How to Marry a Marquis (9 page)

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Are you certain you wouldn't like a hand up?"

James, who had been quietly trying to extricate himself from his thorny prison, finally faced the truth that in one-on-one combat, the rosebush would emerge the victor. "I'm going to give you my hand," he directed, keeping his words nice and slow, "and then you are going to pull me up and out. Is that clear?'

She nodded.

"Not to the side, not forward, not-"

"I said it's clear!" she snapped. Before he even had a chance to react, she grabbed his hand and hauled him out of the rosebush.

James just stared at her for a moment, more than a little shocked by the strength hidden in her tiny frame.

"I'm clumsy," she said. "Not an idiot."

Again, he was rendered speechless. Twice in one minute had to be a new record.

"Are you injured?" she asked brusquely, picking a thorn off his jacket and then another from his sleeve. "Your hand looks scratched. You should have worn gloves."

"Too hot for gloves," James murmured, watching her as she picked more thorns off him. She had to be a complete innocent-no lady of any experience, even with mere flirtation, would stand so close, her hands running up and down his body ...

Very well, he admitted to himself, he was letting his imagination and his libido get the better of him. She wasn't exactly running her hands up and down his body, but she might as well have

been with the way he was reacting. She was so close. He could just reach out and touch her hair-see how soft it really was, and-

Oh, God, he could smell her.

His body hardened in a second.

She pulled her hand back and looked up, her eyes innocent and blue. "Is something wrong?''

"Why would anything be wrong?' he asked, his voice strangled.

"You stiffened."

He smiled humorlessly. If she only knew....

She picked off another thorn, this one caught on the collar of his jacket. "And to be frank, you sound quite odd."

James coughed, trying to ignore the way her knuckles accidentally brushed against the side of his jaw. "Frog in my throat," he rasped.

"Oh." She stood back and examined her handiwork. "Oh, dear, I missed one."

He followed her eyes ... down to his thigh. "I'll get that one," he said quickly.

She blushed. "Yes, that would be best, but-"

"But what?"

"Another one," she said with an embarrassed cough and a pointed finger.

"Where?" he asked, just to make her blush some more.

"There. A little higher." She pointed and looked away, turning red as a beet.

James grinned. He'd forgotten how much fun it was to turn ladies' cheeks to pink. "There, now.

Am I clean?"

She turned back, looked him over, and nodded. "I really am terribly sorry about the, ah, rosebush," she said with a contrite tilt of her head. "Truly very sorry."

The minute James heard the word "sorry" again, he had to fight the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake. "Yes, I believe we have already established that."

One of her delicate hands rose to her cheek in an expression of concern. "I know, but your face is scratched, and we really should treat it with salve, and-I say, why are you sniffing?"

Caught. "Was I?"

"Yes."

He gave her his most boyish smile. "You smell like roses."

"No," she said with an amused smile, "you smell like roses."

James started to laugh. His chin hurt where she'd smacked him twice, his foot throbbed where she'd stepped on it, and his entire body felt as if he'd swum through a rosebush, which wasn't as far off the truth as it sounded. Yet still he started to laugh.

He looked over at Miss Hotchkiss, who was chewing on her lower lip and eyeing him dubiously.

"I'm not going mad, if that's what worries you," he said with a jaunty smile, "although I would like to accept your offer of medical treatment."

She nodded briskly. "We'd best get you inside, then. There is a small room not very far from the kitchen where Lady Danbury keeps her medicines. I'm sure there will be some sort of salve or lotion we can apply to your wounds."

"Will you ... ah ... be seeing to-"

"Your scrapes?" she finished for him, her lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile. "Don't worry, even I am nimble enough to tend to those scratches without causing mortal injury. I've cleaned up far more cuts and scrapes than I care to think about."

"Those siblings of yours are younger than you, then?'

