How to Marry a Marquis Page 13

  “I’m not always a complete churl.” Lady Danbury regarded the small watch she wore around her neck on a chain. “I believe I’d like to be roused in seventy minutes.”

  “Seventy minutes?” Where on earth did Lady D come up with these odd numbers?

  “An hour really isn’t enough, but I’m far too busy to waste an hour and a half. Besides,” Lady Danbury added with a sly look, “I like to keep you on your toes.”

  “Of that,” Elizabeth muttered, “I have no doubt.”

  “Seventy minutes, then. And not a moment sooner.”

  Elizabeth shook her head in amazement as she walked to the door. Before she exited, though, she turned around and asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

  “Every bit as well as a fifty-eight-year-old woman has a right to.”

  “Which is really quite a blessing,” Elizabeth said wryly, “since you’re sixty-six.”

  “Impertinent chit. Get out of here before I dock your wages.”

  Elizabeth arched her brows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Lady Danbury smiled to herself as she watched her companion shut the door behind her. “I am doing a good job,” she said to herself, her tone filled with tenderness—and perhaps just a hint of self-congratulation. “She’s becoming more like me every day.”

  Elizabeth let out a long breath and plopped down on a cushioned bench in the hall. What was she supposed to do with herself now? If she’d known that Lady Danbury was going to take to napping on a regular basis, she would have brought along some mending, or perhaps the household accounts. The Lord knew the Hotchkiss finances could always use some shuffling.

  Of course there was always HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS. She’d sworn she wasn’t going to look at the blasted book again, but maybe she should just peek in the library to make certain that James hadn’t moved it, or turned it over, or ruffled the pages, or—or, well, done anything to it.

  No, she told herself firmly, clutching the maroon velvet of the bench seat to keep herself from rising. She was not going to have anything more to do with Mrs. Seeton and her edicts. She was going to sit here, attached to this bench like glue, until she decided how to spend her seventy minutes.

  Without entering the library. Whatever she did, she was not going to enter the library.

  “Elizabeth?”

  She looked up to see James—or rather, James’s head, poking out of the doorway to the library.

  “Could you join me for a moment?”

  She stood. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, no. Quite the opposite, actually.”

  “That sounds promising,” she murmured. It had been a long time since someone had summoned her for good news. Could you join me for a moment? tended to be the polite way of saying, Your account is past due and if you don’t pay immediately I shall have to notify the authorities.

  He motioned to her with his hand. “I need to speak with you.”

  She joined him in the library. So much for her latest resolution. “What is it?”

  He held up HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS and frowned. “I’ve been reading this.”

  Oh, no.

  “It’s really quite fascinating.”

  She groaned and clapped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m convinced I can help you.”

  “I’m not listening.”

  He grabbed her hands and pulled until she was stretched out like a starfish. “I can help you,” he said again.

  “I’m beyond help.”

  He chuckled, the rich sound warming Elizabeth right to her very toes. “Now, now,” he said, “don’t be pessimistic.”

  “Why are you reading that?” she asked. Heavens above, what could this or any handsome, charming man possibly find interesting in such a book? If one wanted to put the plainest face possible on it, it was a treatise for desperate women. And didn’t men tend to equate desperate women with hemlock, food poisoning, and the bubonic plague?

  “Call it my insatiable curiosity,” he replied. “How could I resist, after being forced to go to such heroic lengths to retrieve the book earlier this morning?”

  “Heroic lengths?” she exclaimed. “You yanked it out from under me!”

  “The word ‘heroic’ is always open to interpretation,” he said blithely, flashing her yet another of those dangerously masculine smiles.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and let out a weary and bewildered sigh. This had to be the strangest conversation of her life, and yet somehow it seemed quite natural.

  The most bizarre part was that she didn’t really feel embarrassed. Oh, certainly her cheeks were a bit pink, and she couldn’t quite believe some of the words coming from her mouth, but by all rights, she should have perished of acute mortification by now.

  It was James, she realized. Something about him put her at ease. He had such an easy smile, a comforting laugh. He might have a dangerous and downright mysterious side to him, and sometimes he did look at her in an oddly hot sort of way that made the air positively thick, but other than that it was nearly impossible to feel uncomfortable in his company.

  “What are you thinking about?” she heard him ask.

  She opened her eyes. “I was thinking that I cannot remember the last time I felt so ridiculous.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Sometimes,” she said with a self-deprecating shake of her head, “I just can’t help it.”

  He ignored her comment and held up the book, shaking it with little flips of his wrist. “This has problems.”

  “HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS?”

  “Many problems.”

  “I’m thrilled to hear it. I must say it seems prodigiously difficult to live up to her edicts.”

  James began to pace back and forth, his warm brown eyes clearly lost in thought. “It is obvious to me,” he announced, “that Mrs. Seeton—if that is indeed her real name—never once consulted a man when drawing up her edicts.”

  Elizabeth found this so interesting she sat down.

