite so much of a cad; the expression on her face was rather heartwrenching. But he’d been wondering about her book for days, and he’d come this far, so he twisted his head up, turned over the book, and read the title.

  HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS

  He blinked. Surely she didn’t know…no, she couldn’t possibly know his true identity.

  “Why did you do that?” she said in a choked voice. “Why did you have to do that?”

  He tilted his head toward her. “What’s this?”

  “What does it look like?” she snapped.

  “I…ah…I don’t know.” Still holding the book aloft, he opened it up and flipped through a few pages. “It looks rather like a guidebook, actually.”