She nodded. "And adventurous. Just yesterday Lucas and Jane informed me that they plan to build an underground fort." She let out an incredulous laugh. "They told me I need to chop down our only tree to provide them with wooden support beams. Where they get these ideas, I'll never know, but- Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me to prattle on about my family."

"No," James said, more than a bit surprised by the quickness of his reply. "I enjoy hearing about your family. They sound delightful."

Her eyes softened, and he got the impression that her mind had drifted to somewhere very far away- somewhere, to judge by her dreamy smile, that was very very nice. "They are," she replied. "Of course we bicker and argue like all families, but- Oh, look at me. I'm doing it again.

All I meant to do was assure you that I have more than enough experience with minor injuries."

"In that case," he said with great flair, "I trust you completely. Anyone who has tended to small children is experienced enough to see to these paltry wounds."

"I'm glad to hear that I meet with your approval," she said wryly.

He held out his hand. "Shall we call a truce? I may call you friend?"

She nodded. "Truce."

"Good. Then back to the house with us."

They laughed and talked as they exited the rose garden, and it was only when James was

halfway back to Danbury House that he remembered that he suspected her of blackmail.

* * *

Elizabeth dipped her handkerchief in the sharp-smelling salve. "This may sting a bit," she warned.

Mr. Siddons grinned. "I think I'm man enough to- Yow! What is in that?"

"I told you it might sting."

"Yes, but you didn't tell me it had teeth."

Elizabeth held the jar up to her nose and sniffed. "I think there might be some sort of alcohol in here. It smells a bit like brandy. Does that make sense? Would one put brandy in such a thing?"

"Not," he muttered, "if one didn't want to make any enemies."

She sniffed at it again and shrugged. "I can't tell. It could be brandy. Or perhaps some other spirit. I didn't mix it."

"Who did?" he asked, looking as if he very much dreaded the answer.

"Lady Danbury."

He groaned. "I feared as much."

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "Why would you fear that? You hardly know her."

"True, but our families have been friends for many years. Believe me when I tell you that she is legend among my parents' generation."

"Oh, I believe you." Elizabeth laughed. "She's legend among my generation. She has all the village children quite terrified."

"That," Mr. Siddons said dryly, "I believe."

"I didn't realize you knew Lady Danbury prior to your employment," she said, dipping her handkerchief in the salve again.

"Yes, it's"-he winced as she applied a bit to his forehead-"why she hired me, I'm sure. She probably thought I'd be more trustworthy than someone referred by an agency."

"That's odd. Before you arrived, Lady Danbury dismissed me early so that she could go over the books and memorize the numbers so she could be certain you weren't robbing her blind."

James covered up a chuckle with a cough. "She said that?"

"Mmm-hmm." She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with concentration as she scanned his face. "But I shouldn't take it personally. She'd say that about anyone, even her own son."

"Especially her own son."

Elizabeth laughed. "You do know her well, then. She is forever complaining about him."

"Did she tell you about the time he got his head stuck-''

"At Windsor Castle? Yes." She grinned, touching her fingers to her lips as she let out a little giggle. "I've never laughed so hard."

James smiled back at her, finding her nearness disarming. He felt almost giddy. "Do you know him?'

"Cedric?" She drew back slightly so that they could converse at a more comfortable distance.

"Oh, I suppose I should call him Lord Danbury now, shouldn't I?"

He lifted his shoulder in a lopsided shrug. "You can call him whatever you like in my company.

I, for one, like to call him a-"

She shook her finger at him. "I think you must have a very naughty streak to you, Mr. Siddons.

And you're trying to coax me into saying something I might regret."

He smiled wolfishly. "I'd much rather coerce you into doing something you might regret."

"Mr. Siddons," she said reprovingly.

He shrugged. "Forgive me."

"As it happens, I do know the new Lord Danbury," she said, dipping her chin as she looked at him to signal that the subject had been officially changed. "Not very well, of course. He's a bit older than I am, so we did not play together as children. But he does come back to visit his mother from time to time, so our paths do occasionally cross."