  “She can offer as many rules and regulations as she likes,” he expounded, “but her methodology is flawed. She asserts that if you follow her edicts, you will marry a marquis—”

  “By ‘marquis,’ I think she merely meant an eligible gentleman,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I imagine she was just aiming for alliteration in the book title.”

  He shook his head. “It makes no difference. Marquis, eligible gentleman—we’re all men.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, just barely resisting the urge to verify this fact by letting her gaze wander up and down his form, “one would hope.”

  James leaned in, staring intently at her face. “I ask you this: How, pray tell, is Mrs. Seeton—if that is indeed her real name—to judge whether or not her rules are appropriate?”

  “Well,” Elizabeth stalled, “I suppose she might have chaperoned a few young ladies and—”

  “Faulty logic,” he interrupted. “The only person who can truly judge whether or not her rules are appropriate is a marquis.”

  “Or an eligible gentleman,” she put in.

  “Or an eligible gentleman,” he conceded with a slightly sideways nod of his head. “But I can assure you, as a moderately eligible gentleman, if a woman approached me, following all of these edicts—”

  “But she wouldn’t approach you,” Elizabeth cut in. “Not if she was following Mrs. Seeton’s instructions. It would be against the rules. A lady must wait until a gentleman approaches her. I can’t remember which edict that is, but I know it’s in there.”

  “Which only goes to show how asinine most of this is. The point I was trying to make, however, is that if I met a protégée of our dear Mrs. Seeton—if that is indeed her real name—”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  James thought about that for a moment. Must have been all those years as a spy. All he said, however, was, “I haven’t the foggiest. But as I was saying, if I met one of her protégées, I would run screaming in the oth
er direction.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then Elizabeth said, with a hint of a mischievous smile, “You didn’t run from me.”

  James’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

  Her smiled widened, and she looked almost feline in her pleasure at having unnerved him. “Didn’t you read the edict about practicing the edicts?” She leaned forward to peer into the pages of HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS, through which he was now rifling, looking for the aforementioned edict. “I think it’s number seventeen,” she added.

  He stared at her in disbelief for a full ten seconds before asking, “You practiced on me?”

  “It sounds rather cold-blooded, I know, and I did have a twinge or two of guilt about it, but I really didn’t have any choice. After all, if not you, who?”

  “Who, indeed,” James muttered, not precisely certain why he was irritated. It wasn’t because she’d been practicing upon him; that was rather amusing, actually. Rather, he thought it might be that he hadn’t realized she’d been practicing upon him.

  For a man who prided himself on his instinct and perception, that was rather galling, indeed.

  “I shan’t do it any longer,” she promised. “It was probably rather unfair of me.”

  He set to pacing, tapping his finger against his jaw as he tried to decide how best to turn this situation to his advantage.

  “James?”

  Aha! He whipped around in a blur of motion, his eyes lit with the thrill of a new idea. “Who were you practicing for?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He sat down across from her and let his forearms rest on his thighs as he leaned in. Earlier that morning he’d sworn to himself that he would rid the look of desperation from her eyes. In all truth, that look wasn’t there now, but he knew it would return just as soon as she remembered her three hungry siblings at home. And now he’d found a way to help her and have a brilliant time doing it.

  He was going to tutor her. She wanted to snare some unsuspecting man into marriage—well, no one could know more about such traps than the Marquis of Riverdale. He’d had every trick sprung on him, from giggling debutantes following him into dark corners, to shockingly explicit love letters, to naked widows showing up in his bed.

  It seemed to stand to reason that if he’d learned so well how to avoid marriage, he ought to be able to apply his knowledge in the opposite direction. With a little work, Elizabeth ought to be able to catch any man in the land.

  It was that bit—the “work” part of it—that had his pulse quickening, and certain less-mentionable parts of his anatomy thickening. For any tutoring lesson would have to involve at least a cursory examination of the amorous arts. Nothing, of course, that would compromise the girl, but—

  “Mr. Siddons? James?”

  He looked up, aware that he’d been woolgathering. Good God, but she had the face of an angel. He found it nearly impossible to believe she thought she needed help in finding a husband. But she did think it, and that gave him the most splendid opportunity.…

  “When you were practicing on me,” he asked in a low, focused voice, “who was your ultimate goal?”

  “You mean to marry?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked and her mouth moved slightly before she said, “I—I don’t know, actually. I hadn’t gotten quite that far in my thinking. I was merely hoping to attend one of Lady Danbury’s gatherings. It seemed as good a place as any to find an eligible gentleman.”

  “Has she one scheduled soon?”

  “A gathering? Yes. It is to be Saturday, I believe. A small garden party.”

  James sat back. Damn. His aunt hadn’t told him she was expecting company. If any of her guests were acquaintances of his, he’d have to make himself very scarce very fast. The last thing he needed was some London dandy slapping him on the back in front of Elizabeth and calling him Riverdale.

  “I don’t believe anyone is planning to stay the night, however,” she added.

  James nodded thoughtfully. “Then this will be an excellent opportunity for you.”