It occurred to James that should Cedric decide to visit his mama anytime soon, his disguise

would be completely ruined. Even if he or Aunt Agatha managed to warn him of the situation

ahead of time, Cedric absolutely could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut. The man had no notion of discretion and even less of common sense. James shook his head unthinkingly. Thank goodness stupidity didn't run in the family.

"What's wrong?" Miss Hotchkiss asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You shook your head."

"Did I?"

She nodded. "I probably wasn't being gentle enough. I'm terribly sorry."

He captured her hand in his and caught her in a hungry gaze. "Angels could not have been more gentle."

Her eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment locked with his before shifting to their hands.

James waited for her to object, but she did not, and so he let his thumb trail along her wrist as he released her. "I beg your pardon," he murmured. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's-it's quite all right," she stammered. "You've had quite a shock. It's not every day one finds oneself pushed into a rosebush."

He said nothing, just turned his face as she ministered to a scratch near his ear.

"Here, hold still," she said in a soft voice. "I need to apply this on the deepest scratch."

He closed his mouth, and Elizabeth held her breath as she leaned in close. The cut was to the left and below his mouth, curving into the hollow under his lower lip. "There's a bit of dirt here," she murmured. "I- Oh, hold still another moment. I need to ..."

She bit her lower lip and bent her legs so that she was right on level with his face. She put her fingers to his lip and gently stretched it upward so that the small scratch was exposed. "Here you

are," she whispered as she cleaned the wound, amazed that she was able to make a sound over the pounding of her heart.

She'd never stood so close to a man before, and this one in particular did the oddest things to her. She had the most absurd desire to let her fingers drift over the sculpted planes of his face, and then smooth across the elegant arch of his dark eyebrows.

She forced herself to exhale and then looked down at his face. He was staring at her with an odd expression, half amused and half something else entirely. Her fingers were still on his lips, and somehow the sight of herself touching him seemed more dangerous than the actual touch.

With a little gasp she pulled her hand away.

"Are you done?" he asked.

She nodded. "I-I hope that didn't hurt you too much."

His eyes grew dark. "I didn't feel the cut at all."

Elizabeth felt herself smile self-consciously, and she took another step back-anything to regain her equilibrium. "You're a very different patient than my brother," she said, trying to turn the conversation to tamer topics.

"He probably didn't flinch half as much as I did," Mr. Siddons joked.

"No," Elizabeth said with a breathy laugh, "but he screams much louder."

"You said his name is Lucas?"

She nodded.

"Does he look like you?'

Elizabeth's eyes, which had been studying a painting on the wall in an effort not to look at Mr.

Siddons, suddenly flew to his face. "That's an odd question to ask."

He shrugged. "Like you, I'm a curious sort."

"Oh. Well, then, yes, he does. We all look alike. My parents were both very fair."

James held silent for a moment as he contemplated her words. It was hard not to notice that she'd spoken of them in the past tense. "They have passed on, then?" he said gently.

She nodded, and he couldn't help but see a slight stiffening in her face as she turned her head to the side. "It's been over five years," she said. "We're used to being on our own now, but still it's"-

she swallowed-"difficult."

"I'm sorry."

She was quiet for a moment, then let out a small, forced laugh. "I thought we agreed that we weren't going to utter those words."

"No," he teased, trying to weave humor into the conversation. He respected her desire not to share her grief. "We agreed that you would not say them. I, on the other hand..."

"Very well," she said, clearly relieved that he wasn't going to pry, "if you truly wish to apologize, I shall be happy to write out a list of your transgressions."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Would you, now?"

"Oh, indeed. Of course, I only have three days worth of transgressions to document, but I'm fairly certain I can at least fill a page."

"Only a page? I shall have to work harder to- Miss Hotchkiss?"

Her entire body had gone stiff and she was glaring at the door. "Get out,'' she hissed.

James stood so that he could see over the counter. Aunt Agatha's cat was sitting in the doorway, resting on his furry haunches. "Is there a problem?" James queried.