  “I see,” she said, not sounding nearly as excited as he would have expected.

  “All you need to do is determine which men are unmarried and choose the best of the lot.”

  “I have already looked over the guest list, and there are several unattached gentlemen expected. But”—she let out a frustrated laugh—“you’ve forgotten one thing, James. The gentleman in question must also choose me.”

  He waved off her protest. “Failure is not a possibility. By the time we’re through with you—”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “—you’ll be impossible to resist.”

  One of Elizabeth’s hands unconsciously rose to her cheek as she stared at him in amazement. Was he offering to train her? To render her marriageable? She didn’t know why she should be so surprised by this—after all, he had never made an indication—save for one sweet kiss—that he was interested in her for himself. And besides, she had made it clear that she could not marry a penniless estate manager.

  So then why was she so depressed that he seemed so eager to marry her off to a wealthy, well-connected gentleman—exactly what she told him she wanted and needed out of life?

  “What does this training entail?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Well, we haven’t much time,” he mused, “and there’s nothing we can do about your wardrobe.”

  “How kind of you to point that out,” she muttered.

  He shot her a vaguely remonstrating look. “If I recall, you had no compunction about insulting my wardrobe earlier.”

  He had her there, she allowed. Good manners forced her to say, somewhat grudgingly, “Your boots are very nice.”

  He grinned and regarded his footwear, which, though old, appeared very well-made. “Yes, they are, aren’t they?”

  “If a bit scuffed,” she added.

  “I shall polish them tomorrow,” he promised, his somewhat superior look telling her that he refused to rise to her bait.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That was uncalled for. Compliments should be freely given, without restrictions or qualifications.”

  He looked at her with an oddly assessing expression for a moment before asking, “Do you know what I like about you, Elizabeth?”

  She couldn’t even possibly imagine.

  “You’re as kind and good a person as they come,” he continued, “but unlike most kind and good people, you don’t preach or cloy, or try to make everyone else kind and good.”

  Her mouth dropped open. This was the most unbelievable speech.

  “And underneath all that kindness and goodness, you seem to possess a wicked sense of humor, no matter how hard you occasionally try to suppress it.”

  Oh, dear Lord, if he said anything more, she was going to fall in love with him on the spot.

  “There’s no harm in poking fun at a friend as long as you intend no malice,” he said, his voice melting into a soft caress. “And I don’t think you would know how to be malicious if someone offered you a dissertation on the subject.”

  “Then I suppose that makes us friends,” she said, her voice catching slightly.

  He smiled at her, and her heart stopped beating. “You really have no choice but to be friends with me,” he said, leaning closer. “After all, I know all of your most embarrassing secrets.”

  A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “A friend who is going to find me a husband. How quaint.”

  “Well, I should think I could do a better job than Mrs. Seeton. If that is indeed—”

  “Don’t say it,” she warned.

  “Consider it not said. But if you want some help…” He looked at her closely. “You do want help, don’t you?”

  “Er, yes.” I think.

  “We will need to begin right away.”

  Elizabeth glanced over at an ornate table clock Lady Danbury had had imported from Switzerland. “I’m due back in the drawing room in less tha
n an hour.”

  He flipped through a few pages of HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS, shaking his head as he scanned the words. “Hmm, that’s not very much time, but—” He looked up sharply. “How did you manage to escape Lady Danbury at this time of day?”

  “She’s taking a nap.”

  “Again?” His face showed his surprise clearly.

  She shrugged. “I found it just as unbelievable as you do, but she insisted. She demanded absolute silence and told me not to rouse her for seventy minutes.”

  “Seventy?”

  Elizabeth grimaced. “That’s to keep me on my toes. I’m quoting her on that, by the way.”

  “Somehow that does not surprise me.” James drummed his fingers on the library’s main table, then looked up. “We can start after you finish with her this afternoon. I’ll need some time to devise a lesson plan, and—”

  “A lesson plan?” she echoed.

  “We need to be organized. Organization renders any goal reachable.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  He frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You sound exactly like Lady Danbury. In fact, she says that very same phrase.”

  “Is that so?” James coughed, then cleared his throat. Damn, but he was slipping up. Something about Elizabeth and those angel-blue eyes of hers made him forget that he was working undercover. He should never have used one of Aunt Agatha’s favorite maxims. They’d been drummed into his head so frequently as a child that they were now his maxims as well.

  He’d forgotten that he was talking to the one person who knew every single one of Agatha’s quirks as well as he did. “I’m certain it’s just a coincidence,” he said, keeping his tone firm. It was his experience that people tended to believe whatever he said as long as he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about.

  But not, apparently, Elizabeth. “She says it at least once a week.”

  “Well, then, I’m sure I must have heard her at some point.”

  She seemed to accept that explanation, for she let the matter drop and instead said, “You were saying something about lesson plans…”

  “Right. I will need the afternoon to plan, but perhaps we might meet when you are done with Lady Danbury. I will walk you home, and we can begin en route.”